A good life in the offing.

I find it hard to believe that it is the end of the week - so much has happened and I find myself in a reflective mood - the sun is shining at last, and it is a warm afternoon, full of promise for the weekend. Let us hope that, for once, the weather forecast is spot-on, and the sun will shine for the next two days.

Talking with R throughout Wednesday, reliving the past, remembering the time when she and I shared a house, and that was where I met the philandering husband. So long ago - 1965. R and I shared a house in Ebury Street near the Pimlico Road in London. We moved in in January 1965 - the time of Winston Churchill's funeral. There were 6 of us and it was pretty chaotic. My abiding memory is of the two of us, alone in the house, no dates in the offing, drinking chilled Tio Pepe sherry, which I used to bring back from home. after a weekend visit. Very sophisticated tastes! We had one of those old gas fires with upright perforated sort of china bars, and we sat on the floor in front it commiserating at our lack of success in the dating game. Then - the philandering husband-to-be appeared on the scene and my fate was sealed. My thoughts and remembrances have continued apace since returning home on Wednesday evening - it is a lifetime that I am recalling, and it seems one minute almost as if it never happened, and the next I remember things so clearly it is as if time has not passed at all. I remember the first time the husband-to-be asked me out on a date. We were giving a bottle party in the house, and frankly, he was pestering me. R reminded me that she had gone to her room, and I knocked on her door and asked her to rescue me from the pest! He was wearing a camel jacket, and a large patterned kipper tie - oh, memories!

As I have written before, London was fun in the Sixties - everything was a new experience, and the city seemed so much smaller than it is now. The philanderer and I drove across France,and down into Spain in a Triumph TR 3A - that was a very brave thing to do then, there were no autoroutes, no dual carriageways, it took a long time. The roads into Spain through the mountains were virtually non-existent, a mass of potholes. We had a wonderful time - no money, we slept in the car at the side of the road. Unimaginable today - but quite safe then. The more I remember
the fun we had, the more sad I feel. Forty four years of memories, experiences shared, all count for nothing now. He is in a relationship built on nothing - ephemeral, substanceless, nothing to share. A life of total selfishness - whereas I feel enriched by my life experiences and now, for the first time in 13 months, know that I have a future, yes, I feel sad, but now I feel I can make a good life for myself come what may.

This weekend will be another trip down memory lane. The junior daughter and I are going down to Kent, for the Ruby Wedding party of some old dear friends who still live in the village where my girls spent 11 happy years, before we moved to Northamptonshire. They are a large family, the three married daughters grew up alongside my two, and between them have 7 children. It will be such fun meeting everyone again, swapping memories, and, hopefully, enjoying several glasses of wine in F and J's beautiful English garden. There will be such a lump in my throat.

In Memoriam

Following my post yesterday, dear gentle I died peacefully this morning, just 15 minutes before I left home to spend the day with him and R. He had been so ill, and this was a peaceful end to months enduring a terrible illness.

R is so brave, and can be proud that she looked after him tenderly all through his illness.

Life can be bloody at times, and we will miss I, his gentle humour, his kind and gentle nature. It was a privilege to know him.

As I drove home this evening, after spending the day with R, I mused over how we hd spent the day. We just sat and talked, about I, about their life together, a life with a gentler pace than most of us enjoy. I was an architect, and worked at home, R worked part-time, and he would cook dinner for her when she returned home, R cutting out recipes from various papers, and he experimenting with them. He loved good wine, and introduced me to a wide range of esoteric dessert wines - we enjoyed many a bottle together. I will really miss him.

Heartache

I have had my lesson from the senior daughter - can I put it all into practice. No I cannot. I am a prime example of a crusty trying to be young and clever! I so want to reply to everyone who has posted the most life enhancing comments about my blog. I just cannot tell you all how much I appreciate your interest and support.

I know there is a school of thought, much expressed recently in he press, that to blog and twitter is an unnecessary exposure of feelings and private thoughts. In a a way I agree, but - what is the difference between so doing and writing a warts and all autobiography. I do come from the generation which was taught 'the stiff upper lip' approach. But you know what, whilst that is admirable, sometimes there is a almost primeval need to lance the inner hurt. I know my girls have said to me that when they were small, I was a great one for saying to them, dust off and get on with it. Maybe I wish sometimes I had been a little softer. You see - I am a mass of conradictions.

Life is not easy for anyone, and I now believe that people must deal with their problems in their own way. I have realised over the past year that what has happened to me has been, for me, catastrophic. In the wider world, it is really an insignificance, and in the small hours when I rail at all the hurt and inustice, I then do have to tell my self that there is much to be thankful for in my life. Getting the right balance will take time.

It is early and I am sitting in my kitchen, it is a dull wet day and there is gentle music playing on the wireless. My heart is breaking for my very special friend I met her in my first job after college, we were both 18, and we have shared flats, houses, she was my bridesmaid, the elder daughter's much loved godmother. Her husband, dear kind reclusive I, is dying of cancer. Last week she rang me and said I would like to go out, and would I meet them for lunch. It is difficult for her to manage to look after I on her own if they go out. We had the most wonderful lunch, we met halfway because we live about one and a half hours apart. It was a lovely warm day, thankfully not raining. We sat in the window of the restaurant, talked about old times, and there was an unspoken realisation that this was the last time we would ever meet like this, and it was so very poignant. When R went to fetch the car, I took my hand and said that R had been so wonderful to him, had looked after him so beautifully throughout his illness, and said he so appreciated that despite it all, R had kept their daily routine in place, and had never once wavered. They are both creatures of habit, so I knew how much that meant to I. He was worried that he might not have left R properly provided for - he is such a kind, good gentle man, and I had such a lump in my throat. He told me that it had been a tonic to see me, I always livened things up. Was that a compliment!

I is an architect, a gentle man, not sociable, but he and R have had a wonderful marriage. They have not had children, and they are so special to my elder daughter. When little, she used to stay with them in her school holidays - I taught her about birds, and gave her membership of the RSPB. They used to play chess and R used to make wonderful cakes and puddings, because I, partoicularly had a very sweet tooth, and the elder daughter loved being with them.

I had a phone call last night to say I was fading, and would I go over on Wwednesday to sit with him for a while so R could slip out for an hour. She is insisting on keeping him at home, and will not allow him to go to hospital. They are lucky to have the most wonderful back-up from their doctor's surgery and have as much help and care as they need to keep I in his own home. I know how wonderful it will be for him, his sheets will be beautifully starched and ironed, and the house will be quiet and orderly. She is so special and my heart aches for them

Mortified, chastened but defiant!

Hi, dear readers - I so want to respond to the kind posts, but don't know how,and am still waiting for the senior daughter to ring and coach me - I am a total Luddite.

Yesterday was a total low point and a total washout! Now - today is a different matter altogether. It is pleasant, breezy, blue skies, and no church service in the village this weekend.

I awoke early - aware of being stared at - on the left, a pair of golden eyes with a black centre,to my right, a pair of rich treacle coloured eyes, both absolutely transfixed on my face. How I love my dogs - implicit in this unwavering stare was the message that as yesterday was a total washout as far as dog walking was concerned, would I please now arise and oblige. Oh, OK. There is a symbiotic relationship between my dogs and myself - we are able to intuit each others needs and intentions. I am so blessed - they are the cornerstone of my existence and I love them unconditionally. Even when I have to get up at 6.30 am on a Sunday morning.

By the time that I had let them out, fed them. the sheep. the cat, bathed myself and dressed, they had waited long enough I was told.

Off we set - it was a beautiful morning, fresh, breezy, pale blue sky with scudding cotton wool clouds, the dogs flying across the lawn, snarling, barking, turning somersaults in their unallayed joy, racing along the path towards the gate in to the front garden, little sods! Through the five-bar gate into the lane, across the bridge by the ford and away. I could feel the early morning sun on my back, and I started to unfurl. It really does not take long to feel that life has something to offer after all.

It really is a corner of paradise here. I have to keep telling myself to pull myself together, because many would give their eyeteeth to have this and notwithstanding all the crap in my life I have to pinch myself sometimes, because it is a gift.

We climb the track above the house, Billy races on ahead, and Maud, the true matriarch, sniffs at the young whippersnapper and takes her time. Billy jumps up at the butterflies, and exudes youthful exuberance. I watch him, he moves like a carriage pony lifting his paws high, poetry in motion. He is a beautiful young dog and I burst with pride, because I bred him,and he is 'my boy'.

I look around me, the hawthorn berries are turning orange, before they become a rich cardinal red in a month's time, the crab apples are blushing but not yet ripe, and the purple vetch, the wild sweet pea, is climbing all over the hedgerow, everything looks glorious in the early morning sun. The lady's bedstraw, at its height a rich yellow, is going 'over' and the Queen Anne's Lace is going to seed. It reminds me so much of my childhood. I went to boarding school in 1950, at the age of 5. Not so unusual at that time, just after the war. Many of my contemporaries had lost a parent or both, and were being raised by grandparents and boarding school was a solution. My parents were divorced, and I was in the care of my maternal grandparents. One of my most enduring memories of my days at New College, Leamington Spa, was the obsession with long walks. Quite taxing for a young girl. but - we had to identify and remember every wild flower, bird, and butterfly we saw on every walk. I remember to this day everything I learnt. It was, actually, the most wonderful education. It means that every time I walk my dogs, I identify the seasons, and recognise and name everything I see. I see Buzzards wheeling in the sky, herons sailing on their prehistoric way, kingfishers, green and spotted woodpeckers, all the tits, song and missel thrushes, I am so lucky, it enriches my life. I am so grateful to have been taught about all this. Every little plant in the hedgerow, I know its name, and it is a rare joy. My husband used to call me a know-all. I know who is the richer for this knowledge.

It is a tussle trying to come to grips with a new life - but I truly think in this case, venality and disloyalty will prove to be the loser.

a la retourne

Possibly a misnomer - because I am not a Frenchwoman returning after her annual holiday.

I am a miserable old cow, wallowing in her pit, seemingly unable to drag herself out and back into life.

Oh God, will it never stop raining, thus inducing such streams of self-pity I cannot distinguish between the rainfall and my tears. At least dear Billy flies from somewhere in the house from time to time, places head on lap, and then reaches up and cleans my salty wet face. A simple thing such as this pulls me back every time, even if only for a short while.

I managed 12 months, and now it is downhill all the way. I feel as if I never existed and never mattered and never had a place in this world. Everything has been expunged, and I am so cross with myself. I knew perfectly well what a bastard my husband was, and that his constant infidelties, lies ansd profligacy should have hardened me, but nope, it didn't. I lived in my little bubble, took him back every time,and went on to endure even more misery, even more lies, and infidelities, and now I hate myself almost as much as I hate him.

Nothing was right for him - I have discovered that he started his constant affairs when my girls were very small, with my sister-in-law, my oldest friend, his secretsries, every woman who crossed his radar, what did they see in him? Some of these women, I know, did it to spite me, what had I ever done to them?

We were very short of money for years, the girls did not have everything I would have liked for them, he must have been spending precious pennies on all these women, or, fiddling his expenses all along the line. Dear God. I went out to work, long hours doing demeaning jobs, long hours commuting,and all the time, he was serially misbehaving. He had a mistress in America for years, older than him, and he had the gall to arrange for the girls to spend summers with her and her family, and guess who paid the air fares from her meagre wages. Yup, yours truly. I must add that this all came to light many years later. He used to come home after what he said were three week study tours in the States, with cashmere sweaters, Gucci watches, and say they were corporate gifts! Cashmere sweaters were major news 20 years ago. I believed him! He did bring me a Coach handbag once, and much later I discovered SHE bought it for me. God almighty. Thank you for lending me your husband. Bitch. She was 15 years older than him, a grandmother, looked like a thinner Barbara Bush, and was very small town America. He asked her to England, and ahe came to lunch, yup, she came to lunch. No, at the time I did not know. Why did I not cotton on? She arrived with a gift of Hartmann leather luggage. Mucho denario, as they say. Idiot me. She was introduced as a business colleague. She even came to England, and took my girls out from boarding school. Dear God, what a bastard I was married to. He never had the guts to bail out, he shagged his secretary from the mid-eighties until recently and had the cheek to say to my eldest daughter that he finally gave her up because he realised she was expecting him to marry her. Odd, really, because this ran concomittantly with the present slapper. Oh dear, oh dear. Does she think he will marry her? I don't think so. He is with her through desperately not wanting to lose face after being chucked out by me, and being finally divorced by me. Just retribution, I think.
I should like to add here that when on his American trips, he enjoyed holidays at an exlusive country club called Belle Rive, when the girls and I did not enjoy holidays, because there was no money avsilable, with the Barbara Bush look-alike I should add. What a total wanker.

No, I do not feel scorned. I did the right thing - but it is hard - hard to face the fact that I mattered not a jot to a man I spent 44 years of my life with - hard to accept that I have been replaced by a money-grubbing, serial marriage wrecker, even though at my behest, of whom someone said to a frind of mine this week, "Is it true that V's husband has gone off with G?" when told yes, but that I had chucked him out, said "How extraordinary, G is so hard and V is so attractive" Natch

Rescue me, rescue me. from my slough of despond. The bloody rain is teaming down the windows, God, life is dreary. How, oh how, could I have allowed it to happen?




Dear friends, I was married to the bastard of the century for years. My only consolation at the moment, is that he is shacked up with the tart of the county, who, in the words of some very good friends of mine, has 'had' half the men in the county, is as hard as nails, and thinks she has landed a 'rich entrepreneur' Ha-ha -bitch - he has spent all the money, and a lot of it on her. Pot empty - none for her now.

Has this been a catharthis? Probably not, but it bloody well helps.

I must add that there is nothing written here that is news to my two dear daughters. They struggle with their loyalies it could never be otherwise - and I am so sorry.

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.