Hello you - yeah you. It's been 5 years since I last bothered my arse to post here and for that I should be flogged because it's a gorgeous little solipsistic sounding board, and indeed a personal record of what, for want of a better phrase, I've made of my life. After all, you have been my sole confidante in this little journey, so the least I could have done was to have checked in a little more often. Anyhooo, as they say, I'm here now, for what it's worth.
In fact, an unrepeatable 15 years have passed since I first posted here in the aching pathos of youthful romance when I decided to document the move to Canada with my then husband and teeny wee nipper. As we all know (and if you don't) that little life experiment crashed and burned in a spectacular fashion much like the famous Zeppelin. We bounced like a deranged ping pong ball on a concrete floor from London, UK to Ontario and right back to London, UK only coming to a clattering, hollow stop once we'd taken a few more chunks out of eachother until, defeated, we gave in and parted after just under 10 years together.
My biggest regret is the hurt that the whole insane debacle caused everyone around us. Most of all the hurt it caused us - him and me, and the nipper. The irretrievable lost years and the lasting legacy. For him, of having to stay in a country he neither liked, nor really chose. And me having to re-imagine 'the future' as a single mum and a woman whose prime had most definitely left the building with more than just a weekend bag's worth of clothes. Lots of lessons, some too sad to mention. Let's just say, you live and learn.
Mind you he is remarried now, and about to become a father again to a woman who made it clear early on that she would not be making the same mistake of moving to The Tundra. Perhaps I needn't feel that bad that he is 'stuck' here when he always maintained he would rather be 'there'. We have choices in the end. Best to own them once made.
And so the time when I started this little blogspot feels like, and indeed is a lifetime ago in which my once little Lishy - aka - The Beast - has turned 18. Towering over me, she now stomps around the flat like a herd of elephants. Petulant, churlish and defiant. A typical teenager who refers to me as 'fam' when happy, 'bro' when not. I can only hope this is just another phase like the one where she HAD to be in bed by 9:36pm. 9.36.
Things are obviously easier now and I find it incredible some days to think that in a few short weeks, I can actually say I got her through school. And yes, I am taking credit for it. I was the one that got her up, topped up her lunch money, made sure clothes were clean, was the person school called when things went wrong. I was the one at the thin end of the angst wedge, the one who picked up the pieces. I was the one. It's over to her now, for the most part at least!
I turned 50 (almost 3 years ago now - yikes!) and while, as they say, I look after myself there is no getting away from the fact that my cleavage resembles crepe paper from certain angles, and my old lady neck skin is starting to move independently from the rest of my body. I've also been somewhat battered by the effects of the menopause. Delightful and grateful as I am to be alive (my mother didn't make it past 52) aging has brought with it the joys of vaginal atrophy and arthritis (ooh have you got a sister, I hear you ask!). But you have to hand it to science because where there is an ill, there is a pill. So all is well, thankful I'm still alive and all that jazz!
Dalliances have also come and gone in that time - all worth their weight in gold in terms of personal growth, appreciation and learning experiences. There was 'the fireman' followed by 'the chef' and actually a living, thriving dalliance continues with 'the copper'. Put it this way, when the time comes to renew my British passport, I will not be short of approved professions to countersign the application.
I've also lost more members of my extended Spanish family in this time. Two of my aunts have gone to join my mother who shuffled off 31 years ago under sad and tragic and perhaps (though no good comes of thinking this) preventable circumstances but there is literally nothing you can do to pre-empt fate or push it off course. Nothing. Onwards I say.
I am now also 'the boss' of myself at work. A position I never thought I'd be lucky enough to reach, but then it didn't happen overnight. Between one thing and another, it has taken 30 years. Still, I made it and not before time because at almost 53, my earning power will see an abrupt levelling off before it plunges off the cliff edge and then...gawd help me.
Eyes are firmly on the prize and this year (or early next at the latest) I will be mortgage free. That will be the single biggest achievement of my life (outside of surviving single parenthood, and raising as close to a human as possible). I only hope I survive long enough to enjoy a couple of decades of this new world order where a third of my income no longer disappears the minute it hits my bank account.
I was bored enough the other night to check how much my private pension might be worth if I retired at 60. Unless you enjoy the rank stench of penury, I advise you to live in ignorant bliss of what your pension will be worth.
Here then is where I will pick up the thread of my life's tapestry - in which the London girl finally moves out of her beloved London Town of her own accord, and makes it to the 'shire' she has droned on about for years. The time has finally come. In a few scant months, I will be putting my girl pad up for sale having made it 12 years in a place that I thought I'd never be able to pay for after divorce all those years ago!
I am excited, petrified and everything in between. It will be the first time I move homes (buy a home even) on my tod. Never before have I embarked on such an endeavour alone. There was always a boyfriend or a husband. The elastic may have snapped on my pelvic floor but if I play my cards right, I will soon have a guest room and garden.
