Wednesday, 29 December 2010

As I read the Facebook message my jaw literally dropped. It was him. It was clear that he had a girlfriend which was fine, after all, I had just had a little bit of my heart broken so the thought of rekindling our romance was the last thing on my mind.

As I read on though, it was as if we had never lost touch, he still seemed the same. Although this time he was living in Glasgow and I was the one living in Edinburgh. We agreed to meet up the following Friday night in Edinburgh at the City Café Bar, there was a lot of catching up to be done. I was a nervous wreck on the night. So much so that the perspiration had started to cause my coiffed hair to frizz. As I came around the corner and looked down to the entrance of the bar I could see him standing there looking equally nervous. I took him in for a moment before he saw me. He still looked the same albeit a little thinner on top. I didn’t get the same feeling I got that first time I’d set eyes on him in Safeways all those years ago, it was more a feeling of familiarity and contentment at him being back in my life.

It felt slightly awkward at first possibly by the fact that The Ace made it very clear he was extremely nervous, which in turn made me even more nervous whilst still trying to present an air of “coolness”. I could physically feel my hair increasing in volume. However, as always with alcohol consumption in these situations, we began to loosen up and the night passed very quickly. We ended up back at my flat not just because I had to relieve the babysitter but also because we’d agreed we would read through my stash of old Ace letters. The Ace admitted that although he had originally kept all the letters I had sent him, when he moved to London with BMW woman she had requested that they be destroyed after discovering them in a box.

When I suddenly realised that I had fallen asleep on the couch with my head resting on The Ace that night, I didn’t need the room to start spinning to tell me that I’d drunk too much. I composed myself as best I could and suggested that The Ace stay the night in my room and I would sleep in with Evie. My thumping head woke me up in the morning and Evie was amused to find me lying next to her in bed fully clothed with the previous night’s make up still on. She then quickly reminded me that she had football practice. What kind of sadistic teacher arranges football practice at 10 am on a Saturday morning? I am ashamed to say that I got up, threw a coat on and placed a pair of dark sunglasses over the blurry make up smudged eyes that would’ve no doubt exposed me for the drunken trollop that I had behaved like the previous evening. I left a note for The Ace explaining where I was.

The football practice was a blessing in disguise. It gave me a chance to try and think about how I was going to react with The Ace now that the alcohol induced haze had faded. That is, if he was still there when I got back, which he was when I finally returned back to the flat. Suddenly it all felt very awkward. I felt that I was in a scenario where I had to get rid of an unwanted one night stand from the night before. I was confused and quite frankly my hangover was not contributing well either. As I saw The Ace to the front door I tried desperately in my tangled up mind to figure out how I should say goodbye or whether this even was goodbye. I really was in a state of uncertainty, I simply didn’t know what I was doing. We gave each other a big hug and there was no doubt there was feeling in it. The Ace was really holding me. We smiled at each other and then he left.

I was an emotional wreck for the rest of the day. I hadn’t appreciated just how much of an effect mentally that the reunion with The Ace would have on me. A few days later he emailed me and it was clear from his email that our reunion had also affected him in a similar way. I found myself in floods of tears reading his email and I mean floods. You know, the type of crying where you are unable to catch your breath, perhaps sobbing would be a better description. I put part of this reaction down to my brother having just left Edinburgh for a move to Barcelona. He was my one crutch and I suddenly felt very alone, I was also still struggling with my reaction to the split from Mr Writer, the Ace’s email and the admission that his girlfriend was pregnant had just tipped me over the edge.

I really don’t know what I had expected to get out of the meeting with The Ace. He had written that he felt I’d needed “closure” and perhaps he was right but I also suspect that there was a little bit of hope at the back of my mind that we could rekindle what we’d never really had a chance to start.

However, the fact that his girlfriend was pregnant could only mean the end of the beginning. We did agree to keep in touch and start up our letter writing again though. I soon began to relax about the situation and it was great having The Ace back in my life, it was as if our original letter writing had never stopped. It was just this time they were in type and not in scribbled ink with various spelling/grammatical errors scored out.

As time went by I got involved with Mr Skinny Jeans, then Mr Offshore and The Ace went on to become a Father. In each of my relationships I was open and honest about The Ace and our letters. I can’t recall if I told Mr Rockstar about The Ace. Things nosedived in quite an extreme fashion in that relationship and so quickly that it’s all quite a blur but I know that I wouldn’t have kept it from him on purpose. Mr Skinny Jeans had no problem with it but of course Mr Offshore turned it into something seedy. He thought men were only friendly with me because they wanted to sleep with me and when I told him that The Ace had decided not to disclose our letter writing to his girlfriend, it only led to him to become more enraged and untrusting of me to the point where I had considered ending my friendship and contact with The Ace.

However, I’ve been thinking recently. Was there a grain of truth in Mr Offshore’s ramblings? Does a relationship with a man continue to be seen as just a friendship when his girlfriend doesn’t know about you?

Is it acceptable?

Am I “the other woman” albeit, innocently?

Have I inadvertently been having a sexless affair??!!?? Answers on the back of a postcard……
Tuesday, 16 November 2010
Standing in the phone box on St Vincent Street I took a deep breath as I dialled the number I had scrawled on my little note book. I had waited a whole day before phoning. I’m not quite sure why, but perhaps I needed to gather my thoughts together before I launched into a phone conversation with a guy who would inevitably wonder how I had managed to track him down. Various thoughts went through my head as I was dialling….what if he’s got a girlfriend…..what if he thinks I’m nuts? Actually, he would have been well within his rights to think that.

I heard a “hello” on the other end of the line and my heart started racing. I tried to compose myself and speak in a tone that didn’t emit my nervous state. I quickly established that this was in fact The Ace’s flatmate who subsequently went off to find him. I could just make out some muffled noises in the background expressing curiosity as to who was calling when suddenly it hadn’t seemed like such a good idea to track him down. I wanted to hang up but fate stopped me as I heard The Ace’s voice on the other end of the line greeting his unknown caller apprehensively. I couldn’t believe my luck when he agreed to see me again a couple of weeks later in Glasgow. I don’t think he asked how I got his number because I suspect that may have had an impact on his answer had he known the truth.

During those two weeks I moved flat. The lease had ended on the scabby flat that I had been sharing with 3 equally scabby guys and the majority of my belongings were picked up by my Mum and cousin to be stored back home. I still had 2 weeks left at college and thankfully one of my college mates was extremely generous, moving back to her parents’ house so that I could use her flat for the short time. Her kindness at that point in my life is something that I’ve never forgotten. She never even knew me that well. The flat was ideal although there was no curtain on the bedroom window but I could live with that. It was a narrow but tall window with a small sill on which I would sit, people watching and on one occasion caught the Orange march going up Argyle Street.

The Tuesday when The Ace’s was due to visit soon came round and I was a bag of nerves. I went straight up to Buchanan Bus Station after college and waited for the Edinburgh bus. Immediately I started to worry that he may not turn up. The past year at college had been a bit of a disaster for me when it came to guys and I’d started to just accept being let down or messed about. So as the bus stopped and I saw him walking off into the concourse of the station I was at first taken by surprise then instantly began to wonder why the hell he was meeting up with me again. He was far too stylish and cool but it was too late for all my self doubt to start seeping out, I needed to get a grip. After picking up a chippy we headed back to my flat and sat on my bed feeding our faces and watching television. We’d bought some beer too, no doubt to take the edge off.

As the daylight ebbed away and the darkness started to engulf my bedroom the light from the street lamps outside streamed an almost angelic light into the room. Looking back on it now, that missing curtain had provided the ideal romantic backdrop. When we woke up in the morning something had obviously happened but we both had no idea what as the beer had had more of an effect than just calming our nerves. It all felt slightly awkward. Where were we to go from here? I had only a few days left in Glasgow before I returned home and even then I was moving to Newcastle 2 months later. Again I have no idea what was said at our second goodbye but we must have made some commitment to stay in touch because over the next year or so we wrote letters to each other.

The Ace’s letters were always humorous, full of anecdotes and always late. I would often find myself laughing out loud to them. We began to get to know each other more and more through our epistolary relationship and my fondness for The Ace grew and grew. Naturally as time went on we got involved with other people (Geordie Boy following my move to Newcastle) but we still kept writing to each other. It was around the time of Princess Diana’s death that I was invited to a party in Glasgow and I decided to coincide this with a visit to see The Ace. Geordie Boy was aware of this and completely comfortable with the fact that I was meeting up with another man. He’d already experienced one trip to “Taggartland” and didn’t seem keen for a revisit. It was on the day of Princess Diana’s funeral that I drove up and at various point in the journey there were flags at half mast. Just after her death Geordie Boy’s Mum was shocked that they’d decided to postpone a Newcastle United game at St James Park as a mark of respect. She thought it was taking things a bit too far, I thought sticking newborn babies in Newcastle United babygrows was taking things too far.

My journey from the North East would take me to The Ace’s flat in Edinburgh first where I’d made it clear that I wanted to watch the funeral on the TV and then we could get ready later for a night out in Glasgow at The Art School before heading onto the party. It was a great night and we had such a good time, the electricity was there again. But we were both in relationships and when The Ace hinted at the possibility of something happening between us that night I said to him it would have to be a case of “All or Nothing” possibly making reference to the Small Faces song to appear cool but also to state that I didn’t want a “one off”. If we were going to do this, we were going to make a go of things properly. I couldn’t cheat on Geordie Boy. I needed to know there was going to be more to it than just a fling. We ended up sharing a makeshift bed on the floor in the hall of where the party was being held, again with our clothes in tact. Nothing happened.

In the morning when I dropped him off on my way back to Newcastle although there was an air of awkwardness there was no disguising the frustration between us. I left feeling rather flat and even though nothing physical had happened, mentally, I felt I’d betrayed Geordie Boy. As soon as I arrived in Newcastle I went round to his house but he seemed distant and when he broke my heart a week later the first person that I sobbed down the phone to was The Ace.

Shortly after the break up with Geordie Boy I packed in my job, left Newcastle and moved back home. After I had originally moved down there I’d only lasted a few months at University before realising that it wasn’t for me but stayed on and got a job in advertising so I could carry on seeing Geordie Boy. The Ace and I briefly spoke on the phone following my move back up North and wrote the odd letter but I think we’d both realised that it would have been stupid to have let anything happen that night in Glasgow.

The year was coming to an end when I was invited back down to Glasgow for Hogmanay. My friend Annie had started seeing Martin and there was going to be a whole crowd of us heading to a club before going on to a party in Govan of all places. I couldn’t believe it when I walked into the club and found out that The Ace was there. Unfortunately I quickly found out that he was there with a new girlfriend and if that wasn’t bad enough, Dave informed me that he was moving to London with her. She worked in the music industry and had a BMW apparently. I’d already lost the battle, I had a Fiat Uno…..

I spoke to The Ace briefly. I’m not sure what I was more disappointed at, the fact that he didn’t tell me or the fact that he was moving to London. I didn’t even notice the countdown to the New Year at that point, I didn’t care. We spoke on the phone a couple of weeks later. He apologised for not telling me. But really, did he have anything to apologise for? I wasn’t his keeper. The letters stopped soon after that and I never heard from The Ace again.

As the years went on I would find myself thinking of him from time to time. Wondering what he was up to, how life was treating him. Although once Evie came into my life I very rarely thought about him until Mr Writer dumped me three years ago and the rejection was hard to take. I felt the same way I’d felt when Geordie Boy dumped me and before I knew it I found myself searching Facebook. Four people with the same name as The Ace and not one with a picture that looked like him. Perhaps he was anti-Facebook? I couldn’t actually imagine him having a mobile phone let alone access to a laptop but then I was thinking of him from twelve years ago. We were both living in a modern world now.

I went with my gut instinct and friend requested the one with a Sixties looking singer as their profile picture and put a short message apologising if this wasn’t the person I was looking for. Within a couple of days my friend request was accepted and a message was waiting in my inbox……
Thursday, 11 November 2010
So we kissed and the spell didn’t break. Much to my relief he didn’t kiss like a toad who’d had a stroke either. We both fell asleep for a bit, clothes in tact and then spent the whole of Sunday together. I think we may have sourced some brunch in a little café on Byres Road before we ended up at the Botanic Gardens, sitting on the grass. I wish I’d thought more about the way I was sitting because The Ace advised me to reposition myself as he could see up my skirt. My embarrassment would have certainly shown but then surely he would have felt some shame at the fact he had inadvertently admitted to looking in that direction.

I only remember that and being in the scabby kitchen of the scabby flat from the whole day we spent together. He left sometime around late afternoon to head back to Edinburgh where he lived. We never swapped numbers and although I know that something poignant was said as he was leaving I can’t quite recall what or by whom.

So he was gone and that was that, or at least it would have been if I hadn’t turned into what can only be described as a desperate romantic displaying stalker tendencies. What I am about to tell you is quite frankly disturbing but perhaps also very resourceful, actually it’s just downright embarrassing but anyway, here goes….

Naturally after the “electrifying” experience with The Ace I couldn’t get him out of my head. I thought about him constantly, about the energy between us that night and more so about the fact that nothing had really happened, well, apart from a kiss. As far as I was concerned the universe had thrown us together and we were meant to be together. I wanted to marry him. Yes, that’s right, marriage to a relative stranger at 19 years old seemed feasible. The question was, how was I going to get to see him again? The forces of nature would dictate that it was fairly unlikely. Not only did I not have his number, the college term was close to finishing and I would then be moving back home for a couple of months before my move to Newcastle for University. Most sane people would accept this and move on, I didn’t.

My first port of call was my friend Dave who I tried to convince to raid my not very nice friend’s address book to see if he could find The Ace’s number in it. This mission was extremely unsuccessful, so much so that the “friend” found out and subsequently realised The Ace and I had spent the night together, albeit fairly innocently. I don’t recall seeing her again after that. Most semi-sane people would have thought at that point “ah well…”, I didn’t. The next bit is probably an excellent example of “worrying behaviour” and I would go as far as to say it may be seen as acceptable grounds in court to lodge a restraining order.

I went to the library. I went to the library and searched for the phone book for East Kilbride. Why East Kilbride? Because The Ace had explained that his parents lived there. Yes, that’s right. I looked up every single person with the same surname as his in East Kilbride and made a list of them in my little note book. Please be assured that this little notebook did not contain other stalking methods or the various ways of boiling bunnies ….

Armed with many 10 pences, I dialled the first number on a list of 10 or so matching surnames in East Kilbride. I was ready with a script of what I was going to say, in my head I might add, not on paper, that would have been taking things too far! I had decided to explain that I was an old friend of The Ace’s, that I’d lost his number in Edinburgh and would they be able to pass it on to me. How handy Facebook would have been back then. I wouldn’t have seemed so desperate. The first call was answered which resulted in an immediate negative response. I apologised for dialling the wrong number, thanked them for their time and so the calls went on as I crossed off each unsuccessful number. I didn’t listen to the voice in my head which was saying perhaps I should just leave it but then that was the voice of reason and so far my behaviour was anything but reasonable.

Call number 7 on the list was answered by a male and I automatically reeled off my speech. “He’s an old friend…..I’ve lost his number for his flat in Edinburgh…..” etc. The man on the other end of the line sounded fairly uncomfortable and I started to cross off the number.

“Oh…….right…….” he said. “I’ll just get his number for you…....”
Wednesday, 3 November 2010
Moving back to your home town can inevitably mean bumping into your past on a regular basis, old friends from school, boys you’ve snogged at the back of the arcades who are now fat balding men and girls who wanted to beat you up because you were not part of their gang who are now almost unrecognisable due to the absence of heavily hair sprayed perms. There’s no escaping it, well, not for the time being anyway.

It’s been great catching up with the group of girls I used to hang about with at school though. Many of them have come back to settle down with their families after being away and I’ve realised just how much I’ve missed them being part of my life. I suddenly feel part of something again. Of course seeing the majority of your friends settled down leaves you wondering whether you got lost somewhere amongst the map of life. Was there a wrong turning or a junction which I missed?

When I was ill with the doomed pregnancy my big brother handed me a book and told me to read it, “it’s a good book”, he said. “It’s about 2 people who meet and the different journeys they take over the next 20 years, you know, people taking different paths in life and where it leads them.” The first page of the book was set in Edinburgh so I immediately felt a connection. I was struggling to concentrate on anything though at that point and the thought of concentrating on a big novel was not particularly appealing. I’d only read a few pages when it got packed away with the rest of my belongings for the unwanted move back home. If I’m honest though, there was also a reluctance to read it. My relationship with Mr Rockstar was on a downward spiral, I was feeling extremely confused about everything and I felt lost. At times like that and usually when I am drunk and feeling lonely the same person always creeps into my thoughts, The Ace.

I can distinctly remember the first time I saw him, Safeways, Byres Road, Glasgow around the time of Euro ‘96. He was sporting fairish hair, cut in a mod style. He was tall and was wearing a leather motorcycling sports type jacket and he was going out with my friend, who looking back on it, had never been particularly nice to me.

I think perhaps a little part of me fell in love with him, at that point and it’s probably the closest I’ve ever come to love at first sight apart from Johnny Depp of course….

I can’t even remember if we spoke that day or the next time I saw him at my friend’s flat. I can remember him telling her off for clicking her false nails together though – funny the things that stick in your mind.

Shortly after that he finished with my friend. The nail clicking must have got to him.

It was an impromptu decision to go out following the defeat of England in the semi final that found me in the Art School on Renfrew Street. Myself, Martin and Dave had started the evening in the Grosvenor Lane drinking beer and I remember the constant laughing between the three of us. I also remember that upon realising we were going to be going out I had rushed back to my flat to change and only shaved the thigh part of my legs because I was wearing knee high boots and a mini skirt – nice.

The Art School was a haven of pretentious young things trying to out smart each other in the fashion stakes. You could be forgiven for thinking that you’d walked back in time when entering the ground floor. Everyone looked like a throw back from the 60s but in a very chic vintage way and the music matched the fashion. Naturally I went there for the talent and to dance beside guys who knew how to dance. It was very rare that I got to dance with them. I always felt like I could never get it quite right clothing wise. My outfit often consisted of a mix up of Top Shop and Miss Selfridge, or cheap high street sale items. I tried my best to work the retro look but you could tell I hadn’t been vintage shopping in Virginia Galleries like the others. I didn’t have that moth ball aroma.

The first floor was in complete contrast to the ground floor, thumping house music and people who appeared to be chewing their cheeks a lot. I liked both floors and flitted between the two that night. Somehow at the end of the night, when the crowds were spilling out onto the street I lost Martin and Dave. But as I looked for them amongst the surge of people around me I found someone else, there he was, The Ace.

We got talking, I have no idea what about but no doubt I made some reference to him dating my not so nice friend briefly to break the silence. Somehow we ended up walking all the way up Great Western Road back to my scabby basement flat. We lay there on the bed fully clothed facing each other just talking for what seemed ages about, well, I have no idea what about but while lying there I felt this unbelievably strong energy, it was like electricity was building up between us. Naturally there was a part of me which was also concerned about the fact I had only shaved half of my legs and that I would inevitably have to remove the boots which were concealing my fuzzy calves but regardless of that, I couldn’t get over this feeling that I was experiencing. It was all rather innocent, we weren’t even holding hands but there definitely seemed to be a strong connection between us. Of course who knows what The Ace was thinking at that point although I sincerely hope that later on it wasn’t along the lines of “Jesus, what hairy legs….!”

I had no idea if we would kiss at all that night and although I really wanted him to kiss me; I couldn’t help but worry that the magic might disappear. If he was a dreadful kisser it would have ruined the illusion. So I held back for as long as I could until it began to get light outside and the thought of my semi hairy legs reflecting the daylight across the room filled me with enough fear to take a chance on breaking the spell……

Sunday, 10 October 2010
I’ve been watching This is England ’86 and I desperately want my hair like Lol’s. Being a natural brunette and a dark one at that it would be anything but an easy transition but my hairdresser states that if I start lightening gradually I may get there without actually ending up bald. A woman’s hair can be a real representation of her psychological state. Take Britney Spears for example, we didn’t need to be told that she was going through a breakdown when we watched her shave her head through the murky lens of the paparazzi’s camera.

When I split up with my Geordie boyfriend at 21, I cut all my hair off, or rather, some hairdresser from Toni and Guy did. I decided I wanted to look like Louise Wener from Sleeper but I also suspect that I didn’t want to look like the person who’d just had her heart broken.

While I was going out with Mr Rockstar my hair was the longest it had ever been, it was down to my waist. The ironic (and somewhat disturbing!) thing was that I wanted to have long hair for when I got married. I seriously thought that the years it would take me to grow my hair that length I would’ve met “the one”. Of course with Mr Rockstar I thought I had. Three weeks after the termination, I cut my hair. Not as drastically as when Geordie Boy had dumped me but even so there was a good 6 inches of hair lying on the salon floor. Now I’m wanting to get it bleached and shorter – what does that tell you?

There’s no doubt about it, I want to escape from the girl (woman?) I was at the beginning of the year. Is this deemed as "running away" or "reinvention"?

However much I try and detach myself from the person I was earlier on this year I know it won't stop the baby dreams. They've been happening on a regular basis. It's like a punishment, I'm happy with a baby in every single one. But those are dreams and it's not the reality, I have to keep reminding myself that.

They'll stop, eventually. Meanwhile, I need to start looking at other areas of my life that I need to change, starting with my romantic side. My mother says it causes me nothing but trouble and I am beginning to think she may be right. But how does one go about "de-romanticising" themselves? Should I refuse to watch rom-coms, stop looking for "signs", stop believing in love at first sight? Ironically I have never experienced love at first sight, lust yes, but I don't ever think love. The list is possibly endless but what is more problematic is the implementation. Of course throw yourself into a financially crippling, physically and mentally draining housing renovation and you're pretty much sorted. Add in the threat of losing your job and the process is complete.

So even if the bleach doesn't make my hair turn white, it's more than likely my current life will.......
Tuesday, 10 August 2010
"Cold and calculated". The words rang louder and longer in my head than my alarm clock had that morning. I'm still hearing them now, a couple of weeks later.

I stood momentarily, reading the text over and over again that morning wondering how someone who was so in love with me could be so horrible but ironically that was probably exactly what Mr Rockstar was wondering too.

It had been the morning after I'd ended things with him over the phone. I'd woken up from a dream that consisted of me discovering that I was still pregnant and was happy. The buzz from the mobile had startled me and broke me from my happy place, bump and all. Before I had time to comprehend the dream, I looked at my phone.

I knew he'd be angry with me and I knew he'd be upset. I'd withdrawn from the relationship for over 2 months but yet had refused to end it. He'd been left hanging around wondering what my thoughts were and whether I still loved him. Only a week before I'd indicated that we should take things slowly but I'd also told him I'd changed. Perhaps I just hadn't appreciated how much.

It was a long text. A long, angry text.

Should I reply to the text or should I just leave it? There was a part of me though that felt I had to defend myself. I hadn't planned all of this, I wasn't trying to make a fool of him, I was gutted things hadn't worked out and yes, I knew it was because of me. My instinct was to leave it though. Nothing I could say was going to make Mr Rockstar feel better. My mother however, suggested I should text him back. That we needed to speak face to face. I have to agree, I had never intended it to end over the phone. He deserved better than that but when I opened the conversation with "we need to talk about us", things escalated. We'd finished the conversation by wishing each other the best in life. But needless to say, things were different by the morning.

"He's not going to want to meet up at the weekend to speak face to face" I said to my mother. "I know it'll just make him mad if I say that in the text". However, I went ahead and did as I was told in untypical daughter fashion.

He went mad. I had just made things worse. Sorry, my mother's advice had just made things even worse.

And then there was my blog, I began to think it probably hadn't been a good idea to tell him about that.......
Tuesday, 20 July 2010
I’ve started this post many times over the last couple of months. Never knowing quite how to start it or where to end it. Should I speak about the termination? What about the suicidal tendencies? How do I throw in the impending house move and saying goodbye to Edinburgh? Do I mention my birthday/leaving night and the fact nobody turned up? And what about Mr Rockstar, where does he fit in amongst all of this?

Does anyone really want to hear how shit my life has been for the past couple of months? Possibly, it often makes us feel better when we hear how awful someone else's is, after all, that's why I watch Eastenders.

But if you're still reading, I shall go on.....

The termination - well, for some reason I thought going through it for the second time would be easier. I was having the surgical procedure which would mean that I would be knocked out and wouldn’t face the traumatic experience of passing the pregnancy. What I hadn’t anticipated on, was having to wait in a day surgery waiting room at the hospital on my own for over 5 hours amongst pensioners getting knee transplants while my body slowly prepared for the surgical intrusion of having a baby removed. Being on your own for 5 hours gives you a lot of time to think about things. While my stomach produced the odd cramp I sat there and apologised in my head to the baby. I built up quite a lot of self hatred that morning, getting angry with myself for being so stupid and telling myself that I was a bad mother. I wondered whether this was it. Would I ever want to be pregnant again, would I ever be able to conceive again? I questioned whether I’d made the right decision, because it was my decision, Mr Rockstar never once said we should consider a termination.

I had tried to come to a conclusion with Mr Rockstar about what we should do but I knew that he didn’t want to make the decision. “People have babies all the time”, he said. Yes they do, I’d witnessed that enough through my work in child welfare. Drug addicts have babies, people who were incapable of looking after themselves have babies. Having the baby is the easy part, looking after it is another thing entirely. I tried to reason with him, explain to him that I had already been there, I knew how difficult it was to raise a child and I could see that we weren’t ready for it both financially and mentally. The problem was we were both too emotional and were unable to communicate in a rational manner. That’s when I took control. Rightly or wrongly I made the appointment to see a pregnancy counsellor with a view to setting up a termination appointment. With only 3 weeks left to make a decision, I had to act quickly. I thought I would come out of the counselling session thinking “no, I want to have this baby, I can have this baby” but disappointingly I didn’t. I felt more certain that there was no other option. It just wasn’t a decision I wanted to make on my own.

The sad truth is that following the termination, I couldn’t face Mr Rockstar and I didn’t want to communicate with him. I shut him out, it was the only way I felt I could cope with what had happened. I felt that if he was around me he would only make me feel worse. I know how selfish that sounds, I know that we should have been there for each other but I needed to be there for Evie, I needed to put her first and I couldn't allow myself to feel anything.

Within a week of the termination though, things only went from bad to worse. While I was recovering at my Mum’s up in the Highlands, I decided to visit my house (I've been renting it out while I work in Edinburgh). My last lot of tenants had just moved out and when I saw it I was on the brink of tears. The place was in a terrible state of disrepair, there was no way that I was going to be able to rent it out again and that only meant one thing, I was going to have to leave Edinburgh. I’d already gone through 2 months of having to scrape/borrow money to pay for my rent in Edinburgh and my mortgage for my house, I’d used all my resources, there was nothing left.

I’d barely had time to react to the termination properly and think about Mr Rockstar, when suddenly I was thrust into giving notice on my flat in Edinburgh, remortgaging my house, breaking the news to Evie that she was going to have to leave all her friends, trying to arrange new childcare and begging my employers to allow me to remotely work from our Highland base. I spent two weeks agonising not knowing if I was going to have a job while I waited for my boss and the HR department to decide my fate. They allowed me a 3 month remote working contract.

Which brings me to where I am now, back in the Highlands with Evie, living with my Mum because my house is inhabitable. So what about the suicidal tendencies, my disastrous birthday/leaving night and Mr Rockstar? Well, some things just aren't meant to be.......

Monday, 10 May 2010
It wasn't supposed to be like this, this post. I was supposed to be spreading the joy, I was supposed to be glowing, that's what they say - don't they? You're glowing. But I'm not. I'm 10 weeks pregnant and everything has culminated into a terrible mess. Shall I rewind?

After the last negative pregnancy test, I did a further one a week later, just a cheap one from Boots, nothing fancy this time. Initially it looked like it was going to be negative again but after 5 minutes that infamous red line came up - positive.

Mr Rockstar and I were very excited, so much so that Evie picked up on the news a lot sooner than I would've liked. There was certainly a buzz around that night. I woke up at 6 am the next morning with my head spinning. I couldn't get back to sleep. The initial fear was the thought of the dreaded morning (or rather all day) sickness, I knew how ill it had made me in the past - how was I going to cope this time? Of course, what I had to keep reminding myself was that there were two people involved in this, Mr Rockstar would be able to help, although we didn't live together yet, there was no reason why he couldn't come and stay with me during the sickness. He'd be able to commute to work, people did it all the time by train from Edinburgh to Glasgow or vice versa. I would later realise that this rule didn't apply to builders.

Through our excitement we told our parents. Although shocked they were happy as long as we were happy and we were happy. We loved each other and that would get us through it.

The cracks started to appear pretty much as soon as I started to get sick. Luckily (or so I thought) when the sickness kicked in I was on a weeks leave as I was arranging a surprise 70th birthday party for my Father during the Easter break so thankfully didn't have to phone in sick to work. However it made what was already a stressful week even harder because I was unable to eat, had no energy yet somehow had to find the strength to arrange catering, balloons, etc as well as trying to keep Evie occupied.

The following week Mr Rockstar came to stay with me for a few days to help me out. It was a complete disaster. As he doesn't have a driver's license he had to rely on public transport. In the past when he'd stayed at mine during the week he'd got the train and always arrived on time for work but that was one day, to get the train all week would be a massive expense so he went for the bus instead. I'd gone into work that day but had left at lunchtime as I just couldn't cope with constantly feeling like I might throw up at any moment. I suddenly realised that there was no way I was going to be able to keep this from my boss. I couldn't work and besides, my Doctor's line would state quite clearly what was "wrong" with me. Mr Rockstar had left my flat that day just after 5 am and was late for work, the bus almost took double the time of the train. By the time he got back to mine, went food shopping for dinner (I couldn't face the food let alone the supermarket) and cooked it, it was after 9 pm. I hoped that this was perhaps just a one off, that it would be easier the next day. It wasn't. By the time I saw Mr Rockstar walking down the steps to my flat the next day almost an hour and a half later than the previous day I knew we were in trouble.

Mr Rockstar looked absolutely exhausted and unfortunately due to my pregnant sickly state I was unable to give him the attention that he needed. My sense of smell was ridiculously sensitive and I just couldn't be too close to him after he'd had a hard day grafting. Plus when I'd seen how tired he looked I said to him that he should have just taken his bag with him in the morning so that he could have stayed at his flat in Glasgow and got a proper rest. I realised that it wasn't benefiting either of us but unfortunately he took this as rejection. We decided that it just wasn't workable - the commuting.

I spent the next week or so struggling to get myself out of bed, get Evie off to school and then the rest of the day lying on the couch feeling like utter crap with only the TV for company. I lived on Frosties and toast. The only time I didn't feel sick was when I was asleep. During that week, signed off work, I started to think more and more about what Mr Rockstar and I were getting ourselves in to. Suddenly all the little things that didn't really matter e.g. not living in the same city, Mr Rockstar not having a car were suddenly turning into really big things for me. It was fair to say I was having severe doubts about whether going through with the pregnancy was the right decision. For days I let things go through my head. I trawled the internet to see if it was common for women to really want a child and then suddenly not. It seems it's not something that many women write about, certainly not on forums. When I went back to work I immediately had a meeting with my boss and feigned happiness at my news. Deep down though I was feeling very alone. I knew Mr Rockstar was there for me but somehow I still felt alone.

Working full time while dealing with Evie in the mornings and evenings was taking its toll. I was constantly exhausted and struggling to know what to eat. Dinner times were awful. I had to open the fridge without breathing because the slight smell of food was making me wretch. Mentally and physically I was feeling drained. I found myself constantly wondering how we'd cope. Or if I'm more honest, how I'd cope. All of a sudden all I could see in the future was myself with 1 child and 1 baby. My life had already been a struggle for the past 8 years, I could only see it getting worse. I had no family support in Edinburgh like I'd had up North when I'd had Evie. Who was going to help me? For some reason I suddenly felt fully responsible for this baby. It wasn't supposed to feel like this. I was supposed to feel like I had someone to share the pregnancy with me, why didn't I feel like that?

The truth of the matter was that Mr Rockstar and I didn't really know each other. Certainly not enough to be sure that we could provide a loving, stable home for a baby. Sure we had a bit of history but I'd been a teenager then. Perhaps if I didn't have Evie and had an air of ignorance surrounding the situation I may have thrown caution to the wind but as it was I'd already been there. I knew exactly how much hard work was involved in having a child and I knew that I wasn't ready to take a chance on something that might or might not work out. The thought of ending up a single mum all over again filled me with utter fear.

It left us with only one option and me facing the sad truth that love simply wasn't enough.
Friday, 9 April 2010
When I thought there was a possibility that I may be pregnant I started to put some measures in place. I started by stuffing my face.

As you will know if you have read my earliest posts I suffered from terrible morning sickness within a week or so of finding out I was pregnant. It wasn’t so much throwing up all the time but more the feeling like I was going to be sick. I can only compare it to how I used to feel as a child when I was suffering from travel sickness. That constant dizzy, nauseous feeling. I lost a lot of weight within the first few weeks of my pregnancy with Evie because I just couldn’t eat, I suspect that my colleagues at the time knew something was up.

If I ate loads now, then any weight loss wouldn't be so noticeable. That was my theory anyway.

I also recalled the debilitating tiredness that I’d suffered, to the point where I struggled to even lift the eye shadow brush to my face, let alone sweep it across my drooping eyelids all those years ago. So I tamed down my make up. I wore a little mineral foundation and mascara. I didn’t even do my eyebrows (I have a thing about my eyebrows, ever since Audrey Horne from Twin Peaks entered my life back in 1990). There would be no struggling with my crayon face this time, I was easing my colleagues in with the au naturel look.

I sorted out my office desk drawer. I generally throw everything in there at the end of the working day but I figured that if I was going to be off with the morning sickness than I should at least make sure everything was in order because no doubt someone would go in there looking for something. I sorted, I filed, I shredded confidentially and I labelled. I couldn’t quite remember my desk looking so efficiently tidy.

I stocked up the freezer. I needed to have supplies in to ensure that I was able to at least cook food for Evie even if I didn’t feel like eating. The last thing I’d feel like doing would be traipsing around the supermarket with green gills.

I started to read up on early symptoms and was introduced to a whole new scary world on the internet. I’d never had this privilege with Evie, I don’t even think Broadband existed then! But suddenly here were pages and pages of women desperate to discuss every single aspect of trying to get pregnant, being pregnant, having babies, not having babies. And everything was initialled. What the hell did “AF” or “CM” mean and how on earth was I supposed to be able to tell whether my cervix felt like the tip of my nose?? I learnt things about my reproductive system that I never knew before. I made a pact to myself that if I did find out I was pregnant I wouldn’t visit that cyber world again and as it happened, I didn’t have to.

Realising I wasn’t pregnant, I suddenly started to panic about the over eating, the important documents that I may have “accidentally” destroyed during my sudden office drawer spring clean and the ridiculous price I’d paid for that “we can tell if you’re pregnant 4 days early” pregnancy test. Well, at least I'd prepared for every eventuality, even if I didn't really need to. Then my phone bleeped, a message from my Mother, "I've just read your blog...." Then again, maybe not.

Thursday, 25 March 2010
As I prepared to pee on that infamous stick I couldn't help but think back to the last time I’d been in this situation and found out I was pregnant and I’m not talking about Evie here.

If you’ve been reading for a while, you will know that Evie’s Dad, Daniel and I lived together briefly when Evie was about 2. Ten months down the line and on the pill, I missed a period. I’d been away on a training course for work for a couple of nights the previous month and had been unable to pick up my repeat prescription so missed out on the first 3 pills of the packet. I remember saying to him one night in bed when he was being amorous that it was a “dangerous time” but he said it didn’t matter, it was ok, we’d got through worse. Of course what he really meant was I’m not worried about that just now, I just want to have sex with you.

During that period free week I kept saying to him, “I think I might be pregnant”. He repeated his previous line, that we’d got through worse. I should have reminded him that actually I'd got through worse, I don't particularly remember him being around helping me through things. “What if I am pregnant though?” He repeated the same line. He was playing the ostrich card.

On the date that I should have restarted my pill I bought a double pregnancy pack and used the first one in the toilets at work on my lunch break. If I was pregnant I wanted to be prepared within myself to deal with his reaction. It didn’t take long for the two parallel lines to appear and my heart sank, probably because I knew deep down what his reaction would be.

That evening I told Daniel that I'd bought a pregnancy test and went upstairs to use the second one. When I came back downstairs, I sat on the couch and showed him the test, already knowing myself that it would be positive. I thought to myself that he couldn't possibly react as badly as he did when I told him I was pregnant with Evie. We were living together now and 2 years had passed. He would be ok, wouldn't he? "There's no way we can have this baby" he said to me.

Within a week I was suffering from the effects of morning sickness and after two days off work had to admit to my line manager that I was pregnant. I tried to talk to Daniel. I told him that if I had to go through a termination it would be the end of us too. I couldn't believe he was doing this to me, all over again. I could almost understand why he was like this with Evie, we'd only been together a month but now we had a home, we were a family. I spent the next week or so thinking about what I was going to do while struggling with the constant nausea. This was my problem now, he'd made that clear to me. It was possibly the hardest decision that I ever had to make and within 3 weeks of finding out I was pregnant again, I had a termination. It was an extremely traumatic experience, with the procedure not going to plan and finding myself being wheeled through to theatre for the surgical procedure. Of course I believed that I was being punished when the medical method didn't work because I had wanted the baby. But I knew that if I was going to leave Daniel and make a new life for Evie and I in the future I was going to have to make this sacrifice. Five months later I told Daniel I wanted a separation.

I've been left wondering ever since whether I'll be able to have another baby. When I told Mr Rockstar that I was going to take the test he reassured me that he would be there for me. Although I believed him there was a tiny part of me that was still doubtful because of what had happened in the past. "You won't leave me will you?" Suddenly, after trying to act cool for so long, I was showing him my vulnerable side. He promised me he wouldn't.

As we both sat there and watched the test change it suddenly dawned on me that this was the first time someone, a boyfriend, had been with me while I waited to find out whether I was pregnant or not.

One single line, I wasn't pregnant. We both looked at it, wondering if it needed more time, nope, definitely negative. It was a strange feeling. After working ourselves up over the possibility of a little life developing inside me we almost felt slight disappointment for the baby that never was.

Thursday, 18 March 2010
Somebody once said to me “you’re always out there with everyone else, you’re never in here, with yourself” while holding her hand to her chest. I thought about what she said for a long time. She was right. I had a habit of spending too much time worrying about what other people were thinking instead of focusing on how I felt deep down and being comfortable with that. I admired her because she had listened to her inner voice and was confident within herself to disregard anyone’s criticism of how she had chosen to live her life. It would seem that some people feel threatened by what they may perceive as risk taking by another person. Some of us of course are just trying to embrace life.

As a child I was very confident, I was probably quite annoying too, forcing the family to gather in the living room to watch me in my latest dressing up ensemble while performing contemporary dance or dramatisation (I neither did dance nor drama class). I wanted to perform, I loved being on the stage. I was popular in Primary School and was recently told by an old school friend that most of the boys fancied me, they would have had strong competition with Matt Goss had I been aware of this at the time.

Secondary school changed all of that. Going through my parents’ divorce and the repercussions from that changed me into a child who struggled to fit in. Performing an a cappella version of Eternal Flame for an Opportunity Knocks event for Children in Need in front of the whole school and missing the final note at the end did nothing to improve my already declining popularity status in first year. The auditorium went silent and then everyone burst out laughing. I remember standing there on stage relieved that I had sunglasses on (fancy dress) because they couldn’t see my eyes. A boy who had asked me out previously, stood up and shouted “stop it” or words to that effect, quite sweet really looking back but it only added to the embarrassment and shame building up inside of me. As I walked off stage my so called best friend turned to me as I sat down beside her, “well, you really fucked that up, didn’t you?”

I endured various teasing with people passing me in the school corridors laughing but just tried to ignore it.
I’m not sure how it happened but I ended up getting involved with a crowd who smoked and would spend my lunch money on a packet of 10 Regal king size and a box of matches (a pound went far in those days!). I was suddenly mixing with people who didn’t judge me and hanging around the 4th year toilets. Smoking made me sick though, I hated it but at the same time it gave me a sense of belonging. Looking back I was just lost and trying to find my way.

Thankfully, I left that school when the family home was sold, spending a 6 month stint with my Grandmother on the Isle of Skye and then finally moving to the Highlands of Scotland. I’d really thrived when I was living in Skye. I excelled in my school work and seemed to gain back the confidence I’d lost at my previous school. It didn’t last long though following the move. Having come from a school where I had to wear full school uniform and was high up in the discipline stakes I suddenly found myself in a science lab where boys were trying to “buzz” off the gas taps. I was told about which teachers had suffered nervous breakdowns, how to get at them during class and before long found myself being pulled along for the ride. Within a year though, the tables had turned and I suddenly found myself the victim of bullying. Being a bit experimental in the fashion stakes didn’t go down too well wither with the Nike Air trainer wearing kids. There was no way I could afford Joe Bloggs gear (remember, this was the early 90s) let alone Nike and because I wasn’t wearing the right names, I got called names. I was miserable so my mother removed me from the school and put me to another secondary in the town. I struggled briefly to find my place, I was torn between the academic attitude of the “swots” and the laughter and fun of the “in” crowd. I later found myself getting heavily involved in the music scene, aspiring to be like Courtney Love (without the drug addiction) and felt a connection with the whole Grunge scene. Suddenly it was cool to be a tortured, misplaced sole.

As the years went on I found myself going through the whole process again at various stages and more latterly when I became a parent. When I had Evie I tried to dress up in a more "grown up" fashion and I removed all my ear piercings leaving just the traditional pair. I was being someone who wasn't me but who I thought people expected me to be.

I made a vow to myself on that horrible Hogmanay night last year that I would not continue "being out there with everyone else". People were just going to have to accept that yes, I am a dreamer, that sometimes I do rush into things, take risks, constantly change my fashion style and that I'm a hopeless romantic. I used to think that being a hopeless romantic was perhaps a bad thing because I was constantly searching for something that I began to suspect wasn't there. That was until my brother said to me one day that he admired me for it. I couldn't quite understand why. He had witnessed me on many occasions feeling let down or hurt by some guy who hadn't been what I'd quite expected. However, he continued to tell me that I always believed there was something or someone better for me out there and that I never lost hope. The funny thing is, as soon as I allowed myself to be just that, myself; Mr Rockstar came back into my life. It was as if the universe realised I'd done my time, served my self discovery prison sentence and was ready for the inner me to be released on the outside world.

Suddenly though, as I get ready to take this home pregnancy test that I bought at the weekend, I wonder if I may soon be taking on a whole new route of self discovery.

To be continued.....

Wednesday, 10 March 2010
It was at the dinner table when I decided to confess to Evie that Mr Rockstar wasn't just "Mum's friend". It felt like confession, I felt like I was admitting to some terrible secret I'd been harbouring for years. The difference of course was that I wasn't shielded by a small booth and there wasn't necessarily going to be forgiveness from a higher being.

As she sat there chomping away one of her 4 fish fingers while trying to tell me all about the latest class romance I decided to seize the moment...

" we were all wondering if Harry was going to dance with Milly at the school disco as he's now Milly's boyfriend."
"Oh Milly's got a boyfriend, has she? How would you feel if Mummy had a boyfriend."
"Have you got a boyfriend Mum, have you? Who is it??" This was good, there was an air of anticipated excitement in her response.
"Well you sort of know him".
"Do I? Is it M??"
"Yes, it is". I said with a big, if not slightly nervous grin on my face.

Cue floods of tears. I wondered whether I ought to start building an ark. They didn't stop. Hmm, this wasn't going well. I couldn't understand it. She had been getting on fantastically well with Mr Rockstar. In fact I was quite surprised at how quickly she took to him. What were the tears all about? This was difficult, this was harder than I had expected it was going to be.

"But I was happy with you just being friends. I just want you to be friends. I'm not comfortable with you having a boyfriend". Oh balls.
Putting her knife and fork down she sulked off to her bedroom and slammed her door.

I knew I shouldn't have given her 4 fish fingers or more sensibly, I should have waited until she'd finished her dinner before I dropped the "Mummy's got a new boyfriend" bombshell.
As I stood outside her bedroom door, trying to reason with her and grasp some understanding of her reaction I couldn't help but think how bloody frustrating it is trying to have a natural and gradual relationship with someone new when you have a child.

I wondered whether I should have just said nothing but I was beginning to think that Evie suspected something was going on so thought it was better to tell her. She's a bright child and I've always tried to have a fairly open relationship with her, within reason. I was wrong though, she had no idea, other than the fact that I appeared to be "acting a bit funny" in her words. That'll be love then, I struggle with it, it makes me go a little crazy.

When the crying finally stopped and Evie let me into her room, I gave her a big hug and tried to reassure her that nothing would change, she still didn't seem happy and it made me very anxious about how she might be when Mr Rockstar came round on Friday night.

I also tried to reassure myself after Evie went to bed by phoning not just my mother but also my brother. Was I being a bad mum, was I putting my own feelings ahead of Evie's?? The truth of the matter was that she felt threatened. The word boyfriend to her meant kissing, cuddling, love, how could I possibly have enough love to go around?

I'd toyed with the idea in the past of remaining single i.e. never settling down with someone until Evie left home. I'd be in my early 40s by then and going by my genes, hopefully not too saggy around the gills. But Mr Rockstar had blasted into my life, I hadn't been expecting this and if I'm honest didn't want to have a boyfriend this year. It was all just supposed to be about Evie and I but as they say, love hits you when you least expect it.

When Mr Rockstar came round on Friday night although I was looking forward to seeing him I was equally worried about Evie. I'd pre-warned him that there may be some animosity, at the most I expected Evie to be quiet and unresponsive towards him. But children have a habit of being unpredictable, often in a way I envy. Within minutes of Mr Rockstar arriving you could be forgiven for thinking the sun shone out of his arse because Evie was hanging off him, getting him to lift her up and generally being very adorable. She did at one point explain to Mr Rockstar that she had cried about the thought of us being boyfriend and girlfriend. He apologised to her saying that he was sorry that she'd got upset and he spoke to her on her level. He impressed me with his maturity, that is until we got to the deli and I was left buying the wine while he played hopscotch with Evie, well, at least he was still on her level.
Wednesday, 3 March 2010

A big thank you to the lovely Kate over at Perfect 10 for my first blog prize.

I originally started this blog to help me accept my single mum status in life and it's nice to know that other people appreciate my writing and nonsense that goes along with it.

The rules I believe, of accepting such an award is to say thanks to the person who gave the award (the lovely Kate), link back to them and then pass it on to another 15 bloggers who the award winner believes are also great, unfortunately due to my limited free time I only have 6 blogs that I really follow so hopefully that's ok. So here goes......

Lottie's Lot
Tales from the Tower
Kitty Tells It as it Is
The Girl Can't Help It
Secret Office Confessions
Single Parent Dad
Sunday, 28 February 2010
When I walked into the bar where Mr Writer's book launch was being held I naturally had a scout around to suss out the other guests. I immediately felt overdressed. I'd decided to wear a black strapless short lace dress which had a netted underskirt and bright purple suede heels. I generally make a big effort when I go out, mainly because it's such a novelty for me and I love to dress up. But there were people wearing casual jeans there, I began to wish that I'd just worn my skinny jeans, heels and my red leopard print top as originally planned. Mr Writer had told me that his girlfriend was going to be wearing a fantastically beautiful vintage dress so I immediately felt under pressure. Not because I wanted to out-do her or make Mr Writer notice me but because I didn't want to feel inadequate. I wanted to feel good about myself. When I finally introduced myself to Mr Writer's girlfriend one of the first things she said to me was, "I love your dress". Result, self image restored.

There were some famous faces amongst the crowd, a lead singer from a major band, a well known TV/radio personality, both who were good friends of Mr Writer. So when he personally mentioned my name amongst a select few in his thank you speech it really blew me away, it was totally unexpected but there was something missing throughout the whole experience.....Mr Rockstar.

I missed him, I missed him big time. Before I knew it I couldn't stop thinking about him, I didn't care about the book launch I just wanted to be with him. This was all wrong. I'd looked forward to this night for ages and suddenly I found myself not wanting to be there without him. It felt wrong that he wasn't with me.

On the Friday I met up with my old school friend and also met her beautiful 5 month old baby son for the first time. Having been asked by Mother upon hearing about my trip if I thought I might feel broody, I'd answered a fairly definite "no". I was wrong.

I came back on the train last night with only two thoughts in my head, Mr Rockstar and babies or maybe it was babies first and then Mr Rockstar? Either way, this was worrying. I knew I should have flown down, I would have had less time to think so deeply about things.

As the train drew slowly back into Waverley Station the anticipation of seeing Mr Rockstar at the end of the platform waiting for me was almost unbearable. When he swept me up in his arms, held me tight and kissed me (yes, it really was that romantic!) that's when it all clicked. It suddenly dawned on me that at Mr Writer's book launch it was quite possible that I had found my potential rock star husband to be, it was just that he didn't need to be physically there for me to realise it.
Thursday, 25 February 2010
As I type this I am currently sitting on the train to London, on my way to Mr Writer's book launch. When I first got the invite I imagined flirting with the eclectic mix of people that would be there. Perhaps I'd catch the eye of someone intriguing, talented and resembling Johnny Depp in the looks department? Once I'd split up with Mr Offshore I thought to myself "this is it, this is where I'm going to meet him, this is where I'm going to meet my future rock star husband" I couldn't wait, I was so excited at the thought of what could be waiting for me in North London. I'd almost forgotten the real reason I was there, to celebrate Mr Writer's novel being published.

And what am I doing now? I'm bloody well sitting here thinking about the fact that I can't wait to see Mr Rockstar on Saturday night when I get back. This isn't right. This wasn't my plan. It would've all been ok if it hadn't been for that pesky Vodka...

I’ve been thinking a lot about that word I mentioned during Valentine’s weekend, you know, the “L” one? Perfectly apt for the occasion albeit it between the throwing up sessions but hardly the right timing seeing as Mr Rockstar and I had only been seeing each other for 3 weeks.

I’d previously told him that I don’t do “I love yous”, that he would be waiting a long time until he heard those words from me. Deep down I suspect this was an attempt at trying to appear cool and hoping that in turn he would go out of his way to make me fall in love with him. Men always like a challenge. It would seem though, that all he had to do was ply me with Vodka and red wine. I’m so easy……

Evie didn't help matters either. Bounding into the room last weekend singing "Love is in the Air" while drawing an imaginary heart with her hands she stopped to shout "my Mum fancies you" to Mr Rockstar. Damn, she's sharp for an 8 year old! In true childish manner I replied "no I don't!" To which Evie retorted "yes you do, you love him". Ok, so not only had I drunkenly told Mr Rockstar that I was falling in love with him now Evie was adding her tuppence worth. Suddenly I was no longer her mother, I was the child in the playground that she was teasing, except that there was no bike shed for me to run and hide behind. I chose to do what I always do when she says something that I'm not ready to deal with or don't want to answer. I pretended I couldn't hear her and changed the subject.

The problem is though, when it's just yourself sitting on a train, no matter how hard you try you can't ignore your thoughts. No amount of searching for leopard print fur coats on Ebay will help disperse the little heart shaped thought bubbles in your head. I feel slightly overcome with all this, can I really be in love so soon?
Monday, 15 February 2010
Somewhere along the lines God or whoever is up there, decided that regardless of the fact I was a romantic I didn't deserve to have an easy ride when it came to love.

Mr Rockstar and I had successfully achieved 2 sleepovers without Evie being any the wiser. It did mean setting my alarm clock at a ridiculous hour so that he could sneak out of the flat/my bed to get back to Glasgow for work but in a way, the sneaking about added to the excitement.

However, this weekend was Valentine's weekend and we were going to be spending a whole 3 days, 2 nights together. This is the first Valentine's that I've spent with a boyfriend (yes, it would appear that I now have a boyfriend!) for, well, a very long time. I suspect the last person that I spent the supposedly most romantic day of the year with, would have been Evie's Dad.

On Saturday I picked up not just Mr Rockstar from the train station but also a massive bunch of flowers, gorgeous flowers not your traditional roses. That's good, he'd put some thought to that. Then it was off up north to drop Evie with her half sister and then my mum for the weekend while Mr Rockstar and I spent some quality time together.

We arrived at Mr Rockstar's Dad's house which was to be our base for the weekend. A beautiful cottage right on the seafront. There was a roast cooking and drink was soon flowing. But as I said earlier, life is never straight forward for me and the first mistake of the evening I made was to say "no" to a glass of wine and "yes" to a vodka and tonic. You see, when you have a glass of wine you can see exactly the measure you have. When someone hands you a spirit that they've poured you have no idea. I'm not a big spirit fan so thought that I would be able to judge how strong it was, that was mistake number 2. What I had forgotten was that the reason I had started drinking vodka and tonic wasn't just because I was fed up with the boozy blues associated with gin but that vodka is practically tasteless in tonic.

But I was having a big roast dinner with my drink so I would be fine - wouldn't I? I'm sure I only had 2 glasses of Vodka and a couple of glasses of red wine, this would be later disputed.

I felt great that evening, good food, good company and for once I was totally relaxed. I found myself constantly eyeing up Mr Rockstar, thinking about how often he made me feel like my heart might just burst out of my chest.

So I am sure that you can picture the scene later on that evening when Mr Rockstar and I went for a "romantic" midnight walk along by the seafront and the little cottages that bordered it. By now it was officially Valentine's morning and I'd obviously decided it was time to be romantic, vodka induced romantic. I wrapped my arms around Mr Rockstar's neck and hung from him like some mad monkey when suddenly I came out with it, "I think I'm falling in love with you", closely followed by the even more romantic line, "oh my god, I think I'm going to be sick". If I wasn't being romantic enough by throwing up in some poor neighbour's bush, the added "oh my god, I'll probably shit myself now" was right up there with Romeo and Juliet. I was later told that I repeated this 3 times, it was obviously a genuine concern. Jesus Christ, who was this person? How did I go from telling Mr Rockstar that I thought I was falling in love with him to being someone who could not control her bodily functions? After I managed to gain some composure between sobbing and apologising for throwing up we continued our walk.

We decided to sit on a bench in front of the sea and I was sick again, this time hitting my favourite flatties. I barely wear these outside if it looks like it might rain and now I was showering them with the contents of my stomach. Apparently I then passed out with my head on Mr Rockstar's lap for half an hour while we were sitting on the bench. He covered me with his jacket and only woke me up to go back inside when the cold became too much to bear.

So we both returned into the warmth with our backsides soaking. No I didn't shit myself as promised, it had been raining and the bench had been wet. By the time Mr Rockstar returned to the bedroom with a glass of water I had passed out in my bra and thong. Think of that episode of Gavin & Stacey where Stacey is sharing a bed with Nessa, the night before they journey to London to meet Gavin for the first time and you get the idea or just how attractive I looked.

The next morning when I woke up I felt utterly embarrassed, thankfully I didn't feel hungover and I hadn't been sick in bed. As memories of the night started to float back into my head with the help of Mr Rockstar's recollection I cringed.
He laughed. "It wasn't that bad, you were only sick a little". What Mr Rockstar didn't know was that I had a total fear of being sick in front of people or in public. Then I suddenly remembered something else.
"Oh my god, you held my hair back. You held my hair back while I was being sick".

Sometimes it just takes someone to hold your hair back when you're being sick to make you realise that Valentine's Day is about so much more than just roses and chocolates.
Friday, 12 February 2010
I have to say, Mr Rockstar has been playing the dating game very well. He doesn’t continually send me texts throughout the day nor does he feel the need to phone me every night although this may have something to do with the lack of credit on his phone. He is keeping me interested, always a good thing. I told him when we spent last Wednesday evening together that I thought it was great that he didn’t feel the need to phone me every night.

I’d met him at the train station after my all day meeting and we decided to just head back to mine with a take away and wine. I suggested we watch one of my favourite films, Singles. I thought we could continue our trip down memory lane and reminisce about the grunge days gone by.

I love this film. I love the music in it. I love Matt Dillon’s hopeless wannabe rock star character but most of all I love that it reminds me of a time when I didn’t have a care in the world (apart from which boy I was going to date if my diaries are anything to go by). I remember at 17 thinking that if I died, I would die happy because I had achieved everything that I had wanted to achieve in my little life. I had been to Glastonbury, had lost my virginity, got stoned, been drunk and had performed in a local rock band. Those were my aspirations as a 17 year old and I was content with my lot. Life was so much simpler then, I’m not so easily pleased now.

As we watched the film I could tell that Mr Rockstar had picked up on my adoration for it and possibly something more.

“You’ve so based your life on this film.” He said to me smirking.
I looked at him, laughing. At 17 that’s exactly how I wanted my life to pan out. I wanted to be hanging around budding musicians in coffee bars in Seattle in my 20s looking for love. It didn’t turn out like that of course. In my 20s I had been up to my eyes in dirty nappies, trying to grasp the notion that I was now a mum and I had a little life to support.

Before I could respond to Mr Rockstar’s comment one of the main characters in the film turned to her new boyfriend with the words “…, I think it’s great that you don’t feel you have to phone me all the time”. We both laughed. Maybe I had picked up something subconsciously from that film. Ok, so maybe I wasn’t in Seattle, but I was hanging around with a budding musician and I was still looking for love. The question was, was I still single?
Friday, 5 February 2010
After managing to convince Mr Offshore to see a therapist regarding his jealousy he suddenly informed me after the first meeting that his shrink thought I had a strong attachment with my past and for some reason there was a need for me to keep in touch with ex boyfriends. This was bad according to his shrink. It was unnatural. They were like individual comfort blankets, I had to keep close to get me through life.

Some people live in the past. I like to think that I’m not one of those people. I try to use my experiences, good or bad from the past to push me forward, to aspire for better things. To remind myself that if I got through crap times before, I can again. After all, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Of course that’s all good and well unless you have a box of diaries sitting in your airing cupboard ranging from your early teens into your late 20s.

Last night it suddenly dawned on me that my diaries might hold a few answers as to what had gone on between Mr Rockstar and I back in 1994. Our memories of events were both pretty jaded and my diary seemed to reflect this with the words “I was completely wasted” being used on more than one occasion around that period. I thought it was fairly likely that he would be mentioned as there have been 3 re-occurring themes throughout all my diaries..... men, being unhappy with my figure and never being cool enough. I actually gave up my diary writing last year because it suddenly dawned on me that after 18 years I was still spouting the same old shit.

I reached for the box and located my diary of 1994 near the bottom. I slowly turned the pages many of which had come away from the binding and there was the first mention of him. I'm discussing how much I fancy his friend who I've seen round at his, that he's "my stereotypical guy, 70s in appearance, funny, long hair...." Bugger, I had hoped I would be mentioning Mr Rockstar in better circumstances. As I read on, I also discover that I have a boyfriend while I'm writing all this. Not just any boyfriend, the boy I lost my virginity to. It appears that I'm losing interest in him, already at 17 I'm asking my boyfriend to get a grip and grow up, some things never change.

A couple of entries later and there is Mr Rockstar again, ah, things are happening now, apparently it wasn't all me, he started it by holding my hand. Then outside the pub he kisses me, "God, he kisses so passionately it's a kind of kiss that should be in a film or on TV. Tomorrow I'm going to tell Jamie I don't want..." But wait, what's this, another boyfriend? I honestly didn't think I had so many boyfriends back then - what a hussy. It would seem that I also repay Mr Rockstar's passionate kissing by calling him a "user". I'm not liking my 17 year old self very much at the moment and it only gets worse. After snogging the face of Mr Rockstar I finally get the courage to dump the aforementioned Jamie only to phone Mr Rockstar's friend a couple of days later. "I hate fancying people, it depresses me." I was bloody depressing me...

The rest of the entries consist of me trying to get together with the friend, and telling Mr Rockstar that I knew "what he was up to, that he was using me". Except on one particular night I find out that he hasn't been using me, it had all been a pack of lies fed to me by my cherry picking ex boyfriend. Suddenly it becomes clear that I have really hurt Mr Rockstar's feelings (so perhaps I did have a heart back then?). Oh hold on, further down the page it looks like I've decided that as I'm drunk I may as well snog the friend anyway! Fast forward a week and I'm eating humble pie, the friend hasn't lived up to my expectations and I can't stop thinking about Mr Rockstar........and Scott! What?? Is it possible that I can add another guy into this tangled web of teenage lust? Apparently so.

The last entry involving Mr Rockstar ended the way it had all started, with him holding my hand. We never kissed that night at the party or saw each other again until the funeral of his band mate some years later.

As I closed the first chapter on Mr Rockstar and I, I felt thoroughly ashamed and mortified. I was really upset that I had treated him in that way all those years ago and that I had instantly judged him before getting to know him.

Sometimes we all need to take a trip down memory lane, to remind us of where we've been and where we want to go. That night I revisited the past and although I didn't enjoy it I learnt something. The fact that I got so upset over reading how I had treated Mr Rockstar proved one thing, this time the boy had got to me.


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Bird on a Wire
Imagine Carrie from Sex and the City morphed with Bridget Jones and a baby thrown in for added entertainment – that’s me, the ever optimistic romantic looking for my Mr Big but already with child! Read my blog from the beginning where I find out I am pregnant following a brief fling with my much older male colleague and fast forward to where I am now, stressed out working mum to my beautiful 10 year old daughter wondering if love really does in fact exist at first sight.
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