Lessons Learned

 Here we are, one more year gone and another to come. 

Happy New Year!

'Snome!'

He looks fed-up but he does has a friend!

Mr and Mrs Snome

Spot the Snomes!

Okay, so that's the snow photos out of the way.

Hubby, Alf and me had a nice quiet Christmas and New Year, just the three of us at our static caravan in St. Leonard's-on-Sea, Hastings. I love our little home. It brings a whole new meaning to the term 'downsizing' once the kids have left home.

Let's just recap. It was me that left home, or rather sold the house to go live in sunny Spain with new hubby. Carl had already got his cosy warm feet firmly under the girlfriend's parents' table, who are luckily for him, very welcoming. I hear he is ideal son-in-law material! So as for the other two there was no choice for them to actually 'leave' home as such, as there was no 'home' to leave. They were, of course, given the usual option to lodge with Super-Nan at the Grattan Inn. This they took to with great fortitude, as they had pretty much taken over my house in Coleville Road, so it would be back to basics in terms of respect and appreciation. Yes you know who I'm talking about.......you thought you were the boss in my house, but Super-Nan is the boss in hers. There was to be no more weekend long drinky-poo sessions, where I would regularly face mornings of the sitting room/kitchen full of empty bottles of booze, overflowing ashtrays, and that familiar whiff of ye olde wacky backy. I tiptoed over numerous sleeping bodies on a regular basis and once even witnessed, with incredulous surprise, a naked man running through the house - yep, a stark-naked man scurrying from the lounge to the kitchen, barely covering his particulars, as I came down the stairs bleary-eyed and still in my nightie. Some may also recall the infamous party while I was on my first mini-break abroad. A lazy Sunday morning in Frankfurt with a girl-friend, found me listening to the voicemail message left by the police officer who was attending an incident that Saturday night at 10 Coleville Road. 'An incident' arrrgh – a stabbing, a murder? The worst is always my first response. DON'T PANIC!!!!!

All had settled down by the time I managed to contact the offenders of the most heinous crime I had created in my imagination. The carnage had been mostly cleared. Okay, so the party got out of hand and my friendly neighbour (whose wife was very heavily pregnant and about to 'drop her sprog' – as the rather uncouth saying goes) was involved in a punch-up with one of the party-goers over the noise and general raucous behaviour. It all culminated in a thankfully lucky young man falling through my large patio glass doors and only sustaining minor cuts. Well apart from that, no harm done. A bit of grovelling from me to a very understanding neighbour and apologies from the boys and all was well. I didn't get arrested for running a drug den so no harm done. The insurance covered the glass and lessons were firmly learnt by all. On chatting to the neighbour the other side about the events of the party, he said, “what party??” oh and I still wonder where the loo brush went???

Now when I say lessons were learned, this was true regarding house-parties, but the lesson obviously didn't cover other events outside the house namely punching a bouncer at the now defunct Quarantine at the Tumbledown Dick and ending up in a cell at Aldershot police station and remembering f*** all! So that was a separate lesson learned through longer-lasting consequences that could have been much worse – don't mess with bouncers and don't drink so much that you remember f*** all, even if they beat the c*** out of you.....Life isn't fair folks – get over it!

But who am I to judge? I only jumped on the bouncer's back in a club on Margate sea front in the early eighties, because Pete was being chucked out after a thug flew over the table to land a punch due to some preening macho eye-balling!!

Yep I was young once and I learnt my lesson there.

Anyhow, I digress. What was I saying? Oh yes, so we have downsized due to the fact that I sold my home and helped the kids out with buying a flat so they could vacate the Grattan Inn and leave Nanny in peace. I didn't want to live in Spain any more for various reasons, as below:

While 'negotiating' while in Spain with hubby, I wrote this list of likes and dislikes.

Likes: Friends, Pam and George and Pete; the scenery; sitting outside bars in summer; siestas (a good excuse for sleeping in the afternoon , which is more difficult to explain here) ; Cheaper good quality wine.

Dislikes: Missing my family and friends; new culture; new language; general 'Spanish' noise, particularly when trying to sleep at night when the whole of the town is still awake; constantly barking dogs; mistreatment of dogs (not nice seeing emaciated/dead dogs or dogs tied up all day when taking my Alf for his walkies – remember he was found abandoned in culvert as a puppy!); dust, particularly if you get a certain wind from North Africa, it gets up your nose, in your hair and all sorts of other places; cold in winter; damp (not things you usually equate with sunny Spain); too hot in Summer, although houses are built to keep the heat out, hence why it is frigging cold in the house in winter and all the heat escapes – they don't do insulation you know...!! If it gets damp they just let it dry out in the summer arrgg!! FLIES – I hate them!!! And why do the Spanish put up with the amount of rubble-type rubbish in their wonderful countryside. To get to the olive groves you need to walk through what seems like an uncleared a building site. They dump stuff everywhere; Spanish food – not my favourite, too much meat; No access to health service as we didn't contribute and we're not pensioners – not good if you have long-term health problems.

It was a no-brainer, as far as I was concerned and when I put it down in writing my heart sank. I had to come clean.....and I did.....

So why on earth, you all ask, did I move there? Well love does strange things to you and the brain doesn't work properly, apparently, according to research on falling in love, reported in the Daily Mail – well that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!

We 'discussed' renting a cottage in Wales (hubby is half-Welsh) for a year and then decided to Motor-home round the UK while I thought about it, as we both wanted to travel. We got to a very wet and windy Cornwall and I just said, 'I don't want to go back.' He knew it, and I haven't been back since. 
I miss you Pam, George and Pete. Hasta luego mis buenos amigos !!

So whilst thinking, as I do quite a lot in a stuck record kind of way and because my health is not good at the moment, I had an idea about living on a mobile home site. But the residential ones are far too expensive for us – we need to sell our very modest Spanish house, you see. So while we are waiting for Spain's economic recovery to kick-start hahaha, I found a rather lovely woodland site in St.Leonard's-on-sea and we bought a static caravan, our little home. 

http://www.parkholidays.com/static-caravans-for-sale 

Now this is ideal for hubby's continuing ailment – 'hibernitis.' He can hide himself away for months, years if it was up to him, only ever having to speak to other woodland doggy walkers or supermarket checkout staff, when he or Alf need sustenance. I have become great friends with another female caravan-dwelling character and her madcap family and three dogs – Alfie's mates,
and I can tell you, we don't spend our time making pegs. 

Alfie's mates!

There are all sorts of people on the site. Some are similar to us and have properties abroad, others have had enough of bricks and mortar so have downsized completely and are spending the kids inheritance. Others have found themselves in various situations that have warranted a change of lifestyle or just have them for holidays. Anyway, I would thoroughly recommend it, apart from the fact you have to find somewhere to live while the site is closed in February and you need a permanent postal address. But most people can sort that somehow or another. So for us, of course that's where Super-Mum comes in. I am dividing my time between Mum's and the static caravan, for health reasons, and hubby is quite happy to drop me off and pick me up because it helps his 'hibernitis'..... Newly retired coppers often hide away, or die shortly after retirement.

Alf and hubby were made for each other, but he needs his Mummy cuddles – sorry non doggy folk, that's how doggy-lovers talk. Other doggy-talk includes, long involved discussions on the quality and quantity of their loved-ones poop e.g. 'He did a big poo today but it was a bit squidgy, hard runny' etc. tricks they can perform, various ailments and how they are generally feeling e.g. 'He's feeling a bit depressed, frisky today' and so on - Er... I am talking about the dog, silly you.

Anyhow the three of us together, will only be descending on Mum for a week and then we are off to North Wales for the rest of the month where we intend to do 'absolutely nothing!' Except walk the dog, who, by the way is the sole reason for booking this particular cottage as it seems to be well away from temptingly tasty freshly grazed lamb chops. Well hubby and Alfie will walk each other and I will write, of course. Our cottage 'the bakery' is part of the farm that served St. Beuno Monastery and has a small enclosed garden with a path leading to a private beach. Will keep you posted about that little adventure when we arrive.

 http://www.bachwen.co.uk

Talking about writing, I have managed to get back into the swing of it, albeit in a smallish way. But I AM writing. Also writing this blog helps to get me into the flow, so to speak.

I returned to a chapter I began before Christmas about my Uncle David (my Dad's younger brother) in Ramsgate. He stayed on the sofa-bed in Mum's front room when I was about fifteen, as the back-bedroom hadn't acquired it's status as the guest room because it was still my sister's and mine. Uncle David was a bit of a character and was prone to extensive philosophising ( usually on his return from the pub! ). He was my 'fun-dad' when I was growing up - He had the 'Grattan Gene,' as us life-long Grattans have coined the family tendency to a predisposition to various mental health problems. Anyhow, that aside, when we were all young, in a relative way, he would sweep me up into his arms, laughing and smiling, a world away from my own Dad's intensity. He was so handsome and happy-go-lucky. I loved seeing him, so when he came to stay for six months when his first marriage broke-down, I was over the moon. I was in my phase of staying up late watching old horror movies and we used to talk into the wee small hours about life and stuff. He bought a house in Union Street with my cousin David and I loved popping in to see them on my way to town. But work dried up and he moved back to Ramsgate and re-married. I often used to visit and met my late first husband at Uncle David's wedding (he was the best man) - but that's another story... Now, whilst drinking his rum and black Uncle David often joked of the big foot in the sky, that waits for us all throughout life, to stamp on us when we least expect it. He would then light another roll-up, pour another rum and reflect some more. He died of pretty near-damned certain self-inflicted small-cell lung cancer on Christmas morning aged 74. He was of course, philosophical to the end. 'I smoked for over sixty years, you know' he said in his last days, as he lit another fag and poured another rum. 
Goodbye Uncle David, miss you.

So, you may have gathered by the snowy photos that I am, in fact back in Farnborough, in the back bedroom. I am here after my quiet Christmas with hubby and Alf, as I am still a bit unwell and trying to get to the bottom of it. I was going to go back to Hastings - honest I was - but tests, appointments, snow and a funeral, has buggered that up. So I stay and wait for my boys to arrive, ready for our adventure to North Wales.

Miss you B and want to make pegs!!

p.s. hubby's pipes froze-up but he managed to defrost them with a car windscreen sunshade wrapped round a hot water bottle!