Stereophonics Live in Qatar Nov 10

The title was secured onto my wrist, white letters on red plastic. Great, Let's go! I would have preferred to have dressed rock chick style in a black leather mini skirt, a revealing low cut, black vest, with a crucifix slung around my neck for effect, not a statement of faith this time. Possibly some black cowboy boots on my dancing feet? And what about a long brown dreadlocked wig upon my head, with a faux fur animal print cap attached to it (I do actually possess one, another kind gift from another lovely friend)? I really am my own worst enemy.

Unfortunately, the dress code on the ticket stated: Please respect the local rules and regulations. No headgear of any kind.

Instead, I ended up looking like a middle-aged wife and mother of two, in some long trousers and a huge hippy, flower power tent top (aka my 'lucky top' but that's a whole other gig). I decided to let my hair hang loose in keeping with my new Bohemian style but soon had to scrunch the mass of sun-bleached straw securely on top of my head. It was hot, humid and sweaty, still thirty degrees or so. We share the same sun, but it had already set here and was no longer sunny. However, I realised it was far too hot for crowd surfing and I didn't want to pass out.

Romeo managed to get away with wearing his shorts, it means nothing except that we were barred from the hotel pub! This wasn't a problem to me as we could pick a part that's new on the barrier separating the Fan Pit from our General one in the unseated outdoor arena. There was not much difference between these spaces apart from an extra QR 250. So we had the perfect position to sweat it out before the band came on at around 9.20 pm as they were unsupported.

I was just looking, absorbing the atmosphere and thinking c'est la vie when they appeared from a catacomb in the hotel behind them, taking their positions on the stage in a moment. Losing the plot completely, I squeezed the life out of Romeo's left arm whilst sort of scream shouting as they kicked off with a song from their new album called I Wanna Get Lost With You.

They are certainly not a chatty bunch but let their music do the talking. The drummer is without a doubt the most animated band member. With this in mind, I can't help giving the guys some nicknames. So from left to right of the local boy(s) in the photograph we have: Smiley, Cocky, Animal (from The Muppet Show) and Mr. Melancholy. Hope they don't mind?

I was mesmerised from beginning to end, especially with Kelly Jones' skinny, throbbing left leg snug in some black jeans. I wanted to jump up onto the stage and hang onto his other ankle whilst be blown into further oblivion by his guitar playing and amazing voice. Whatever would Security and Romeo do with me then?

The next day Kelly tweeted 'Doha Rocked last night' and of course, he was right, we did! I was high air punching with both fists, water bottle secured between my breasts whilst jumping up and down like Zebedee (from The Magic Roundabout) for an hour and a half. Except, of course, when I swayed along in an ecstatic trance to Mr.Writer and Graffiti on the Train. I almost cried when the whole audience sang the chorus of Maybe Tomorrow a few times over, getting louder as Mr. Melancholy commanded us to. I sang my heart and soul out super loud to every song. The band were brilliant in an unassuming, yet perfectionist way. So I have total respect for them putting on a great performance without any cocktails. I would definitely see them again and wished they could have stayed more than a minute longer after the encore.

There was no sign of Superman soaring in the few clouds above us only an aeroplane or two. I'm sure I heard the red dragon on a large Welsh flag fire-breathe, fight or flight? An open bottle of water did come flying overhead showering us with some tiny, cooling droplets. Had Mr. and Mrs. Smith already checked into the Sheraton that night? Were the bartender and the thief snogging behind a thousand palm trees? For goodness sake Jones, hurry up and wait. Just e-mail or phone Dakota and communicate with her, it's not that difficult!
Can I remember what an Indian summer feels like having spent almost half a decade in the sun? Once again, louder, ''So maybe tomorrow I'll find my way home.''

Stumbling and smiling she crawls into bed. Of course she takes her clothes off, they were far too sweaty to sleep in. Waking up the next day at ridiculous o'clock as usual, my first thought is yesterday, tomorrow, today? When the family had gone to school I sneaked back into bed, sleeping until 10 am. Ssh, don't tell anyone but being an extremely enthusiastic, ecstatic hippy, rock chick is very tiring.
What a fantastic gift from Romeo.

This time, my lucky top didn't allow me to meet the charming band in the hotel foyer after the gig (Morten, Magne and Pal of a-ha in Sheffield 2010 mit meiner Freundin) but mercifully it did keep us safe from harm, gunshots, and death.

Mon coeur est brisé. My heart is broken. Ma famille à Paris sont sûrs heureusement. 
My family in Paris are safe, thankfully. Je suis désolé. I'm sorry. Ce n'est pas la vie.
This is not the life. Je pleure, Je prie, Je l'espère. I weep, I pray, I hope.
La peur, non, jamais! Fear, no, never! Ensemble nous sommes plus forts.

Together we are stronger.

Avec tout mon amour,
Susie xx



PS Did you spot the 26 song titles and two album references in my review? Have a nice day.

The Unforgettable Fire

I saw him smiling at me from behind the towels in the cupboard. Had I forgotten he was there? The reality of what I had to do with him began to grow in my mind over the following days. The bonfire would be blazing, I could secretly shove him into the other cupboard we were going to burn. No-one else needed to know my plot. I thought it would be better for both of us. But would he prefer to be thrown back out into the desert where I first found him? He can't or won't talk to me anymore. The bigger cupboard has silenced him. I'm sorry about that.
This time, I can't stop myself from giving him a hug and a kiss before I say goodbye.

The darkness begins to descend and so the fire burns: the wood, the creepy Guy, some broken furniture. The cupboard is thrown on after serving its purpose as a table for some food. I watch it catch fire quickly and marvel at how hot it gets, hoping it's not hurting him too much.

Passing another table (not to burn), I see him still smiling up at me from a black bin bag. How can this be? Is he the Harry Houdini of the toy clown world? This makes it hard for me now. Some kind soul had obviously found him again just as I was about to lose him. Maybe he needed rescuing again? I have to act fast, so I grab him firmly by the hand, walk purposefully over to the blaze and chuck him in. He appears to do a few flamboyant somersaults before entering the flames.

The night continued with some music and singing. Constellations were clear up above and as I saw one bright, shooting star I was sure I heard him gently singing The Unforgettable Fire by U2. Or did I just wish for that?



Pause today to remember.

They shall grow not old,
as we that are left grow old;
age shall not weary them,
nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun
and in the morning, we will remember them.

We will remember them.

From the poem For The Fallen
by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)

Progressing with thawed words in a flawed world

Taking matters into my own hands and giving myself a very firm kick up the thankfully now defrosted butt, I purchase The Writers' & Artists' Yearbook 2016 as recommended by Penguin publishers. It's got all the answers and advice I really need to continue pursuing my dream. However, imagine reading the Yellow Pages on a Kindle and that's the initial frustration I had fast forwarding through the first 13% of contact details for newspapers and magazines in the whole of the UK. Phew! Eventually, I made it to Books, How to get published. Please tell me everything, my flicking finger is fatigued.

Reading voraciously like a desperate, knowledge craving mad woman, I try to absorb all the things that need to be done. The main thing being to write a good story then edit, review, revise, and edit it. Don't give up Susie you can do this. Keep persevering.

I have had fun attempting to write a brief summary and longer synopsis of the novel (brief being the hard bit for me). It's really helped to clarify what my story is about, what genre it is and the audience I am targeting. Further research tells me that as a first-time author I should try to identify an agent who will work on both our behalfs. This is really going to challenge my integrity as the literary world, just like most of the world, revolves around making money. Greed is one of the key themes in my novel. Yikes, I just told you some Top Secret information. Erase and rewind.
Anyway, some small steps of progress are being made. Thanks for the encouragement.
Susie, keep reading, writing, singing and dancing.

Mum and Dad have been here again on one of their biannual visits.Time always whizzes by so fast. They came armed with all sorts of stuff: Yorkshire tea bags, a new top and swimsuit for me, salad cream and perfectly painted school Honours Boards for Romeo, sweets, protective phone cover and iTunes voucher for Kid A, sweets and a new watch for kid b, birthday and Christmas gifts for us in advance. Did they bring any clothes with them apart from the ones on their backs?

For two weeks every day I received at least two super strengthening hugs from dad, kisses and constant fun chats with mum, including free marriage guidance counselling sessions (she is well qualified after 47 years of wedded bliss?!). I also got a fairly explicit summary of whichever novel she had just read. Most seem to be pensioners erotic fiction from what I surmise! Given a chance, I would like to take The French Gardener to bed with me but mum has whisked him back to Yorkshire. Quelle dommage.

Knowing full well that I would be stared at by everyone as I set off to meet Mini-Me from a football tournament one Saturday, I dressed accordingly in a white T.shirt with the bold, black plea WORLD PEACE printed on it. My shorts were respectfully below the knee, rucksack on back, sunhat and sunglasses in place. Copious amounts of deodorant were clogging both armpits yet failed to stem the flow of sweat from pouring forth.

It took twenty minutes to get to the school pushing two bikes, one in each hand, balancing a bag and cycling helmet on each set of handlebars. Not wanting to take over the whole right-hand lane of the road I pushed one bike on top of the pavement going up and down the dips. Sing-songing a cheery hello to all the gardeners staring, smiling and laughing at me, I felt slightly frustrated that I couldn't wave as well.

Romeo had taken dirtbag to training so my only other option was to phone a friend. I'm very determined and strong-willed remember. We began cycling down to a beach club party a few minutes after Mini-Me had disembarked from the football bus. Feeling very much like the mule in Buckaroo, when would I kick my back wheel in the air, fling all the bags, water bottles, football, birthday gift and swim stuff  into the air and call it a day?

You will be pleased to know that the fire engine is back in business. It's like driving a tank compared to that nippy Mitsubishi. It looks so much better after being hosed down on the outside too.
Dirtbag flew off to Dubai for a few hours with her friends from Doha Athletics to run the 800m in a competition. I left her in good hands at the airport wishing her all the luck in the world. As there weren't enough girls in her age bracket (U15) she ran in the under 17's, coming third out of ten girls. Letting her go was both weird and wonderful. Of course, I thought about her all day long and especially when she ran her race. Well done Supergirl!

Mini-Me and I enjoyed watching Hoodwinked (2005) together. We both loved it. Red and I should swap places, She wants to leave the woods and have adventures. I want to return to them and cycle merrily around. The Happily Ever After Agency in the film sounds alluring to me but life's not a fairytale is it?
It can be full of joy, peace, contentment and hope, though.

Keep looking for adventures and seeking surprises in the everyday ordinary things around you.
Open your eyes. Or do you prefer to stay blind?

All is going well with the childminding. Three siblings appear every afternoon at various times for snacks, homework club and rest. I'm trying to strike a healthy balance between Mary Poppins and Nanny McPhee without using any magical powers. Fortunately, they are well behaved.
Sadly, The Famous Five had to go back to the library and now we have the scintillating Go Ahead, Secret Seven to devour. Imagine my delight when I discover that chapter one is entitled 'Susie is most annoying.'

''Enid Blyton why don't you tell it like it is? Why don't you tell it like it really is?.....''
(sung to the tune of Mr.Writer by the Stereophonics.)

Thanks for continuing to read my blog, it means a lot to me. The overview states that I had 263 page views last month. I'm sure my eleven faithful followers won't read it more than once and I don't track my own page views. Would it be blasphemous to recruit a twelfth follower?

With Love xx



Erase/Rewind by The Cardigans (1999)

Kid A album by Radiohead (2000)

Open Your Eyes by Snow Patrol (2007) from their album Eyes Open (2006).

Fasten your seatbelts and enjoy the ride.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=fk1Q9y6VVy0

Supermoon and a super man

The moon rose exactly in the east as the sun began to set exactly opposite in the west. Both big glowing balls hovered above the monoliths already stretching out their shadows, tentatively touching, 'casting out their sweet line with abandonment and hope?' It felt special. The supermoon preparing to be transformed into a bloodied one with the help of the always super sun. Everything aligning. Why did almost everyone rush away? Were they afraid of the dark or the red tears that may drip drop from the sky's eyes? We left one family contentedly behind, kindly keeping Mini-Me with them for a while longer.
Darkness had descended and we struggled to find the tracks back. Still no fear or worry from me.
'Just head for the lights,' I said.
'It's not as easy as that,' replied Romeo.

Flashback to Le road trip 2015, with a 2005 map of France and no satellite navigation system.

'Haste not now beautiful wife which road do we need?'
'Oh deary me all the road numbers appear to be different my love.'
'Worry not sweetheart, I'll stop the carriage forthwith and check the map.'
'How wonderful! Forgive me for thinking that it would be so much better if you allowed me to drive and tell me where to go beloved one?'
'Do not frown so or you may further wrinkle your brow my heart's desire. I have it all under control.'

Delirious encore moi? Oh la la et Mon Dieu! Back to the desert.

Coming to an abrupt stop, stress levels spiked high, I spy a baby owl perched on a rock right beside us. He stared at me, blinked, then flew away and we found our route back.

'What language is this written in?' Mini-Me asks whilst reading Five Go Adventuring Again by Enid Blyton.
'Old English,' I smile back at him on the bottom bunk together.
''George! Make Tim sit down. He's wagging my hat off!'' I read aloud in my posh Yorkshire accent.
'Is that a figure of speech?' Asks my boy.
I have to say Aunt Fanny quickly trying not to snigger, but he openly chuckles when I stumble across Dick! This is going to be brilliant bedtime reading. Good job it's Uncle Quentin and not Uncle Nobby.

I treated the kids to an all singing, dancing, pyrotechnic, trapeze flying production of Peter Pan. It was amazing. My eyeballs were ping-ponging all over the place trying to keep up with Tinkerbell and the non-stop action. The fire engine had burnt up inside with it's broken down air conditioning forcing a quick change of vehicle, a very patient, Hoyle tolerant friend and off we went. I was so happy we could go to the show and as if by magic we ended up sat in some comfy VIP seats too.

We are currently long-term borrowing a Mitsubishi thanks to kind neighbours. Would you lend your car, van, bike to someone in need? It's an amazing thing to do in my book. Speaking of books I'm still editing the novel and am in limbo, panicking over the next step of possible publishing and how to go about it? Have humbly, gratefully received some positive feedback.

All things are possible.

High on the adrenaline rush from Neverland I slump back down to earth, landing on the cushion of sorrow upon hearing the news that my dear friend, Arthur, had died that morning aged 98. I am fortunate to have enjoyed his friendship for 23 years. He has blessed many, many other lives as well as mine. We shared some quality time together again in the summer. He was on good form and we talked about the important things; life, death, love, friendship. And we laughed and cried. After I had washed his cup and plate, then shut the kitchen door gently behind me having already hugged and kissed our earthly goodbyes, did we both realise it would be the last time? I think so. I take great comfort in knowing he is now at peace, soaring high above with some super strong wings until we meet again.

''Do you realize that you have the most beautiful face, 
 Do you realize we're floating in space, 
 Do you realize that happiness makes you cry, 
 Do you realize that everyone you know someday will die? 

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes, let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last, 
You realize the sun doesn't go down 
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round.''

It has been a difficult week to crawl through with some sadness, apathy, family conflict, chronic back and buttock pain. Giving in again, I go to the Medical Centre. Another Doc this time, not the sore throat soother from my last visit.

''Hellooo my darling what is the matter?'' Instantly I feel a bit better.

The physiotherapist gives me some exercises which work wonders. One lovely friend recommends heat while another a cooling gel. Open to anything that may help I gently smear the Biofreeze onto my lower back and (do I have to tell you this?) both buttocks. Now I truly know how the land felt during the last ice-age.Wow! Talk about comfortably numb. Sing it louder Pink Floyd. The thing is how did this injury occur? Was I conscious when it happened or did it strain in a gymnastic dream? More likely it was a squat that went horribly wrong in a circuit training session. Why do I bother? Because I'm worth it and so are you.

I consider performing open heart surgery on myself and slathering Biofreeze over the life-giving organ within when things deeply hurt me. My brain tells me to carefully reconsider, not to numb the pain as then it will never truly heal, but face it boldly and deal with it. Besides the warning on the tube clearly states: 'For external use only.'


Lyrics from Fisherman's Blues (slightly altered) by The Waterboy's (1988)
and  Do You Realize?? by The Flaming Lips (2002)

Reading: I am Malala by Malala Yousafzai

Listening and absorbing every lyric to: Keep The Village Alive (2015) and Graffiti onThe Train (2013) by the Stereophonics in stunned surprise that I will be seeing them live in Doha next month!

Singing to: Hopes and Fears (2004) by Keane

Injury permitting I'm dancing to: Back Where I Belong by Jack Savoretti and Can't Feel My Face by The Weeknd. Do they use Biofreeze too?

Photograph of a photograph: Arthur aged 93, Susie aged 38. Taken in 2010 in our kitchen the year before we came to Qatar.

Riders on the Storm

Dramatically the heavens responded to the mournful lyrics from Missing as thunder, lightning, lashing rain and apocalyptic sandstorms blasted the country while we were out at sea. The cruiser yacht was every playboy's paradise, complete with luxury bedrooms, showers, toilets and a small galley. I had braved the bikini and it was the closest I will ever get to feeling like a Bond girl (although I'd rather be one of Charlie's Angels). Not quite up to Halle Berry's standard but not caring too much either, I dived into the sea head first as the thunder started to rumble all around us. We were a motley crew celebrating a 30th birthday. How wonderful the youth of today are, inviting a midlife crisis and her Romeo to tag along. A few of us floated cheerfully around together in the salt solution. Watching the lightning crack its whip we inevitably discussed our chances of survival if we got struck.
'Let's get out now!'

Safely back on deck we relaxed, chatted, ate, put the sunglasses away as it was gloomy and continued to watch the perfect storm. On the horizon, Doha Skyline loomed menacingly surreal like Gotham City. Great forks of lightning flashed over the other buildings nearby where dirtbag was staying! After a while, a strange calm suddenly crept over the water and it felt intensely hot, humid and sticky for about five minutes. Then a cold wind whipped up the waves and spun us around on the mooring. Large raindrops started splashing down and exploding onto our bodies, raising hundreds of goosebumps to the skin's surface. It was brilliant! Meanwhile, our compound was being engulfed by a giant wall of doom filled sand, turning the sky orange, ravaging the homes and gardens. Mini-Me was tucked away safely inside at his friend's house. Both kids told us later that they were worried about us being out on the boat. Wow, they do care about us. Driving back after the storm we were directed off-road as it had become a lake, the desert no longer missing the rain.

But I can still miss you, can't I?

For arts sake who could possibly think that it is OK for a father to teach his own teenage daughter? This could cause a permanent rift in their relationship that even Araldite can't fix. Guess who will be left picking up the many potential pieces of a creative fallout?
Help me! Like the poet Stevie Smith, I am 'not waving but drowning.'
Huge gasp and cry. The wonderful news of my nephew safely entering the world helps me breathe again and fills me with hope. He's perfect.

It still amuses me how ideas begin to form in my mind. A theme pops up and one thing leads to another, as it always does, making sense to me anyway.
My constant stream of consciousness (Oh no, not that again).
I hope it at least makes you smile and at best laugh out loud.

Listening to The Best of The Doors whilst baking a cake last week, I don't have any unusual ingredients to add, just carrots, flour, sugar, eggs and oil. Thinking about Mr. Mojo Risin' (his own apt anagram) and how he would have certainly been a terrible influence on me if our paths had crossed. Surely I would have fallen under his spell for a while. He died so young, four months before I was born. Was it all worth it Jim?

If things are tough for you just now keep on walking steadily forward overcoming the barriers in your path. Someone or something will help to pull you safely through the other side.

Another force was sorry to tell me that the official video was unavailable. So just listen carefully when you have time.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=aP3BMz8qSXI


Not Waving but Drowning by Stevie Smith (1957)

Listening: to The Best of The Doors (1985)
Watched: the film The Doors (1991)    
Reading: The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins
Dancing: to Fine China by Chris Brown or The Other Side by Jason Derulo on Just Dance (2014). I've nearly got all the classic moves 'perfect' now. It's so much fun, you try it. Google it, go on, do it!

Back to Life

''Back to reality, back to the here and now, yeah.''

Phew, I not only survived but thrived through the endless summer fun. Of course there were some super stressful episodes too. I thrashed it all out in my handwritten holiday diary. The most frequent question that came forth from my lips during the summer adventure was, 'What would Bear Grylls do?' Swiftly followed by my own running commentary on what I presumed he would actually do. It was great fun and I drove the whole family mad doing this.

'Romeo, please tickle that trout out of the river so we can barbeque it for tea. Bear would do that.'
He didn't.

Finding myself exhausted most days from our highly energetic escapades yet completely happy and liberated speaking more French than English for almost four weeks of the holiday. It was like being on a Born Survivor boot camp/everlasting family endurance test. We survived, therefore we passed. I'm totally convinced now that I can sleep anywhere on anything with anyone. What a thing to declare for the world to read! You know what I really mean. Wooden floors, inflatable mattresses, tents, sofa beds, cars, planes, boats, real beds! beaches, in apartments, at friends, with the family etc.

The best thing about going home is that the friends remain there. The worst thing about returning here is that many friends have moved on. Some are still with us thankfully. It is something I will always find difficult to cope with, preferring constancy rather than endless change. During the busy summer, I had less time to think about all this. Yet the quietness here makes me think too much. Don't worry it's not always quiet as I am doing some more child-minding this year and I really appreciate my morning peace. Time to read, write, sing, dance, cycle, email, go the post office, prepare lunch and so on.

Inevitably the gulf between us begins to grow back as the holiday fun is truly over and the impending doom of the next school year begins. I'm thinking as a wife and mother here by the way. However, you should know by now that I choose to ''always look on the bright side of life.'' You can too.
Remember that your memory banks are full of some great experiences to see you through any sad times and that we are confident to embrace what is on offer here and now.

Our cleaner of four years has not magically reappeared on our doorstep. Where is he? I remember the day he ding donged the doorbell of our flat in 2011 a few days after we had first arrived here.

Baji: Help

Susie: Hello, do you need help?

Baji: Yes, help.

Susie: Oh! OK, what do you need, water?

Baji: No. Help you.

Susie: No thank you, I'm OK.

Baji: Help, clean house.

Susie: Oh, you want to help me! Really? Erm, I, err, I don't know. Help! Oh OK?

It went something like that anyway. He was very loyal and hard working. After a few months, he would proudly show us a new phone he had bought or some gold jewellery to surprise his wife with when he went on leave. He planted me a pink rose in our garden which is lovely. Surely this was his response to my dead snake and decomposing sea turtle gifts from Romeo and Mini-Me.
I miss Baji but trust that he is safe, well and happy with his family back home in India.

Cleaning my own house again brings me back down to earth and is a safer form of exercise than Just Dance. My back went a bit funny after a recent Just Sweat session. It's OK again now after doing the same dance moves a week later. Now my right shoulder is a bit sore after attempting three full body press ups in a row!
''Keep on moving, don't stop, no. Keep on moving.''

Enough complaining because I am about to become an auntie again very soon and surely my sister-in-law is far more uncomfortable in this stage of the third trimester. You can do this sis! Sad to say I won't be a very good auntie being so far away, but I will love the new little Lucas with all my heart and soul. Babies know how to Skype don't they?

It took ten whole minutes to close my Qatar bank account. I was looking forward to having the QR14.75 in the palm of my sweaty hand. Blimey it's hot here. 'Unfortunately,' the teller told me, 'there is a charge for processing such a small amount, you would end up with zero.' How irritating.
'OK.' Taking a deep breath, I made the momentous decision there and then. 'Can I transfer the money to my husband's account?'
'Yes, of course,' he replied. Grrrrrrrrrr, how annoying!

Watching Big Eyes (2014) with my own tired ones on the plane journey back here reminded me that it is my precious novel and no-one else's whatever becomes of it. Just as those paintings are and always were Margaret's creations.

It's hard to single out and comment on all the gratitude my heart holds for everything our many friends and our families did to make our summer so brilliant. However, I do have to mention the special hotel accommodation only ten doors away from our own tenant occupied home. (To get into the woods, I had to walk quickly past the gate to my home, holding back the tears).

Certainly we got a lot more than we gave when we stayed at this hotel for two weeks, the longest stay of the holiday. A special treat included an Aga which helped to keep us hot and bothered at any time of day, just like being in the desert. Endless food, drink and fun were always available. All our boxes were well and truly ticked with my child psychologist, book-loving friend, her two cricket mad boys and socialist, atheist R.E teaching husband.

Dirtbag and Mini-Me were bunk bedding in the Lego Suite and I have to confess my heartbeat increased upon discovering Romeo and I were to doss down in the Playroom Suite. Exciting! We were warned by our hosts that the sofa bed wasn't too comfy but how could I possibly sleep in such an over stimulated environment anyway? Many games were at our disposal including: Crazy Dentist, Funny Face and Manic Martians. Others naturally drew my attention such as Brainbenders, Shark Bite, Hotspot, Bouncers and even Frustration. Especially with the model Luke Skywalker thrusting his mini light saber in my direction while Romeo snored loudly.
I was satisfied it didn't light up or vibrate.


'' And I miss you - like the deserts miss the rain.''

  With Love xx




Photograph: sledging field up Row Gate taken from Marsh Lane, Shepley by Susie

Back to Life (However Do You Want Me)  by Soul II Soul, 1989

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life by Eric Idle, 1991

Keep on Movin' also by Soul II Soul, 1989

Missing by Everything but the Girl, 1994

Gulp!

I try hard not to be too shocked by the words that spew forth from our offspring's mouths, however, this stunned me for a few seconds last week.

''I don't want breakfast today because I'm fasting.''

OK. Don't panic. Go with the flow Suze.

The pain comes suddenly and I'm also forced to fast due to a 'mild' throat infection, which I find very hard to swallow. MILD, I don't think so Doc, it's keeping me up all night! I feel like I'm gulping down water laced with shards of glass or mini, rough-hewn hessian sacks, with rusty nails sticking out of the sides, (excessive use of I, I know, but I'm ill OK and feeling vulnerable).
Perhaps I'm just as big, soft and defenceless as those Yorkshire puddings Josh made last week? Apparently gingers do have lower pain thresholds than other colours.

My natural defences kick in, producing endless gallons of saliva which I have to swig down or spit out. OUCH, it's so sore! Would the dentist let me borrow one of his saliva sucking machines? The closest I will get to singing today is gargling some salt water solution. Trusting that the drugs will work, I won't listen to The Verve. OUCH, even swilling them down hurts, a lot! What has become of me? How will I ever survive a Yorkshire winter again?

Pain is different for all of us. Taking the introspective lens off myself and using the wide angle, world encompassing one, I see as you do, the horror of yet more terrorist attacks. Where is the antibiotic to permanently stop this suffering? I swallow my pride and my own temporary discomfort, determined once again not to give in to fear.

This will be my last post before the whirlwind summer of fun. I remain perpetually excited. A huge, heartfelt hug full of best wishes, to all those who are leaving this desert for new pastures. Thank you for all your friendship and support. Many thanks also to those of you who have educated the growing minds of dirtbag and Mini-Me. If I really like you I will probably friendship stalk you forever unless you tell me to get lost. To those of you who are staying in this hot, dusty place over the summer and beyond, keep flourishing. We will be returning in August when my Arabian Adventure will continue.

So, as I tie the laces of my trainers ready to walk deliriously back home, this classic track plays on full blast in my head. Odyssey sang it in 1981, but I prefer this 1989 version. It whisks me straight back into the sixth form common room with my girlfriends. We are sniggering and giggling whilst applying fruit flavoured Body Shop balms onto our pure, undefiled lips.

Smile, sing/gargle and dance along with me. Come on, it's only 5.50 minutes of your time.

 www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3fxbZuPRpY

Safe and happy summer to everyone. I know a lot of you will still be working (''Bloody teachers, always on bloody holiday!'' Ay up, sounds like my extremely hard working, lovely brother), but I wish you the same things.

See you soon!

With love,
Susie xx




Our summer book club read is Dissolution by C.J. Sansom if you're interested.

The Drugs Don't Work  by The Verve (1997)

FPI Project, Rich In Paradise/Going Back To My Roots (1989)