Author: Rare Bit Blogging

29 November 2017 is the date I started my blog, initially as an expressive outlet for some of the myriad thoughts whirling incessantly round my head. My intention was to attempt to attract people that were interested in my music and the life of a freelance musician to my website. Just over a year later, in one of my now regular stock takes and decluttering episodes, it’s become apparent that quite a few people enjoy reading what I write. My blog has already served its purpose in that I’m able to express in writing far more quickly and clearly what I most often struggle to shrink down into spoken words. This has helped me in more ways than I imagined possible. My style of writing is instinctive, emotional and creative so if it’s grammatically immaculate facts your after (pun intended), this probably won’t be your thing. If you want an intuitive and occasionally indulgent written meander in colourful language whilst picking up a few pebbles to skim over the surface of that stream water, let’s jump in - the water’s quite nice. Tonight I have no idea which direction this new page will take. All I know is that it’s a journey I’m ready to explore. Coming with me? What are we waiting for?

Grounded

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It’s Thursday evening already and I have no idea where this busy week has gone. Let’s roll back to last weekend when I went walking with my 2 bubble buddies, Gareth and Sue. The weather was very poor with strong horizontal winds and pelting rain, and there was even a bit of snow on the tops above the village. More than half way through our 9 mile walk I suddenly saw the stony muddy ground hurtling towards me. Things went into slow mo as they do when you fall. When I realised what had happened and became aware of the pain in my right elbow, I promptly burst into tears and swore prolifically. I swear that swearing helps ease the pain and dissipate any uncomfortable feelings. After wallowing in a muddy puddle of self pity and ascertaining that nothing was broken, I was back on my feet and on we walked. We got to a bench and I wanted to inspect my injuries but the rain started up again so we walked to the next village where we found a bus shelter to have a brew and a hot cross bun.

It was a good walk through some beautiful scenery but I was distracted and ready for home. Back at REH HQ I checked my elbow (grazed) and a bruise was developing nicely. I wasn’t in any pain though. Back in the day when I had lots of rehearsals and performances, I was quite averse to walking. I didn’t see the point and I took the car even for the shortest trips. Falling was a concern – what if I fell and sprained an ankle or broke a wrist? I wouldn’t be able to play and basically I wouldn’t survive. Well, I disproved this self imposed myth on Sunday morning by doing 2 very productive fruitful hours’ work with little pain or discomfort. So walking and running are here to stay, at least until the pools open again. Why deny myself the pleasure of being in the great outdoors at one with nature?

There’s definitely been a change in the weather and we’ve had more springlike days which always boosts the spirits. The feeling of warm sun is like a balm to the skin and seeing buds burst into blossom holds such hope and optimism. I’m counting the sleeps before celebrating losing an hour in bed next Saturday night. We desperately need a great Summer and while I’m sure it will be like no other Summer we’ve experienced, there are already indications that we will have more freedom than we’ve had during the past few months.

I finally had my bedroom painted in February. That’s been a long drawn out project. Pinning down the painter took some doing. Tradespeople have really benefited from our desire to make our home environments more pleasant places in which to spend the additional time we have at our disposal. Could I become a DIY person? No chance! I can do quite a lot if I set my mind to it but in the long run, it definitely costs me less to pay someone experienced to do a job that would take me months and would cause me so much angst and stress! I can play the harp. I’m fluent in music and I’m good with languages. I can cook and clean. Practicality, however, isn’t my strong suit and that’s why I’m prepared to pay an experienced and knowledgeable professional to do a brilliant job.

Anyway, my bedroom walls look great but I’m still sleeping in the spare room as I need to sort out the flooring. I got a quote for carpet and it prompted me to pursue the route I really want to take – having the old characterful floorboards sanded and varnished. I’m getting a quote this weekend. Everything seems to take twice the time I’d factored in. I’m looking forward to sleeping in my bedroom again and waking up to this spectacular view:

Up early before my shift yesterday, I had a strong urge to get out so off I went, my feet clad in trail shoes and I walk-ran 4 miles. It was so invigorating to be outdoors bright and early. Despite tripping over a thorny tangled tendril of undergrowth and finding myself on the floor AGAIN (I was grateful for a soft peaty landing this time), this outing gave me so much energy for the entire day even after I’d worked the late shift the previous night. I was chirpy, cheerful and chatty at work. I go on about exercise because I know how it now plays a fundamentally important part my life. I haven’t been out today – I’m grounded as I have a lot to do here and I need to save my energy for a longer walk on Saturday, and I have some practice to do tomorrow of course. And I don’t want to be grounded again!

Wednesday’s child is full of Whoa

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Running reflection

I fear that this blog post may include a Rare Bit of ranting but it’s my blog so I can rant if I want to and you, dear readers can read if you want to.

So far 2020 has been challenging to say the least. I do remember easier times but I was probably very young or blissfully ignorant. Or ignorantly blissful. I’m not sure. You tell me! The year has as yet failed to deliver the bounty I’d 2020 envisioned but it’s early days I reckon. Magic takes time to brew properly.

Last week I was very unwell and had to visit my GP more times than I care to mention as well as a specialist. I don’t do ill and I rarely visit my GP as (touch wood) I don’t need to. I am very healthy and I take good care of myself but perhaps I had been pushing too hard and my body made me stop and take stock? Whatever, I am back and on fighting form this week and ready to go low before rising up. Going low is a very important part of the process, it’s a sort of obligatory review so that I can improve my performance and enjoy some good times as I embrace my creative side. I haven’t really stopped since last Thursday. A sob is brewing, as is a bloody good stomp up and down some local hills.

Does 3pm on a Wednesday mark the start of my weekend? Does my week ever end? I haven’t figured it out yet but with the shitload of notes I have to learn, it’s more a case of an hour snatched here and there and if I’m lucky, a half day.

Work has been particularly challenging recently with some repercussions arising from my illness but I’ve felt confident enough to express my concerns to the right people in the right way and matters are now contained. Working part time in a rather alien job will always be a fine balancing act and in order to give my best performance there, I have to let go of worrying about my most precious musical assets – my hands. Tonight, as I prepare mentally for 4 days of exciting new dots, stripes and indications, I look down at the paper and cardboard lacerations from dismantling the reinforced boxes I struggle to crack open and allow them time to heal. I bemoan the sore soles of my Skechered feet. I never practice on a Wednesday evening. My head’s not right never mind my body.

Did you know I have a house in Wales? Wow, that’s amazing, you may well think. Lucky bitch, you may think. Think again. It’s the first house I bought, a quaint and characterful 2 up 2 down with small cottage gardens at the front and back. I’ve been renting it out since 2007 and it helped me finance my postgraduate studies and the mortgage for the house I currently live in. The latest tenant, a creative arty type who paid 6 months rent upfront at the start of her tenancy and looked good enough on paper, has turned out to be a bit of a nutbag. She stopped paying rent properly last year and has been receiving assistance from a government body. I am owed a significant amount of money, money with which I could do a myriad of wonderful things, top of the list a proper holiday. Did someone mention Santorini? I wish! I had to take the tenant to court last month, using up my precious paid leave. More money, more expense. I quite enjoyed the court experience though, despite my concerns beforehand. It wasn’t at all like what you see on telly and I felt pleased to have someone take my side and point out the error of her ways.

Yesterday was eviction day at the Rare Bit house and you know what? She’s still there. She hasn’t budged. More hardship, more going without the small luxuries I might like to indulge in, and I’m scrimping on everyday basics I need. I’m fucked off. I’m seriously fed up. I might get to go back to court though.

I’m so fed up I’m going for a run. Running doesn’t solve my problems but it allows me to empty my head and rid myself of some of the aggressive energy I have pent up inside me. I’d like to do things to this woman which belie my kind and generous nature. You don’t fuck with Rare Bit.

I share a lot of Alain de Botton’s content on my Facebook page, somewhat selfishly as I enjoy checking his stuff out late at night after work. A lot of his work resonates strongly. Maybe we’re of a similar age. I wish he’d do a short video or write a piece called “Why do people act like arseholes?”

I finally figured out my 16 going on 17 year old cat has gone completely deaf. I googled it. Her meows have amplified in volume since Christmas. She can’t hear herself. I bloody can! She sleeps in a deep coma for hours on end and doesn’t hear me call her when she’s awake. She sounds aggrieved and frantic whenever she sees me. I’m afraid that other than an escorted walk round the block which she loves so much when the weather picks up, she’ll have to stay in to avoid being chased by dogs, cats and cars. Llwyd has always been bold, lolling in the sunshine in the middle of the street outside our house, strutting past the house at the end of the terrace with a pack of loudly barking Rottweilers enclosed behind just high enough fencing. Can’t catch me, she glares at them teasingly.

Let sleeping cats lie. Preferably on top of great music

I could moan about all my woes and make this whingeing Wednesday but I’d rather make it whoopee Wednesday which will lead to triumphant Thursday. Expression is the most important thing. Nobody wants to read about the shit you’re going through but it fucking helps to get it out in black and white. If you’re still reading, well done!

I bumped into the bin man again on my way to work today. We chatted and he said I’m always smiling. Little does he fucking know but in all honesty I feel better when I smile so fuck it. : D

Last Sunday, I played 2 solo spots in a concert I’d been looking forward to since I was invited. I had carefully chosen a programme of tried and tested pieces from my repertoire and I’d included a piece I’ve wanted to relearn properly which feels semi biographical. Illness prevented me from playing at what I felt was my best but I played the best I could have under the circumstances. Sounds like I’m making excuses and I detest that. A perfectionist with an obsession about detailed preparation, I felt more defenceless than usual in an unfamiliar situation. I winged it more than I like winging it and vowed never to play rough and ready like that again. Two days prior to the gig, I was in 2 minds about asking someone to replace me. I’d already been paid. It was like a rollercoaster ride gone wrong.

The performance was eventful to say the least but there were some special moments. It took place in a church with huge windows looking out on gardens with a labyrinth and there were snowdrops and daffodils.

Every half hour or so the heating would come on and I started sweating profusely. My harp dug her heels in and refused to stay in tune despite 3 efforts at retuning, blowing hot and cold back at me with a passion. I unwillingly refused to be seduced from my tuning efforts with a half dozen attempts by concerned individuals to ply me with tea and cake in the interval. I had to hold back on answering questions from curious members of the audience who were intrigued and fascinated by my harp. You’ll get a chance after the interval, I promised.

On stage, poised for Act 2, I got a sinking feeling when I couldn’t find my playing specs. Dashing around looking for them took almost 5 minutes but everyone was good humoured about it and I got a round of applause when I finally returned to the stage after finding them in the changing room and not with my harp, where I thought I’d left them.

My Q&A session began by spinning my harp around and asking “Have you ever seen the backside of a harp?” which prompted much gasping followed by a wave of laughter and several interesting questions. I thought my playing was poor by my standards, but my audience engagement has improved massively and I really enjoyed public speaking, maybe for the first time. The playing will follow suit for sure.

Time to run, need to work up an appetite…

I’m back! Hearing the hypnotic hoot of the owl which welcomed me as I stepped outside and seeing the moon slightly fuller than half way reflects my feelings. Problems? What problems? I don’t give a hoot anymore.

Calmlanding

The Long Road to Freedom

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Contentedness

Just under a year ago, I took up running and hiking as an addition to my swimming classes. I had several reasons for choosing these disciplines and the most obvious reason was how accessible these forms of exercise are to me. Throw on a decent pair of shoes and some clothing appropriate for the season and off I could go.

Over the past 10 months, I’ve been experimenting, exploring, discovering new routes and seeing how far I could push myself in speed, distance and level of difficulty. Yesterday was a pinnacle in my journey so far. I walked the longest distance I’ve ever walked in my life. Read that again.

I wouldn’t have described myself as a couch potato before but I certainly had an aversion to anything that made my heart beat faster, preferring more refined epicurean recreations like cooking, reading and navel gazing, which I now describe as reflection since I recognize it also has massive benefits on my personal and professional wellbeing.

I’ve learnt I prefer exercising alone. I have more awareness and control over my emotions in these circumstances and I know just how hard I can push myself. It’s all about keeping myself safe. When I’m in danger, my inner child screams very loudly and persistently and she is almost always right. Listen to her and my world is my oyster.

Prison

I’ve been on a group walk and it was good, but as I’m relatively inexperienced, I did feel like I stood out. I didn’t have the right equipment and I was dependent on a bunch of rather nice complete strangers to keep me safe. A low point was finally having to wild wee within eyesight of 3 other walkers after hours of testing my bladder strength. One of the benefits was learning new routes locally, some of which I would never choose to walk again. Why would you plan a route that involves negotiating a boggy quagmire of slimy mud 3 miles into an 8 mile hike?

Last weekend I pulled out of a local walk. The description foretold a section involving mud (alarm bells) and nowhere to wild wee (even BIGGER alarm bells) and the pub where we were meeting would be shut when we set off, so no opportunity to empty my unpredictably temperamental bladder just before setting off. 6 miles without a wazz seemed way too risky. I’ve wet myself a couple of times while out running and I certainly don’t want to endure that with other people watching! Imagine the chafing from walking 5 miles in damp leggings. No thanks! The tipping point was reading that cake was to be bought. Go without cake, I said reassuringly to myself. Cake doesn’t matter, there’ll be plenty of cake to go around. I could buy one en route, from a bakery so it looks home made. Run out and get some ingredients and I can bake one tonight, even though I have a million and one other things to do. Insert exploding head emoji. She talked me out of it. She was right. I don’t regret not going and that route will be learnt another time.

Reward

Yesterday marked a new departure in my journey. I completed a walk of 13.55 miles. It didn’t feel that far as it was through some of the most spectacular scenery Yorkshire has to offer and it’s right here on my doorstep, well a 2 mile drive up a road that’s too dangerous to walk along.

I changed during that walk. Everything is different now. I realised I can have absolute trust in myself. I realised I’m capable of far more than I think. The walk started downhill. This is easy, I thought to myself. I got to my destination and knew I hadn’t walked enough. Off I went up a track I’d explored with the group. I got to the top and went along a different route towards the moors. Fear started to prickle. I had an unfortunate run in with a peaty bog last summer and didn’t want to repeat that incident. My curiosity got the better of me and a well worn track got me almost back to the village. Familiarity brought relief. At 2pm with darkness due at 4, I weighed up my options. Worst case scenario I could call a taxi. Pah! No cheating! Off I went, reversing my route at a fair lick. Hunger was nipping my heels but I didn’t want to stop until I got to the bottom of the moors where I knew I’d have a 3 mile uphill section past some ravishingly beautiful reservoirs.

Spine

Get there by 3 and everything will be alright. A man with his gorgeous pointer dog Brian wanted to chat. Be polite but MOVE GIRL!! Cold, windswept and tired, I gulped my coffee thirstily in one go and guzzled my energy bar with gusto. Boy had I worked up an appetite! My car within eyesight, I sat on the bench to take in the view.

Everything had changed.

That evening I felt like I’d thoroughly decluttered my mind and body. The feeling was a heady blend of pumped and knackered. Pumpackered (copyright Rare Bit Blogging).

At the beginning of 2020 I finally firmly closed doors on unfulfilling work opportunities that cause me stress and anxiety. Financially I’ve never been poorer. Personally my cup brims pretty damn full. I’m happier and more content than I’ve ever been. I’m desperate for a holiday and each distance walk or run feels like a mini break when I visit new places. In my harp practice today there is flow and freedom and there’s a playfulness in my work which has been lacking of late. It’s been like a creative release, unleashing vivid imagination, expressive storytelling and vibrant colour in my music. I’ve experienced incredible mental clarity – it felt like having a new brain. I would pay money to listen to me. At the end of last year I started to meet people who might pay me for my creativity in a way that I can manage.

If you’re facing some challenges in life, get yourself out there. Start small and push a little bit each time, but listen to your body and your mind – be careful with that one! There’s a few tricksters that can’t be trusted hidden inside us all. You’ll always find good reasons not to do it, but you might be surprised how much you learn about yourself if you do take that first step to freedom.

Thief!

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Any guesses what this is?

At work on Monday, I chased a shoplifter out of the shop. The fact he’d already stuffed his jacket with steaks is irrelevant. I’d spotted him on the CCTV monitor and buzzed for the manager. Seeing him make his way towards the doors, a surge of adrenalin sent me running along the aisles beyond the safe boundaries of the shop. I grabbed him by his sleeve. Behoodied, he turned and gave me a sideways glance before running for the bridge in the town centre. What would I have done? Tackled him and pinned him to the floor? Unzipped his jacket to liberate him of his precious meat? I half expected someone to help but it was too late. He was gone, along with a share of the profits. What fuelled me to risk life and limb for a rare bit hunk of rump? Anger actually. It flared up and when he turned to look at me, I wanted to scream at him to get a f**king job like the rest of us.

When I was about 10, I stole a sweetie necklace from the petrol station. I’ll never forget it. I was racked with guilt. I clearly still am.

Life’s been less eventful than last week. My wrist feels much better (thanks for asking) and doing very little practice was a wise move. I had an extremely fruitful fayre on Sunday, restoring my faith in them as a good business investment, the pinnacle being taking a deposit on the day. There’s no better feeling after a long hard day’s work flogging my wares, trying to convince potential clients that my harp and I really are the divine heavenly perfect finishing touch missing from their big day, and why wouldn’t everyone have live music at their wedding to make their day complete? Music is, of course, the proverbial cherry on the proverbial wedding cake but not everyone feels the same way I do about music and at the end of the week I often have to dig quite deep to keep my performer/saleswoman persona going. I miss my regular practice and, with fayre season in full flow, I’m going with that. There’s a lull until November and more paid playing work coming up, thank god.

A sense of play is fundamental to my wellbeing. I liken myself to a bowling ball swaggering playfully along the hardwood alley towards the ten (Twenty? Thirty? More?) pins of my life. Striking a few of them each week is a win. Today my focus is on socialising and my creative work. The cleaning can wait. Last night involved the cooking extravaganza I’ve been promising myself and I used up a lot of the veg I’ve been hoarding, some of it rather the worse for wear, bulk purchased to be incorporated into a mouthwatering menu of exciting exotic dishes. Running out of steam by 7pm, I made a jaw poppingly hot curry. The stew recipe I want to try will stew until next week. As for baking, I’m sure I’ve got a free rainy Sunday coming up. My current obsessions are food and exercise. It’s all about balance.

To socialising then. Last week I invited an interesting customer for a coffee. On Saturday I went on an 8 mile hike with 30 complete strangers. Once past the flush of inadequacy and awkward hellos and as long as I’m not the centre of attention, I’m fine. I’m really trying. Maybe I’m trying too hard.

Looking out this morning at an exquisite sky the colour of parma violets, I’m feeling ok about this time of year which can be challenging for many of us. The nights have drawn in and daylight comes at a premium. With less playing work than I’d like and significantly fewer gigs than last year, I might need to take on some extra shifts at the shop. Most of the time I’m ok with that and I veer between excitement and fear about exploring the new possibilities ahead of me.

Every time I cross the bridge over the stream that leads me to the shop, I pause to watch the ducks. Wearing a face like thunder, I lock my creativity safely in my car for the journey home which involves ranting and singing loudly after a few minutes post shift solemn silence. I watch the rowdy antics of my funny feathered friends. I listen to their comedic cacophonous quacks, and solemnly remind myself of the alternative – motorway journeys.

Have you ever worked on a shop floor? Looks easy doesn’t it but let me tell you it’s really hard work! My concern is always my hands, swiftly followed by my head. At times, I have to stop myself from nutting some customers and I’m learning not to take things personally at work.

I’m not much of a taker but I’m a thief too. I thieve from nature. I thieve from the handful of customers that vibrate on a higher frequency and I absorb their energy to power me through my shift. I still remember the man in a pink shirt who came in on a miserable September day and radiated joy and good vibes. We need more of that. My aim at the shop is to dish that out more generously than I receive it.

M came in and as I was chatting away with him, conscientiously doing his packing, we heard a woman’s voice. I checked my mobile and it wasn’t pocket phone. Was it the voice of god? Was she a woman after all? No. I’d been propping myself up against the till and had obliviously pressed the button panic button on the safety device I have to wear around my neck. Speak to her! exclaimed the manager. Slightly freaked out after my eventful day, I did and apologised. False alarm. Oops. I always worry I’m going to get sacked for being too slow and talking to customers too lengthily. My paranoia led me to believe somehow HQ had seen I hadn’t followed the protocol I learnt way back when I did my induction. For f**k sake.

Deadlines

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And so it happened. The thing I feared most since I started my Proper Job happened. I jammed my hand between the wall and a heavy roller cage laden high with cases of beer, wine and spirits. There’s irony for you. I was heaving and hefting, huffing and puffing to get the bastard thing up the ramp into the fridges and, assisted by K, got my hand jammed just above my wrist. Time froze, as did my wrist afterwards, plunged into ice water in the canteen sink. Lightning quick thinking from K – thanks. The shock and shooting pain brought sorrowful sobs from deep down inside. Five minutes later, ice pack on wrist and dosed up with ibuprofen, I was back at the tills. With over 2 hours left of my shift, I asked if my role could be limited to lighter work, a more desirable option than going home and having to call someone in. Being busy helped keep my mind off the disaster that befell me but as soon as there was a lull in traffic, tears started pricking my eyes as I saw what’s left of my playing career wash down the drain. Don’t worry, it’s just bruised and a bit sore today but I can play a bit. I love a bit of drama me.

Proof that running makes your legs longer?

I’ve never taken my hands for granted. I’ve always been super careful but this year I’ve taken more risks. I’ve become more active physically and pushed my swimming harder, starting weekly lessons on top of my pool fitness classes in July. It’s a time saving idea, so I get a double session in twice a week which saves time fannying around in the changing room. This also gives my callouses time to recover and I think the chlorine hardens the skin on my fingers. With a very wet Autumn upon us, weather is no excuse since it’s often drier in the pool. The irresistibly addictive endorphin rush is the main reason I’m hooked on swimming, as well as running and walking. I often arrive at the baths grumpy and ridden with angst about the future. An hour and a half later I’m a hyperactive gregarious mass of energy, giggling as I bounce out of the leisure centre, whooping in my car as I drive home to get back to my work.

In September I completed my 100 miles walking and running. My friend and mentor Gareth instilled the idea in me, and getting so close in August with 87 miles in the bag, I decided I’d give it a go. No pressure as I had a lot of work to do, but the idea was niggling away in the back of my mind. Feeling a bit aimless about my career, having a target and anticipating that sense of achievement made me want to get up in the morning. So on the morning of 30 September, I notched up 100.9 miles. Think about that. I don’t think I drive 100 miles in a month these days, and that’s another story. I would have bettered my 100 but I wanted to celebrate my achievement with a flask of coffee by the res and a slow ceremonious absorbent stroll.

Hip flask

It was a spectacular morning and my elation was immense. I was at peace.

It’s difficult to describe Gareth Boot. He’s a bit of a chameleon. With his generous support, coaching and mentorship, I’m now almost 2 years sober and smoke free. I’m fitter than I’ve ever been and with his support, I feel equipped to face life’s challenges. If you need assistance with any aspect of your wellbeing, take a look at garethboot.com and drop him a line. He’d love to hear from you so long as you’re not an arsehole! With his lovely partner Sue, they run a company called Better 247 which focuses on all things wellbeing. Sue does a gorgeous banana cake too, amongst an ever expanding range of other delicious vegan recipes. Gareth took me on a run earlier this week and I notched up 10.34 miles. Me! It wasn’t pretty but that doesn’t matter. I did it. That’s what matters.

Mr Boot in full flow at YSP

Since the incident at the shop, I’ve really got my head down and started to face the issues I’m avoiding around getting creative work. I can play the harp. I can write. I’m good at languages and I can cook, and clean if I must. The bigger issue is telling people about myself and getting people to hire me. My business skills are improving but I’m not a natural saleswoman. I’m aware of my talents and my weaknesses and that’s a good starting point.

What’s an introvert/extravert creative to do?

A Rare Bit of a F****r of a Week

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Deep water

It’s Saturday in the middle of one of those never ending hamster wheel weeks during which the days all seem to meld into one. I’ve taken on some extra shifts so every day feels like Monday. Usually I like Mondays but not at the moment. I’ve worked shifts Monday, Wednesday and yesterday and I’ve got a 7am shift tomorrow, and it all starts again on Monday. I’m now 6 months into this job and I feel I’m getting worse at it! The fast pace of the world of retail definitely isn’t for me forever, but how else am I going to earn a living? I was offered 5 evening sessions of orchestral work this week for a paltry amount of money and the sad fact is that, financially, I’m better off doing the shop work. I’m also ecstatic not to have to sit twiddling my thumbs on a motorway.

Unfortunately the skills and qualities I possess seem to hold very little value in the world of retail. The faster you go, the more money you make? I disagree. I feel it’s important to gear my level of service to each customer. I have an awareness of those in a rush, who have no time for, or interest in, a bit of lighthearted banter. And then there are other, often older, customers who clearly fancy a bit of a chinwag and there’s nothing I’d love more but I know I’m being observed. Time is money but people are people.

I dashed out of the shop yesterday. There was a tangibly tense atmosphere during my shift in any case. There’d been a power outage in town on Thursday and I gathered the shop had been shut for some time. The residual atmosphere of mayhem and chaos was oppressive. I tried to help my colleagues when there were no customers waiting to be served, but as it isn’t my usual shift, I ended up causing a bit more mayhem and chaos. Four hours later and slightly more agitated than usual, I went straight to the car and cried a bit. Then I got angry so I dozed for 15 minutes before heading to J’s for lunch. Determined to put a brave face on, I got out of my car, smiled my hello and promptly burst into tears! I just can’t hide my feelings. It was a relief to feel free to express my emotions and not brush aside the fact I’m so utterly miserable about several aspects of my life at the moment. I’m not looking forward to much. When I get home I don’t have that feeling of relief. I find it very hard to just be.

J suggested I try to renegotiate my contract and stop taking on extra shifts. Learn to say no. Yes, but how am I going to pay my mortgage? Pay for promotional work? Book my next holiday? Buy that wetsuit? How about a reading chair for the attic? A lounger for the garden? I’m fucking doing this single handed and you loyal readers who follow my blog will know I often think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew with my house project, rattling around it like a loose cannon. The thing is, this job offers me the freedom to explore things I probably wouldn’t have considered, like wild swimming. And spinning.

I did my first class last night and of course I thought I was dying, mainly of saddle sore rather than a heart attack actually. C and I arrived at the gym to a short queue of young women. She asked who was teaching and they said J. A knowing ripple of trepidation ran around the anteroom outside the dark chamber of horrors with its disco lighting and loud techno music. Apparently it was J last week and one of the women still had chafing on her thighs. Out popped “Never mind that, how was the class?” I can’t help myself.

Now here’s something. Get this. There were men in spin. There are very few men in pool classes, and they’re clearly gay or taken. Same goes at the shop. But yes, there were men. Hmmmmm.

Spin was hard. It was really hard! I’m booked in for next week.

I enjoy some lovely engagement with some of the male customers at the shop. An unfamiliar man came in a couple of weeks ago. It was quiet at the tills and after a bit of conversation, I asked if he’d ever been told he looked like someone famous. Yes, he had. He’s the image of a very cool American actor so we had a good laugh at that.

He came in yesterday with his gorgeous honeydew-haired bright-eyed 8/9 year old daughter. It transpires they live down the road, literally a stone’s throw away. He was in a bright yellow top and running gear and said it was time to pull himself into shape again. I told him I might see him running round the hills. Wishful thinking. I’m not the kind of woman to even consider participating in the rupture of an existing relationship, which is often how people come together, or not, as the case may be. Not, as is the case with me. Several people I know have met a significant other while they were already in relationships. What about me? Why not me? I am good enough and I have a hell of a lot to offer. Yellow t-shirt man is attractive and personable but clearly out of bounds. I wouldn’t say I’m actively looking at the moment but I’m always on the lookout, like several single women I know. What is this need, this urge for a man? It isn’t just sex. I love my close female friends but I don’t half miss the balance a male figure adds to the mix.

A social media quote I like from this week’s crop

I desperately need a new mattress. After a quick online search, all I see now on social media are adverts of attractive couples enjoying sidesplittingly hilarious pillow fights on pristine queen beds, their hair perfectly teased and tousled, sporting crisp linen clothing hot off the ironing board. There’s not a coffee stain in sight, no crease or crumb to be found. I might shelve the mattress thing for the time being. Don’t singles deserve good beds too? The world of social media is no place for a single woman, I can tell you.

Seriously? Hellish temptation for a beach loving lover of sleep

A spur of the moment decision this week was to have proper swimming lessons, so I’ve booked a block of 8 weeks starting on Wednesday. The teachers and I had a quick chat and A put me in the intermediate/advanced group. She knows how I work in aquafit and aqua bootcamp so it was reassuring not be put in the absolute beginners group. They asked what I wanted out of lessons. I want to feel confident in the water, develop my strength and technique, be able to swim with my head underwater, do breaststroke and crawl efficiently, and breathe correctly. Not much to ask then! A wanted to observe me do breaststroke for a length so off I went, steamy goggles glued on, ready for the worst. It felt amazing to have my head underwater again after all these years. It was an almost claustrophobic feeling of freedom, with all external life blocked out by the water.

I can see clearly now

I loved swimming as a kid and one of the highlights was winning my badges for swimming various distances and having my trophies hand stitched onto my bottle green costume by Mam. Like most mothers, she just wanted to make sure I’d stand a chance of survival if ever I found myself in deep water.

My technique needs work and I feel excited about improving my swimming. When I told C I’d started lessons, she said a word I’m still toying with – triathlon. I’d need to practice a lot though. I’m not that keen on cycling and I can’t fix punctures either. I have wonky hips from playing. When I swim, my right foot goes the wrong way after years of pedalling behind the harp. It means I can’t swim in a straight line yet. That could be my USP.

I’ve taken on an orchestral gig at the beginning of August. The work takes place over 2 days and it ticks a few boxes, so I’m going to have to slim down my routine and be a bit more disciplined about my practice, and refuse any extra shifts on offer. The other night I played for almost 2 hours and it really felt fantastic. There was a sense of freedom and I actually sounded quite good, even if I say so myself. I played the music I love rather than music I have to learn for money. I’ll have more of that please.

You may well question why my focus has shifted from music to exercise. I expended so much on music to the detriment of many other facets of my life. Music was my reason for getting up in the morning. Exercise is an excellent substitute and I’m optimistic it will lead me along a healthier path. The feeling after exertion in either discipline is similar and exercise just happens to be more accessible to me now. I’m still an addict, whether my chosen substance is adrenaline or endorphins. Either of those are better than alcohol. Just give me my next fix!

Apologies for the gruesome nature of this image but look what the cat dragged in! She isn’t a natural hunter. Squirrel surprise…

P.S. Sunday afternoon – today’s shift? I nailed it… Have a happy sunny Sunday, dear readers 😎

Rare Bit Out of Water

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Fork off – the road less travelled

What a day this has been. What a swell mood I’m in, and it’s almost like being in love with life again. My day started beautifully with a 20 minute 2.2km run (yes, you read that right, this former heavy smoker/binge drinker never-exercised-in-her-life couch-potato) around the reservoir.

Yesterday evening I had another stunning res run, more of an indulgent 4km dawdle really as I took in the flora and fauna and the incredible scenery I’m so lucky to have right here on my doorstep.

Sunday – stormy weather. Spot the lapwing

I’m still incredulous at the effect physical exercise has on my mental state. On Monday, I was flaky to say the least. Forgetful could periodically become my middle name – did I mention I left my house keys in the door overnight recently? My mood dropped on Saturday night as I felt worse and worse about myself and became isolated, condemning myself to seemingly endless hours of solitary confinement. It’s all about work really. I had a rough shift with rude obnoxious drunks (talk about pot/kettle/black – I feel a sense of regret, even though I was labelled a funny drunk and mainly drank alone at home) and I keep letting work affect me. I’m in a transition phase in which I miss music so much but I no longer crave the lifestyle I often enjoyed 5 years ago. I don’t want to sit in my car for hours on end. I don’t want to stress out about not being offered work. I have no ambition whatsoever to be Principal Harp with an orchestra. I want to share my love for music and creativity in different ways, through performance, teaching and perhaps writing. Maybe it’s normal at this stage in my life where I’m probably peri-menopausal. As I review my life and my choices, I regret a few things which I realise come down to living quite a nomadic life. Yes, I’ve travelled a lot. I’ve seen some amazing places and lived some life changing experiences, but I was always so focused on my work that my personal life was left by the wayside. I was never really a tourist at my destinations.

True, that
Who’s that?

As I approach one big L of a birthday benchmark, living my life to its fullest has become my priority. I want to enjoy myself. I want to have fun. I want to meet new people. I’d love to meet a significant other. I want to finish my house off and get it looking and feeling like the dream home I envisioned when I bought it eight years ago. It might yet happen. I can see it a lot of the time, more and more as I write. Words become flesh.

Combining business with pleasure really works for me. This morning’s run took place before my 4 hour Wednesday shift. I saw oystercatchers and curlews and the weather was wonderful. I got so excited about my day! I had my long awaited picnic in the sun and basked barefoot before heading for the bakery scented air-conditioned shop. My mood dwindled gradually as the endorphins rushed away and by the 4th hour, my focus was drifting big time. I made a mistake, at least I thought I’d made a mistake. I’m still not sure but to be on the safe side, I called the manager and ‘fessed up. At the end of my shift I was called into the office by the other manager as he started his shift. We discussed events, and I felt worse and worse as I tried to make sense of the contributing factors which led to my hesitation. Dear readers, I cried. I couldn’t help it. It was out of guilt at the knock on effect my error has on others. I admit I’m slow and I lack confidence because I truly am a bit out of my depths. I feel like a fish out of water. Shop work isn’t my ideal job and I don’t think I’m cut out for it, but it’s a hell of a lot better than being on the dole and sponging off the state. I’m enjoying learning new skills and I LOVE meeting people, engaging with them and if I can and if it’s appropriate, bringing some cheer into their day. I suppose they call it work because it’s just that. Unfortunately, I find it hard to see it as just that.

I processed things before collapsing in a sleepy heap on the sofa for an hour and I decided to leave it all at the shop. I’m not carrying that round with me until my next shift. I likened my situation to that of let’s say an unmusical manager having a hundred hours of harp lessons and having to play for a wedding. I rest my case.

I have no playing work until the end of August (make that the end of July actually – oops!) which gives me ample time to sort my shit out and do some serious planning around my creativity and the life I want for myself. In many ways, I’m lucky not to have the burden of children but that brings with it an almost all consuming engulfing sense of emptiness. My cat is great company but she can’t satisfy most of my needs.

Thumping the pavements and grass verges around the village and its environs gives me headspace, and the meditative state I enter is a very positive addiction. I WANT to get up in the morning. I still feel fear around getting lost, falling and failing but that soon passes with the passionate pumping of my increased heart rate. I used to avoid exercise out of fear for my hands and feet. Breaking something would mean loss of income and not surviving. That’s gone and I mock myself a bit as encouraging phrases like “she galloped gazelle-like past flaming gorse on a scramble through burnished broom, brazen bramble and nettle” stream through my head, huffing and puffing, red-faced with exertion. When it’s not words, it’s music and lyrics. Just now, I was preparing a hard boiled egg for lunch and “Peel It” by Michael Jackson popped into my ears. It’ll be there all afternoon if I’m not careful! Does it ever stop? I’m not sure and I find that reassuring. I’m learning to manage my creativity in new ways. I’d say my resilience is at an all time high.

In the pool last night, I watched my buddy C get out and ogled her sculpted left buttock. She goes to spin class. Hmmmmm. I wonder when I could fit spin in…

Funeral Blues

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Going Up

I just got back from a 36 hour flying visit to Wales for a family funeral. To say that a funeral is an emotionally charged occasion is an understatement. Myriad memories of the deceased are relived. A panoply of tales are told with a twinkle in the storyteller’s eye.

My Aunt was a character and a half, and then some. She shone very brightly. She was totally bonkers. Nice bonkers of course. The cars lining the leafy b-roads leading to the crossroads where the tiny chapel is situated told the tale of her popularity. She was a much loved woman.

Clever! Did I mention the chapel was rural?

There weren’t enough pews for everyone. Her friends and acquaintances overflowed into the vestry, where the funeral tea was served afterwards.

On our way up, I pleaded for a pitstop at the bakery in town as I desperately needed a little something to keep me going before the funeral. My family went ahead without me as I wolfed down my scalding hot crispy savoury snack in the car. It was a significant improvement on the mass produced slightly anaemic sausage roll I got at the services the day before, but that filled a gap. My hunger meant I had to go into the small intimate chapel on my own. My worst nightmare! There was no room for me until my considerate cousins cosied up. I breathed a sigh of relief as I nestled in.

It was quite a long service and a loving tribute to our Annie. A storm was forecast, rendering the chapel airless and stuffy. After the vicar greeted us, the service started with the singing of one of my favourite hymns, Calon Lân. The organist played beautifully for almost an hour as we congregated in the chapel. The singing was heartfelt and most definitely Welsh. There’s always a welcome in the hillsides. Music was a focal point and the service was brought to its close with a recording of a simple stunning male and female duo featuring some chromatic harmonisation that was very easy on the ear.

The wake was very busy and smalltalk was difficult with a crescendo of voices clamouring to find out the latest news. Tea always tastes exceptionally good at funerals, the piping hot brew served up from giant teapots soothing the souls of those who’d come to pay their last respects. Buttered bara brith and icing sugar dusted sponge cakes sweetened our sorrows and offered a metaphoric hug to mourners.

Mam was a bit subdued. Quite a few of her friends have passed away recently. She told me about one friend who had fallen, struck her head and died immediately. What a blessing, I thought to myself. If I had a choice, I’d like to go like that. No long debilitating agonising illness that robs me of any remaining dignity please. I’d like to be healthy and mobile with as many of my marbles as possible.

I got a bit upset just before I drove back. I didn’t see my eldest nephew at all and saw too little of the twins who had their own social agendas to attend to rather than mess about with their daft flaky aunt. It’s tough spending snippets of time with family to return home where I feel rather rootless at the moment. I have this feeling of stripping back the layers and being so very exposed and vulnerable as my defences are taken away one by one. Music, my safe hiding place, is less available to me at the moment and although I find some solace in writing and spending time safe in my nest up here in the attic, it doesn’t provide the same emotional and artistic nourishment that live performance does.

Eye spy. We had a nice chat

On Sunday I visited close friends on my way to Wales. Tea was brewed just as I arrived and we went to the local award winning chippy for a Sunday special of cod, chips and mushy peas with a side of order of battered gherkins. Wow, how good were they?! Tart and vinegary and just the right texture. Who’d have thought? Small tubs of ice cream were on special offer and although they weren’t nearly as nice as the ice cream we had in Sardinia, dark chocolate won. I rein it in but I’d fight over ice cream. Sundae spoons were drawn after noon.

Wanting to spend as much time engaged with other humans as I could, I was dismayed to be overcome by postprandial fatigue. My consolation was that it was the kind of situation where I could whip off my boots, dangle my feet over the end of the sofa, put my sunglasses on and comfortably go into a deep coma for half an hour. Never mind FOMO, it would have been rude not to!

There was a cracking golden red yolky sunset when I left town this evening and as I drove up towards home, it was into mist, but that summery sort of mist that brings with it good weather. Lord knows, we need it. I swapped this afternoon’s shift with one of my colleagues so I could attend the funeral, so I’ve got a double whammy 8 hour shift on Wednesday. Sunshine wouldn’t half sugar coat those hours. It is what it is, and I wouldn’t have it any other way!

I love/hate funerals. They’re a poignant excuse for a family get together. “Why don’t we meet more often?” were words I heard again and again at the wake.

Why don’t we?

Rare Bit

Pretty wrought

Away

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Good evening dear readers, or should that be good morning? I’m away but I wanted to share a couple of images of some rare bits I collected today. In essence it’s a free evening, so I can blog, even though it’s just on my mobile. Not such a technophobe after all, eh?

Services 40 minutes from home. I told them it’s a good job I don’t work there, I’d be spending all my time in here.

Beautiful peonies from my garden, their huge heads almost as big as mine

Rare Bit aka Rare Bit Bogging