As I sit here on my bed I think back to better days. I see, of all things. A text book in front of me, labelled “Harmony.” It is a lovely shade of green and it has a stave and a trevle clef on it. In my mind I touch it lovingly. When I was sixteen years old I could choose between certain subjects to do at school. The only one I really wanted to do was Music. This was a subject that no one else ever wanted to do, and I was told that I could not do it either as I had not passed Grade V on an instrument. I was determined however. After pushing for a long time I was told that the rules would allow me to do it if I did a special Paper in Harmonly but that it was very hard.

Nothing in the world would have put me off. I jumped at the chance to do Harmony. I absolutely loved it. I ended learning so much and eventually composing my own music using my new knowledge of Harmony. It was one of the best times of my life. I still love putting harmonies together today.



Carrie stood back and looked once again at the picture she was painting. Her thoughts went back to when she had been a child in school. She had hated painting then. She was no good at it. It made it worse when the boy next to her in the art room knocked a pot of paint onto the floor and blamed her for it. It was like a lot of things. She was deemed to be no good at them. She would never amount to anything. Then one day, her rage rising, she took some paints and splurged out her rage onto the paper. Gradually, as she began to calm down and find peace, she found that she could actually paint. Her pictures were pretty good. Looking at the blue green kettle that she had just painted she was thrown back in time. Her grandmother had had a blue green kettle. Now, her grandmother was gone, along with everyone else, and there was no one to know that she had made good in the end. She sat down on the floor contemplating. If only they were here now.


O.K. so it’s Halloween. When we were kids we hardly did anything at all for Halloween. It was hardly noticed. But nowadays it is totally different, like so many things. Now, kids have to have the full regalia, costing goodness knows what. How did it come to be so competetive where kids are in competition for having the best costume. I wonder who egged it up like this. I am all for a bit of fun, but it has got a bit ridiculous in my view.

What I remember most about this time of year is Mischief Night. That was the night before bonfire night, and kids went round doing all the mischief they could do. This usually amounted going round taking peoples’ gates off, and knocking on doors and then running away and hiding.

Then of course there was bonfire night itself, and we did well if we got a few rockets in our box of fireworks. It is much different today. We now have air bombs that sound like nuclear explosions. The whole house shakes. Of course we had bonfires and toffee apples and baked potatoes done in the bonfire with loads of butter in. And toffee and maybe a few sausages on sticks done in the bonfire.

Everything is just so different today and I wonder if it is as much fun nowadays.


I saw
Demons today
In your cold eyes haunted
By tortured past tormenting you
Sending you completely insane
Never letting you go
Neither you them

They come
Out of your mouth
Spitting out vile mockings
Rending the night air asunder
In hypnotic chaotic trance
I become mesmerised
Join in the dance
With you


I lost my sight that dreadful day
There are no words that I can say
I felt that I had lost all hope
As in the dark I had to grope
All I could do was start to pray

However could I find my way
My eyes were closed I could not stay
I slid upon the slippery slope
I lost my sight

The black began to turn to grey
I found some hope as I did lay
I knew that there must be a rope
A brighter day I could invoke
And now I could my demons slay
I lost my sight


At the end of the lane she rode on by
The sun was shining high in the sky
Her ghostly figure drew me on
I could not get close, the lane was long
I did not ask the question why

She disappeared I tell no lie
In sadness I let out a sigh
What was it that was oh so wrong
At the end of the lane

It felt so eerie I thought I’d die
In that moment I let out a cry
I smelled just then a scent so strong
Then vultures in the air did throng
I knew I had to say goodbye
At the end of the lane


I think I have mentioned before the belief that in the end you can only trust yourself. I feel, today, that this is more important than ever. It might sound hard, but it is nevertheless true. I am talking about this in an emotional sense, if that is the right word. We ourselves are the only ones who can take care of our emotional health or our inner selves. People can say all kinds of things to us that are meant to be helpful and indeed they often are. However, in the final analysis we can only trust ourselves as no one else is in our shoes. No one else is in our own spirit. There is only just us. No one else has gone through our life’s experiences, or our present experiences. Too often assumptions are made that what is one person’s experience matches that of another to such an extent that there is a blanket statement that can be made to cover everything. This is not true.

In the end, we all need to be our own nurturers, and the guardian of our own souls. I think it is very important to guard our own souls. We need to protect ourselves. We need to be alert and discerning. This is especially so if we are in any way particularly vulnerable. Sometimes it is a jungle out there.


I have just heard part of a book by Paula D’Arcy. She wrote about the Darkness, from her experience of losing her husband and child in a car crash. Her words about the darkness made me think. As many of you will know, I write about the darkness a lot, from my position of going completely blind, but also from my position of being sick and mostly wheelchair bound. Like Paula, I see the darkness as a positive thing rather than a negative one. It is not that the pain is not real, but that the darkness can be a place of treasures we would never expect to find in such a place.

The other day I wrote and posted a poem about a caterpillar going into the complete darkness for a long time, and emerging as something beautiful. I have thought much about this over the past few days. In fact the image will not leave me. So much goes on in the darkness, just as it does for the caterpillar. Eventually, hopefully, we will come out as changed and in great beauty. The darkness rests us and allows things to happen. It holds and nurtures us like a mother. However, I want to say something more about what Paula says. She talks about coming out of the darkness into a place of light eventually. I want to say that the darkness itself is radiant. It is radiant with a light that we cannot see, but it is there nevertheless. For some people, physical things are not going to change and the darkness will only deepen more. There is no light at the end of the tunnel, but just more darkness. Where is the light then? I want to say that it is in the darkness itself. The darkness itself is light. I could not have written that a few years ago, but I can now.

When terrible things happen to you, you can either let yourself be destroyed by them or you can work with them and find transformation. In the dark we can be transformed just like the caterpillar. For some of us there is no point in looking to a better time ahead and for the light. It is not going to come. Often there is just further deterioration and deeper darkness. It is only when we can see the darkness as good in itself that we can survive. And not only survive but actually blossom.


Like many of you, I love to write. I love to create. I try to create things that embrace many different emotions and subjects. Even when I am really struggling and feeling black and frightened I write joyous things or poems etc about the light. Mostly I feel the way I am writing, but sometimes I don’t.

This morning I found myself in the grip of fear again, as my chest was making loud noises rather like a train going through a tunnel. Every time I moved it made a strange sound. We checked my oxygen levels and they were low. Too low. We had not checked them for a long time and so I was shocked. When I added this to the phenomenal tiredness that I have been feeling lately, I got really scared. I am always one to say that there can’t be anything really wrong, but I had a very nasty feeling.

Of course, as usual I tried to forget about it, and we went out to the old wooden bridge that I love. It was so quiet and still there, and it was beautiful. I forgot all nasty things and just enjoyed the moment.

If I am honest I am really scared. But also I will still write all kinds of things. I try to deny to myself that anything sinister is happening, and just hope that it is not. In truth I am really worried. But tomorrow we will go out again and breather in the fresh air and listen to the rooks gathering in the field ready to all take off at once and make for home for the night, wherever home is. They all arrive from different directions but all take off again as one massive group. The whole sky is blackened for a minute or two. It is an incredible sight although I can see it no longer. They make a loud noise with their chattering as they set off though. The wonders of nature.


O.K.so now I am in full flow and I cannot stop lol.

I want to echo what the author of that book says when he talks about the hospitals and the state they are in, and of the things that happen there.

I got a shock when I experienced just how the hospitals can treat cancer patients. I am simply going to tell my own experience. Often the chemo ward used agency nurses and often those agency nurses would have been on duty all night at another hospital and then come to ours to deliver chemo drugs to people. On one occasion I had an agency nurse who fell asleep in the chair at the side of my bed. A particular drug was being pumped into me that needed careful watching as it was so toxic and if any spilled onto your skin you were in trouble. In fact she did not know what she was doing at all and I had to tell her what to do. This is a common experience. Often they do not know what they are doing. Some of the fluid did spill onto my skin as she dropped something onto the floor, but fortunately it was just the saline that they pump through you first. It could have been much worse.

There was often a problem with commodes. There was great difficulty in getting the nurses to bring a commode to me. With all that fluid going into you, you need to pass water often. But often I just could not get a commode. On one occasion the ward sister said to me,

“Do it in the bed. I don’t have to wash the sheets.” I was in shock.

On another occasion when I could not get a commode brought to me, I ended up in desperation ringing my husband up on my mobile and I shouted at him to get a solicitor to me immediately as they would not bring me a commode and let me go to the toilet. Strangely, I was heard by all the nurses and a commode appeared straight away.

They always had problems getting the cannula into my vein, and it often took eight attempts which was very painful as they would be furkling around inside my hand with the needle. I said something to the ward sister about this and the next time I went for chemo, the nurse denied me a pillow to rest my arm on whilst the drugs were being delivered. This took four or five hours.

Often the nurses were without the proper equipment for the job. Thus, on one occasion, the ward sister had to inject the drugs manually into my vein. Some of the drugs had to go in at a particular speed because of the light that got onto them. She had to attempt to deliver them manually at the right speed.

On one occasion the pump broke down and refused to deliver the drug quickly. It went on a go slow, and I was told it was an old pump and that the hospital would not buy the ward any more as it had not got the money.

There was a culture of bullying in the hospital especially amongst up the higher ups and it filtered down into the nurses and thus then the patients. The chemo ward was not a happy place. Often my drugs did not arrive on time because something had broken down in the hospital pharmacy.

One morning I arrived for my chemo session and I was told that someone else was in my bed. My bed had been taken.

I could relate many more incidents from the chemo ward, and then, from Opthalmology also.

There are often falls that happen and my father was the subject of one of them. He was not fit to go to the toilet on his own but they would not take him. He had had a stroke. He fell into a corner behind the door in the toilet. He was crying like a baby. This broke my heart. They refused to allow relatives to take the patients to the toilet.

These are just a few things but they have all come flooding back to me after reading that book. I like to forget them, but sometimes you can’t.

I was lucky. I went into remission. But the process was awful.


In writing about that book that I read yesterday, I mentioned that I ended up very depressed. Indeed I did. I felt terribly oppressed and as if I was suffocating. It was not only because of the illness itself, but because of many other related things, like getting care, our NHS and how it fails us so often and the bad state it is in, Social Services, and a whole host of other things like lack of money for the chemo wards, meaning that they do not have the equipment often to deliver your drugs to you. The author of the book is not backwards in coming forwards in bringing these things out. It put back in touch with my own struggle and our own struggle to get any help and some care for ourselves. It can be hell on earth and can drive you insane almost. Life is hard enough anyway but when you are treated in that way as well it can drive yu right onto the edge.

Receiving some comments and reading that book has made me think a lot, and I may make a post later about all these problems for they affect everybody who sadly becomes the victim of a terrible illness or disability or like us, many. I try to put it out of my head as much as possible as it got me to the point of wanting to end my life a while ago. Many disabled people who cannot get help and care end up exactly like this. The fighting gets you down, and there is no one to talk to about this terrible fight just to exist from day to day.

I fought shy of putting any of this into my own book, but I might think again about that now. They are issues that affect people so deeply at a most terrible time in their lives.

There was a heading in a newspaper recently that said,

“I will die to save my disabled daughter’s life.”

I could not read the rest so do not know what it was about, but actually cried at that. Why should anyone in our country today be brought to that? Yet many people are.

We cannot put the whole system right but I guess we have to raise our voices to speak out against it. I do not usually get into politics but I do care about the plight of people. So I may make a post later about all of this but I do not like getting into politics really. Sometimes you have to raise your voice though.


In one of my posts I mentioned the ORCAM that reads books for you. Quite rightly it was pointed out to me that the cost is prohibitive for so many. I must admit that I did think twice before buying it, but my life was restricted in so many ways that just to open up one area for myself again was worth it. I was lucky enough to have some inheritance money from my mother so chose to use it for that.

I agree that there should be the avilability of this new invention for everybody. I want to say that there are Apps that you can put onto your phone that will read books, documents. Letters, the writing on packages like in the kitchen and store cupboard, and various other things. It is free and is very easy to use and useful. I forget what it is called but there are various Apps like this. I only just found out about these and blind people should be told about these too but they are not it seems. I found out after I had bought my ORCAM. I have discovered that if you go blind when you are a bit older there is not the help out there that is available if you go blind when you are younger. Getting information is very hard. I am glad that I do have my ORCAM but I would not have bought it had I known about these Apps.


Depression hangs round me
Flattening the edges of my life
Nothing sharp any more
Just a tiredness
An exhaustion
Inside me the me that no one sees
Dressed in black
Mourning for all that is lost
Alone I cry
Knowing that more stripping will come
In my mind the words I dare not say
Except to myself
A demise
Life dwindling
Like the drip drip of a tap
How suddenly
Life can change
How suddenly
We can become as nothing
One stroke and then we are gone
Soon you learn the truth
It is
The survival of the fittest


This is an older poem again, but it is right for the time of year and is one of my favourites.

See now, the grey turn to silver
Threads in dark winter’s night,
The promise of golden days ahead
When summer’s sun my soul will warm

Threads in dark winter’s night
Paint a picture in the trees
When summer’s sun my soul will warm
The picture will come to life

Paint a picture in the trees
Though winter’s cold my soul does chill
The picture will come to life
As the earth moves round to face the sun

Though winter’s cold my soul does chill
Soon the thickening ice will melt
As the earth moves round to face the sun
The picture becomes complete

Soon the thickening ice will melt
And I will dance in summer’s sun
The picture becoming complete
As grey turns to silver then to gold


Today I received a book that I had ordered that told of somebody’s cancer story. Well actually it was the husband of someone who had died of cancer who was telling his wife’s story. When I ordered the book I just ordered it because it was a cancer story, but was so sourprised when I received it to discover that it was the story of Hodgkins Lymphoma. Very few people get this cancer so it is hard to find stories about it. I could not put the book down, and found so many resonances with my own experience. This included the way in which I was treated by the nurses in the chemo ward, and Social Services, and also our GP Practice. I felt validated by this book because in general people have an idea in their minds as to what nurses are like and what Social Services are like and any variation of that tends not to be believed. The author of the book makes the very strong point that our NHS is in a bad state and that people are suffering terribly as a result of this. He cites under funding as the root problem. This also hits Social Services, and they often fall far short of what they are meant to be.

My case is far different to the one in this story. His wife was only in her twenties when she was diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma and also it was not very advanced when it was discovered. Mine was very advanced, but still, even in a not so far advanced case, there was a lot of suffering and the chemo was far from pleasant. The author’s wife did recover and had no ill effects afterwards, unlike myself. He describes the fabulous holidays that they enjoyed all over the world, including to the Great Wall of China, Russia, Nepal, and many other exotic places. Travelling was their greatest joy. However, when his wife was in her sixties, she was discovered to have bowel cancer and it was Stage IV and terminal. Hodgkins Lymphoma can lead to other cancers and bowel cancer is one of them. It spread to her lungs and eventually she died. The story at the end is harrowing and the author cared for his wife himself right until the end, except for the final two days.

Whilst it was good to read someone’s experience of my cancer, I ended up rather depressed and not a bit frightened. All cancer sufferers carry that fear within them. They wonder if in the end it will return and kill then. Once I had read the book, I had to try and find something else to do to take my mind off it.

The one good thing about today was that I managed to read a whole book with my ORCAM that takes a photograph of each page of the book and reads it to you. Isn’t that just wonderful. That blind people can now actually read ordinary paper and hard backed books and not have to rely on audible books. I can read any book that I like now, with no restrictions. The ORCAM is a pair of glasses with a small battery operated computer fixed onto the right arm of the glasses. Most people tell it wat to do by pressing little buttons on the computer, but as I have peripheral polyneuropathy meaning that I have no feeling in my fingers, I can use voice commands. Isn’t that just neat. I just have to say,

“Hey OrCam, smart reading.”

That makes it take a photograph of the page that you hold up in front of the glasses, and then you say,

“Read everything,” and it reads you the page. Aint that just wonderful. I can’t get over it. Lol.

So that was my day.


Deep deep underground it was a hive of activity. All the fleas were getting ready for their Big Day. There was a long queue at the barbers and the hairdressers as lots of fleas waited patiently to have their hair dyed and gelled so that it could be made to stand up on end. Some had bright luminous green hair, some had an eerie blue, and some had a bright scary red colour. Then of course there was the dress shop. The dressmakers had been busy all year preparing for this big event. They had designed all sorts of weird and wonderful dresses. They had worked so hard at making them look as scary as possible. There was one shop that sold clothes in all white, and in the flimsiest material imaginable. It was so light that it was easy to float around whilst wearing it. Just right for Halloween. The bar was busy. They sold pints of blood at reduced prices specially for Halloween. That was one of the best things about being dead. You didn’t have to jump any more to get a meal. You simply went to the bar.

Soon it was midnight on October 31st, Desmond stood at the opening from the underground world into the town.

“Come on you lot. Don’t all rush at once. Get into an orderly line. Those that was killed by flea spray can go first and get your own back. You will have special jumping abilities and sharper teeth than ever and you can scare the whole town to death.”

Suddenly there was the sound of a huge bell chiming and all the fleas jumped out into the town. They ran and jumped amok and never had the town known a scarier night. Accident and Emergency was full of people, many with terrible bites and there was a long waiting time to be seen. It was the next night before many of them got treated and by then all the fleas had gone back into their underground world having wreaked absolute havoc on the town.


Once upon a time there was a wonderful little flea called Bertie. He was married to a lovely flea called Gertie.they were married for forty years, but then, sadly, Gertie died. She was buried in the churchyard along with lots of other fleas. It was October 31st. And Bertie was walking through the churchyard at midnight. Suddenly something jumped out at him. His mouth dropped open when he realised it was his Gertie.

“O, oh, Gertie, he moaned. How did you get here?”

“Well they told me it was Halloween and that on Halloween all the graves open and all fleas can jump once again. I couldn’t pass a gift horse could I.”

“Oh my goodness,” exclaimed Bertie. Oh my love, come here.”

Gertie floated towards Bertie. Her flimsy dress flowing in the wind. She went to Bertie and he held her tight and they danced together in the churchyard.

“Oh Gertie, I cannot let you go again,” cried Bertie. “It has been horrible without you.”

Suddenly they were both hit by a stone, and they fell into a grave together. Bertie had got his wish and he was now with Gertie for all eternity.


When I was at Secondary school it was always assumed that when I left school I would become a teacher. As a child I had expressed the wish to be a teacher. So when I was between the ages of 11 and 18 I worked very hard at exams etc. I always used to have to do the exams in the sick room where there was a sink, because I got so stressed that I would be vomiting. I hated it. So when it came to my final exams, my A levels, I decided to flunk them. Totally fed up with it all, I didn’t care whether I passed or not. I failed on purpose. Everyone was disgusted with me, but I did still go to Teacher Training College in Bradford, which was where I met my husband.

My old school headmaster had said to me, prior to me flunking my A levels,

“You are not university material Lorraine.”

I was not bothered, as I was not interested in going to university anyway. However, later in life, I did do a degree, with the University of Oxford. I have mentioned this before on my blog. I got a degree and then a Masters, and then did a doctorate in the area of Violence Against Women and the Church’s Response. That was the title of my thesis. I almost completed the doctorate but not quite due to my father’s death. My thesis is still sitting there lol.

As many of you know, I endured some terrible things at home, and when I was 13 I discovered a church near me and started going to the Youth Club there. I used to talk to the Deaconess there a lot. I loved talking about the universe and life and what life was all about. Then one night, the Deaconess said to me,

“Lorraine God loves you.”

I was stopped dead in my tracks. I could hardly believe this. I had never been loved by anybody. I fell on it hungrily and thirstily.

The church became my new home and the people my family. I was happy for a while. But I always had a lively brain and I started to question it all. I was treated badly for being a doubter. When I went to College I took Theology as my main subject as I wanted to really study it all and ask questions. My faith waned. Things did not add up.

Later on in life, as I have said, I did a Theology degree with Oxford University. Again, it was because I wanted to ask questions. I was in the right place. One of the things that we studied was Philosophy, and the first thing we considered was the arguments for and against God. I was really taken with this. I got no answers, but more and more questions.

This theme of asking questions has continued throughout my life. It is just how I am made. I think I am schizophrenic because I can believe utterly and yet at the same time I can dispense with belief readily. None of us can know for sure about God. But I still seek answers.

All that I can say is that the love I was told about got me through some of the most horrific abuse that a 13 year old girl can know at the hands of her mother. I will never forget that.

I have a very rational mind and need things proved. You can’t prove God and I always look for psychological or other interpretations of things. But there are some things that cannot be explained in that way. My problem, if you want to call it that, is that I have a very mystical nature. I have what you might call mystical experiences, and always look for explanations but can never find any.

The question of God is a very fraught one for me. Yet there are things that I cannot account for in any other way than a God of some kind.

I could make a very good atheist and often think that I really am one. But maybe in my blog I might say more about this. I do believe that we are more than flesh and blood and we obviously have spirits. I will say more about this in the future.


I woke from a weird dream this morning. I was dreaming that I was in a store in the altogether and was crawling around on the floor trying to keep myself covered. It was scary because there were assistants all around. It must have been to do with not being able to find my clothes the oother night when hubby fell and thinking I might have to answer the door to the firemen in the altogether lol


Once I saw a caterpillar
Making its way purposefully
Into a crevice
Entering the darkness
Many months I knew
It would be there
Hibernating until Springtime
How much it was aware
Of its great journey
Into sleep and darkness
Did it know
Or was it an automaton
Was it just programmed
I felt the wonder
Of the Great Sleep
In Springtime
Everything would have changed
I would never see that caterpillar again
Silently I said Goodbye
In my heart
In awe


I am hoping that tomorrow I will be able to go and sit by the rowan tree in the churchyard again. With Halloween coming, it should be interesting. As I have said before the rowan tree is meant to be the guard of all souls. It is meant to protect. There are many names that I recognise in that churchyard. Names that have been in the village for centuries. My great grandmother’s grave is right by the rowan tree, though I did not know it when I first went there in 2015. So many strange things have happened to me there, as I have recounted on my blog before. If I had my way I would sit under the rowan tree for ever. I might get a bit cold, hot, and wet at times though. But I love the seasons, and being close to nature. There is just something about that rowan tree that draws me, as I have said before. I almost feel that it talks to me.

As I sit there nowadays, which is not really that often, I recall the life of my great grandmother. It was a hard life, and she bore many children and lost a few too. One of them she lost in world War I and he was only 19. Before going to war he was a farm labourer and the terrible conditions that he found himself in in the trenches makes my heart bleed and I know my great grandmother never forgot it. He is buried in a huge cemetery in France. It is all so very sad.

I know that there will be many sad stories amongst the souls in that graveyard. It is full now, and no more bodies can be buried there, but I would have been buried there if there was any room left. It is the only place I have ever really felt was home, though we left when I was two years old. I think that there must be something in the fact that I feel drawn there strongly again as we approach Halloween. I will let you know if anything strange happens.


Phew. After last night’s chaos we have found a sort of handyman who does everything lol. He is going to put a grab rail in the bedroom so that hubby can hold onto that when transferring from wheelchair to bed. He can do loads of other things that we need doing too. It must be a miracle lol as handymen are hard to come by and they are always well booked up. We know that Social Services will not help us as they are meant to and we had a horrible exchange with them today, but this is not for the first time. We have learned not to believe the blurb so we are going it alone and never contacting them again. You still have to pay for everything anyway but it was not money that we were after, but just some suggestions and access to theiry handymen etc. I have always been an independent person anyway so this suits me just find. I wish, however, that the Care Companies had more vacancies as that would be helpful from time to time but the Care Industry is going bust in our country. Phew. I was so worried but now I feel a bit better. We will see how this works out.


It’s hard to smell the roses
When standing in the shit
It’s hard to smell the roses
From the bottom of the pit
Life is so damned shitty
It’s not that we didn’t try
It really isn’t pretty
And often we ask why
We’ve really tried out hardest
Crying out for help
We’ve truly done our damnedest
And now we feel like pulp
We’ve rung again this morning
To let them know the score
To give a clearest warning
But I doubt that we will score
They say we’ve got each other
Though both of us are sick
I feel in such a lather
I’ll throw a bloody brick


We have had a catastrophe. Hubby fell in the middle of the night. He was stuck and trapped and could not get up.

He had got out of bed to open the bedroom window and on his way back into bed he lost his balance and fell onto the floor. He is always in danger of falling and it happened again tonight. He actually had his left hand on the bed but then lost his balance and landed on the floor. Not too long ago he missed his wheelchair whilst trying to go to the window and he had problems getting up then. This time he landed in a small space on one side of the air conditioning unit that stands on the floor. He could not get himself past it to get into a position to get back onto the bed again. He has no strength to get himself up.

We were panicking as his downstairs wheelchair was blocking the front door and we thought we would have to get the fire brigade. I could not have got to the front door to let them in.

I attempted to find my clothes, but, being blind, I just could not find them. How was I to even try to let the fire brigade in in the altogether lol.

My husband was starting to panic as he just could not slide himself past the air conditioner to get to his wheelchair. I could not find my phone and he was yelling at me to get the fire brigade. He could not take in, for a while that I could even get to the front door. Being blind as well did not help.

After he had panicked for a while, he somehow or other managed to slide past the air conditioner and get into a position where he could get onto his knees and then pull himself onto the bed. It took it out of him though.

I blamed the yoghurt that he ate before coming to bed. It was literally all ice and he had ajob to crack the ice. The refrigerator was frozen at the back and the yoghurts had got onto it.

All is well now and he is snoring in bed whilst I am wide awake lol. This is the third time he has fallen onto the floor in the bedroom. It is scary.


One of my best friends had cancer just after me. Hers was a different cancer, and she was able to return to a fairly normal life after treatment. However, there were some things that she did find difficult and so she turned to other things to fill the gap.

I have been thinking about this. We always try to replace things we have lost with something else. We do not like a void. I attempted to think about my own position and what is possible, and in fact there is virtually nothing as the way I am now, there is little that I can do. However, writing is the one thing I can still do, and that does take up a lot of my day. I think back to whem I used to write before I had cancer, and the different writing groups that I went to, that were so much fun. Inspiration was not a problem then, but these days I find getting inspired a problem. Not being able to see, I have no real stimuli, and often I get stuck and get into a rut, writing about the same things all of the time. I try to remember what things look like and find that I cannot. The memory fades. Yet I try to imagine the scent when we are out in the countryside. It is harder than you think. But still, I MUST write. It is part of me and to lose it would be like losing an arm or a leg or something. Even if no one read it I would still have to write.

If anyone has any ideas about how to get inspired please let me know lol.

I long to write about nature again, but it is real hard when you can’t see it. It is true that you still have hearing and that you can feel it on your skin, and even smell amd taste it at times, but for me the loss of sight is a great grief. One day I will be able to write about it more meaningfully again.

#FOWC – Grovel


Philomena was a most beautiful creature. In fact there was none like her. Akelmund spied her one day brushing her hair by the water. He decided that he would approach her, flatter her and woo her. Then he would capture her so that she would always be his. Philomena was so happy when she was flattered and wooed and she was not hard to capture. Akelmund was in his element. He had this beautiful creature for ever now.

At first Philomena was deliriously happy but then very slowly and insiduously things began to change. Akelmund was doing little things that made her feel uncomfortable. She said nothing, thinking she must have angered him in some way. She vowed to be a better creature. Akelmund noticed this, but then began playing more games with her. He wanted her completely under his control. Gradually it happened. Philomena did not know what had happened to her, but she learned that if she wanted anything she had to GROVEL in front of him. She became desperate as she tried to cry out her plight to the world. No one heard her because Akelmund always appeared charming and looked as if he was the best creature in the world. Everyone thought how lucky Philomena was to have Akelmund. But she was his prisoner and one day in desperation she took a kitchen knife and stuck it in his chest and Akelmund was no more.


In her own world
Barriers erected
She withdrew into the safety
Of her
Own mind
Beyond the walls lies deceptions
Myriad house of cards
About to fall
On her

In fear
She tried to rest
But rest would not come now
Yet another lie had been told
No friends no family
Nowhere to run
She froze

Wait till
The morning when the light would come
Salt tears stung as dark came
She dreamt of peace
And cried


Ria pushed her body up against Jim as they kissed. It was their first kiss, and Ria felt as if she was melting in the wonderful warmth of his body. It was strange how they had got together. Ria’s best friend was dating Jim but it was not going too well with them and Jim had been looking intently at Ria whilst Barb showed little real interest in him. It was a fun time. Often the boys from the University would visit the girls in their rooms in the Halls of Residence of the nearby College. Often the rooms would be jam packed full of people, and it was a great time. In the end, Barb had given Jim to Ria as a Christmas present as she had grown tired of him. ‘Ria could not believe her luck. Jim was kind and sensitive, and gently spoken, just as she wanted any boyfriend of hers to be. He looked at her with an intensity that she had never encountered before. So when they went on their first date she did not quite know what to expect but she hoped that it might end in a kiss.

They leaned up against the wall just near to Porter’s Lodge, which was the main entrance to the College. It had been a wonderful evening, but everyone had to sign back into Porter’s Lodge by ten o’ clock at night unless they had got a pass. Ria could hardly tear herself away from Jim, but she had to, and jim said that they would go on another date soon.

Ria could not wait to tell her girlfriends about Jim and of how wonderful the date had been, and especially the kiss. She was in a dream, and she told her girlfriends to put a bowl into the middle of the room for her to melt into.

Life could not have been better for Ria. Away from the constrictions of her home she felt as free as a bird. No one was going to clip her wings now.


Losing your independence and becoming ill is the most frightening thing in the world. When you are kids you think you are invincible. Your life seems to stretch out eternally in front of you. You are never going to get old and die.

As you go through life you do lots of things, and mostly you are busy. You just get on with it and along the way there are many enjoyable things and things to work at. You still don’t think about getting old. Then suddenly it hits you. An illness. Losing so much of yourself. No longer being able to do things for yourself. It is made worse if you have no family and friends, or if you do not have a community spirit around you.

This has hit me very forcibly today. It is not that it has not hit me before, but today it feels even worse. One minute you are walking, cycling, swimming and lots of other things and the next you are totally dependent. It is horrible.

We are fortunate enough to own our own home, but it is not adapted for us and it would be too expensive to do it ourselves and there is no help out there for us. I fear the day that something happens to my husband. Where would I be. I am essentially a very private person, and cannot abide the thoughts of someone else controlling me. I need to be the captain of my own ship. My brain is quick and intact, and it is just my body that is the problem. My body has made me old before my time, but this is due to the damned cancer.

I have found myself in the grip of fear all day today and really feeling it that we are isolated and on our own. It has not been a good day today.


It is a strange day today. I want to go to all the places that are in my memory. Memories are coming thick and fast and I am all over the place. The Lake District, St. Ediths Church in Lincolnshire,
The Cat and Fiddle pub in Derbyshire the Wye Valley where we once spent a lovely holiday, Paradise in the seaside town of Scarborough, and a whole host of other places. I am nippping from one to the other so fast in my mind. Oh, if only my body was as quick as my mind.


Once upon a time there was a lovely flea called Stella. She was really good at jumping as well as being beautiful. One day, however, she jumpted into a swimming pool from the high diving board and had a terrible accident. She ended up in wheelchair, and her life was changed for ever. She became a very miserable flea. It was quite understandable. But one day a flea called Osmund became aware of how many disabled fleas there were around, and he felt so sad for them and, being an engineer, he wanted to make life better for them. He designed a wheelchair that if you clicked a switch on it, it would catapult you into the air and then you were just like a normal flea and able to jump high just like everyone else. So Stella found herself able to jump real hight onto someone’s shin and drink as much blood as she wanted and she never went hungry again.


I do not know what it is about this time of year, but I am finding that I am turning back to my memories even more than usual. Maybe it is because we always used to go on holiday at this time of year to the Lake District to enjoy the autumn colours. I have so many wonderful memories of the Lake District, and one of those was climbing Scafell Pike. It was a beautiful sunny day in May when we did it, so not autumn, but we always said we would do it again. We never did. Fate took over and that was the end of our climbing and walking days. But I have just so many lovely memories, and I do not think I could ever put into words the sheer beauty of the area especially in autumn. I love it when there is just a little bit of a chill in the air in the early morning and in the evening. I am not a sun worshipper at all, preferring much cooler and more interesting weather. We certainly got that in the Lake District. But the main memory that comes to mind every time I think of autumn there is of Skelwith Bridge. In autumn the orange and brown leaves were inches thick under your feet. At the end of most days we would just stop off at Skelwith Bridge and take a walk there. The leaves crunched underfoot, and the dogs loved chasing through the leaves at full pelt. It was an amazing feeling. I love the fresh air and autumn is the perfect time to enjoy it. I do not like to think of the coming of winter, and so I try to forget that once we get into autumn, winter will soon be here.


Today I had a visit from a lady from our local Blind Society. She came to see if there was any equipment that she could suggest that might help me. Amazingly, there is an App that you can put on your cell phone and it reads things for you, like packets, books, documents and letters. She put it onto my phone immediately so I have been playing with it lol.

I am very keen to get back to that little church right out in the countryside that I have nentioned before. It has lots of history to it, and when I go there I always feel as if there are souls in the walls. I do not yet know how I would get into the church as it has a long path up into it, and now that I am totally blind, I do not know that I could guide my wheelchair into it. However, I so much want to go there. I feel that there must be some way of doing it and I am not going to give up on the idea. It is very dark inside there anyway, so being blind will not be much different lol. Wish me luck.


We sat, yesterday afternoon, as we sometimes do, in a car park right above the Flats as we call them, remembering. It is an isolated spot right out in the countryside and below the hill where we are sitting are lakes and the huge River Trent. Actually, at that point five rivers meet, making a huge amount of water where they soon flow out into the sea. It is an amazing place, and there are many birds there. We used to see Marsh Harriers and all sorts of other rare birds. It is a lovely place to sit and I conjure up so many wonderful memories. I miss seeing the birds. I do not however, miss the sandflies that once bit me all over my feet and ankles!


Yesterday, October 19 was my sister’s birthday. She is ten years younger than me, and as many of you know I have a very toxic family. I have nothing to do with my brother and sister now, my mother having died in 2019, leaving her chaos behind her.

It set me thinking a lot about the day when I first met my new baby sister, and what followed afterwards. Those of you who have been following me for a while may remember that on the day my mother brought my sister home from the hospital, I returned home from school to see my sister on my mother’s lap and whe was absolutely beautiful. I went to touch her but my mother said,

“Look at her, the black haired little bugger.”

I was in shock and horror. She was just so beautiful. I was not allowed to touch her though. My mother put her into her carry cot and just left her there.

My sister was a crying baby and nobody got any sleep for a long time. She was a very unhappy baby, and grew up having no confidence whatsoever. She was actually treated well despite what my mother had said on that first day and my father adored her. Something must have affected my sister though as she had terrible problems with confidence in simple little things and she was a very unhappy child who was always crying.

I think back to when my father hit my mother in the stomach with a wooden chair leg just before my sister was delivered. I feel sure that some terrible damage was done to the baby that day. I remember my terrible pain at seeing my father doing this, and I cried out,

“The baby. The baby.”

I loved this little baby with all of my heart and wanted to run over to my mother and put my arms around her stomach to protect the baby. That was a horrible moment.

My sister grew up with many problems but she is excellent at her job as a cleaner.

For various reasons I have had tp cut off from her since my mother’s death. She has mental problems that are uncontrolled and we could not cope with the phone calls that we were receiving from her, full of venom and poison.

I felt so much pain on her birthday for I still love her, and so we went and put a birthday card through her letter box. It was a card that opened up into sunflowers on a tablecloth. It was a 3D card and very beautiful.

I felt so much sorrow and grief at the way things have turned out.


Once upon a time there was a beautiful little flea called Flo. Not only was she beautiful but she was also intelligent. The problem was that her teachers and the headmistress at her school thought that she couldn’t amount to much with a name like Flo Flea. Whenever anything happened Flo got blamed. One time everyone in the class was painting, and the flea next to Flo called Fido Flea knocked a pot of paint off Flo’s easel and Flo got the blame and was sent to the Reading corner as punishment. Flo was secretly bery pleased because she hated painting and loved reading. She did feel upset however about the injustice. Already she had a bad enough name in the school without this added on. As she went through her school life her name continued to cause problems. No one believed that anyone called Flo Flea could possibly be any good. Flo left school with lots of exams passes and this surprised everyone but Flo always knew she was some good. She never let all the ribbing and name calling get to her.

One day when she had left school, she decided to go to a solicitors to change her name by Deed Poll. She decided to be called Fantasia. Now that she had a wonderful new name everyone began to think she was amazing. She achieved so much in her life and never did she use the name Flo Flea again.


Take my hand and hear the birdsong,
Smell with me the forest pine,
Feel with me the dew of the morning.

Hear the beat of the bird’s wings flying,
Raise your face up to the moonshine,
Take my hand and hear the birdsong.

Hear the fountain burbling, gurgling,
Taste the taste of wine so fine,
Feel with me the dew of the morning.

Feel the trunk of the old tree leaning,
Touch its bark from ancient time,
Take my hand and hear the birdsong.

Though without sight the world is teeming,
Unable to walk pure joy is mine
Take my hand and hear the birdsong,
Feel with me the dew of the morning.

#FOWC – Arrange


“I will ARRANGE for the Undertaker to come,” Trevor said.

Our mother had just died. Her death was as chaotic as her life had been. The people she had created acted in exactly the way she had trained them to, engaging in a furious argument at the foot of her bed minutes before she died. Unable to stand it, I had walked out, leaving my brother and sister to it. Though my heart was bleeding, I knew that this was my mother’s own creation and that I would grieve over that for ever.

Just as I arrived home, I felt an urgent need to return to my mother’s house, and as we drew up outside the house and parked the car, my mobile rang.

“Mum died one minute ago,” said Trevor. I will never forget that moment as long as I live. She had wanted me there when she died. She had told me that one week before, and I had not been there. I entered the house distancing myself from my real feelings as I had learned to do throughout my life. Sometimes this is the only way to survive.

I looked at her dead body with the little sight that I had left. Her mouth had dropped open as she had died and I felt that I was looking into the cavern of death. I had a few minutes with her before my brother made this announcement about the Undertaker. I retired to our car where my husband was waiting for me, and we waited for the Undertaker to arrive. Eventually my husband told me that the Undertaker was taking my mother’s body out of the house covered in a black cloth. All that I felt in my heart was horror as I felt with my mother what she would have felt about this. She had dreaded death. At this moment I shared her dread with her. That black sheet will never go from memory. It is now almost three years since she died, and still I have not forgotten that darkest of dark nights.


I am aware that sometimes, things that I write may seem to be about me and part of my own life story. Sometimes in my flea and other stories, there may be elements of my own life, for where else can we learn various feelings, but there will only be a small element of my life and feelings in my stories. I am a great one for humour and often some of the things I write are intended to be humorous as well as being serious. I am not about to throw myself into the river as did one of my fleas, or jump off a bridge, but I guess that I wanted to highlight how some people can come to this.

Most of you also know that I come from a very abusive background, and often various assumptions are made about those who come from such a background. I find that very sad. I hope that my book, when it finally comes out, will show that such a background does not necessarily lead to certain personality traits and difficulties. It is possible to overcome what has been done to you, and to make your life good. I know that I did just that, and my book is about exactly that and how it was done.

I am feeling very excited because I have found a publisher to work with, and that is partly why I have been so busy, and trying to do what I can on my better days. I still have very bad days when I am in a lot of pain, and feeling very ill and so I can do nothings on those days. I feel very much the pressure of time, for I feel myself deteriorating physically and I really do want to get this accomplished.

Let us just see where this goes, but I will always be posting my poems on here. Shorter ones than I used to write but still poems. I am just so excited about the book as it was my dream for this to happen. Thankyou for all the support you all give me.


I have been really bad at responding to you all lately due to my various ups and downs and availability of hubby to help me. I am so sorry as you have all said such lovely things to me which are so appreciated. We have been catching up tonight and I hope we have not left anyone out. I have read everything and you uplift me so much. Sending love to you all xx


Sitting under the rowan tree
I know this place is hallowed
I hear feet walking,
Bells tolling,
Souls weep into
People chattering
I hear steps that are light
Steps that are heavy
Steps that are gay
Steps laden with sorrow,
I sit in the dark
I sit in the light
With the sun, the moon, the stars,
In the rain
In the heat
In the wind
My soul aching, laughing, singing, sighing, striving,
With those who have gone before,
And somehow all is sacred,
All is held in the seamless robe of time become eternity,
And I know
Without a doubt
That this place is hallowed
I sit on hallowed ground


As I sit writing today I can see only darkness. I am blind. I am unable to walk and am in constant pain. In 2013 I was diagnosed with a serious and advanced cancer and was told that I may die. Prior to receiving this diagnosis I had been a healthy, active person who loved walking in the hills with my dogs, cycling and swimming 36 lengths of the swimming pool every day. The diagnosis was a shock to me, and I entered a very dark period of my life. It was not for the first time. Much of my life had been dark. Even as a child I spent much time in the darkness, and suffered from fear, and depression. My life was very insecure, and I never had a real home. My mother had not wanted me and had attempted to abort me twice and because she did not succeed and I was born, she punished me for being born. From an early age I knew cruelty and abuse, and knew that I was not loved. I saw all the other families around me, and longed for my family to be like them. We were different. Very different.

The most prominent memory of my cancer experience is of my mother telling me that I should go to Switzerland, to the Dignitas Clinic for assisted suicide, It was my duty, she told me, as we were only a small family and they could not cope with me. I had never been so horrified in my life and, upon telling the hospice Medical Director of this, I was told in no uncertain terms that this was a crime, and that I must report my mother to the police. I was, however, too ill to do this as I was bedfast and hardly able to lift a spoon up to my mouth and could certainly not undergo questioning by the police on the matter.

My mother had always had murder in her heart, as she held me over a deep, fast flowing river when I was three years old, to throw me in. Something stopped her at the last minute however, and she did not do it. With this act, she established control over me, instilling fear into me. I must always obey my mother or I would get thrown into a river. I became a very quiet child, who was never allowed to play with other children, and we lived in houses of death as my mother did live in housekeeping for elderly ladies who were sick and dying. Darkness was all around me, and I was consumed by the darkness of death, my story is a very dark one, and that is why I have entitled this book “Dark Journey.” However, I discovered that the darkness can be radiant with light and that we need not fear the darkness. As you come on this dark journey with me, I hope that you too can find that radiant light.