About 2000 Years Ago

About 2000 years ago

There lived a man, his name was Joe

He was handsome, strong and good

His job was making things from wood

He had a girlfriend, she’s called Mary

One day she told him something scary

“I’m going to have a baby, Joe

God’s angel came and told me so!

“Don’t be afraid, the angel said”

Joe thought about this as he went to bed.

In a dream an angel told him too

So now he knew what he must do…

About that time there was a rule

The Romans (who were in charge) thought it would be cool

To send everyone back to the town they came from

Travelling on a journey that was very, very, very, very long……

At Bethlehem they searched for somewhere to stay

But the only option was a stable of hay

It was warm and cosy, a shelter from the night

And a star above shone clear and bright

The time was right, the son was born,

Wrapped in cloth to keep him warm.

The animals looked on in surprise

A miracle before their eyes!

Out in the fields some angels sang

The startled shepherds, almost ran

“Don’t be afraid, we bring great joy

God has sent a special baby boy.”

Well they shepherds had to go and see

This baby born for you and me

When they went through the stable door

They dropped to their knees in wondrous awe

Other visitors were on their way

Men from the east, a bit delayed

They went to the palace to see the new king

And plenty of gifts they did bring

King Herod was furious - he had a strop

But let’s not dwell on his wicked plot

The wise men followed the star above

And found the stable full of love

It’s getting crowded, but Mary just smiled

As everyone gathered to see her child

There’s still room for you, come bring your neighbour

Let’s worship the king, Jesus our saviour!

Nativity used in the Christingle service

Happy Birthday Andrew

Happy birthday darling!

Another year?

How time has flown.

You - not even a day older,

and me?

Still here alone.

I stare at your old photos.

You stare back with twinkling eyes,

I miss the warmth behind them,

deep understanding you supplied.

You were the keeper of my secrets,

holder of my heart

‘til life crumbled

on my darkest day

we were

untimely ripped.

Apart.

I can’t say that I think of you

each morning, noon and night.

You’re a presence

like a shadow

almost there

just

out

of

sight.

But as your birthday comes around,

and dark November days,

you linger longer in my thoughts

I can’t escape your gaze.

Grief is stealthily defiant

dispensing killer blows

in the least expected fashion

it shakes you head to toe.

At last

with expert timing,

we reach November’s end

but just before it’s over

Happy Birthday

Dearest friend. xxx

Running up Those Stairs

As I sat in the dentist waiting room the other day I was astounded as I watched the dental nurse run up a flight a flight of stairs.

“I used to be able to do that” I thought to myself.

Part of me is mystified when I lost this super power but of course I know full well it went hand in hand a cancer diagnosis and life changing, life-saving op!

My current earworm is Kate Bush “Running up that Hill”, while never an ability or even an ambition of mine to go quite that far, running up a regular flight of stairs was always manageable.

The staccato sound of shoes on a hard floor or the muffled thud of slippers on carpet, carried out with the precision of a quick step in time to some unheard refrain.

            “I’d be running up that road

            Running up that hill

            With no problems”

Oldest son and I have just been away, for what has turned out to be our annual treat to see the end of year ATP tennis finals at the O2.

Oh boy there were a lot of stairs to climb.

Sometimes we relented and took the escalator, gliding to the next level with ease. But I want to push myself and get fitter, so we often took the stairs, not running, just walking, sometimes getting slower and slower until…

…there was a point where I just had to stop.

These were the stairs that took you to the highest level of seating. Once you start climbing there is no option to switch to the easy life. Other spectators floated past while I caught my breath and regained momentum.

It isn’t just a lack of fitness that makes me slow and steady, like the proverbial tortoise in the fable (always a favourite story of my youngest son).

My lack of pace also comes from Peripheral Neuropathy. An unwanted legacy of the chemo.

I literally, and I’m not kidding when I use that word, cannot feel my feet properly. They are in a perpetual state of tingly pins and needles.

Remember playing in the snow as a child, yes you might have had two pairs of socks on your feet and a thick pair of gloves on your fingers but if you are outside too long your extremities become numb. 

Oh how joyous it is to come inside and get warmed up. Feelings creeping slowly back into your fingers and toes. It happens so naturally you hardly notice.

Now imagine the feeling never comes back.

I have another earworm….

            “I feel it in my fingers

            I feel it in my toes…”

Only I don’t!

I carefully watch each step, knowing my legs work and are propelling me up or down but not entirely feeling when my feet land. I’m on autopilot.

In a way I guess it’s how amputees walk with prosthetic legs, trusting your own instinct.

It’s just something you get used to and maybe the nerve ending will repair themselves and the symptoms will ease over time. On the other hand, this might just be another permanent reminder of all that life has thrown at me.

There’s a bit of a campaign at the moment saying that not all disabilities are visible.You never know everything another person is battling.

I’m not after sympathy or a blue badge but hopefully I’ve given you an insight into what life after having cancer can be like for some. There are many varied symptoms of having poison pumped through your veins and most people just carry on, thankful to have another day before them.

As we were reminded, flashed up on a big screen at the tennis, 1 in 2 people will develop cancer over their lifetime.  Cancer research was the sponsored charity for this years’ event. I hope and pray they can find successful cures and treatment that is symptom free.

When the tennis was over, we negotiated more stairs, this time going down what appeared to be a never-ending spiral of concrete. Down an escalator to the tube, out the other end and then a weary walk to our accommodation for the night.

And then before bed – a final flight of stairs… hahaha

Singles’ Day

Are you aware that 11/11 is not only Remembrance Day but also Singles’ Day? 

A little bit of an unfortunate clash for us here in the UK but the concept was originally started by students at China’s Nanjing University as far back as 1993.

WOW – I actually was single then but married a year later. 

The general idea is that you treat yourself and take yourself out on a solo date.

For me every day is Singles Day as I can mostly do as I please and if something yummy should accidentally fall into my shopping trolley  – who cares!

I’ve recently written about going out on my own. I’ve just never called it self-dating before, which might be a term I’ve just sort of made up, inspired by Emma Watson calling her single status “self partnered”.

While I find the whole idea, vaguely interesting, as ever I struggle with the terminology – I’ve never been a fan of traditional labels.

I think it’s the word “self” that really bothers me – after all selfish starts with the same 4 letters.

It is sometimes depressing seeing friends on Facebook or even actually in real life, living the dream of being in a committed relationship, treating and surprising one another – oh to have someone in my life to spoil me like that!

But it’s a two-way process and I think Singles Day would be better spent spoiling other single friends, a bunch of flowers can go a long way, a phone call, a hand written card. Simple stuff really.

Of course sometimes the happily marrieds will tell us how lucky we are to be able to do exactly as we please, without considering a partner. We nod our heads sagely aware that we can binge on Netflix any time we like but every now and then it would be nice to have someone snuggling on the sofa next to us.

Why are we often so unsatisfied with our status? Making up new ways to celebrate because we are obviously unhappy. Justifying being kind to ourselves.

It’s not always easy being single and not always easy being part of a couple.

And what about the dreaded W word?

It will be nine years this week since I was widowed. Tell me when is the day to celebrate widowhood, or at least acknowledge it?

The rawness of it all has considerably mellowed over time but as I watch others lose their partners’ I am witness to that great chasm of grief that can so easily be all consuming and my heart weeps for them more than for me.

I’ve negotiated the labyrinth and although I can sometimes be sucked back in, I know there is a life beyond the label. I retrace my steps and bask in the sunlight enjoying the good times with as few regrets as possible. Life is too short to do otherwise.

A special day for widows is unnecessary – as is Singles’ Day in my opinion!

spending graphics in the article from the i Weekend yesterday

Ultimately it is a marketing dream, another commercial “made up” event to make us spend, spend, spend!

This year predictions are that Singles’ Day spending (£1.29bn) will be almost as high as spending on Black Friday (£1.49bn) – another spurious event!

Meanwhile Valentine’s Day, the day to celebrate coupledom in all its glory is completely overshadowed, spending only reaching a paltry £830m. Perhaps it just goes to show that when you are in a couple you actually have less of a disposable income!

However you decide to spend your day tomorrow - I'm going to shun the whole Singles's Day concept and instead spend some time quietly reflecting on far more important issues.

Pampering myself on my own terms also means picking a day and time that suits me - that really is the best way to live the single dream!

Remember, Remember the Fifth of November

How can I forget? Today a year ago I was “officially” diagnosed with bowel cancer.

I say “officially” because one of my GPs had already spilled the beans when I wasn’t feeling well as he could see the scan results and knew exactly what was causing my intermittent stomach upsets.

But the fifth of November was the day it all became REAL.

“We need to operate as soon as possible.” Said the consultant.

Petrified of any kind of operation I blurted out, “But I’m moving later this month.”

“What’s more important, moving or your health?”

Well I could have swung for him then.

He took me to another room and showed me the scan photo as proof that an operation was imperative, not that I have any sort of training to interpret the grey and black blobs of my internal organs. I gave up biology in third year preferring chemistry, much more maths involved and pretty coloured reactions to play with!

The image was bad, on so many levels, and at that point I totally lost if and got hysterical. My boys had already lost their dad it was inconceivable that they should lose me too.

The prospect was bleak and I couldn’t compute how I could both move and have an operation at the same time. I’ve double booked myself on many occasions and I knew this wasn’t going to work.

Fortunately, I had a friend with me, she took me to a nearby café, I had a cup of tea and slice of cherry pie while she calmly worked out possible scenarios for me.

She is very much the planner and as I sat savouring the pie, squishing whole cherries between my tongue and roof of my mouth, drying my eyes at the same time, she sorted out how I could rally around my local friends from church to help out. There must be someone I could stay with in this situation?

Mentally I went through a list of everyone I knew nearby, very dear friends, with spare rooms who might accommodate me while I recuperated and regained my strength after a lifesaving operation.

I discounted every one!

Moving nearer my parents was the best thing for my health – the consultant didn’t have a clue about my personal history, why moving was the important for my mental well-being and it finally sunk into my friend that family was the most important part of the equation.

My dad was, and still is, having regular chemo. There was no way him and mum could keep coming up to see me. They’d already made two trips in the past month.

On my way home I called in to see a friend who is a retired GP and told him what the consultant had actually said. He talked things over with me and agreed I should put the medical stuff on hold until I moved.

When I got home, I rang my own GP surgery. I wanted to speak, not to the doctor who had originally sent me for tests who was a fairly new addition to the practice but the one who knew me and the boys and had known Andrew and all we had been through.

He rang me back and was very honest with me about my chances. He even came around that evening to see me and give me the strongest hug I have ever experienced! Subsequently he wrote an amazing letter to my new GP practice, which the receptionist told me had her in tears!

And so my path was set before me. November was filled with things to do, excursions and visits to friends that were already planned and a moving date fixed in stone.

Somehow, I managed every single one before the trauma of having to be diagnosed all over again before finally ending up with emergency surgery.

I have to thank God for the way things worked out. On paper it all seemed unlikely and impossible and yet I’m still here a year on to tell the tale. But I’m crying as I type this, amazed by the miracle of my journey, from North to South, through cancer diagnosis, lifesaving surgery and beyond.

I’ll always remember that fifth of November, the fireworks, family and friends.

Pansies in my garden for thoughts and remembrance.
They are also sometimes called heartsease.

Lost and Loneliness

Lost and Loneliness is quite possibly a rejected Jane Austen title that never quite made the grade. It follows the same pattern as Pride and Prejudice and my favourite Sense and Sensibility, but doesn’t really grab you and the more I think about it doesn’t make grammatical sense either – it should be Loss and Loneliness or Lost in Loneliness. But neither of them quite fitted my mood.

I played around with the online thesaurus and came up with Adrift and Abandoned. A bit dramatic, even for me.

Last night I went to the theatre to see Austentatious – an improvised Austenesque play made up on the spot after title suggestions are shouted out from the audience. Getting the title right is of utmost importance.

Youngest son and I saw something similar at the Edinburgh Fringe based on Sherlock Holmes, so I had an idea what to expect and as a lover of all thing Austen – except the ending of Sanditon on TV recently – I decided I wanted to go.

The problem was I only found out about it the other week and it was almost too late to ask anyone to go with me.

But an independent woman of means is always in want of light entertainment and won’t let a lack of a companion stop her!

The day before the performance I received an email from the theatre with directions to car parking nearby. It looked a doddle, I fixed the map in my brain, as I tend to do, and set off into the night.

Everything looks so different when it’s dark and as I neared the town centre where the theatre was located, I realised this wasn’t going to be as straightforward as I imagined – it was ever thus!

I stopped a couple of times to consult Google Maps but still ended up in a car park the other end of town. Deciding at least the car was safe and secure I set off, once more consulting google maps – why does the arrow not point in the direction you are walking???

At least the predicted 800 metres ahead of me was not daunting, now I am much fitter, I had sensible flat shoes on even if I was only wearing a thin wrap – well one does like to dress up for a theatre visit.

The streets were silent and strange – had I thrown sense out of the window? Was it purely my pride that spurred me on? I confess I wavered and wobbled a bit but with some persuasion to my inner self I kept putting one foot in front of the other and finally the glow of the theatre was before me.

I had time to claim my ticket, use the facilities and get a drink before settling down in my seat ready for the show to begin.

After rejecting such suggestions as “Trouble and Strife at the Whitehouse” and “Lust and Lycanthropy” the title of the performance was decided, we are about to see the one off performance of “Formally Known As Brian”.

I am quite convinced this tale, about the status of having the right name, was the inspiration behind Oscar Wilde’s classic “The Importance of Being Ernest”.  It followed a similar plot. Our heroine Clarissa Ward declared she could not marry a man called Brian Peanut. Some name changing, misunderstanding and chaos ensued until a satisfying resolution was reached. Although the solitary duck in the pond was killed, the Peanuts lived happily ever after – a true Austen classic ending. (Take note producers of Sanditon – as if they’d be reading this! Hahaha)

The play was delightful and the walk back to the car, once I consulted google, was actually more straightforward.

As I wandered, not quite so lost I remained just a little bit lonely. I had no one to share my experiences with. The play was a one off the only other people who knew the minor plot of the dead duck were now scattered, no one else would find it quite as funny.

I honestly don’t mind doing anything on my own, walking, going to the cinema, even eating out alone. I don’t always like the lost feeling of walking somewhere new in the dark, but I’ve come to terms with those demons.

Driving home last night along the windy country lanes I remembered a previous journey made years ago. It was the first long journey I undertook a few weeks after losing Andrew, I had my two young sons with me and I was the sole responsible adult. It was dark and so very foggy it was actually scary. I recognise I’ve come a long way since then. I am almost a different person.

I have proved my resilience over and over again but there is still a small ache, a chip in my heart that leaves me not quite complete. Perhaps I never will be totally whole again.

Online dating doesn’t seem to be the answer… I might write more on that another day; I might give it another go next year – November is NOT the right time and I didn’t think things through properly when I started this quest for romance.

Maybe somewhere out there is a Mr Darcy or Edward Ferrers waiting patiently, or even impatiently. I’m not quite sure how I find him, if he will find me or if my life will ever be as Austenesque as I wish it to be.

Undeterred I will plod on, improvising mostly in a style all of my own. Trying not to get too lost and combating those brief moments of loneliness with a smile and a new adventure because an independent woman of means is always in want of some excitement in her life and won’t let a lack of a companion stop her!

Journeys - a poem

Setting off,

we’re on our way

A new adventure

for today.

Sometimes in circles

we do wander

What’s it all about?

We sit and ponder.

The narrow path?

Avoid the brambles,

thorns that prick

and get us tangled!

So many questions

as we go travelling,

answers often

need unravelling.

As we look back

some things are clearer.

Life’s lessons learned

as we get nearer…

…to the end,

our great arriving.

Home at last

no need for striving!

The non-dating dilemma

Earlier this week I updated you on my #Stoma66 challenge progress so it’s only fair I update you on the other “project” I have on the go - the online dating.

You might think because I’ve gone all quiet perhaps I’m playing my cards close to my chest and enjoying a whirlwind romance away from prying eyes…. Hahaha

No such luck, sad to say the online “dating” hasn’t even produced one date. And this week’s potential matches are guys I’ve already looked at and rejected.

I’ve given up with “liking” anyone as it never seems to be reciprocated. Maybe I don’t really know the rules of this game.

I toyed with the idea of writing a message to a would-be poet, possibly even in verse to try and get a favourable response.

But in his profile, he said he imagined eyes meeting across the aisles of a supermarket and ending up frolicking midst the salad leaves.

Hmmmm – that’s not quite how I envisaged our beginning.

For me, we’d meet in a bookshop, somewhere between thrillers and romance. What first caught our attention was that we’d picked up books each other had already read. The meeting of eyes and minds an unexpected bonus.

Conversation would flow naturally as we discussed plot twists and much-loved characters, we’d recommend a book for each other and swap numbers arranging to meet in the near future, over coffee, maybe even dinner to discuss the stories further.

I’d dash home, devouring every word of the book he had chosen especially for me. Imagining him as the complex but sexy male lead character. I’d fall in love with every line.

Our once upon a time meeting would progress – hopefully concluding with an inevitable Jane Austen style happy ever after, a few minor ups and downs along the way but somehow even from the start we would know the trajectory our lives would take.

I thought online dating was the answer but maybe I just have to hang around in bookshops instead!

The thing is I thought actual dating might be fun, meeting new people, going out to new places, expanding my horizons with fresh experiences.

Turns out in the last few days I have filled up my diary with lunches and outings and I’m not sure if I can fit anything else into my social calendar.

At this precise moment in time of writing I’m content and happy with life, solo or not, of course this could change as quick as a click of my fingers.

Strangely this was my exactly mindset when Andrew left a note for me asking me on a date. Happy single with no time of inclination to invite a man into my life.

Perhaps the perfect man is right around the corner… I’ll bump into him, spill my orange juice, discover he actually OWNS a bookshop and have a surreal experience in his kitchen – hang on that’s the plot for Notting Hill.

But that all worked out in the end … and to quote some other favourite romantic films….

“… everything will be all right in the end. So if it is not all right, it is not yet the end.”

And how will it end?

“It’s a mystery!”

(Bonus points if you know where both quotes come from!)

#Stoma66 week 2

Its a wet and miserable day out there - good for ducks, not so great for walking.

So for my exercise today I decided it was about time I used an old exercise DVD that I was given years ago for Christmas and although I have half watched it I have never actually done the moves.

I give you Miranda Hart's Maracattack...

Step 1; make maracas!

She even gets Kirsty Allsop to show her how, very simple really two water bottles with a spoonful of rice in each.

My own safety tips - don't spill rice over the floor, tripping hazard, and don't try to drink from a bottle filled with rice, choking hazard.

Step 2; Clear the furniture to make a space to exercise.

My own top tip - put on some good music to dance and tidy at the same time, a pre warm up warm up, burning even more calories. Remember to wear pedometer and really make it count!

Step 3: Put on DVD, skip pre-amble of funny sketches and go straight for the warm up. remember to shake those maracas!

Step 4: After a drink attempt the 20 minutes of cardio, which includes such steps as the Crazy Crab and some galloping.

Step 5: Skip the High Intensity section - already too hot and sweaty!

Step 6 and 7: Avoid the upper body and bums and tums section - even if Miranda's old flame Gary turns up!

Step 8: Core strength - hmmmm - a bit of gentler exercise lying on the floor - try a bit of that!

Step 9: Relaxation - involves rocking backwards and forwards with a maraca between your hands - a little bit weird and closing my eyes makes me go dizzy.

Step 10: Do a few proper cool down stretches, not actually on the DVD, well the bits I watched, but I've been to enough exercise classes to know this is important.

Step11: Check pedometer - 1.6 kilometres without even leaving the house - result!

Step 12: Run a bath, relax!

Step 13: Write a blog about it all, have some lunch and crack on with the tidying up, or even have a snooze on the sofa....tomorrow it's back to Zumba so I might just conserve my energy for that!

hahaha

#Stoma66

Another new challenge, well you know me, I love to START new things, its finishing them that is tricky.

This time I am asking for your help to keep me focused at the task at hand by sponsoring me.

(I know there are many worthy causes and Just Giving pages out there to support so please don’t feel under any obligation. Raising money is good but so is raising awareness.)

I’ve signed up to #Stoma66 “66 days to reach 66,000km and a BETTER YOU”.

Thankfully I don’t have to walk, swim, cycle or even drive that distance all by myself. It is a joint effort as Colostomy UK’s big push to help ostomates live a healthier lifestyle and raise funds for the charity.

Colostomy UK is the national charity offering support and advice to people with stomas. Research shows that it takes on average 66 days to form a lasting habit, so if people are active for 66 days they are more likely to carry on afterwards.

The first 500 participants to sign up got a free Tshirt and pedometer – FREE STUFF – how could I refuse that?

Now there is as ever a twist in the tale… there have been some delays in getting the packs out, so I sent a polite email to enquire where my pack was….

An apology was sent and then my pack arrived in the post about an hour later! See it pays to complain – politely of course!

Although the challenge officially finishes on November 20^th my 66 days will be up in the first week of December or thereabouts. A year after having my life saving surgery and getting my stoma. What perfect timing, I explained in my email to say thanks my pack has arrived.

“That would make a great story for our website, can you answer a few questions?”

Never one to turn down an opportunity to tell my tale I promptly replied. Obviously, my answers were in essay format, but they have been neatly edited (thanks Oliver). You can read my story here - http://www.colostomyuk.org/sarahs-stoma-66-story/ 

This challenge has taken on a life of its own and I really have to complete it now or I will let myself and everyone  else down – oh the pressure! Hehehe – it’s really the push I need. As I said I am not good at finishing things.

Once my pack arrived I immediately pulled on my walking boots, clipped the pedometer to the waistband of my leggings and strode out into the sunshine to re-explore old ground. Memories came flooding back of school cross country runs, tracking with the Brownies and Guides - using twigs to make arrows and a sponsored walk once undertaken.

I managed just over 4 kilometres and was very proud of myself. Tuesday, I did a Zumba gold class – the pedometer measured that as three and a half kilometres. I then had two quieter days, but you have to build these things up slowly and I don’t want to overdo it! Me and my sofa are still best buddies. Today the distance didn’t add up but I did some gardening in the rain, so that’s still getting exercise.

Besides I have not set a measurable goal, I just need to be in some way accountable to push myself further and commit to getting out and being more active. Perhaps if week on week I do a little more, then if I get my coloured pencils out maybe I could draw a graph and convince myself I really have achieved something.

I’ve always resisted the Fit Bit revolution; I don’t want to be a slave to a mini computer chip on my wrist dictating my steps… but a pedometer…. well that’s a little different, a bit old school in the grand scheme of things.

I guess my main aim is to be able to keep up with my old walking buddies next time I visit. The 3 mile walk we did last time I met them was a killer! I am now so unfit, not that I have ever been in the super fit Olympian category.

Hopefully in 66 days, give or take, I might be back to the fitness level I was at before major surgery, and a year on that will be something special to celebrate.

Scarily Honest or Honestly Scary?

Well I've been trying this online dating malarkey for just over a week.

The online aspect of it is great, it's quite compelling scrolling on my phone and seeing just who is out there. I'm convinced I've found the right dating site to suit my needs.

As for the actual dating side of things.... well the nearest I've got to a date this week was a date biscuit! A bit like a fig roll, not terribly satisfying and won't go there again!

I've been pro-active, life's too short to sit here waiting, I've "liked" a few profiles.

No 1. Likes visiting the Edinburgh Fringe - well as a lover of the arts  I'm quite partial myself to a bit of drama, comedy and stand up. But the tragedy is he never responded to my wave....

Undeterred I moved on to ...

No 2. Can't remember much about his likes and dislikes but there was a gorgeous photo of him with smouldering eyes I could gaze at for hours. Set my heart a flutter but the feeling wasn't reciprocated.

Pushing the geographically boundaries further I found ....

No 3. Staunch Remainer and lover of Victoria sponge cake.  Maybe I could bake him a cake iced in blue with stars around the edge? A bit too quirky???

Still no reply - not a sausage!!!

Maybe my own profile is too HONEST. I did make it clear at the start that I was a widow and cancer survivor, but I did draw a line and stopped before explaining what an ileostomy bag was!

I think being a widow and cancer survivor shows real strength of character. But perhaps it's just a little too daunting for someone else to contemplate. Too much baggage?

Or perhaps the photos showing off my various shades of hair colour makes me look SCARY, too challenging?

Where is the man prepared and brave enough to take me on?

I was always told you have to kiss several frogs along the path to ever lasting love, I'm all puckered up but if the wind changes direction my face will stay in this distorted fashion. As if I wasn't scary enough! HAHAHA

As you can see I've not lost my weird sense of humour and if my adventures make you, my readers, giggle then quite honestly I'm happy with my lot and in no way scared of a solo future....

.....just wishing, hoping, praying and daydreaming that things might one day change!

Love is in the air...

I’m off to a wedding this weekend, a friend on facebook has just announced she is engaged and only last week my parents celebrated their fifty third wedding anniversary.

So, with hands on hips and stamping my feet, I want to know when’s it my turn for a little romance in my life?

Last week I was at a new church course looking at our journey’s – mines been an interesting one, up a few ladders, down far too many snakes and generally going in circles and ending up exactly where I started, at least geographically.

Everyone on the course was being really honest and most admitted their own “spiritual” journey with God perhaps wasn’t so spiritual, we all fall far short and generally struggle.

But more importantly for me was when we got into smaller groups and got more personal. I had a chance to talk about Andrew and remembered why I’d fallen in love with him in the first place.

It's all too easy, when being the positive "glass half full" girl that I usually am, to dismiss the past or at the very least remember all the bad bits. My new life needs to be more hopeful than the old, so let’s colour the past in muted shades of blue and grey.

Andrew suffered with depression and was often hard work to live with, sometimes I concentrate on those aspects of his character because it is then so much easier to live without him.

I no longer have to walk on egg shells, I can leave things in a mess without comment, I can dye my hair all colours of the rainbow and squirt perfume to my heart’s content!

But I miss that person to snuggle next to on the sofa (especially now youngest is back at uni. He’s the best TV companion, in a lot of ways even better company that his dad in that respect).

I miss someone special to hold hands with and share adventures, even the little ones walking around the garden. I miss having quirky “in” jokes and being made to feel like the most important person in the room.

It was always my plan, once I’d moved, to try online dating. Hmmmm – I did try it a few years back but had very little success, actually I was probably only on it for about a week then asked for my money back! Hahaha.

The cancer diagnosis and chemo put the breaks on things but now I am all clear I have a new lease of life. And a new attitude too.

Life really is short, I am only 51, reasonably attractive and honestly I think I’m a good catch, even with the scars and baggage! I am a survivor.

I’m cautiously excited at the prospect of meeting new people, I might actually go on a date this time and not run away and cancel my subscription.

I’ve paid up for 3 months – well there was this nice-looking man who seemed perfect and if I wanted to find out more, I needed to join properly and part with my cash.

I sent a “like” to show I was interested – he’s been online since but never responded. I “liked” someone else’s profile and so far no response from him either…. Oh well I’ve waited this long, I might as well hang around for the “right” one to come along! Its their loss!!!!

One of the things I hated about online dating last time was how judgemental you become of profile pictures; you can so easily dismiss someone because their nose is too big without really finding out what their personality is like.

This time I have a new plan.

I’ve remembered what made me fall in love with Andrew, he wasn’t the handsomest of men, his hair was slightly scruffy and his dress sense was actually quite shambolic but he had really kind eyes, a killer smile and wicked sense of humour.

So let’s start with those qualities and see where it takes me….

Love is in the air at the moment – let’s just hope its infectious and I catch a jolly good dose of it!