Time out

I have dropped out since last week. Suddenly life seemed dull and not very full of joy.

To cheer myself up I went down to London to see the youngest daughter and Posetta Baddog. I took Maud and Billy with me, because there was noone to let them out for walkies whilst I was away. I NEVER leave my dogs for more then 2 or 3 hours at a time.

The Baddog was hysterially pleased to see me and weed all over the pavement, and then the dog posse leapt out of the car. Oh my God, if looks could kill! No welcome for the country cousins. A bit of a cheek, as the Baddog frequently holidays dans la campagne - very one sided! Maud just growled under her breathe, and poor Billy just quivered. I instantly felt better - nothing like a bit of bad dog sulking to amuse one.

Junior daughter dog sat for me whilst I whipped into Town, to hit Selfridges as they opened at midday. Some delicious Sisley unguents, a white linen wrap shirt half price in the Jaeger sale, and some customised Havaianas, brown bases with brown thongs - boring but just what the doctor ordered, and one and a half hours later I was back in the bosom of the dog sisterhood. Rather like a supermarket trolley sweep, I satisfied the soul.

Daughter and I then high-tailed it to Lemonia in Primrose Hill, for a quite scrummy Greek summer lunch. The restaurant was full to bursting, with a very jolly Sunday kunch time atmosphere. We wolfed down taramasalata with piles of hot pitta and then shared a plate of chargrilled mixed seafood, and a plate of chargrilled mixed kebabs, greek sausage, and little lamb chops - all washed down with chilled rose, followed by a little cup of medium sweet Greek coffee with Turkish Delight. Divine. It made me realise that I do miss City life, but conversely I could only ever live in the countryside. Perverse.

Life is never simple - but Monday was not the dire day I anticipated. I felt sad - but had a Damascene Conversion - I suddenly realised that life never remains the same and I must stop kidding myself that I had a good marriage. My marriage was a nightmare - and I deserve better. A result? As I have written before, I have two wonderful girls and that, in itself, is a great joy.

This week, I will master Twitter and Blog replies. Wish me luck! I am now going to take the dogs for a quick walk, and then I am going out to dinner . Tomorrow I am going to a concert, Friday a wedding, and on Saturday to an opera in the garden of New College, Oxford, followed by a picnic in the cloisters. You see, I have a social life after all. What am I complaining about?

Greed

Greed is a family failing. I have just eaten the most delectable fruit salad - and feel akin to a Strasbourg goose. A melange of sliced strawberries, halved sweet little dark cherries given to me by a rriend from her groaning tree, blueberries, and globular, glistening redcurrants from my garden. There are so many redcurrants it is impossible to pick them all. This fruit salad was divine, and I splashed s slug of creme de cassis over it. And I ate it all, all on my own!

I am now going to retire to ny bed, to finish The Easter Parade.

Goodnight.

Melancholia

I have just been asked if I was free on Monday evening, and realised to my horror that it will be my 41st wedding anniversay. Not a day to celebrate. Technically I am still married - in limbo, I am afraid.

Today I finished clearing out the philandering husband's office and den - packing up the last vestiges of his life here in this house. I found all sorts of things tucked away behind books, and at the back of drawers I thought had been emptied a year ago. I sat on the floor, looking at photogaphs of us as a family when the girls were small, and we looked so happy and as if we were having fun. How ephemeral life is - here today gone tomorrow. Why do so many middle-aged men deny their families and yearn for a new life - as if the previous one never existed? So many mixed messages in this case - but our family life is certainly dead and buried. No more Christmases, weddings, christenings, family gatherings, holidays - the four of us together. It is the three of us, the girls and I, against 1 plus one. We really were a close-knit little nucleur family - and now it counts for nothing. He has nothing to carry into old age - and the three of us have so much.

Melancholia is setting in - I must not let it get hold - Monday 13 July will be the test.

The senior daughter has just rung from NY - so I am instantly feeling more jolly. I should have told her that I found a box of her letters home from boarding school, a bag of teddies and lots of school exercise books! How can I stay sad when reading through them, made me shriek with amusement! And I remembered the name of every bear, doll and cuddly toy and its history. Memories came flooding back.

A rainy day

Literally - deluges of rainwater - at times it seemed as if bathwater was being poured out of the upstairs windows, running down the lower windows like Niagara Falls.

Rain is not good for low spirits. Today I have been struggling with mountains of paperwork - I have never been good at it, and now, in the throes of a very messy divorce, I am submerged in it. It is also time for the dreaded Tax Return. Oh, how I wish I was more focused on such things Thank heavens for my saintly accountant.

It is a very strange process - laying bare one's very soul for the divorce courts - I am at the stage of my life when I imagined I would be able to settle down to a gentler pace of life. Oh no, I have instead to, it seems to me, justify my very existence, the air I breathe, and every penny I spend. Funny that, I spent 40 odd years married to a man who thought his money was his, and he could spend it as he liked. He thought my money was his too, in that I was required to spend it in order that he could avoid giving me any of his! I had to suffer the indignity of his very unpleasant cocky young lawyer telling the Judge that I was a profligate wife, and it was a disgrace that her client had to maintain me, and justify his expenditure! Dear, oh dear, Women's Lib, what have you done to women?

So - dear husband - I so hope you feel proud of yourself - forty-three years flushed down the pan. What an indictment - and I bet you simply cannot remember the names of the myriad women you slept with, thus betraying your family countless times.

Me - I think I will survive all this - each day there are more moments when I realise I am actually free - a chum said to me yesterday that I should have called myself Phoenix, because I will rise from the ashes. A bit of a cliche, but possibly true.

Now is a good moment. It is 11 o'clock at night, Classic FM is playing, the house is otherwise very quiet, the dogs are sleeping and I almost feel at peace with the world and I remember how, this afternoon, I found a little rainless window to take the dogs out. As we came down the track above the ford outside the house, I saw what I thought was a very large ginger cat looking at us, for what seemed ages. It was nothing of the sort - it was a very cheeky young fox. Billy suddenly sprang into life and flew towards it. It only got away by a whisker, and I had one very proud Whippet, and one very disappointed Jack Russell who went the wrong way! I find moments like these pure pleasure. The fox gets away, and young Billy enjoys the chase.

It is time for bed - and time to start a book I have had for a while, and as yet, have not opened - The Easter Parade by Richard Yates, who wrote Revolutionary Road. I actually bought this book in Strand Books, in New York, whilst visiting the senior daughter. She always takes me there, what a feast, a wonderful store full of eclectic and interesting tomes. Some new, some secondhand, but always an amazing selection.

Rite of Passage

I did it - I went to the party on Saturday night.

What a performance beforehand - I flung armfuls of clothes all over my dressing room - what was I going to wear? How pathetic for a village drinks party, who was going to notice? Subliminally I expect that I hoped everyone would notice.

Eventually I trotted through the village, in my black linen top and tight white trousers, freshly washed hair, rictus grin on face. Into the garden I sidled - and with a deep breath launched myself at the first group I saw. That seemed to work - I was on my way. I threw back my head, laughed too loudly, smiled sweetly, observing my fellow guests clandestinely through my Oliver Peoples, and realised that I was at last cracking the code. Gradually people came up to me, and I was so pleased, as these were people whose company I had missed, and I began to actually enjoy myself. Another hurdle overcome. Well done, Aurora.

Breakfast time blues

It is Saturday morning and inspired by the senior daughter's gastronomic blog posting, I have just had a delicious breakfast in the early morning sunshine. A very self-undulgent breakfast, not good for the waistline. I shall describe it in detail, as I am a copy cat! A glass of clementine juice, two hunks of toasted sourdough bread, with goats cheese, dribbled with a little of the most wonderful runny organic honey,brought back from a recent trip to an Italian vineyard near Verona (likely to be my very last holiday) rounded off with a large mug of aromatic coffee, made from freshly ground beans. Heaven. This sybaritic breakast was a necessity as I am having a low point in my new journey, and it is a family habit to resort to tickling the taste buds in times of stress. As I said, not good for the waistline, but possibly good for the soul.

Strangely, as if to acknowledge my depressed state, there is no birdsong at all this morning, and the dogs are very subdued.

Its funny how, like a line of dominoes collapsing, lots of little things seem to turn into one big misery. School terms are ending, the holiday season is under way and all the newspapers and magazines are full of articles of the most idyllic places for a summer holiday, lists of recommended holiday reads, beauty tips and all the paraphanalia required for an imminent and much anticipated break in the sun. Except - for me - that is not going to happen. After over 40 years of wonderful holidays, business trips, and car rallies, it is as if my life has hit a brick wall, and I no longer exist. A pragmatist would say, hey, you have been to more places than most people can dream about. True - and one day I will appreciate that. Not now.

Tonight I have been invited to a drinks party in the village. Suddenly I do not want to go - after nearly a year of feeling like a freak in the show at the end of the pier, I cannot face it any more. When I do, rarely, go to parties, when I arrive I feel an almost imperceptible intake of breath, and a sense of embarrassment, and often people's eyes slide sideways, and there is mo point of contact. What is so embarrassing about a marriage exploding? I may be on my own, but I pulled the plug, I took the decision, why does everyone find it so uncomfortable. What has never happened is someone coming forward to welcome me and make me feel normal. I stand around with a drink in my hand before deciding who to approach. That is when the eyes slide sideways!

I ask myself hourly, is life better now than before? Of course it must be, at least I am a person in my own right now. I consider myself to be an intelligent person, but oh boy, was my life a nightmare, and why did I allow it to happen? I was married to a serial adulterer, a Walter Mitty, a man who could only feel good about himself if he controlled and then destroyed others. A man entirely without emotion, wno negated everything I held dear, felt deeply about, and achieved in my life. Even so, life is tough on my own, he has taken my life and destroyed it, and has no conscience or sense of responsinbility whatsoever. The only thing I hang on to, is that the woman he is with now, is a schemeing marriage wrecker who will truly be his nemesis. As he postulated when I chucked him out, he had not intended to leave me for her and how dare I chuck him out of the family home! My mistake in the past was to always take him back but this time, somehow I found the strength to give him his permanent marching orders. So, dear readers, life must move on - and I must teach myself to stop looking back, and when the memories flood in, to close the dam.

The sun is out, my dogs are looking lovingly at me because they knowe a walk is in the offing, and the first of my sweet peas need picking. My garden now is like the Curate's egg, good in parts. Too much sun, warmth, and the occasional shower, mean that the roses are dying, and the weeds are truly triffids. But - as with all gardens, there is always something new emerging from underneath the chaos. And - all you kind, concerned dog lovers out there, who supported my daughters and I when Violet had her terrible accident, I have contacted the lovely woman who bred Violet, and found me Violet's husband, and put in a request for her to find me a puppy, closely related to darling Violet. Billy still misses his mother, and a puppy will help the healing process.

Help!

Help, indeed. Having got so far, I am now on a plateau! I have mastered a laptop, been inveigled into posting my blog - all well and good, but I am struggling with the next two stages, replying to all the kind and generous people who have posted comments, and dealing with Twitter, to which I have been unwittingly signed up by the crafty senior daughter. So - all you kind people out there in cyberspace, I will eventually show my appreciation when the brain unfuzzes, and grinds into first gear. It is the most wonderful feeling to know that you are out there, and seemingly interested in the ramblings of a semi-geriatric sixty-something woman.

Today is another wonderful day - the English countryside is something to behold when the weather is as it is at the moment. I live in the depths of the Northamptonshire countryside, and even though only 20 minutes each way from both the M1 and the M40, we could be light years away. It is peaceful, and so restorative. When I pulled up the blind in my bedroom this morning, I heard the familiar sound of the green woodpecker. There he was on the lawn, stabbing away at the grass sorting out his breakfast. Behind him, the heron was balancing on the rails of the little bridge over the stream in the paddock, and my sheep were looking up at me, having heard movement, as if to say 'Good Morning' I am embarrassed by my sheep, 8 years they have lived with me, Vita, Violet, and Virginia, originally destined for the pot, they have lived happily here, reaching a great age for sheep. I bred them, and then could not bear to eat them.

I still miss dear, gentle Violet, her presence is everywhere. Billy has suddenly grown up and is now barking for the first time. He is so proud of himself - and it is such a lovely deep masculine bark, I am proud of him too.

I do have much to be grateful for and every day I am further down the road to my new life.

A Life Reclaimed? - a misnomer

It is 11 months since circumstances made it imperative that I took a deep breath, and unceremoniously chucked out the philandering husband.

Was this a wise move? Oh yes, but a life reclaimed? Not yet.

Unravelling a 43 year old relationship is not easy. One could say that it had been unravelling for quite some time, but human nature dictates that there is always an excuse for not taking that final decision. Instinct tells you that your partner is being serially unfaithful but somehow, you do not want to admit it to yourself. This time, the woman concerned pulled the plug by texting my husband in our hotel room in France, whilst we were away on a trip to celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary! We drove straight home across France, ansd out he went within ten minutes of arriving home. Bin bags of his belongings were dumped on her drive within days and boy, what a catharthis. So - in a way I owe a debt of gratitude to her. The philandering husband, like all cowards, tried to say that there was nothing in it, and he had not intended to leave me for her. Oh well, he has got her now, and I almost hug myself because she is a grasping slapper, a serial targetter of marriages, twice married herself,with an appalling reputation, and she thinks my husband is a rich entrepreneur, but of course, he is not, as she will find out when the divorce is finalised. Oh joy - they deserve each other.

Now - how do I reclaim my life?

One of the few present benefits is tucking myself up in my large bed each night, pile of books and the Daily Telegraph crossword beside me, and my two dogs curled up like the Annie Tempest cartoon, "Shall I put another dog on the bed?"

Another joy is the peace, and the tidy house and the second glass of wine without the comment "Are you sure you need another glass of wine?" And - the weight loss! Two and a half stone! And the clothes - I have so many - because everything fits me. A good thing - because there will never now be any money for new ones. Actually, I don't care.

My social life is quite different, but, thanks to close friends, I am scooped up from time to time to do jolly things, if not the things I used to do. Dinner parties, drinks parties, parties in general are a little thin on the ground, and I miss the foreign travel and the exotic holidays. But, hey, the English summer, especially at the present time, is idyllic. And I am slowly unfolding.

There is a new life out there and I will slowly find it.

A la recherche du temps perdu

A dangerous route to go down. I met my philandering husband in 1965. I was 19. Today that would be considered young. Then, we seemed more mature - or maybe a weird mixture of young, and old before our time.

London was a small place back then - everyone you met had been to boarding school, secretarial college, finishing school, the Cordon Bleu Cookery School, or Grenoble, which is where my husband went after leaving school,not bright enough for an English University! Oh, those were the days. What a simple life. None of us had any expectations, no ambition. A lot of my friends married almost straight from school. I was a bridesmaid three times - terrible outfits, hyacinth blue crackly nylon, mustard velvet, turquoise velvet. Oh dear, oh dear. No argument, no choice, and you paid! But - life was fun - I had fun with the husband to be. I really fell for him - but the stage was set. He was never to be trusted, and he broke my heart.

Yes we had such fun, and we seemed to be best friends. I look back fondly to the mid-sixties - life was changing and our parents could only look on quizzically and wonder what had happened! They never had the freedom, the choice and how lucky we were to be in at the beginning of it all. Mary Quant in the Kings Road, Vidal Sassoon, yes, I had the geometric haircut, Biba in Abingdon Road. Hardly anyone had a car - unless they borrowed the parents' mini, and the train from Paddington to Leamington Spa on a Friday night was full of chums going back to Warwickshire for the weekend. Oh nostalgia.

A Journey through Pakistan

Yesterday afternoon whilst walking Maud and Billy, my thoughts turned to the troubles in Pakistan, and I remembered a wonderful trip we took there three years ago, and I felt so sad thinking of all the turmoil within the country now, and how possibly some of the places we visited would be off the tourist trail for many years to come.

We drove in a 1969 MGB 3A from Ialamabad to Calcutta, via Peshawar, the Khyber Pass, Lahore, Amritsar, along the Indian Hill Stations, starting with Shimla, to Rishikesh, into Nepal to Pokhara to Kathmandu, to Darjeeling, and down to Calcutta. There were 18 cars, all old models, some Bentleys, Rolls-Royces, a Corvette, a DB4 and I can't remember the rest! It was the most wonderful trip, Pakistan particularly really got under my skin. It is a beautiful country, a country of contrasts, in some places almost biblical, out in the countryside there was little mechanisation and it seemed as if nothing had changed for thousands of years. Everyone was so charming to us and even right out in the wilds, we never felt threatened or unsafe. We went up the Khyber Pass on a steam train, which was an amazing experience, and the scenes were so like the pictures we see now on the television where they are fighting the Taliban. We went right up to the border with Afghanistan, and saw the lorries snaking along the mountain passes into that country. We visited a manned fort near he border, where the army kept watch and now I realise that probably noone will be allowed to do that again. The scenery was staggerigly wild and beautiful, like nothing I had seen before. I shall always remember the amazing hospitality, the delicious food, the beauty of the countryside and feel sad for this wonderful country and its uncertain future.

I think the dogs were annoyed with me being pre-occupied with my thoughts, and suddenly created a diversion. With a great flapping of wings, a heron rose out of the stream by our field, and the dogs took off after it. Even though it became airborne in slow motion, they had no hope of catching it. No walk is complete without the appearance of some amazing birdlife. We have herons, green woodpeckers, jays, and buzzards - it is truly paradise around here. I do feel so lucky to live here.

I think it is time now for a gin and tonic, a dish of olives and Andy Murray playing at Wimbledon. It is another glorious summer evening.

Kind friends

Last night I had a fun supper party. We ate at a long table on the terrace outside the kitchen, it was a beautiful evening, one of those rare evenings when it was still warm at 10 o'clock.

I did not cook anything fom the Anna del Conte book I mentioned the other day - it is a visual feast and a joy to read and look at but I chose otherwise. We had jugs of icy cold Pimms, and a plateful of silvery anchovies, lumps of buffalo mozzarella, tiny little black olives, some seafood salad,halved sweet little piccolo tomatoes, and marinated artichoke hearts, all piled on a large plate, and which we speared to pop into our mouths as we drank our Pimms. Yum-yum. Then, leg of English lamb, smeared with a paste of anchovies, rosemary, garlic and butter, simply roasted. Pudding was home-made strawberry ice-cream, made with large intense dark red English strawberries, together with fresh raspberries. I put a huge bowl of the ice-cream on the table, and everyone just dug in and kept having seconds, and there wasn't a scrap left. All washed down with Cotes de provence rose. Who says the older generation do not know how to enjoy themselves?

I looked round the table - there were 7 of us, and I realised they were such good friends, and how kind they had been to me over the past 11 months. I wish I had taken a photograph of them all. It was perfect - white starched tablecloth, candle lamps, bowl of dark red roses in the middle, the murmur of conversation, and a quiet appreciation of the food. Kind friends enjoying themselves in my garden. Life is definitely tough at the moment, but there are moments when it is possible to see that life is a progression, and what went before was just that, and now life must go on. Before dinner, the husband of one of my friends came across the lane and put out the garden chairs for me and prepared the Pimms, and after dinner my friends cleared up and did the washing up for me. I am lucky to have friends such as these.

It is another beautiful day and my thoughts are still full of Violet - Billy is still disconsolate and stays close to me - Maud is still protecting him - animals are incredibly sensitive. We all snuggled up in bed together last night, and in the early hours I lay in bed, with the window wide open listening to the sounds of the countryside, and musing on my life and what the future holds. So many thoughts, so many regrets, so many hopes for the future.

Life goes on

Life goes on - I have been on my own for nearly a year now, and until the tragedy of Violet's accident I was beginning to think I was coping rather well. But coping means dealing with everything that life throws at you.

The house seems in mourning - funny how a much loved animal leaves a presence even after death. Billy is inconsolable most of the time - but because he is still only a very young dog, he seems suddenly to forget to be sad and charges after a fly or chases his tail. When I played tennis this morning as I usually do every Monday morning, he sat mournfully by the court most of the time, until he forgot to be sad again and charged off. Animals are a joy and a comfort.

I am sitting in my kitchen with the French windows open, Wimbledon on the television,
it is a quintessential English summer evening in the depths of the countryside, and it is difficult to be sad for long. I am actually rather enjoying the single life -I am musing over a wonderful book my daughter brought back from New York for me, called the Painter, the Cook and the Art of Cucina by Anna Del Conte and Val Archer, and wondering what I shall cook tomorrow evening when friends come for supper.

There is a large bowlful of my favourite scented roses from my garden in front of me, Souvenir du Docteur Jamain and Madame Alfred Carriere - a glass of Cotes de Provence rose at my elbow - perfection really. This really is a new beginning for me after 43 years of a marriage that was less than perfect, but which produced two quite wonderful daughters, feisty, independent, beautiful, intelligent and a total joy. I am so proud of both of them.

Wish me luck

Sunday afternoon

I am going to garden today - the garden is a little wild, but looks amazing. All the planting I did 4 years ago before my 60th birthday party, has suddenly exploded, the roses are rambling everywhere, there is clematis climbing through everything, and the peonies are absolutely huge and flopping everywhere. It looks absolutely divine. There are foxgloves and love in the mist, and masses of hardy geraniums - I just love it.


A real, romantic, slightly overblown, English garden. This house and garden give me so much pleasure, it almost hurts, and I just cannot bear the thought of losing it. I tell myself that Violet had a wonderful life here, and that is some consolation.

Yesterday I took the dogs for a long walk, slightly varying the usual route so as not to get too upset and Billy chased a rabbit and almost caught it - stopped by a metal five bar gate that he couldn't get through! I thought, 'Oh, if that had been Vi she would have caught it before the gate.'

But - it is the first time he has properly chased one, so he is following in his darling mummy's footsteps. And, do you know something? I realised that even if Vi had lived, she would have had a very poor quality of life. She would have never have been able to go for lovely long walks, or chase rabbits, or foxes. I did the right thing, however much it hurts.

Let's hope that life picks up from now on - I am going to get the B & B up and running as quickly as possible. Shane is coming this week to spend a day mending catches, moving garden furniture and helping me get the loggia dining area up and running, and his electrician friend is coming to sort out all the broken patio lights, light switches, security lights, socket outlets, etc. so things are moving. I just need to take a deep breath and try to move on.

The birdsong is still amazing - it is a requiem for Violet.

Life without Violet

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning - so peaceful, birds singing and I am alone with my thoughts.

I went over to see the C’s at the last minute for supper last night, and they invited Maud (my Jack Russell) and Billy (my younger Whippet) as well. It is quite strange - Billy has always hated the car but since Vi (his mother) died he doesn't seem to mind it at all. Maybe he just doesn't want to be left behind.

The dogs were so sweet, I took one of the sheepy beds and they just settled in it together all snuggly, and behaved beautifully. Just like Maud used to do with Violet when Bertie our Golden Retriever died. Maud is truly the matriarch. Billy is very depressed, he keeps going into the garage where I left Violet in her lovely doggy coffin before we buried her. He wanders round, to all her favourite places, and flops down for a while. He is not at all happy. He cuddles up to me in bed and won't let me out of his sight.

I think we all have broken hearts.

And Maud doesn't bark any more, she just whines if she hears something. As if she doesn't want to upset me I cannot describe to you how unhappy I am, life is so cruel.

SF came round early evening yesterday with some lovely flowers - she is so sweet, I never saw anything of her when your father was around, but see her quite a bit now. She is very straight down the line, and i find that very refreshing - everything she says to me makes me think,and her advice is spot on. She thinks I should get a puppy, not to replace Vi, but to give the dogs and me something to focus on so we can move on. As Maud is 14 next birthday, I really do not want Billy to find himself suddenly alone.

A Life Less Ordinary

My beloved whippet Violet was put to sleep this morning. Shane came this afternoon and buried Violet for me under one of the willow trees by the stream. Molly put a posy of roses, pinks, canterbury bells and alchemilla on the grave. Violet looked so peaceful and I couldn't believe that she had been so ill. It will take me a long time to get over this. I loved Violet so much - she was the sweetrest gentlest dog, and had three weeks of misery. A chain of events that could have all been avoided. It is an absolute tragedy.