Happiness is......

It's early Sunday morning, it is cold, raining and I am recovering from yesterdays migraine, yet I feel  happy, extremely happy.  Not in a manic sense of hyper excitement, no this is more a deeply contented feeling of love.  I am smiling from the inside out and my desire to write has returned.

Something has happened within my brain chemistry, it is almost as if somebody has flicked a switch.  Where there was great darkness and agitation, there is now light and warmth. Clarity has replaced confusion and the sensation of being lost, manic and without purpose has disappeared, in its place is a calm contentment that is allowing the negative emotions to wash over me and disappear.  The simple joys of life are once again touching my soul.

The colour of the spring crocus filling my lawn and the daffodils waiting to burst open, bringing with them that fabulous golden colour of spring.  The wonderful sound of the river as it passes my house, slightly fuller after last nights rain fall, taking with it any remnants of my negativity.
I am seeing beauty all around me, and the simplest things are filling my soul with joy.

Sleepily making my sons breakfast, before he leaves for an away game and kissing his head, breathing him in, loving him so much, that I could burst.
The sight of my golden puppy bounding across the field playing with his mother.  My hens run to greet me, waddling with fluffy feet and flapping their wings in an effort to get to me faster.  All these things I experience every day, yet almost as if I am sleep walking through it, emotionless, numb.  Today though, I see them and feel great joy in doing so, I think this sensation is what the Buddhist's call "Being Awake" or "Awareness"

 I wish I knew the secret, to be able to feel like this every day would be amazing, to be able to share this sensation with others, to feel connected to one another.  To be without suspicion and envy, to feel love and to reach out to one another with genuine empathy and compassion.  Surely that is how we are meant to live..

Poetry

A guest post from my good friend, the Wildernesschic ......To Be Lost  please pop over and give her you opinions on her new poem.

The Aiport

I was snuggled tight under my shawl, and as close to Paco as I could get, breathing him in, his wonderful smell, which was now so deeply familiar and always comforting. Yet still, I could not get warm, or fall asleep.  The air conditioning on this plane was just too cold and there was a young child sat behind me, who had been kicking relentlessly at my seat for the past hour.  Then the announcement was came, which made my heart sink........ 

Birmingham, we were being diverted to Birmingham, it was mid February and winter was in full flow, with freezing cold temperatures making conditions unsuitable to land in Manchester. 

We had been traveling for hours already, having flown from Tenerife to Barcelona, then to Madrid, before this connection to Manchester.  Iberia was like a bus service in those days, there wasn't such a thing as a scheduled direct flight from the Canary Islands to the UK.  We were feeling beyond exhausted, our bodies rebelling to the cramped plane seating and lack of decent food.  The eighteen hours of traveling beginning to take its toll and the joint we had shared, whilst in Madrid had long worn off, leaving us feeling more than just a little irritated.  

The airport was like a ghost town, cold and echoey, I had an uneasy sickly feeling unable to say exactly what was wrong, I shuddered, we were used to equator temperatures maybe I was feeling shocked by the difference, plus travel exhaustion did not help. The luggage carousel at least seemed efficient, it wasn’t long before I could see our lovely new bags making their way around towards us.  I have always had a thing about nice luggage, and had bought a new suit carrier with matching holdall for our visit, home. we were traveling light as this trip was only for a week. 

We began to walk towards the green corridor, along with everyone else, its funny, nobody ever had anything to declare and those who did usually took their chances, I did not see one person move towards the red corridor.  Normally there would be very few staff on duty at this time of night, but tonight there was a long line of them.  Customs officers standing extremely straight with blank expression, stood behind tables surveying us.  Checking out the "The ragged travellers," observing our every movement, and then calling over every second couple to interview.  This was so unusual, normally they waved you through, holiday makers don’t normally warrant such attention. 

That uneasy feeling I had continued to grow, desperately trying to look directly ahead, I attempted an image of cool nonchalance, yet unfortunately catching the eye of a rather rotund black girl, who would not break my gaze, I was locked in.  I could not break her stare, it was almost as if I was under her power, she had total control of my movements, I could feel myself moving towards her table.  Fear gripped my soul with a tight fist and began to squeeze hard.

She asked us had we anything to declare, as she unzipped our bags, beginning with the largest, the holdall.  Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, she carefully took out our neatly folded clothes and unfolded them, one item at a time, working with a system, a methodical search, this was far more terrifying than any random, erratic rummaging.  She began examining each item thoroughly, feeling everything with finger and thumb, from top to bottom.  My heart felt as though it would leap from my chest, with irregular rhythm, it beat with such force. Paco usually so cool and collected, always with something to say to a lady and forever charming, just stood stiffly also transfixed, watching the little fat black hands fondle through our clothing.  She placed everything back and zipped up the case, I could feel him exhale with relief.....
Although I could not.

Paco had packed first, with my slight OCD problem and obsession with nice luggage, I had taken it upon myself to repack the case, in a more organized fashion.  So into these little zipper pockets went the socks and underwear.

I watched as she unzipped, looking directly into my eyes as she did so, as if following  telepathic directions from my fear.  Carefully she began to unroll our more personal items and then our socks, all neatly folded and rolled in pairs, she unrolled them one by one.  Suddenly I saw the chosen pair, they were next, my mouth dry, eyes unblinking, watching with horror as she unrolled the sock and it fell out onto the desk.  A large lump of silver foil wrapped around approximately two ounces of Moroccan black.

“Who’s is this?” she asked

“Mine” Paco had replied before I could even breath
"Are you aware of what it is?" she asked
"Si, it is my Hashish" he replied

A male officer now approached, “On behalf of her Majesties customs, I am arresting you Sir, on suspicion of smuggling illegal drugs into the United Kingdom”..... or something along those lines.  The male officer handcuffed him and took him away, I watched in horror, as they disappeared along a corridor.  

I was now alone, and had begun to feel extremely vulnerable.

Fellow passengers were still walking past, fascinated, staring at me with the attention usually reserved for a car crash, only without pity, more with a look of disgust and distain.  It wasn’t long before I overheard and officer tell an official to let the bus leave, that we were to be detained here.  Panic rose in my chest, my parents.  What will happen when they realise we are not on the bus? 

How will we tell them? 

What will we tell them? 

“Madam, what are these?” 

The female officer, continuing on her mission of searching every inch of my luggage now had hold of my vitamins, 

“They are fibre pills, they make you shit” I replied, angry now, tired and angry. 

We shouldn’t be here, we should have landed in Manchester and should now be reunited with my parents, sat in their warm car on the way home to a clean soft bed. Not here in cold unfriendly Birmingham, at her majesties pleasure.

“Is there anything else you would like to declare, before I continue searching” asked the officer, who appeared to have grown in stature, certainly in confidence, she had scored and she was loving it.

“It is legal you know” I told her ‘ In Spain, it is legal” 

“Well, it isn’t here Madame” 

“No, there isn’t anymore” I replied in resignation

She continued her search, my answer had been without relevance, she was loving the humiliation of fingering each item that was in my possession.  She opened my lipstick one of which was green, this caused more quizzical glances. 

“It is a lip stain,  turns pink when you use it” I said before they asked “Try it if you don’t believe me, but its stains for hours” I said with a smile. 

I was bored now, irritated by this tenacious trainee, yes I had realized she was a trainee by all the pats on the back, that she was receiving from her more senior colleagues. She was an eager one too, and a good one, unfortunately for us.

The customs corridor was empty all passengers were sat happily on the coach about to embark on the last leg of their trip to Manchester, when the escorted me to my interview room. 

“Please sit” she muttered

We sat in silence in this tiny room, devoid of any warmth or character. A grey plastic chair with grey plastic walls, I could hear my blood pounding throughout, and had become aware that I was shaking.  The shock of the situation we were in was suddenly beginning to sink in.

A tall blonde officer now joined us in the room, obviously of a more senior position.

“Madame, I need to ask you to remove your clothing, one item at a time please”

I noticed that my hands were trembling as I began to unbutton my shirt, desperately trying to control it, wanting to keep as much of my cool demeanor that I could, but I was failing badly.  It is very hard to be proud when you are being asked to strip. Each item of clothing was then examined and inside and out, I stood shivering, a mixture of humiliation and cold.  Once they had searched an item it was placed ready for me to get dressed.  This I would be allowed to do, following an internal search...


I realised now why the second woman had been called in, it was to witness this procedure.  The killing blow, I began to involuntarily wretch, this search that penetrated my body, had managed to remind me, that I was nothing....

This was not the first time in my young life that I had been violated by a person in authority.  The only difference on this occasion was, that I had brought it upon myself and now felt completely defeated.

I cant trust myself, I have always had a thing for a Lead Guitarist..." Ruby Tuesday

Andy Williams lead guitar, Killing For Company

This weekend I attended "The Gathering"  which is one of my favourite nights out of the year, not only am I treated to great live rock music, I also get to see a lot of my friends from the coast. Since we moved further into the hills and we have been seriously renovating our property, I have had little time for visiting.  Which is something I intend to change this year , in the mean time...
Thank you Facebook, for allowing me to stay, not only in contact, but up to date with their lives.


"The Gathering" is exactly how it sounds, it is a gathering of Alarm fans from all over the world, for a weekend the atmosphere is wonderful. Mike performs both evenings, usually acoustic on the Friday and then full volume, Rock and Roll on the Saturday.  The Gathering is now entering it's twentieth year, I have been fortunate to known Mike and his family, for fourteen of the those years and have become close friends.

Mike Peters, James Stevenson, Craig Aldridge and Steve Grantley 

The Alarm

I have to admit to being a part time Gatherer, a Saturday night only fan.  I love the Electric Guitar and for me that night is my favourite.  Although this year the set up was slightly different,  Mike is now lead singer of the 80's group "Big Country" who were performing on the Friday evening, along with a very exiting new band....
Which is now very much, my new favourite band, I am gutted that I missed hearing them play, the band is called "Killing for Company".
Sadly they lost their founder member, former drummer of the Stereophonics, Stuart Cable last summer.

I remember when I heard about the tragedy I was horror struck, as I have saved my own husbands life twice from exactly the same thing.  The band however are brilliant, I love their sound, from the dulcet tones of the lead singer Greg Jones, to the sexy lead guitarist Andy Williams ...
Whom I had the great pleasure to meet.

Please take a minute to listen to them, I promise you there will be no disappointment I have also linked their facebook page below if you would like to know more about them.

Killing For Company - Musician/Band - Genre: Rock - Hometown ..

"Killing for Company"...RIP Stuart Cable

From my newest favourite band, to my very first favourite band "The Sex Pistols"..
I adored them, my parents  hated them.....So I adored them even more.
Too young to really have the nerve to be a proper punk.  As the daughter of a strict Irish catholic mother, my boundaries were tight,  but when I po-goed along with all the real punks, after sneaking into Liverpool and "Erics"...  I had never felt so free and so me.  I knew that was a rebel at heart and have remained so ever since, although mellowing with age, I still need a long lead.

The Sex Pistols...Glen Matlock far left

Glen Matlock has enjoyed a working relationship with Mike Peters of "The Alarm" for a few years now, when along with Kirk Brandon from the "Spear Of Destiny" and Billy Duffy of "The Cult" they performed under the name of "Dead Men Walking". 

He now has a new band, called" Glen Matlock and the Philistines" which includes "Alarm" lead guitarist, the lovely Mr James Stevenson they performed this Saturday evening, supporting "The Alarm", my friend and wife of James, Elizabeth Westwood who was famous for the track "Sonic Boom Boy" was their glamorous backing vocalist.

Liz Westwood

.Glen Matlock & The Philistines

As the very willing designated driver, I thoroughly enjoyed this years event, as I can remember it all...

We all know that I have an obsession with Absolut.

My last post ... the one without words....the after effects were very apparent.  I have however since been on the wagon, my abstinence ( apart from a sneaky sharpener on Sunday, only because my mother was coming) has lasted nine days now and it feels good...so far

So from my first favourite Bass Guitar Hero

...Mr Glen Matlock himself

...to my newest favourite Lead Guitar Hero,

 Mr Andy Williams and he is Welsh 

Purrr .....

Get down Ruby!

"I can't trust myself I have always had a thing for a saxophone player" Sugar Kane 

Oh Fuck!

Sometimes there are just  no words.........

Entry two... Waiting to Score

At the local bar I linger, I sit and wait in silence, listening intently to the Spanish spoken around me, trying to decipher the odd word here and there. It is so difficult, when your knowledge of a language is sufficient to understand a great deal, yet lacks the speed to keep up. Especially combined with being high and as loaded, as I was feeling right now. 

Normally, I was a very talkative person, but tonight I was frustrated, it was proving impossible to utter a word.  My brain was numb, stoned, by the time I could translate, I had forgotten the subject we were talking about. My thoughts were in English rather than Spanish, I still always translated first. 

I hated these evenings, but if I didn't accompany him, I would be waiting for him alone for hours or worse, he did not come home at all. 

Plus, I needed to score, not just some blow either, of that we had plenty, it was the good stuff we required, the white stuff, we wanted some coca. 

The venue was Marbella, the year 1984 and this was how it was, you worked long hours, and earned great money, so you felt entitled to party too.  Even at a tender age, I couldn't keep those hours without help, I needed to stay focused at work. My lover had introduced me to Cocaine, and I still remember the first time like it was yesterday.....

                             

There was a bar, just at the entrance to Marbella itself, inside one of the old white Andalusian houses, which sat amongst the narrow, rambling streets.  Sadly it was probably bulldozed down years ago, along with most of the character of the old town. From the outside it looked like a an ordinary house, but inside, it was a magical meeting place.  You had to be one of the chosen few, to know about it, you needed to have an invitation from Javier himself. The regulars were a varied bunch, fascinating, mostly Spanish, from different walks of life, originating from various parts of Spain. There were Lawyers from Madrid, sharing a drink with the local pimp, who would be taking a break from constantly scouting for a fresh face.

Javier's place was a large room, painted white, the floors were all wooden, a bar ran the length of this room and the lighting was ultraviolet, the rest of the place, a warren of rooms dark and shadowy, glowing with candlelight.  Javier came over to join us.  He was a tall, handsome man from the Basque country, so totally controlled, so cool, I liked him. He always spoke to me Spanish, but kept it simple and clear, giving me the chance to comprehend.  This evening, there was something different about him, the way he moved towards us, was somehow, more animated, he seemed so pleased to see us, talking fast with excitement, he had something a secret that he wanted to share.  Over at the far corner of the bar, sat a few of our friends, we walked over and joined them.

Javier reached into his pocket, he pulled out a thin sharp knife, with it a small paper envelope, ever so carefully he opened it, the contents were precious. He was gentle and dexterous, considering the size of his enormous hands,I got the impression it was something he was accustomed to handling. He scooped out a small pile of white powder.  Fascinated as I hadn't a clue what it was, I remember thinking, it looked like lumpy Andrews liver salts.  He proceeded to chop at it, on a small marble slab, working on it until it was a fine powder, he looked up and caught my eye, he grinned at me, his eyes and teeth glowed under the lighting. Dividing it into six long lines, with a slick flick of the wrist.  Then handing my boy a rolled up 5000 Peseta note, he invited him to try it, an invitation that was accepted eagerly.  Bending forward he put a finger over one nostril, and then using the other hand, he placed the note at the base of the powder, with a loud sniffing noise he “hoovered” up a line, he then repeated the process using the other nostril.  Javier then passed the note to me, watching for my reaction with an inquisitive look, I looked at my lover, I studied him, apart from a twinkle in the eye, he looked no different, not stoned, nor wasted, just normal.

So nervously I took the note and mimicked what I had witnessed, it was so easy, slightly tingly, but not unpleasant nor uncomfortable, so I snorted the second line, I looked up, they were all smiling at me...

Nothing...

I felt nothing, was this a trick, a joke? 

Were they laughing at me, had I been duped?  

Up until this evening my only experience of drugs had been hash, a little grass and of course alcohol, all of which made me feel woozy. This was different, it made me feel clear and happy, I smiled back,feeling amazing. I began chatting, to them in Spanish and may I add, with gusto.  Gone was the shy and often silent foreign girl, the real me at last was free. I felt the same as when speaking my native tongue, witty, confident. It was electric, and I loved it, never had I felt so alive, with such an abundance of energy. I felt no need for sleep or sustenance. I became aware of the music playing, began watching the barman move and serve in time to the rhythm.  

Suddenly, an introduction to a song began to play, a wonderful sound of bass guitar playing something so different, a song that I hadn't heard before, then as the song began to explode, the whole bar seemed to feel it at once, they began in unison moving their heads to the music. The waiter now dancing, people started singing, everyone was at one with the music, a collective of people, almost a tribal, all living in that moment, loving a song that was so great, so ... now.  It is a memory so vivid,  I will never forget. 

I don't think I slept that night, I know we continued the ritual several times, the more I had, the more I wanted. I became slightly shaky, but didn't care, I didn't want this to end, I loved the way it made me feel, I loved the way my Spanish lover, who normally played his cards so close to his chest, became so open. He started telling me things, I had been longing to hear. His history, how it had been growing up under a dictator, his father was a General under Franco, in contrast his mother was the daughter of a socialist sculptor, a “red” and was good friends with Reina Sophia. He had experiences that I could only ever imagine. Then the most intoxicating thing, just how he felt about me. It was so addictive not only the drug we had taken, but listening to him, opening up, telling me all his secrets.

It wasn't until the next day, when I had come down ... 

Crashed being a better description.  I felt dreadful, my whole body ached, almost like I had the flu. My nose was totally blocked, I was breathing through my mouth, my head was banging and my heart was racing. I was just totally exhausted, weak from lack of sleep, no food and too much amphetamine, even worse, we had spent every peseta.  

That was the first time I used Cocaine, but it certainly wasn't the last, it was what I needed right now, to take me back to the place and the person I had been that night.  

That is why, we were sat in this bar.... 

Waiting to score.....

Entry one

Ego..creates
Envy..which creates
Anger.. which then creates
Madness... which holds no limits.

I am a victim, but I know that I started it.
Never did I imagine that when I started to blog, that I would end up being stalked in such a horrific and destructive way.  I love to write, need to write, I am not fuelled by ego, hits or followers.  I am only driven by a need to communicate with others, like minded people from across the globe.  The internet has made this possible.  I have always been a letter writer, I have always been great at keeping in touch with friends, now I am even better, with the help of social net working, I may even clog up your feed.  The bonus though for me has been meeting new friends, interesting people from varied walks of life all of whom love this community spirit that we seem to enjoy.  The world is suddenly a much smaller place, our issues and problems become shared and we are able to talk freely about them, if you don't want to listen.. you skip that post.

Unfortunately my open nature caused me to blog under my own name.  Honestly I did not imagine that I would have as many readers or hits, as I did.  I also did not think of the consequences of people who knew me personally, reading my "issues" or being that interested in what I was up to.  Obviously  I underestimated human nature.  People were hooked, fascinated by what I would consider the idiosyncrasies of my life.. I guess, I was just voicing what they were thinking.  Many people suffer silently with depression, I never have.  My cousin's successful suicide may not have been possible, should she not have been labelled as  "Difficult, too intelligent, and damaged".

The positive side was that I have made many new friends, both local and cyber friends.  Acquaintances  wave and make a fuss of me when we meet in supermarkets...they tell me how much they enjoy my blog, my ego is stroked, a little taste of semi celebrity status..
It's addictive..
So it begins, you reveal a little more, you invite them into your home, you share some of your inner most secrets, your fears, your desires.  Things you may have purchased, things you would like to purchase.  You discuss the latest products that you have discovered, things you think every girl should know, should have..etc etc.
But....

The negative side, is people get envious, people become obsessed. Even worse people get hurt by things you have written, either with artistic licence or plain and simply ranting about them.
Sadly the person who should be upset by my words,  is actually quite cool about everything.  I am sad to say it is the envious people that have been eaten alive by jealousy and greed.  It has been making them angry enough to become obsessed, stalking my every blog, every comment, even comments that I had made on other peoples blogs.  Even my tweets, tweets that I had made and replies to them from others, all copied and pasted into a dossier.   I had never realised that you could just google somebody and publicly read their tweets, without having to follow them.  These people however must be both following me and some of my fellow tweeters ..  and I still have no idea who it is, well not their pseudonym.
I am in shock, I feel physically ill, violated, watched, spied upon, paranoid... I have zero appetite for food and without joking a strong urge to drink.

I am deeply sorry that I have caused this.  That I have actually hurt people and have caused this much destructive feeling, I cannot apologise enough for that.
What I cannot apologise for is my lifestyle, never once did I intentionally set out to say "Look what I have got" and "Wouldn't you love to live in a house like this" etc.
I thought people might have been interested in seeing, what we had achieved over six years of hard work, transforming a neglected old wreck into a warm family home.  Work that is still on going.
My wish lists were, exactly just as they were described, wish lists.
My friends would tell you most of my house was furnished through Ebay and junk shops.  The same with my wardrobe, yes I wear some designer, but mostly vintage, again Ebay or charity shops..
Not that I really need to justify what I spend to anyone.

This has scared me though, I realise that if these people can acquire this much information about me, so can anyone.  Not that I think anyone would be bothered to stalk my cyber activity, day and night, like they obviously have been doing.  I do feel that I have placed my family in a very vulnerable situation and will never do this again.
From now on I will stay anonymous, I will keep my "Absolut..ly glam..hic" blog for daily fun and fashion posts, and I don't really know what I am going to do with this "Secret diary".. I may just use it to sound off when I need to, or to discuss life .. I may even attempt a little fiction writing, just for fun.
Most of all I want to thank you for staying with me xx