Fading

I've just been inspired by Jeannies's post today to expand on something I was writing about earlier to my Sister, Bluebell, in Australia . . . Ageing, the "decline" in our physical appearance or "Physical Fading" as Cloudia, one of Jeannie's commenters called it.
Being relatively new to it, I had imagined hoped it would be a temporary feeling . . . that as time passed I would, along with fading some more, be more accepting of it . . . Settle into it. Now I'm wondering if that really happens.
When I say I'm new to it, I mean I'm new to getting pissed off about it. I suppose over the last five years, which is roughly how long I've been "fading" so far . . . Whenever it's started to bother me I've swept it away under that carpet, convincing myself that I could soon rewind if I was that bothered . . . I'd only have to . . . Well, lose a bit of weight . . .  get my teeth fixed . . . and tone up a bit . . . re-colour my hair . . .buy some clothes that fit me . . . and . . . "Sigh".

Obviously as the years have crept on, the idea of rewinding feels like a lot of work . . . and the chances of it happening, more remote. Now all of a sudden I wonder if it's even possible?  . . . and say, to an extent it were possible, do I really want this or is it just empty vanity . . . one day the fading will need to be accepted.
Surely it must be. Is it a process whereby acceptance grows as the fading progresses? It must be.
I realised today that it's depressing me slightly . . . As in, looking good used to make me feel good . . . Or did  it? or did I just feel good because I was younger. But say they were connected . . . is that so bad?

It came to light a bit this weekend when LQ (Hamper G's Dad)'s Brother, the one who drives me to prison, popped round with one of their other Brothers who's been in Glasgow/Pakistan for a few years. It's been six years since I saw him. He didn't look any different really but he's 39 . . . I didn't change much between 33 and 39. In fact I've never changed this much in any given 5 years (since I was 16) Sodding menopause. He looked horrified surprised, I didn't even realise why till two days later . . . I've put on two stone, gone from blonde to dark hair with grey roots . .  Have a few less teeth . .  permanently wear a hoody and tracky bottoms where I used to wear skinny jeans and more flattering jumpers . . . And I dare say I have a load "tiredness/stressness lines". . . Not to mention the whiskers!  Shit no wonder he looked "surprised" . . .  He did well to not to look fucking shocked.
So all this got me to thinking . . . to try and rewind . . . Is it chasing unattainable, long gone, youth? . . . Would I be one of those women having yearly face lifts if I could afford it in a few years? . . . Am I kidding myself I'll feel better because I felt better back then when I looked better?  Am I kidding myself that this re-wind is even a possibility? or that I'm even bothered, really, when it comes to it, most days? . . . does it really matter?
Is it just early days of mourning the twinkling . . .  and accepting the "fading".
Maybe the further we walk away from youth, the less we look back. I don't know. Maybe not everyone does look back in this way. I don't know. It's certainly not my youth that I want back . . . I'm quite happy with my age. I just want a bit of "youthfulness" I suppose . . . In my fifties ;-)  Is that too much to ask?

I just lit a ciggy and glanced over the page . . . there's a lot of "Maybes" and question marks. Maybe I'm questioning it all too much? there goes two more.
I can't remember if I've made my point . . . and unless I remember what my point was I don't suppose I will know. Maybe I'll leave it there. I think I'm tired. Shit! It's gone one! I need my beauty/youthfulness sleep ;-)

Thinking about it . . . I don't think I had a point . . . Just a load of questions. And now it's nearly two! (Yes it took over half an hour to write two lines!)

Sweet dreams and days to all.

It's 2am again!

Okay I've started on my index and a few ideas of how to do this. I don't really want to put too much thought into it . . . just to tell a few stories. Obviously as in any person's life there's a mixture of sadness, pain, joy, tragedy, sex, humour, love and the odd bit of normality. I am neither ashamed nor proud of my past. I didn't plan my life this way . . . It is what it is. Where there is pain, I'm not looking for sympathy and where I've caused pain I'm not pleased with myself, again it's just the way it was and I'm not gonna lie. I will neither exaggerate  nor sugar coat, I just want to write about some of the events, places and people in my life so far. I'm not looking to lay blame anywhere nor to shock. I'm not making excuses or trying to justify the way I've sometimes behaved. I will simply tell it as it is. Or most of it. I have realised I will have to leave some bits out to protect the privacy of my family.

Right, enough of the present I need to go find my rake and see if I can get this carpet back on the floor . . . instead of it sitting on six inches of  family crap that's been swept under there for too long . . . I wouldn't be at all surprised if there's stuff under there that I know nothing about. Family stuff. My lot is all out, I've never been one for hiding dirt under rugs. Metaphorically or literally . . . Even if it's only me that knows it's there, like that screwed up bobble of foil that I threw behind the dolls' house . . . Eventually I had to get it out. Within days rather than years. Maybe I don't do it because I didn't like seeing it done over the years.  Or maybe because I just know there's no point.  Because out of sight is not really out of mind  . . .

Usually.

Except for Saturday lunch time when I was cooking a full English breakfast for Stropster after work. I hadn't noticed Hamper G had stayed upstairs and was being very quiet .  .  . Until I called her down for lunch.
"In a minute" she said. This went on until I was putting the plates on the table.
"C'mon Hamper, it's ready. Now!" I  shouted  . . .
Into the kitchen she came with a bath towel draped over her as if she was playing "ghostees" . . .
Except she wasn't. She made her way over to the kitchen drawer (by looking at the floor I suppose) and from under the towel out came her little hand sneaking a pen (?) back into the drawer. Was it a pen? Had she drawn all over herself? I saw light blue plastic. Light blue plastic . . . . Scissor handles!!  NO. No way.
I pulled the towel off her  . . .  I so didn't want to laugh but I couldn't help myself and neither could Stropster . . . Hamper G just joined in. It was bordering on hysteria. She had chopped her waist length hair off with craft scissors into tufts of roughly ear length!! I say roughly as some tufts were an inch "long" others were three inches "short".
What a mess. Once I'd stopped laughing I felt like crying but not much point in that. Spilt milk and all that.

So it was off to the hairdressers yesterday to see what they could do with it . . . A very short backed kind of angled bob with two wispy longer bits in front of her ears . . . and a bit of a fringe that Hamper had made. I  think the hairdresser just left the fringe as it was. I will post a photo tomorrow.

O No. Its half one . . . again. I best hang up my rake for another night.
Sweet dreams across the world.

Alan Hull . . . and goodnight.

O No its 2am again! got sidetracked  catching up on blogs instead of posting . . . Along the way I discovered Alan Hull had died in 1995 . . . I didn't know. I still have this album on vinyl.
So obviously it was straight to You Tube to find a "tribute" seventeen years later . . . Decisions, decisions.
This was my favourite track at the time of the album . . . So this is it.
I will have to post tomorrow . . . I already missed the alarm this morning, Stropster had a massive panic . . . He only just made it to work on time. I could do without a repeat of that so I'm off to bed.
I read some good posts though . . . Thanks

Happy Birthday to me!

Bloody Hell 49!? . . . Where did that come from?. . . Or more to the point how did I get here? That is a question that I'm gonna start to answer very soon. I've decided that alongside the original purpose of this blog -  To work towards, begin to make and keep track of some changes in the next year and beyond - I'm also gonna write about the past. I've wanted to do this for a long time now and for various reasons but I'm never sure where to start . . . I don't want to write it in any particular order other than writing about an event, a person or a place that takes my fancy at the time . . . So that's how it will be. I hope that it can make sense that way.
Whenever I'm trying to recall at what point a certain event took place I tend to relate it to who I was with at the time . . . Or if it was after the kids were born, then how old they were. As I said in my profile, until 5 years ago I was always in a relationship. The most significant of these lasted between one and five years, although there has been the odd one night, one week, one month romance that has left an impression.
Okay so it doesn't take a mathematical genius to work out that there have been many "significant" others who are included in the story of my life . . . So with no particular order, various locations and so many "others" . . . I may need to do a kind of index/glossary whatever it's called, if for no other reason than to remind myself of where, who, what, when and how the hell I got here?
Yes I will do that . . . I'm not sure how you set up something on separate page with a link at the top of this page . . . but I will find out soon. Soon, but not now as I'm falling asleep.
I'm gonna make an effort to do as little as possible tomorrow  . . . And until then have a deep, undisturbed, sweet and dreamless sleep. Goodnight all.

A lifeline?

I have some news which for some bizarre reason I'm quite excited about. I went to see my new "Drugs worker" yesterday. Recently the service has been taken over by a private company . . . this didn't seem to make any difference really. A little "chat" every fortnight as I collect my script for 70ml daily of methadone . . . Yes all good. Thanks. Bye. See you soon . . . Until yesterday.
I've probably seen the new woman four or five times so she knows a little bit about my habit . . . The excuses, the pattern, the difficulties, the triggers etc. . . . and a bit about my wanting to stop . . . The reasons, the motivation, the struggles etc.
"I've been thinking about you" she said. "O . . . Tell me more"  I said.
"Have you ever been offered or considered a detox?" She said . . . I said . . . "No. No. No. No can do".

We sat and discussed it, taking all things into consideration.  It would mean 10 days in hospital. I would need to reduce my methadone from 70ml to 30 ml before going in and could continue to smoke my bag at night until I go in.
I could opt for either just an opiate detox and come out still on methadone, a total detox coming out clean or after 3 days withdrawing from methadone and gear I could swap over to Suboxone and come out on a low dose of Suboxone. Well I thought it's the only chance I will get to be ill "in peace" so I might as well stop the methadone whilst I'm at it . . . as I don't like it's side effects and I felt much more alert on Suboxone. She's obviously spent some time thinking about my case which is encouraging and thinks it's just what I need.
She was also surprised that in 12 years of addiction, in and out of "treatment", no-one has ever suggested a detox??
As she pointed out it would be hard for me to stop this "evening smoke" at home as that's the time of day when I'm stressed and that is how I "cope". The amount and quality of the gear is such that I'm really getting very little from it but the habit is hard to break.

My first concern was, of course, the kids but providing Hamper G has a place in school by then (we're talking a good 3 or 4 months waiting list)  the family could certainly cope with the kids between them. Geekster's Dad could take a few days off work and could have the two younger ones for a few nights and my Sister in law and Brother would be happy to have them for a few nights too. Stropster would be fine to stay at home. She didn't know until yesterday that I had emphysema and was quick to point out that it would only take one bad chest infection and they might be looking after the kids for a lot longer than 10 days . . . another good reason to detox. Surely it's worth a try?

Of course I realise it will be no holiday and fairly uncomfortable. I've rattled, switched to Suboxone, ran out of methadone/gear and been ill so many times in the past with the kids, that doing any of those things without the kids, in a place where I can just be in peace has to be so much easier. Has to be.

So I decided yes . . . let's give it a go. It could be just the thing. Who knows eh? I'm willing to try.
If anyone can suggest a book or two that might be a worth while read during that time . . . all suggestions are welcome. Anyway I hope you'll all come along for the ride . . . I don't expect I'll be allowed my laptop as there's no contact with the "outside" for the first few days . . . but I will keep a hand written journal and type it out later.

So that's my news. I really feel the timing is right as I'll be 49 this Sunday which now only leaves me 12 months to reach some of my goals. Hey, they've even got a gym there so that could be the start of something else that I've wanted to do for a long time.
Most of the time I'm feeling very optimistic about it all . . . well it's only been just over 24 hours . . . but now and then a niggling doubt writhes it's way in to the hopeful picture . .  and I see myself running, rattling in my pj's to nearest call box to beg my dealer to come get me. Another worry is my "Sudden Inappropriate Crushes" (of the David Dickinson type . . . cr iiin ge) that I get when I'm withdrawing . . . O dear I'm sure there'd be plenty of scope in there . . . especially with my tendency for "rescuing", yes, I know, even when I'm drowning. No. No. No. That cannot, must not and will not happen.

Ok. I'm not going to edit, apart from the spelling, as it's late and there is another post I want to start. This was just a news flash. I will have plenty of time to go into more details after the assessment. And plenty of time to go from optimistic and hopeful to pessimistic and fearful and back again . . . and again.

I hope you all have a good weekend and thanks for reading. Take good care.

Now that really was lighthearted

For various reasons tonight we found ourselves sitting down early, together, with everything done and in the same room. Now this is rare. It's rare even to settle down at the same time particularly on a Sunday night. I'm usually ironing school uniform, running baths, emptying baths, packing lunches and supervising (shouting orders) in general until after nine O'clock. Geekster puts his bath off till after nine, then remembers he has homework. Sometimes Stropster's not home until gone ten then he'll often sit in his room. But tonight was different.

Not only were we sat down together with time to "do something" ie. not on our separate laptops or watching tv . . . but we all agreed we should try out Geekster's "X-factor" karaoke thing, one of his Christmas presents. It works on line through the laptop and you get thousands of songs with it.  He set it up through the stereo speakers and he'd had the sense to order an extra microphone so we could duet. We spent a good couple of hours taking it in turns to choose songs, and who would sing them. It was Brilliant. The best few hours we've spent just us four together for a long time.

 I "let" them chose most of the tracks . . . I doubted much of "my stuff" would be on the playlist though they did allow me Leona Lewis's (version of Cohen's) Hallelujah  . . . Yay! I got away with a Cohen song :-) . . . I'll have a look when I'm alone  . . . So it actually was lighthearted. We proper laughed. I think mine and Stropster's best effort was Eminem & Dido's Stan . . . I hadn't heard that for years. I was amazed at Hamper G (4) requesting tracks like "Paradise" (New Cold Play one, I'd never heard it) and "Carry out" that she must've heard in Stropster's room and singing along to them. It seems Geekster is good at rapping  . . . being used to talking, and possibly thinking, twice as fast as any "normal" person that would make sense.

So that's all . . .  A busy two days catching up on a few days of  washing, drying, cleaning, shopping, hamster cleaning and a very special lighthearted Sunday evening. I hope yours was good too.

Ps. The next morning . . . It was Alexandra Burke not Leona Lewis that covered Hallelujah. Of little importance really because we know who wrote it ;-)

A light-hearted interlude ;-)

I set out to do this last night (Friday) and  spent hours on You Tube, some of the time checking out a load of my favourite artists for something light-hearted . . . Well you can imagine why that would take so long, but most of the time I lost track of my mission and just enjoyed some music. However by about 1 am (?) I'd decided this was the song . . .  I'd long given up on light-hearted by then. I chose this video from quite a few of Jaques Brel performing this song because . . . well it kind of suits the song best. But for some reason it wouldn't let me bring this video here. With or without English sub-titles. Or even French sub-titles. No. What? after all that. I know, I couldn't believe it. I gave up . . . But not entirely. I came back to it tonight determined to find some version of this particular performance that would allow me to "embed" it . . . And eventually found one with Arabic sub-titles. I can't imagine why I can bring this one over here but none of the others. Who knows? Who's even still reading this? Eh? I don't even know myself why I've just written all that? but I can't not post it now . . . Just in case it was "meant to be" . . . Again, I can't imagine why but you just never know . . . Maybe it's just what you wanted. Ok I'm falling asleep here. I hope someone enjoys my "not so light-hearted interlude" . . .  And I hope you all have a very special Sunday.

Big Chief tear wiper

I'm gonna try and post this while the memory is fresh in my mind . . . I should've written it at the time. If it doesn't sound like it felt then I will write it again next time . . . there are going to be many next times.

I covered it to an extent in my replies to comments last night as that's when I was "feeling" it. But I need to go further into it to find out what the hell I'm so scared of.
I didn't feel well all day yesterday, like I was coming down with something. Aching joints, ears whooshing, slightly dizzy . . . not good.

I started to try and get my evening score in at about 3pm ish so I knew it would be here as the guy can be a total mess about. Well mess me about he did. He wouldn't answer my calls but he finally answered a text at 6pm to say . . .  "I'll be down soon". . . Soon? What's soon? I asked if I could walk up (2 minutes walk) No reply . . . 7pm I texted again . . . Hello? have you forgotten?

I won't go into every boring text or reply, suffice to say that I was extremely wound up, exasperated and in tears by 8pm. I was fuming. Angry with myself, the gear and him. Amid the tears I started to think . . Hold on . . . This is what you wanted. You want to stop this. This is the help you prayed for . . . Now you can do one night clean. O yeah! . . . Just what I fucking wanted . . . But why not? If you want to get off it you have to start somewhere . . . Yeah but not here. Not now . . . Why? . . . Well because I'm not feeling well for a start and because the seed has been planted. I decided I was using earlier on today and looked forward to it. And I ache all over and I've had a crap day and all this being fucked about and, and, AND . . . . whine, whinge, whine.

Yep any excuse. There was no way I was not using. I was frantic. Texting. Calling. Every single option was covered. People I haven't texted for ages . . .  maybe they knew someone who knew someone?  Maybe not? O c'mon someone must have something. Absolute madness. As though my life depended on it. My persistence paid off at about half nine and off I ran in my pyjamas, trainers and hoody with tears of joy, relief, anger, hysteria and utter madness rolling down my cheeks.

Tears splashed and hissed on the hot foil as I ran the gear . I wept for my children. Wept because they don't get the "full" me. Wept with guilt. And with joy. Wept with anger at myself for letting that arsehole treat me like this. Wept because it was like nectar.  Wept with anger at him for having the cheek to look at me after fucking me about for 7 hours and say "What's up babe? . . . you look like you've been crying?" . . . Anger at myself for being so pathetically afraid of one "night off" . . . at being totally controlled by this  . . . The fear of never being free from it . . . The realisation of just how bound I am by this addiction. Gradually the tears dried. The anger went. With it went the fear, the guilt, the dread . . .  the joy. All gone. Numb. Happy?  No . . . Just numb.

I can't do justice to the emotional turmoil at the moment because big chief tear wiper has been and wiped me numb . . . So I will do it again. I have to do it again. And again. I will do it to find out what it is about the onslaught of emotions that I feel I can't possibly cope with. Why I don't want to feel it all full on. Obviously because the bad stuff is uncomfortable . . . But I'm not only numbing the bad stuff am I?

There's no point me trying to connect with those feelings now. I have to feel them again and catch them full on. Yes it will be uncomfortable . . . but I've noticed that writing it forces me to look at it. To try and put it into simple words means having to de-tangle the mass of emotions, to separate the strands and lay them out one by one . . . the good and the bad. To single out which one/s is/are frightening me so bad that I have to keep running away.

So that was yesterday. I need to find some "fight" from somewhere. What a battle.

Feeling like this

Ok. It's officially over now. Even the toffees are gone . . . Stropster's I mean Geekster is back at school. The Christmas tree is in the loft, well almost. Its underneath the hatch waiting for someone to take it up. It could well be there for six months. Now I have to start making some changes. I don't mean this minute but this year, this month, this week might be a good idea. It all seems a bit massive. Of course it would be easier to stay like this for another year . . . But I don't really want to feel like this.

"Like this" means making a huge effort every day to "function". Fighting the urge to use until the evening. Shaking off  "The clinging blackness" that surrounds me when I first open my eyes. Forcing myself out of the bed, out of the dark, out of the door  . . .  Constantly treading water. Getting nowhere. So much effort to keep my head above water. Just above. Sometimes I take in water and panic. Sometimes my legs get so tired I stop treading and let myself to go under. It's dark but it's easy. It's dark but it's quiet. No splashing. No effort. Fading light. Just me and the near darkness. Go away light. Leave me to the dark. But the fading light is still there. Light enough to see. In that light are my children. I can't turn away. They're looking for something. Eyes wide, frightened and lost.  Are they looking for me? Ok I'm coming . . . I don't want to but I will . . . I'm exhausted, breathless, floundering, treading with all my strength while they cling to me to keep them afloat. Ok I'm here, I'm back.  I'm ready to start again.

No I don't really want to feel like this.

ps. After writing this I went to FB and my neice, Hanneka in Sydney, had posted this. Thanks.

Very little grows on jagged rock. Be ground.
Be crumbled, so wildflowers will come up where you are.
You've been stony for too many years. Try something different.......
Surrender! ~ Rumi

Part two for Annie

 

 

 

 

 

Enjoy.

Roy Harper I love you

 

 

 

 

 

I woke up with this song in my head. I first saw and fell in love with Roy Harper at Glastonbury in 1979 when it was still a "festival" . . . Or was it Stonehenge?  Many of his songs feature on the sound track to my life. Brilliant guitarist, singer and poet.
I read somewhere the other day (tips on blogging or something) not to post music and expect people to share your taste in music . . . Well I certainly don't expect anyone to share my taste in music. That would be a lot to ask :-) I don't even expect everyone to click on tracks and listen, especially eleven minute tracks like the one above . . . and that's just Part 1 of the track. This blog is for me as well as others. If you do listen and enjoy that's a bonus. Have a fine day . . .  and Gledwood put that tomato knife away.

C'mon then . . . Smile

Bugger, I cant keep my eyes open.
Ok I finally gave up trying to post and turned my attention to the tv where the film Mamma Mia was starting. I've never seen it . . . If I've heard the phrase "It's a real feel good film" once then I've heard it a hundred times! I've been told by many people, including those who know me well and should know better . . . "Oh you'd love it. I know you don't watch films but you would love this". Well I didn't. It didn't make me feel good or happy.  . . And knowing that it was possibly making several million people happy at that moment with it's "feel good factor" just highlighted my oddness.
Believe me, I don't try to be different or not fit . . . In fact I spent far too many years trying to fit in. Eventually It became clear that it wasn't happening. Also I asked myself why would I want to force myself to become like so many people who quite frankly got on my nerves in a big way . . Surely I would end up getting on my own nerves and that wouldn't be good for my mental health. So I finally accepted that I wasn't gonna fit in. I would be a loner, a misfit, a weirdo and that was fine by me. Having got to this point I can now look back and laugh, cry and cringe about some of my attempts and mostly massive failures to fit in.
The earliest one I can remember was my first and almost last attempt at a fashion "fit in". I wasn't aware of "fashion" growing up. We wore hand-me-downs from the "church", had no access to any media, wore uniform in school and didn't talk much to anyone else in school because . . . well you know why.
However at the age of eleven I had reason to cut through a department store, noticed a "Miss Selfridge" section and immediately became obsessed by a pair of red dungarees . . . I know, well it was '74. Anyway I "knew" these were what I needed to "fit in" . . . O yes these would solve all my problems. Shit! they might even get me some friends. I didn't know how I would get them . .  But I knew I would.
It was not in my nature to want. It wasn't allowed. It had been drummed out of me.We could pray . . . and if it was God's will, then it would happen. O C'mon God, this has to be your will. I don't ever ask for anything. Ever. And you O lord of all people know how much I need these in my life . . . Don't you?
It was during the summer hols and I was at work with my Dad for the day. I'd cleared it with God, I just needed the money now. I mentioned them to Dad a few hundred times. He must've known they were special because I'd never asked for clothes before. Ever. He disappeared on "a delivery" in the afternoon. Thankyou God. I knew he had gone to buy them, I just couldn't understand why later that day at home he didn't have them with him. O well so great was my faith I didn't doubt it . . . I would wait. And sure enough later that evening a lady from our group of nutters that gathered at our house church walked down the drive with a "Miss Selfridges" bag . . . Maybe she'd picked them up? No. My Dad had picked them up and taken them to her to be "embellished". I pulled them out of the bag, falling upstairs to change into them, on they went, they felt great, fitted perfectly . . . I ran into the only room with a mirror to indulge in a rare, enjoyable but very short-lived moment of "vanity". Hold on . . . I don't recall a big yellow "smiley face" sewn on the front bib. O well smiley faces were "cool" at the time. It said "Smile" above the face and . . . O No . . . even though the words below the face were backwards in the reflection I could make them out all too well.  "Jesus loves you".  . . O God. Well what could I say? . . . I had prayed for them. I couldn't deny the fact he loved me. I just didn't want everyone else knowing. It appeared I wanted the whole world to know. Freak. I was not smiling. These dungarees were the answer to my prayers . . . and were supposed to make me "fit in".
This was maybe the first and last time that I prayed for "wordly goods" ;-) Lesson learnt. Unfortunately it wasn't the last time that I tried and failed big time to fit in.

For Gledwood (just a quickie;-)

Just a quickie . . . For Gledwood (and anyone else who is, might be, thinks they might be or has been diagnosed bi-polar).
I did post it in your comment box Gledwood but I'm not sure you will go back there and I hoped you would find this interesting . . . Maybe you've already seen it. Take Care.

A Lion in Winter

A lesser known Bee Gee's song . . . I have "roared" along to this many a times in my drinking days. No idea  why, but there was something I connected with about being a "Lion in Winter" . . . I'm not even sure what it means. I didn't care. It was a good song to belt out. I have a story about it . . . A new year's story too but I will have to come back later with it as there are hungry lion cubs to feed . . . Catch yer later

How Strange . . .

I was on to music, on You Tube, drifting back and forth through the years . . . et la nostalgie. Torn between Georges Moustaki's Solitude or Liberte, when I noticed his song "La meteque" that I'd totally forgotten about (until tonight). La meteque is a (sometimes derogatory) term used to refer to an immigrant in French. There was another version below in another language . . . El extranjero  . . . As I listened to that and stared at the title I soon realised it meant The stranger . . . again. Of course, then it made sense . ..  immigrant, foreigner, stranger . . . I'd just never thought of the song La meteque meaning The stranger. The decision was made. It's a strange word is stranger.

Happy New Year Stranger

A few years back I would've thought spending new year's eve alone, sober and quiet very strange . . . weird, maybe even sad? Not so this year, it's been lovely. Stropster was allowed the Christmas room, after I'd removed the tree and breakable decorations, to have a "gathering" of a few friends, music, beer, PS3, Karaoke etc. I can't complain, they're a surprisingly sensible bunch really. The girls took over with Hamper G who was excited at the idea of a party. She'd put some glitter gel on her cheeks and a butterfly necklace that she's never worn before. Even Geekster was allowed to join in. Hamper G almost made it to midnight . . She came upstairs to me for a cuddle at 11.45, I persuaded her into her pj's and before she knew it was fast asleep.
They'll probably carry on till 3 or 4 am. There are a few quilts and blankets down there so I expect to find my living room littered with  body shaped quilts tomorrow lunch time . . . Or tea time. I wont bother opening the door until they do. I "noted" on my last trip downstairs for my Ovaltine that the girls had left . . . So no worries there. I'm not sure how I've "produced" such sensible kids . . . I know it's early days . . . But I was already well off the rails at 16 . . and at 12. Who knows. Not I that's for sure.

I  must say, apart from the midnight firework display from London which was spectacular, there was a load of crap on tv . . . No matter how many channels. At some point this evening I looked up to see Alan Carr partying with Gok Wan, JLS, Olly Murs (?) . . . Jonathon Ross was there  flicking his hair around, drink in one hand, laughing hard.  I wouldn't want to be there. Twenty years ago maybe? No, not even then really. I've never been impressed by celebrities or their life style. When I lived in Nice I was well aware of how easy it would be to latch onto some "yacht" and  the lifestyle that went with it . . . But I was never tempted. I just knew I wouldn't fit in and the people would get on my nerves. I don't think I've ever fitted in anywhere really. I don't see that as a negative . .  . Just a fact. That's possibly why I felt at my most comfortable living abroad as a foreigner. Where I wasn't expected to fit in. I feel like a foreigner here. L'etrangere -  The stranger. A stranger . . . I like that word and it's connotations. The Stranger song . . . Cohen of course. Well it's as good a way as any to start a new year . . .

It is you my love, you who are the stranger.