In seasons lies lifes mystery

This  is the moment where I should embrace   the wintery-powder snow to come.

Under-wraps.

We all have naive delight to create  snow angels.

So too the  most damaged pimped out  hoes.

The death of every thing I know.

Yet,

I

don’t

know

if

I’ve

 ever

 known

Even one thing for certain.

Always,

I  thought

I blew according to the way the wind doth blow.

until I  walked right into the eye of the

C.louds

 I.ntelligance

A.ir

shouted them down-

No, I won’t go slow.

Voice  ricochets  seeking  a target

breathe exterminated-

The managers above cloud corporation hear my

costly,

cerise

commotion —

derogatory

delirious

temper tantrum.

speech

pressurised protests-

Attacks of panic.

I got what I was owed.

Hitch hiked a lift with a passing tornado.

Whirlwind dropped me off in a place with no directions to  the Republic of sense-at-ors of common.

I walked along the  the uneven, cobbled path —  another independent equality  free flowing  feminist ,

juggling with digits and exchanged words with third eye chakra chemists

Paper –

trees-

All alternate in form — it ends for the same means.

Or is that me unravelling myself from being stitched upped — picking away at the seams?

I didn’t  mean  to lose my way — country side hikes are  not my  governing zodiac  sign indicating

I’m in my element.

This body  contains still waters wrapped in layers of skin.

No  teasing trickle or   babbling brook

nor  a wishing well to reassure my hearts confidence within.

Summer time and the livings never easy

not when you’re a weed  on self destruct,

especially when the sun shines on  and makes blossoming

a gift without the morning sickness

That sense of queasy.

Rudimentary realisation .

Desolate

Deception.

Dark sunglasses can’t  make me ingnioto —

Looking back-

I should  of clapped my hands

,in breathless awe when the  sun set—

lowered gently against the abstract  backdrop

Tropical  orange  salmon ,pink sprayed skies.

Pay my respects —

Let it rest  when it his time to slip down and fall.

Reap what you sow.

I deal with every blow.

Turbulent Winds spirals me off   common ground

I find myself high up  and all alone

the come down — finds me face down in muddy bog marsh — eyes arrested by a

Facetious fog —

Not even a bird to sing me an ode of encouragement  to aid me back home.

Its true what they say we come into this world alone and we die alone.

Money, stuff — the acquisition of property

— it all gets left behind when we lift the veil to step into the next body of energy-

stagnation left in a cadaver —

this is our vessel —

Our only claim to earths  throne.

Seasoned Cycles of

life,

death,

regeneration ,

rebirth .

 

Change –

it’s contradictory to  our nature

Wearily   wallow over wilted ,   dead plants — tomorrow I’ll throw them away.

it’s all procrastination

Embrace the opaque

, the possibility of a welcome winter wave in

undisturbed silence-solace only to be find in untouched fallen snowflakes.

Trigger the cycle to fall — this is autumn .

Death and decay I feel  implacably broken.

This idea of pressing flowers ,dried

Into bookmarks is a nostalgic notion.

Shouldn’t I let it go and embrace the tremors, the blast of the callous   cousins cold and colder

A gift of this perilous  season?

anti climatized.

I live on  an island full of tall trees in treason for being out of season.

Let these words be enough.

Be my reason.

On my knees begging for hands to let go of me-especially those who touch are rough.

Grant  me sight to see-

permit  my body and soul to feel the spectrum

exhilerating and painful emotion.

Facing  forward to a future

 smelling the unsullied  scent of rebirth

A possible sight spotting of   Tigger

ready to  uncoil  and bounce into spring

 For the  awakening of the the blessed bees, Lilly white lambs  and a hereuse  holiday closer to the ocean.

 

 

 

 

 

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Kalinda

When my Kalinda peers into his reflection he see’s jagged, ragged parts of a body

discombobulate

Staggered yet separate. -body parts sewn together haphazardly.

The truth is stranger than fiction.

How can it be!

his soul mate doesn’t mirror the effort in his deeds.

ffinger nails claw and pierce at skin -prolong hanging flesh separated from bone

VIP’s seated , assume an opinionated speculation into the art of this self destruct –

The blown up bags come from the baldy eagle, wearing a t-shirt that says ‘corrupt -will sell poison to feed my ego.’

Skullbones crossed.

Point in rage to pandora’s obsessive flirtation with suicide.

Maidenhead Hymen annuls her delusional animas.

Make her believe!

it helps her to inhale insecticides.

What is wrong with all that is her?

doesnt she get that her life can be more than a bargain plea?

why does every stonewalled chamber gather breathe from disjointed words,

instead of radiating from true love’s scribbled scribes in blank verse.

Write to recover. Recover to write.

Perform this pantmine on las ramblas , in the hope the days will turn bright.

Supportive cups hold up the excess mounds.

‘damn you look good, healthy, put some weight on’

Must she hear this now? or indeed ever!

It’s too avant garde even for Gaudy.

Face swollen from a sting with an arbitrary drone.

Monthly luna flickers up sheds of decrepit blood clots;

compund that to a portrait that makes her face plump–fits of

dis – ease

– please,

stop with the back handed compliments, hun.

Hands hesitate over arms once scrawny, cheek bones sliced inwards.,

She’s rather own her shame and reach every gaze at her in a state of lean chronic thigh gap syndrome

spongy Food floats

expands

-drowns all sign of hope.

enough self loathing to remedy it with a calibre of a gun.

Date with Russian roulette –

6 chance distractions from this body, this mind ,every part called forward into existence.

five rounds until she lands in the seat of a crash test dummy.

Grief , guilt ,

unpleasant to the taste.

fret bursts in beads of sweat – her few will revolt into petulant demonstrations of

why?

again?

how?

and when?

Get by on hope and luck and a fine mother hen

A good sized egg , pair of irises that delude her into feeling all her sins have been revoked.

Not the Messiah

Big day in the U.K.

My musings……

Let’s sort  out any confusion

I’m under no great illusion

that Corbyn is  NOT the messiah to lead this island

to balmy weather.

Fair in the ideas he postulates.

Words that that resonate with humanities mantra of together.

Don’t expect a perfect world unless we all put in some labour

One man can speak for the many but the many must graft for the life they seek in ardour.

the many make changes – X marks your choice

It’s not over.This is but the start – it’s time to think outside of the box – continue to use your new found voice.

This is phase one of an arduous journey

We will lose if we don’t endure the marathon and have JC’s back when it all gets thorny.

Don’t lose faith

Keep your head looking  to the above.

It’s not a one man job

It’s up to all of us to stand the test -stay the course

perhaps one day we will see a world blossom from our sacrifice to give it one love.

 

Today I vote labour.

If there was a chance GREEN would or could win this election, I would have voted for them

 

Star crossed other

Never knew there was a word to describe their combined fate.

Never knew Shakespeare studied the stars and knew much about lovers who mate.

Never knew they were lined up as opposites-never to align on the same side.

Thoughts of opposites attract are magic tinted Methos applied,

so people can trust to confide

in each other.

Always end up leaving one for another.

A summer’s day, sitting, drag remnants on a Marlboro tab.

Forlorn, unhopeful.

Destiny reeled her in like an unlicensed cab.

Doomed. Life growing inside – feelings of  Rigor Mortis was all she could summon to transpire.

The truth was the loss of her will

her desire.

She had lost that inner fire.

Under a freckled thumb- tangled in a webbed lie

through it the sun still shone.

A shadow emerged from the light, and a heart realized its given art.

Fairytale savior- a hero always ready with a smile.

Swallowing down screams.

Shamed

into a false smile.

Their eyes connect – should she tell him what she has done?

It was never to be.

Swallowed a lethal poison in an effort to be free.

Yes, she intended to take the life with her she had growing inside.

It was a desperate plea.

Shades of nausea, don’t you see?

Coins fall to the floor along with all the great works of Wordsmith Shakespeare.

It was easier to think unlovable thoughts

imagined hatred in speech bubble form.

To hear him say you are not for me

 distilled in clouds of fear.

Dramatic scene.

Bus stop revellers turn heads

eager for a spectacle.

hot tempered

He walked away.

Not trusting him still burns her cheeks

 to the same Fahrenheit, she felt that day.

Rain lands on penetrable skin,

wanting much more and expecting the very least,

set the fickle tone for the rest of this cycle of the ‘beck and call’.

Inevitably Seasons passed.

A winters day,

he called out her name.

His smile cleared up the fog of habitual trudging through the every day

society

blurs into arts of abstract- more imposing than some great display admired from afar.

Swept up with day to day folk uncluttered by star-crossed philosophy.

Nothing mattered

Only now,

another chance to show him- somehow he would think.

that girl -WOW! 

Fight for her

somehow.

over imbibed, arguments stippled in blackouts.

New starts

fresh

with sand she dug up for her own grave.

Dirty bitten down nails,

silent punishment for things that could never be undone.

Who’s to say who was truly in the wrong?

She can’t remember much

past walking into the house promising the most fun.

Seasons changed

again.

Dressed and forgiven – ready to wed the worthiest white knight to ever traverse her path.

Dichotomy sanctifies such a union.

Tear’s splotch faces, toasts, fuzzy memories.

Birds out

no need for a tuppence

Freely sung the newlyweds a blessing.

Something along the lines of tinkles chimes and her laugh.

Afterthoughts cushioned  by rose petals

a lavender fusion

flagellation on self

imposed by guilt

deepening the confusion.

How do we wake, make our move if caught in the spin cycle of punishing our souls?

A dare,

 her thoughts told her.

If indeed they were merely star-crossed

She would willfully find a way.

Barefooted, she soberly walked into a live fire burning on coals.

 Figure out what she felt she owed or indeed was it all a division in her head.

Passions stunned into a state of arousal

 Who’s to say if it fulfilled her?

Tears wanton to overflow

nearly lost sense of all ground.

 37 days she had not bled.

There are only four seasons.

 All continues

 winter clearly signaling death and rebirth to come.

His posturing lingered long in her mind.

She fathomed

reasoned

 the duresse of her thoughts;

permanently fixtured her by the spun out  Catherine wheels.

Clarity comes in an obscure fashion.

Manner and presentation are not facts.

Facts -harsh and cold.

 unveiled decision in an exposed mind, scuttling in the dark

not even aware he let loose his redundant rats.

Infiltrate every corner of her mind.

Passively they sit by,

osmosis eyes watch a happy family in a tourniquet.

Forced to apply more pressure.

Open up the wound.

Calculated a reactive to get one man’s truth.

Perhaps Star-crossed lovers are indeed something to be forgot .

Her silence is her answer.

Silence sees her own worth, she sees clarity it doesn’t bother her if the passion died,

Along with the whereabouts of his existence

Shadows move all the time,

even in Beirut.

She walks along her path with a smile on her face.

Her silence doesn’t require her to look up for another clue.

 He was never a star-crossed lover but merely another.

* remember: just because one person/people reveals their opinion or truth about what they think of you to you. This is not the whole truth or even half of it. You are not other people’s opinions. Never let people wear you down into believing you are merely what say or what they think you are. No one has their shit together all the time or even most of the time 😀

Devising- bleeding the genres

3 down -5  more to go.

This has been the best week yet on zee Acting program.

We did a fantastic improvisation inspired by Laban’s 8 efforts and movement.

This technique was originally used in dance performance.

From my ahem “intellectual” reading on post-modern performance. Most contemporary artists prefer to think of the theory part of writing and performance as not prescriptive but fluid and as something to provoke the imagination.

The theories exist to be used to merge into something that is relevant to today.

This program is far away from what I’m learning on my MA and this is my struggle with what I’m doing in my MA because, we as an ensemble – group of amateur actors are working towards devising a performance not based on text.

Back to Laban – the whole purpose of the exercise was to move forward and start thinking more about character development. How many ways can an actor develop their character?

For me, it helped me focus more on my physical body and what I could do with it, to create a character with emotional depth.

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This is  the exercise we did:

THE TECHNIQUE

Laban categorized human movement into four component parts:

  • Direction

  • Weight

  • Speed

  • Flow

Each of those parts has two elements:

  • Direction is either direct or indirect.

  • Weight is either heavy or light.

  • Speed is either quick or sustained.

  • Flow is either bound or free.

Laban then combined these parts together to create The Eight Efforts:

  • Wring

  • Press

  • Flick

  • Dab

  • Glide

  • Float

  • Punch

  • Slash

For WRING

  •  The Direction is Indirect

  • The Weight is Heavy

  • The Speed is Sustained

  • The Flow is Bound

https://www.theatrefolk.com/blog/the-eight-efforts-laban-movement/

I loved how I explored character development using my voice, my body and employing Laban’s technique to create a character.

I chose the movement to ‘wring’  and what stemmed from that incongruent action was a character called -Prushka who ended up in an improvisation scene with another character (his chosen action  Punch) who became my workaholic husband with a temper.

We did a short improv scene in pairs of threes.

Us the couple were arguing about our relationship and where it was headed when the third character (developed from the movement of ‘flick ) interrupted us.

Her drugged up character was stumbling across the streets asking where she was. We ended the scene by my character telling my character’s husband we had grown apart and it was over.

I went to help the drugged up girl get on a bus and get home. Instead of dealing with the confrontation – a stake was thrust into the scene and as a Wring character, I made the decision guided by my body movements to leave the relationship and avoid the angry, punchy husband.

Sounds complicated.

I’m sure there is a much more simplified way to describe all this but I have never been one to simplify anything!

This acting program has got me thinking about finishing my MA somewhere else. Sad but true.

As a group,  we seem to be gelling more and getting to know each other.

It looks like we will be devising a piece to perform to a public at the end of March.

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Sat on the train, typing this post and I  can’t wait to get home.

Weird guy with bouffant hair sitting opposite me and staring at me like I’ve got an abscess growing on my nose. 😂😂.

I’m currently redrafting  TMA 3.  I’ve strayed into morality play /Faustian territory purely by accident.

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The piece is set after the 1918 Russian revolution ,in Paris.

RANDOM FACT-  my great grandparents fled the 1918 Russian revolution changed their surname and went to live in the slums of Paris. That is where my Grandad was born. 

 I have three characters who have some of my character traits and a mish mash of other lovely people’s traits I have come across in my life.

Panacea wants to be accepted by family and society: Vladimir by society.  The other character, Eve -has the love and adoration of the society she lives in because of her talent to play captivating pieces of music on the piano.

She has it all except she lacks conventional sight.

With a wee bit of determination and vengeance, Panacea takes Eves essence (talent) and Vladimir’s only access to power and being accepted by his peers is now in the hands of Panacea.

Eve is left with a second sight not normal sight.

I don’t know how magic works!

She can only see the past.

 Things start getting tense when she starts seeing things:

Horrific things.

She starts seeing people’s past actions. Not the good but all the skeletons that people hide away or try to forget by drugging themselves- insert vice of choice here.

Vladimir- her guardian is clearly hiding something.

How are Eve’s past visions connected to him?

Why won’t he tell Eve?

The climax and resolution of the final scene, see the loose ends of the plot coming together and finally, we see how all three characters fit together.

I’m not saying any more than that.

Both Eve and Vladimir ( who seem like the victims of a salacious act by Panacea)  lose everything they wanted and indeed had.

The music threaded throughout the piece (which initially draws the crowd to adore  Eve and propels her to ‘stardom’ )seems to serve as a metaphor for the vices which society still use today to forget and self-medicate.

The somewhat pantomime-like, sarcastic Panacea, in scene one, is a character, I hope my tutor can sympathize with at the end of the piece- with her revelation.

Her motives are utterly selfish and human.

But finally, she is accepted and her nephew is forced to love and adore her because she has the essence and power to help not only society. but also Vladimir forget who he actually is.

Ha ha!  What a raucous.

 Well, it’s all a been a bit of fun trying out new writing styles. Writing should be fun and not some Herculean labor (which it does seem to be at times)

 As long as I pass I will be happy.

 Daisy- ‘the entrepreneur in progress’ is moving forwards in my business.

 That’s a bit of an update from me. My stop has arrived. I’m tired cold and I want to see my family.

I have blogging awards to accept and nominations to do and look forward to catching up on blogs over the week.

I may barricade myself in my bedroom over the weekend and devour every post/blog  I come across.

Have a great week! 

Generation of Meh! mes

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STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS WITH LINDA

Generation of memes and  meh.

No to negative – yes to positive,

change the bulbs and glow iridescently, no fear in being one light -solo- informative.

Skulking around caves in the fashion of  Scylla -drinking whirlwind pools of Charybdis

Not her usual pret a porter a  la mode – turn away from the crowd  guffawing Helter skelter  splitting glees.

Did she vote for  UNBorn children?

What about those who are already suffering on this earth?

Religious fanatic family members – An atheist for president with a crab claw and a wry, outlook streaked with mirth.

Cut the cord from the past – hold it  up -prop yourself up –

cheer yourself on – scream your  message into a bottled glass.

Insist on declaring your right to say: I am not who you say.

List- notes, prompts , references. You need not -unless these very people are the ones sending funds into your  bank account, every payday.

Draw a line across the sand – Peripheral eye view – hawk soaring above a sand dune.

Marathon race – testing survival of the fittest – hottest month in the arid desert – sub-Saharan- month? not that of June.

Mighty ants group as a collective. Never for one moment allowing one obstacle to waiver them from their duty.

Poppies raining down – bloody thumb- well read . Two-minute silence – she still texts -how dare you not honor the dead.  

Two minutes is not a political thread -laughing my ass off comments chav teeth,who forgot to take his healing muti and shine a light of intelligence into that skulled in  head.

Vulnerable -always strong – try and break her down with sticks and stones – rain and the wind.

Horrific people – full of hatred and dark sunken, mercury filled irises -enough to drive a sheep to self-flagellate and undo himself  – unpicking his very own skin.

Cry for our beloved world. Hear the chimes of a new era.

Revolt . We don’t need heads on a pike – listen to Icke and let’s do this in stages ,don’t panic in terror and make another century filled with a book titled the great error.

Existence is futile if we don’t sing and make our voice heard.

Delicate and polite -always touches a heart of an old veteran hobbling in the dark.

Two minutes and then forgotten until another year reaches the pinnacle of its calendar date – aim that dart – hit the mark.

Remember 09/11

Years pass, yet terror still reigns.

Remember year  09/11

Nostradamus escaped on horseback – he never escaped his visions quick enough – did he reach the star north of Devon?

Unearthed relics of Bob Marley preserved in a jam made from  onions and clams.

Ethiopian coffee smells better when one has a fridge full  of out of date, uneaten food – leave it for the disheveled courtesan.

 Too small minded, to make a leap of faith into the ocean.

Better to feel safe and stay in your  council estate fish bowl – causing waves of drunken commotion

Bid me this moment where I am tempted to salute the majority with a middle finger.

Childlike taunts – sit and swivel – yeah screw you  dark Lord of ale so bitter.

This is exactly what the system wants. Nothing –  the same – no change –  it’s too tiring to find the TV remote.

Anarchist holds up two fingers in the name of peace -scowling -punk  dragged on skid row.

 God save all Queens!

attempted coup on her blood – don’t spew  constricting  germanic denunciations  into one’s  penetrable  throat.

One must not gloat.

Yes to positive – Negative to know.

No, that’s not right we know negative should always be followed with a No.

How I became Daisy

Time to put my  reflection head on .

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So many people ask me how I was able to get to the person I am today. To recap :

How did I go from overdosing regularly on medication, partying and drinking all the time, in an abusive relationship, one abortion down and another child taken off me by social services:

The catalyst  to this  incident being my ex couldn’t handle the fact I had finally walked away from him. He used an opportunity when  he visited his daughter one night at my home to try and show me who is boss.   I will never remember fully that night.

I was arrested for assaulting my 12 week old child and resisting the police when I was found bare foot in the middle of the night, drunk, beaten and disorientated , looking for my daughter.

He told the police not only had I been drinking but that  I  had attacked him and shook my daughter. ( a lie)

It  took 16 months to be allowed to have my daughter sleep in her own bedroom and it took until 06/05/2015 to have the judge lift the full care order revoked on my daughter.

HOW THE FUCK DID I DO IT?

Someone, told me once that people need to stop trying to save other  people.

Why?

Because once we are thrown into the wild/ the big bad world and have to fight to survive ,we can be pretty fucking resourceful.

 I became a resourceful person.

I went to therapy and community projects to learn about my attraction to abusive and disrespectful men and how I could change my beliefs about men.

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I went to every contact session in 16 months (bar 11 days).

I wouldn’t back down.

I challenged  all authorities when I thought they were wrong.

I learned to operate they way they did.

I kept a journal of what I felt had gone on in every contact session.

I built a portfolio of pictures for each ‘looked after child’ review to evidence I and my partner were the right people to look after my daughter.

I emailed professionals everyday to keep them in the loop and up to date

I did every community group you can think of:

Mother and baby/toddler groups

I referred myself to Calder dale alcohol service

I demanded a hair strand test to prove I was not a drug taker or alcoholic.

I allowed them access to my mental records ( not a wise choice but the end result is what matters here)

I swotted up on the social care system buying books and researching on the internet  into the early hours of the morning.

I learned to speak in their language. I became an expert in  communicating in their way that eventually, they ran out of reasons  for coming up with  what an emotionally neglectful  mother I was.

I spoke the legal jargon.

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I found new ways  to cope and I will come back to this..

My first instinct, in  response, to my daughter being placed in foster care was to starve myself. I  quickly realised that was not how I was going to get my baby girl back.

I met my husband -to -be very quickly after the end of an abusive one. Family members were livid, professionals thought  I was  a complete generic ,black and white, text book  case .

Open.

Adoption

Shut.

File papers away kind of case.

The judge didn’t see it so straight forward.

Thankfully.

Nor did my legal team.

Going back too how I coped.

This may sound surreal coming from a person with an Eating disorder. I found out my biggest ally to cope with stress – (not taking into consideration the medication I  use too) was exercise.

Don’t under estimate the power of exercise.

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Everyday from the time my daughter was placed in care up to the present day I work out in my humble living room.

What exercise helped me achieve

  • Free healthy high and natural stress reliever

  • it helped me focus and discipline myself so much so  that not only did I get my daughter back, I went on to achieve a 2.1 BA (hons) in the Arts and Humanities with the Open university. On-line.

  • My weight  has became less of an issue – it was/is still there but I was living for more than a figure on the scale.

  • It helps me set up and achieve small goals

  • It helps give my day structure and routine

  • I stopped using self harmful ways to cope

  • I’ve become aware of me – I became to believe in myself and love and respect myself

  • I learned to say no.

  • I learned that a lot of the times the way a person treats me (if it is negative or positive) it is to do  with their shit – whatever is going on in their mind and lives. I won’t put up with other peoples shit any longer.

Another coping skill that saved me was when I finally could cross off my goal to start blogging.

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I also started volunteering.

These are two other powerful ways I cope.

I love to write and learn and read. It makes sense to blog ,right?

For those who have followed my blog from the beginning ,will know  how therapeutic blogging has been and still is for me. My blog evolved from a blog about a person with mental health issues to,

a person who has mental health and other  interests.

like  what?

  •  symbolism

  • cultures

  • politics

  • chatting on line

  • doing challenges

  • trying my hand at poetry

  • finding inspiration in quotes

  • trying new projects

  • Learning how to master the technical side of word press.   That is always a fun one  😀

And a bunch of other stuff.

I  have become the person I want to be. I never thought I could be the person I had locked away in my mind.

Other people had those qualities -not me.

I was faking it. I didn’t have it in me.

I DID

I  DO.

So, that is how I did it.

No magic spells, no money changing hands that I know of,  but honesty, hard work and the willingness to change.

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I know a lot of stuff that has happened in my life  has/is not my fault but I can’t change that. I have learned that the only way I can alter my life and live as happy as I want to be; is by me considering looking within and changing.

This is a never-ending process.

We all have our battles and scars. If we have scars it means  we have come out the other side.

I  can look at each scar with pride that I overcame something. I became the some one that I only saw in others. The me I wished I could be.

I am.

Just felt it was a good time to share and reflect – back to reading blogs  and researching the origins of the hen and stag do

Well, I am ,after all, getting married in 11 weeks . 😀

Here is the Oscar worthy  , mushy part  of the post

To every word press follower (all 254 of you) , Face book follower (all 60 of you) and Twitter follower (all 85 of you)

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That comes across as so corny but I wouldn’t still have hope to do what I love if it wasn’t  for you lot . It’s been 7 months of pure pleasure.

(All images sourced from google)