It seems impossible, until it's done

Today was my last full day on this beautiful island.  A land where the searing heat dictates the chilled pace of life; where the people are warm and want you to love their island.  

I spent much of the day swimming, which is not something I usually make time to do.  The Caribbean Sea on the south-west coast is the most glorious, clear water I have seen.  You can't be in there for long, as the sun will cook you, but bobbing around in clear, untainted water, enables plenty of time to think, reflect and unwind.

I have had an interesting few months, since my work situation changed dramatically overnight in mid-September, due to circumstances which could not have been foreseen.  I have been challenged like never before, dealt with things I never expected to be dealing with and learnt a huge amount about myself - how I operate, how to work with and manage others; how I connect with people; how to negotiate; how to deliver that which seems impossible.  I've made mistakes of course - but I draw on that phrase - 'whoever never made a mistake, never made anything'.  

Consider where your strength comes from and draw on that.  Mine comes from my faith and the people around me.  Draw strength from that which drives you. 

Life is all about learning by doing; embracing the experience; using your contacts and making new ones; drawing on your skills, or finding ways of using and developing the skills of others to achieve what is needed; make contacts; grow those contacts; learn from others; grow; develop as an individual.  Self-confidence is key - if you don't think you can do something, then of course you can't.  But believe that you can do it, and you can.      

Life is short - and precious.  Be real about it - embrace how you feel.  Strive to achieve what you want to achieve.  Follow your dreams.

The nearest Coke lids are in Guyana

I've had a few enquiries about yesterday's grapefruit.  As with much of my writing, the title was more captivating than the actuality of what happened.  I really like the occasional grapefruit; where better to savour one than in the sunny climes of this beautiful island, Barbados? That was the aim, but it disagreed and things became messy.

Enough about all that.  Yesterday was Zippy's final day with us, so in true adventurous style, we drove her all the way to the top of the island, to a place called St Lucy, via Holetown and Speightstown.  I was variously driving and failing to navigate.  Sometimes I would look at the map. without actually reading it; that's a problem.  At one point, I lost the sea.  The conversation went like this:

'Where's the sea gone?'
'It's that side!'
'But it was the other side just now!'
'We're on an island - it's on every side!'

St Lucy is the northern-most part of the island and there is a cave they call 'Animal Flower Cave'; a natural lagoon created by the Caribbean Sea and Atlantic Ocean merging together.  I didn't fancy going into an underground cave, instead preferring to watch stupendously powerful waves crashing onto the rocks beneath with such graceful strength.  The juxtaposition of power and beauty created a staggering impact on the landscape.  

In other news, I have today sold a snowman and a 'paint your own' tea-set.  There is just a tiny bit of fundraising left to do for the recent Guide trip to Iceland, hence an abundance of items on eBay and six bags of CDs awaiting online re-sale to those delightful people at Music Magpie, Ziffit and We Buy Books; we are fundraising in partnership with the delightful people at 2gether shop in Chislehurst.  If you want to get rid of your CD collection, let me know, and I shall take it off your hands with pleasure.  Likewise, postage stamps - Christmas is coming - and that means: postage stamps.  If you are so inclined, cut used stamps off  the envelopes, divide them into two categories - 'UK' and 'all other', then next time you see them, give them to me! Or perhaps you have a few items you want to get rid of, which I could eBay - let me know! Storage space is nil though - my room, which is also my office, my living space, my wardrobe, my work space, already looks like a cross between a left luggage office, a junk-shop and a scrap-yard, so send me pictures and descriptions of large items.  

I was about to go off on a hunt to find a Coke lid; if you know me, you will know that I collect these from wherever I go in the world, with a view to eventually doing something useful with them, when I get round to it.  They have the name of the country where they are bottled printed on the side, making them unique little keepsakes.  I was about to go exploring, when I got chatting to Carol on reception, who informed me that the nearest Coke lids are in Guyana, which is 4-hours away, at the top of South America.  Ho hum.

Wrestling with a grapefruit

Feel the fear and do it anyway.  So says my friend Sally Kettle, who does remarkable things, like rowing across the Atlantic with her mother, as one does (or doesn't).

Feeling the fear and doing it anyway has become a bit of a mantra.  I felt the fear today when I drove Zippy the Chevrolet up a vertical incline on the way up from the coastline.  My foot was flat on the gas and Zippy was gurgling.  If I take my foot off the gas, Zippy will plummet backwards; that would not be good.  Zippy obliged and we made it up a very sharp incline, in one piece.

My map-reading skills were tested to the limit, as I have none.  I usually just follow my nose, but if someone is driving, and relying on me reading a map, that's a problem.  

Yesterday I went to somewhere called Bath.  It was quite dissimilar to the Bath you may be familiar with.  There were no large Roman pillars or actual baths.  There was a stunning coastline, with waves crashing against it.  Bath is on the east coast of this stunning island.  I munched my picnic lunch with a picnic bench filled with cute, if feral, kittens.

The next leg of the journey was to Bathsheba.  So we did.

Fast-forward to this morning and I had the honour of visiting the Barbados Girl Guide HQ, thanks to Grace, who is the Chair of WAGGGS Western Hemisphere Region.   I met Grace in Hong Kong in July 2014, at the WAGGGS World Conference when I was part of the UK delegation, then again in London in Oct 2014 when the WAGGGS World Board were in town.  We met again at the baggage carousel at Grantley Airport.  Grace picked me up this morning and we drove to Paxhill, which is the HQ, which is used for regular Guiding meetings, as well as trainings and events.  Guiding came to Barbados in 1918 and so they are thinking about how to celebrate their Centenary.  

I am always inspired to spend time with international Guiding friends and to hear about Guiding elsewhere.  The challenges of retaining girls in Guiding are so similar worldwide.  I talked about how sad it makes me when a girl leaves Guiding because she is 'doing so many activities'.  I can guarantee that none of that plethora of activities will provide the diversity of opportunities which Guiding provides, where every individual girl is valued for who she is, regardless of any other factors.  By all means, embrace other things, have other interests, but Guiding can underpin all of those interests.  I look at my own Guides - this term we have been on a unit trip to Iceland (after raising £10k); been to the Big Gig; been to the House of Lords for a debate - one Guide made her promise in the House! We have been on a Jack Petchey trip to Thorpe Park; the senior patrol have written and delivered their own 'Go For It' and are now writing the next one - a SnapChat challenge! Another senior Guide is preparing a series of meetings as part of her Baden-Powell challenge.  We have also been on national TV dispelling myths around young people's disinterest in politics and campaigning.  One of our own Guides spoke at a Region event called 'Explaining Campaigning' about how she, at 14-years-old, launched her own campaign and took on the Home Office.

All this has happened because of Guiding and the way in which it builds the confidence of young people, enabling them to embrace who they are, build on their skills, develop new ones and ultimately, challenge themselves.  That is what Guiding is all about.

If you're not already involved, get involved, as it will change your life.  Whatever time you have to give; an evening a month to do some admin; a fundraising brain to help run an event; accounting expertise; good with social media; spreadsheet genius; time to shop for a unit; weekly availability to help run a unit? What about volunteering to lead a unit? What an opportunity! We are acutely in need of people who want to run Rainbow units particularly.  I know, I know - you work, you have a brood of children, pets, relatives, plus you have a thousand other commitments; but try Guiding.  It will enable you to give what you want to give and help you to be who you want to be.  Whatever you can give, it will be embraced: www.girlguiding.org.uk/interested - go on, have a look.  Be inspired.

I know what you're thinking - what about the grapefruit? Wait and see.

The Mango of Doom and the 1951 Refugee Convention

In 2001, I had four driving lessons.  Then I hit a house.  If you're going babysitting, driving your parents' Mondeo into the front room means you won't get asked to babysit again. Take it from one who knows.

A year later, I failed my first driving test before I'd left the car-park of the test centre, but I went ahead and did the test, receiving two more 'majors' due to unfortunately placed bollards and cyclists.  Fast forward twelve years, two cars and 10-years no-claims bonus and some might be surprised to hear that I spent this morning driving a zippy Chevrolet around the island of Barbados.  I drove along windy island roads beside the sea; I drove along an (unexpected) dual carriageway; I even drove through the centre of Bridgetown! There is no hiding the fact that Zippy is a hire car; all hire cars here have an unmistakable 'H' as the first letter of the registration.  Aside from the occasional tail-gater, which, to be fair, you get in Plumstead, the good people of Barbados were very tolerant of this first-time island driver.

At one point, I was driving behind a bus, which stopped periodically, as buses tend to, mainly at bus-stops, but also sporadically in the middle of the road.  I realised that you know when the bus will stop because a limb - usually an arm or leg - appears out of the side door, then it stops suddenly.  

I once lived in Uganda, in 2004, studying African Christian Theology, as one does when doing a theology degree; the way to get a 'matatu' (local minibus) to stop was to shout 'MAAASOWWWW' - I never found out what that meant, but the locals did it, so I started doing it too and it worked every time.

I wandered up to the bar last night, to refresh my g&t.  A woman I had chatted to earlier started talking to me.  She asked me what I did for a living.  I told her that I ran a maternity rights charity, because that is what I do. She looked blank.  I started talking about our two strands of work - advice and information for pregnant women; and supporting vulnerable migrant women, like refugees and asylum seekers.  Well - that was it.  She went off on a Daily Mail-style rant about how the UK is at capacity and all these people are coming over here and taking our jobs.  I obviously had to set her straight.  I proceeded to explain the difference between someone who is an 'asylum seeker' and someone who is an 'economic migrant'; the two - as you will know, I hope - are very different.  I went on to explain how the UK actually hosts a tiny proportion of the world's asylum seekers and that the majority of refugees seek refuge in a neighbouring country, for obvious reasons.  I went on - 'someone who is seeking asylum is seeking refuge from persecution.  We have a duty of care to humanity, under the 1951 Refugee Convention, to which the UK is a signatory'.  

Well - that was news to her.  I persisted; 'If your life and that of your family was in danger because of your religious beliefs, political affiliation, or something similar'  (I thought it would be too much for her to get into the specifics of what membership of a 'particular social group' means) - wouldn't you flee if there was any opportunity? I proceeded to explain some of the stories I have heard from midwives working with women seeking asylum; the unthinkably horrific situations women are fleeing; the things they have experienced in their often young lives; family members murdered; sexual violence; exploitation.    

I don't think she's going to speak to me again.  But sadly this epitomises attitudes of many members of the public.  And it's the tabloids which feed this scaremongering. 

It's dinnertime now, and I've remembered that the 'mango of doom' hasn't yet made it into the blog.  But actually, there isn't a lot to say.  A mango fell out of a tree on the way to breakfast; three steps further forward and there could have been a disaster.

Goodnight all.

Walking in a winter wonderland

I am programmed to write in Trebuchet.  Now, why might that be? Other fonts just don't feel right.

The music piping out into the communal area where I sit blogging for you now, is disconcerting.  In the space of a few minutes, whilst I've been reworking my latest poetry commission, we've gone from 'Walking in a Winter Wonderland', which methinks is unlikely in this part of the Carribean, ever; to everyone's favourite band - 'Take That' of course - singing 'Back for Good', then, without space to draw breath, there was a classical rendition of 'Ave Maria'; what is going on? We've now shifted to 'Santa Baby'.

The bar is gradually filling up with people who have been cooking in the sun all day and are starting to look like shrivelled-up prunes at various stages of composting.  There is a man wandering around who proudly told me this morning that he had been to Barbados forty-two times in his life.  Why on earth would you do that?! I didn't say that exactly, I just smiled sweetly, when inside I was thinking that he should perhaps try somewhere else.  Bognor Regis is lovely at this time of year.  Oh whoops - his wife just came up to me and asked if I was here on a working holiday - just because I'm frantically tapping on Baby Asus in the bar whilst most others are curling up with a cocktail and a bunch of their new-found holiday friends.  I explained that I was a prolific travel blogger (!) and was about to show her, when I realised that I just wrote that bit about her husband needing to get out more.  Whoops.  Oh, the perils of observational blogging - it's a dangerous occupation!

The day began in the morning, as they generally do, with a leisurely breakfast, muesli smothered in a custard-like yoghurt concoction and delicious fresh fruit.  A hundred tiny wild birds flit around the covered area where guests sit for meals.  The birds look so cute, until you see them defecate into someone's breakfast.  

There is a glorious beach five minutes away, so I wandered there and sat under a tree, then worked on a poetry commission for a friend.  The poetry business - www.SublimeRhyme.co.uk - has had to sit firmly on the back-burner for the last few months, so it felt good putting a commission together.  First indications from the client are positive, so I think after a spot of re-working, it will be ok.   

That beach is called Pebble Beach, not that there are any pebbles to be seen.  Oh, the irony.  Most places here have at least three different names, which doesn't make for confusion at all.  There is a tiny food-shack called 'Cuz' which is allegedly highly recommended on Trip Advisor.  I was chatting to a lady about it earlier - 'I don't like the way they put fish and bread together', she profoundly stated.  I stopped myself from saying 'don't you remember the story? I don't think Jesus fed the five thousand with a bag of chips.  I think bread and fish are the way forward; have you never had a tuna sandwich?' But that's what I was saying inside.  

I do like this little hotel.  Carol on reception says that she has definitely met me before, when I last came to the island.  Well, that's clever, as I have never been here before.  The place is so small that the staff quickly learn your names and ask how your day is going - you wouldn't get that in those globalised nearby high-rise giants that are the Hilton and the Radisson.  

Carlisle Bay doesn't sound that glamorous, but it is not the Carlisle that we know.  It is a beautiful sandy beach stretching for miles.  Some sun-drenched guest said it was half an hour away, but one sun-drenched half hour is about ten minutes for me.  I strolled along the pure white sand, past shacks selling beer, then sat under another tree and polished off the poem in my notebook, writing a few observational bits to convey to my faithful blog-readers, assuming you are there.  Yesterday's statistics suggested that at least four independent people had logged on and read this, so thanks if you were one of them.

There is a lot of history here and I plan to go and investigate, then convey it to you, so that we can all learn something of the Bajan (means the same as Barbadian) history.

So stay with me and I'll write more soon.  Happy days team.

The time has come

The time has come.  I have left the country.  Not long term, you understand.  As I unerringly blog, sipping a dodgy glass of house white, I am serenaded by a piped out ‘Sleigh Ride’ by Leroy Anderson; fans are spinning; variously shaped members of the largely Great British public surround me, with the melodic buzzing of eloquent green frogs and geckos creating a unique and beautiful vocal back-drop. 

They call this a ‘holiday’; this allegedly is a time where people do something called ‘unwind’, read things they call ‘books’, do something known as ‘relaxing’.  It’s not something I’m overly familiar with, or which comes naturally to me, but they tell me it is a good idea, so, my friends, I have come to… Barbados.

I spent the night in an airport hotel, ready for the morning flight.  The hotel was so close to check-in that it may have well have been in check-in.  I practically slept beside the baggage drop.  The check-in process was remarkably more straightforward than my last check-in experience in Reykjavik, Iceland, which involved 22 tired young people, 6 tired adults and a group of overly unhelpful Icelandair staff. 

I breezed through security, disappointed not to be asked if I was over 16 (see previous blog) and into a WiFi-enabled airport lounge, where I munched a croissant, sipped glorious coffee, whilst making a plethora of work phone calls and firing off e-mails to try to ensure that everyone who needed a reply, had received one, prior to me jumping on an 8-hour flight.  The other morning, I went to have a shower; when I looked at my phone after my shower, I had 54 new e-mails.  I hasten to add that I was in the shower for a normal length of time, before you think I may have been in there for a week.

I boarded the flight and my eight hours of slumber was punctuated only by offers of ‘chicken or beef’ and ‘tea or coffee’ from friendly air-hostesses.  Good old BA.   None of this ‘£7 please’ when you order a sip of wine.   (see previous blog from April 2014).

There’s always a hint of anxiety when awaiting one’s bag.  When I flew back from Iceland with my delightful Guide unit in October, one of the bags was put on the wrong flight.  I still cannot fathom how that happened – ’28 bags? Let’s put 27 on one flight and 1 on the other!’ – but anyway, my bag took its time to appear.  But I was not fussed.   What’s the worse that can happen? It’s on a different flight – it’ll be here tomorrow.     

There I was, quietly awaiting my bag.  I scanned the other people awaiting their luggage; suddenly, my eyes fell on… someone I recognised! That’s right! It was Grace Critchlow, Chair of the Western Hemisphere of WAGGGS whom I met in Hong Kong in July 2014, then again in Sept 2014 in London when I had dinner with the WAGGGS World Board and the Chairs of the World Regions! Grace had been in London (for the weekend!) interviewing potential Chief Execs for WAGGGS.  In case you don’t know what WAGGGS is, it is the ‘World Association of Girl Guides and Girls Scouts’, the movement which spans 146 countries and 10 million members worldwide.  I was privileged to be part of the UK delegation to the WAGGGS World Conference in Hong Kong earlier this year.  I’m hoping to meet up with Grace on Thursday! World Guiding is truly wonderful. 

The arrival into Grantley Airport, Bridgetown was smooth.  It is a tiny airport, with one runway, three baggage carousels and, well, that’s it really.  A taxi brought me to the small, locally-run (none of this multinational corporate malarkey) hotel, where I am now happily blogging, still serenaded by green frogs and geckos.

Keep reading for insights into what I get up to here.  Sleep well all. 

Walking in the Air

Greetings to you, faithful followers.  Before I tell you all about my long journey back to reality, may I warmly thank you for your diligent commitment to reading this.  In the last 3 weeks, this blog has been read in 10 countries, by upwards of 800 people.  Bless Google analytics, and bless you.

I write now, on what feels like a giant laptop, after tap-tapping on the delightful Baby Asus for more than two weeks.  It's like being at the cinema.

I am safely back in Plumstead, SE18, where things are remarkably similar to how I left them on July 3rd.  I am now in the process of picking up all the threads of my existence, and plaiting them back into some sort of normality.

I know what you're thinking - 'you've only been gone a short time, what's the matter with you?!' 

Granted, it is a relatively short time, but I have been in multiple worlds, in multiple settings, in multiple countries in that time.  In case you missed where it all began, I was part of the Girlguiding UK delegation to the WAGGGS World Conference - the official UK delegation blog is here.  This was a wonderful and profound experience, where I met up with old friends, made new ones, attended all sorts of sessions on important topics within Girlguiding, such as spirituality, gender, Fifth World Centre pilot and many more.  We went to spectacular events, such as the opening and closing ceremonies, then (wo)manned a stall at International Evening, where participants could have their photograph taken in the now world-famous Girlguiding taxi.  As a delegation, we helped make decisions to shape the future of WAGGGS and the 145 Member Organisations, as well as heard about the work of our very own Europe Region and World Board.  We celebrated with Nicola Grinstead, who was elected World Board Chair.

This was one world - a world of joy and friendship, laughter and fun, ideas and vision.

I then glided into the next phase of the trip, to Vietnam and Cambodia - read back over the last few blog entries to get the picture, if you didn't already.  One minute I was watching the superb Vietnamese water puppet theatre in Hanoi; the next I was cuddling a Vietnamese baby on a 33-hour train journey from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City / Saigon; the next I was crossing the Cambodian border, then learning about the horrific regime of the Khmer Rouge; then I was in the air again, bound for Siem Reap and the UNESCO World Heritage site which spralls across the whole area.  Back at the guesthouse, I was sipping ice-cold beer in bars whilst blogging about the day, occasionally chatting to people who look like they live in hedges.

Now, I am back in my bedroom / office / storage space, whatever you want to call it, having unpacked everything, opened my post and had a good sleep, working out what I really need to do before real life resumes in the morning.

I boarded the Hong Kong flight from Phnom Penh, which was unremarkable.  I started reading a book by a survivor of the Khmer Rouge campaign, so was engrossed in that; suddenly we were in Hong Kong.  The book is called 'First they killed my father' by Loung Ung.  It's biographical and told by a child, who is 5-years-old at the start of the book.  Her simple language and childlike tone paints a solid of picture of the happy life she and her family enjoyed in Phnom Penh, before the family and all other city dwellers were forced out of the city and to rural areas. 

I haven't finished the book yet, but it filled all of the hours I was awake.  I can lend it to you when I've finished it.  It is a tragic story of loss, but also of hope and courage.  I think that anything one can read about history is useful, particularly recent history - it starts in 1975, when you may well have been around.

Having spent the entire World Conference living in the Regal Airport hotel, I felt quite at home landing in Hong Kong again.  My connecting flight to London wasn't for another 10 hours, so I'd arranged to meet up with World Conference friend Jess who was also transitting there.  

Without thinking, I happily queued up in the 'transit' queue and was about to go through security again, when I suddenly thought - can I actually leave the airport if I go to the transfer lounge? I asked an angry Chinese worker if I could leave the airport if I went this way; she was just angry.  I suspect she had personal issues which might be affecting her performance at work, but didn't like to bring this up.  

'Can I leave the airport if I go this way?'

'No leaving flight-deck up.  Go, flying', came the crystal clear reply.  Awkward.  I started to explain that I had to return to the airport hotel to collect most of my clothing.  She wasn't having any of it.

Another woman approached.  She was wearing an ID badge and a uniform, so was obviously trustworthy, (unless she'd locked the true worker in a cupboard and stolen their uniform and badge); I was prepared to take the risk.

She ushered me past the angry woman and I headed for immigration.  I filled in a quick form, then went through to find Jess waiting for me! How exciting to see a familiar face, who had been part of the World Conference experience! 

We went back to the hotel and Frances Yip, Head of Housekeeping, duly delivered on the clothing front.  I was happily reunited with most of my clothes.  

Jess had been travelling in Vietnam, so we spent hours sharing our travel stories - tuk tuks, motorbikes, cooking lessons, language, revolution, the Khmer Rouge - the ten hours flew by as we talked and talked, sipped coffee, munched baguettes, then hunted around for postcards.  We said goodbye and I pootled along to my gate.

I met a man called Pete from Manchester, who was heading home for his daughter's wedding next weekend.  He's got 4 children - two boys and two girls; the girls are identical twins.  He works most of the year in Vietnam and China, doing something with sofas, but I'm not sure exactly what.  He read me the poem which he's written to read out at the wedding.  I'm sure his daughter will like it, although I have to say, I didn't.  I didn't lie to him though - I smiled and said, 'Aw, I'm sure she'll love it', though having seen it, this cannot be guaranteed.  I'm sure it won't matter anyway - the divorce rate is 50% these days.  

I hopped onto the plane and found myself surrounded by red t-shirt clad teenagers who were coming to London on a study tour for 3 weeks.  I had a window seat, as I always do, (so that I can see the care bears sitting on the fluffy clouds).  I chatted to the girl next to me.

'My name is Helen.  What is your name?'

'Gorky'.

'Gorky?'

'Yes, Gorky', she assured me.  

'Right', I said; 'is this the flight to Bulawayo?'

'Yes', she assured me, nodding profusely.  

I'm not sure if you've been on a flight recently, but there's a setting on the individual screen where you can watch from the camera which is underneath the plane! It's very exciting and is second only to actually flying the plane.

I was intent on sleeping, so wrapped myself in blankets, put my head down, and dozed for the first nine hours, read my book for two hours, then we touched down in London Heathrow!

I was amazed that my trusty rucksack had made it all the way from Phnom Penh to London, via Hong Kong and a 10-hour wait.  I will never understand how these airport transport systems work - it's genius and can only be managed by magic.

I tired of the people faffing about their baggage at reclaim; one particular woman was catastrophising about the luggage not coming through; 'just be patient', I wanted to say to her; 'your bag will be there somewhere'; but I didn't.  I just collected my bag and scurried through the 'nothing to declare' channel.

What have we learnt? Do useful things.  Travel.  Mix with the people who live there.  Remember that their lives are different to yours.  Travel is a privilege which many people will never enjoy. 

Respect the people you meet, even the idiots.  Respect the history of a place.  Don't take photographs at genocide sites.  If you're not sure what to do, consider what Jesus would do.  Whether or not you buy the 'son of God' malarky, you can't deny that he was a good bloke who treated people with love and dignity, regardless of who they were.  So don't bargain too hard; give to people who are clearly in need, but be sensitive; you might be better to make a donation to a local charity when you get home.

Be culturally and religiously sensitive, whether or not you believe in the religion you are visiting e.g. don't wear hot-pants and a strappy top to a Buddhist temple - be yourself, but be respectful. 

Be savvy.  Act on your instincts.  I trusted Stone immediately - look people in the eye and decide if you trust them.  If you don't, then make an excuse and find someone else.  Use your contacts - I can give you Stone's number (he's got business cards and everything); and Ti's number for Siem Reap; so if you're heading to Cambodia, let me know.

Above all, be safe.  Don't give personal details.  In Ghana in 2002, I gave my actual address to all sorts of people, then came home to a load of letters from the Home Office citing me as a referee for visa applications.  Don't do this.

You may have noticed that when I was travelling, I never gave exact details of where I was staying, until after I had left.  There was a reason for this.  Don't make yourself vulnerable.  Don't worry about bending the truth to protect yourself - as mentioned before, I often have a 'husband' waiting for me wherever I am heading, as it saves a lot of hassle and questions.  Yes, of course I shouldn't have to, but it makes sense.  

Ultimately, walk confidently and people think you know where you're going.

I'm going to sign-out there, as I'm sure you've had enough now.  Thank you for being a diligent reader, for the comments on Facebook, for the knowledge that you were reading.  I hope this trip has opened your eyes, taught you something, made you laugh, or even cry, or both.

I'd be interested for any more comments.  Maybe you know me - tell me next time we meet.  Maybe you stumbled across this by accident, in which case, welcome, I hope you've had a good read.  Maybe you are a publisher and want to offer me a lucrative publishing deal? (Not a dodgy vanity publisher though, proper ones only please).

The heavens have opened; there's thunder in the air; lightning has struck - twice - strange, so methinks it's a good time to say au revoir.