Randomness....

As of this Friday, I have been here 8 months. Wow. I'm doing that time all over again before I come home - so I wonder what the next 8 months hold for me? I haven't really got a theme for this blog, just some random thoughts that have popped up over the past few weeks.....so, here goes:-

 

I was told a few months ago that I’m a very good procrastinator. And do you know what? Turns out, that person was spot on. I’ve moaned about being overweight for years, yet did nothing about it. I hate smoking, but, same same. And the only thing I actually did get done was selling my house and moving out here – so maybe the bigger the decision, the easier it is to do?

 

Living in a ‘beach culture’ country is a nightmare if you are at all conscious of your figure. It doesn’t matter if you are big, small, short, tall – every woman has issues about her looks and no matter how much you tell her otherwise, she’ll brush it off with a ‘whatever’. Confidence is something that is learnt, not inherited. My mum was beautiful, had the most amazing skin, sparkly eyes and could knock spots off most other women in the room. Yet, every time she had to get ready to go out, more often than not, she would have a small meltdown because nothing fitted her and she hated being bigger. I spent the most time at home (as Stu and Kim moved out quite early) and I really believe that living at home with her for so long, I naturally picked up her eating habits, her lack of self-confidence (although she hid it well) and her capability of putting on a smile when you feel like sh*t. Being out here has made me realise that you can change – but only if you really, really want to. And I really want to - it's a long process, but I hope it'll have the right result in the end.

 

My point is this – you may have some issues with your body, ladies, however, try not to voice them when your daughters/nieces/little sisters are around. Because, if you look deep enough, you’ll see that perhaps those concerns you have about yourself are not real or true and that they are probably due to the fact that older women in your younger life had those issues, and you’ve just automatically taken them on. And, if you are one of the few that have absolutely no issues about yourself, where do I sign up to learn that??? J (And, I'm sure the male contingency who read this (if there are any), will say all your issues about your body are in your head. Men love women's figures no matter what size or shape - right fellas?)

 

I just wanted to thank all those who emailed/txt and called me with their lovely words after my last blog, which included a few stories about my mum. I rang my niece Charlotte, a few days after the blog was published, and she said she had laughed and cried in equal measures – and we then proceeded to laugh like drains over more family stories. One in particular, I’ll end this blog on. But it made me realise that my wonderful nieces and nephews (Gemma, Harri, Josie, Charlotte, Kayleigh & Liam) are the true legacy that my mum strived for. These 6 adults, who had her influence for a number of years, were scared to death of her (if they did something wrong, the usual threat was ‘I’ll tell nan’) and loved her unconditionally – in equal measures. That’s how it’s meant to be, isn’t it? Respect is earnt, it’s not a right – and my mum absolutely demanded respect. Her grandchildren were the light of her life and they would all fight over who was staying over at ‘Nanny Holly’s’ almost every Friday and/or Saturday night (Baywatch, French stick with ham, Blind Date and the goody cupboard were a staple diet for them all). And isn’t it amazing that although they are all grown up now (two are now parents themselves), whenever we get together, invariably the conversation will turn to those precious days at St Johns Court, where there was always a roar of laughter, the clinking of glasses and the smell of a roast cooking. And no matter where in the world any of us are, and how old we get, those memories will stay with us forever.

 

To finish….this is just a little story about my nephew Harri. Imagine a beautiful, brown eyed 2 year old, who wore a Barbour jacket, flat cap and could say 'goodbye' in 7 different languages. It’s Sunday lunch at mums; we’re all around the table (even the kids – sitting on 3 cushions on the chairs, no highchairs in our house – mum wanted them to learn table manners!). So, there’s Harri with his tea towel wrapped round his neck as a bib, tucking into a gorgeous Sunday roast, with most of it around his face. Mum turns to my sister in law Lisa and asks ‘Lisa, what is it that you call Stuart?’ (obviously meaning some sort of term of endearment)…… and as quick as a flash, Harri pipes up with ‘Bastard, Nan. That’s what she calls him’.

*Cue hysterical nervous laughter*

That beautiful boy is now a strapping 6ft 2 handsome man, who has a heart of gold and will probably kill me for putting that story on my blog. I’ve got 100 more stories about my darling nieces and nephews, but perhaps I’ll save them for when I’m home, back in the arms of my family and we’ll all get together and reminisce again…..for the millionth time.

Keep smiling, keep making those memories

 

Hols

xxxxxx