Category: Uncategorized

Because they care

Today I donned a blue dress. I’m not a fan of blue but it was a special occasion. 

A baby shower for my cousin. She is having a little boy. 

Hence the blue.  

The balloons were hung with care. The sandwich platters laid out just so. The sun even made an appearance. Do I like baby showers? Yes. Do I find them difficult? Also yes. 

It’s a reason to eat party food, which are just little bite sized morsels of foods of your own choosing, get together with loved ones and a chance to celebrate the future. Someone in your life is happy and therefore sharing that happiness is only natural. 

Today was no different. There was chatter and laughter. Quizzes and games. The games had us guessing the weight, name and arrival date of the baby boy. Even though when the event was announced I had been apprehensive about going, I didn’t feel anxious or upset by being there. By having time to prepare over the last few months, my feelings of insecurity around our own fertility was put on the backburner and I sat for hours with family enjoying the time together. 

As people slowly drifted out of the door to travel home, Mr W and I sat with my cousin’s wife and thier baby while the gazebos came down and the empty plates were tidied away. Baby Grace is 5 months old and so far I’ve managed to avoid the cuddles. It has to be said she is the smiliest baby with the most adorable chubby cheeks and so my trepidation about cuddles has nothing to do with her. I’m just very aware of being around baby’s and how it can affect my mental health. Nothing like a baby being in your arms to remind you that you don’t have one of your own. And then, she was in my arms. I didn’t crumble but by now my poker face is my real face. I’m getting pretty good at it. 

After everyone but us had left we stayed behind to chat. My Aunt got upset and said she wondered how on earth I had coped. Despite my insistence that I was fine she got really upset on behalf and it took a while to calm her down. In all honesty I hadn’t really felt sad until that moment. Like I said before, the time to mentally prepare for the day had helped a great amount. I was not however prepared to help someone who was sad for me. 

It is a difficult path to tread when struggling with fertility. If you keep it close to your chest you end up feeling alone. There is also the odd occasion when and if someone asks what the situation is that you’ll both feel awkward for needing to discuss it. Alternatively if you do tell those around you what’s going on, you open up the can of proverbial worms which can wriggle around at any moment. They should feel comfortable to ask how things are going whenever they want to. Unfortunately it can catch you at a time when you are quite happy ignoring the situation. It then brings the whole issue to the forefront out of the blue. 

So what’s the happy medium? How do we tell people so they are in the know and yet not have to talk about it when it’s the right time for them? There is now how. You can’t control it. You can perhaps ask to talk about it another time. But what if it’s a reaction like I had today, the sadness of tears. It almost feels strange to sit there consoling someone who is sad for yourself. I’ve thought about it a lot. Would I rather no one know? No, been there done that. Would I rather talk about it all the time? No. I need space from this reality from time to time. 

So what is the answer?    

Ultimately I don’t think there is one. I think as honest as we have been about our struggle is just how honest we have to be about our feelings when approached to talk about it. If today was a day I needed to ignore my feelings then so be it. If someone else gets upset I need to understand that too. If I need to scream I will. If we aren’t in the place to talk it is okay to say so. It all comes back to being honest and open. It’s the only way to be kind to ourselves. We told others to share a part of ourselves that is hurting. They ask because they care. 

Photo by Dave Watson
Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com

The Dirty Ones

Mud. That’s how a relationship started. A relationship that in the blink of an eye has become strong and supportive. It has seen a wedding and two births. Homes have been built and friendships have grown. All from mud.

In 2016 we moved into this house. The garden was a nightmare. Decking covered 70% of the ground and gravel covered the rest. On the decking was a huge greenhouse littered with pots and trays. The only greenery was an old castor oil plant that was sandwiched between a fence and water butt. Tell a lie, some of the odd pots that were dotted around the place had caught the odd seed from the wind and grown weeds. As someone who grew up with a huge and manicured garden I was determined to transform this concrete tip into something to be proud of.

Within a fortnight of moving in Mr W and I dismantled the greenhouse with care and removed a third of the decking. We had decided to keep the decking at the rear of the garden and turn it into a terrace for entertaining and evening meals. The decking directly outside the backdoor was perfect as a sun terrace and would also stay. So it was the portion in the middle that faced the chop and after Mr W had hilariously tried two ramshackle chainsaws on the structure, he bought a circular saw and we said goodbye to the dominating monstrosity. Underneath there was a sunken pond which caused its own issues. Within the two thick pond liners I found: an old computer monitor, a dismantled chest of drawers, lots of electrical wires, a lamp and years upon years of algae, fish shit and rain water. Imagine me, elbow deep pulling all these things out of the depths! Once emptied the void left was enormous and I spent a full day as Fred Flintstone smashing up concrete slabs from around the garden to fill the hole. Then I collected all the various sized pebbles around the garden and dumped them in. After this Mr W and I raked all the gravel into the rocky pit.

It became evident really quickly that we needed soil to level the space and as new homeowners we were keen to keep costs down, hell so far we had changed the garden with just one purchase and pure willpower. With that in mind I took to the internet to see if anyone had soil up for grabs. Thinking there was a slim chance, I fell into the realm of Gumtree for the first time. Not knowing what else to do I typed the word ‘dirt’ into the search bar. Up popped just that. 2.3 miles away!

I replied to the advert and the girl and I discussed the details. They were digging a few feet out of their garden and the dirt was free for collection. After a few delays we made a plan to pop by one evening after work for a few bags of the much needed soil. As we drove around the new neighbourhood, Mr W commented how it looked familiar. I couldn’t fathom how, he’d never been to this neck of the woods in his life. The closer we got, the more adamant he became. He knew this place. This place being the girl’s home.

After knocking on the door and being greeted by the girl’s partner we mentioned how the house seemed so familiar. Upon closer inspection I had realised the same. The guy invited us inside and to our astonishment we realised we had, just a few months earlier, wanted to buy the property. We weren’t quite ready with a deposit and had therefore let it go. And now here we were, taking the soil from the very same property for our new home. Explaining this to the two strangers we all stood in disbelief before realising we were there for a purpose.

Lined up against the house were sacks of soil. Heavy, yet crucial, we piled them into the car with thanks and drove home. That night and over the next few weeks the girl and I sent messages arranging more collections and spoke more about our lives. Being of a similar age and new homeowners made finding a common ground really easy. But we also had similar interests and senses of humour. After a few more soil pick ups we came to the point where the garden was levelled and the last pick up was on the cards. When we left with our final bounty, Mr W turned to me and said ‘Do you think we’ll stay in contact?’

That is called a turning point. On returning home we used the squeaky wheelbarrow to cart the soil to our garden over twigs and stones for the final time. I sent a message to thank the gumtree couple and asked if they would like to get together for a drink one evening. We then made a date for a meet up and talked the entire night away. That was over 6 years ago. We have become entwined in each other’s lives ever since. The guy has helped us countless times with car troubles. The girl has become my confidant. 4 years ago they joined us on our stag and hen do’s and then joined us on our wedding day. The girl read out a Pablo Neruda poem at our ceremony. The guy calmed me down as we departed for our honeymoon when I couldn’t find my handbag and wedding gift for Mr W, he stopped me and said ‘what does he need a gift for when he’s just married you.’ Sob! We have watched them become parents to two amazing boys and they have listened to our fertility troubles. We each cackle at the others jokes and build each other up in times of low confidence.

The best thing about them is how we have only ever known each other as couples. Our stories began together. There are strong individual relationships between us all and together we are a strong unit. Mr W is able to talk to the girl about business and office ethics while the guy and I can chatter non stop. There is no man/woman divide in this friendship. It is just comfortable.

The girl shares her name with another of my school friends. So I have had to tack on a nickname when differentiating between the two when I speak to my family or friends. When I utter her name, a look passes over the face of the listener. At first it’s a shock at the name and then it’s a smirk. You just know they are wondering why she is called that. And you KNOW in their mind they are coming up with their own reasoning. Is she really? And what did she do to get ‘that’ name?

The story I tell them doesn’t quench their spicy minds but it’s still a surprise to them about how pieces fell into place. They are getting married next year and we’ll be witness to the whole day. As the day draws closer, the idea of us meeting their friends and family was formed. Massively nervous we turned up and spent the best 6 hours with the nicest people you’ll ever meet. We all cackled and joked and left with our cheeks hurting. When we arrived, the girl’s stepdad said ‘Oh so you’re the Dirty two.’ Mr W and I looked at each other in astonishment. How were we known as that? No! They were called the Dirty two. Not us! They always had been. Dirty Jade and Martin. And therein started the story again.

I am so proud of this relationship. It has become well established and greatly cared for in our lives. We share our lives so freely. We spend the odd weekend in comfy clothes chowing down before watching trashy Saturday night TV with the kids. We each cook and contribute to meals. At Christmas we celebrate with each other early so we can spend the time our friendship deserves.

Much like the dirt we used to bring our garden to life, the relationship we have now is nurtured and looked after with love and care. From dirt came something organic and strong that over time has blossomed into something truly beautiful.

Sydney Harbour Bridge

Looking down through the enormous structure I saw the cars speeding by. Below these the harbour of Sydney glittered in the sunlight. If I thought about the bridge’s height I may have not walked its arch to its summit. But I did.

The Sydney Harbour bridge stands at 440 feet high from the waters level and stretches 160 feet across the harbour itself. The steel of the bridge weighs over 52,000 tonnes and has four gigantic concrete pillars to support its massive size. Just another walk in the park eh?

In February 2013, my mum and I undertook a mammoth trip to Australia and our last stop was Sydney. Wandering the city meant constantly being in the shadow of the skyscrapers but out on the harbours you really felt the fresh air return to your lungs. We spent a lot of time wandering the harbour and exploring the beaches by ferry and bus. It was so intricate with its coves and tree and rock dotted cliffs that it was hard to turn away from. The islands of the harbour itself were stunning and for a few hours we whiled away our time on Shark Island, just the two of us. As the only visitors we were the king of our own castle and it felt very strange to be on such a small piece of land in one of the most known harbours in the entire world. 

Sydney has many jewels in her crown and yet no one can deny the alluring pull of the Harbour bridge. Seeing in the New Year before many of us it is the emblem of future celebrations. Climbing the bridge began in 1988 and now it was our turn. 

Nervous about a new and potentially physically tiring experience, we approached the offices for our time slot. The guys leading the walk were so friendly and enthusiastic it was hard to find time to be scared. These guys literally put you through the paces by bringing out a replica staircase for you to practise your moves on. You need to practise in order to get used to the belt and harness you wear that is attached to the static line on the bridge that keeps you safe. Connecting points of the static line require the climber to tug slightly on the ball mechanism that otherwise glides on its way. With a few staircases to navigate, and all at different heights within the bridge, they want everyone to feel as comfortable as possible and therein the rehearsal makes sense. Practise makes perfect and all that.

Next came the styling. Standing around with our group, the ‘dude’ in charge gathered our climbing outfits and said it would be wise to keep just our underwear on underneath. Intrigued, we took the offerings of clothing and stepped into the makeshift dressing rooms. The material of the climbing attire reminded me of the shell suits I have seen in 80’s movies and I wondered how my body would fare in the midday heat. The ankle and wrist cuffs were elasticated and gathered in. I wondered if my shell suit would become a sweat suit. Thinking that climbing the bridge was hardly a fashion parade made wearing the blue and grey suits a tad easier. A tad. To keep items from dropping to the road below, our hats, sunglasses, sweat cloth and earphones were all attached to the clothing. It all felt very technical. 

The lead was taken by a member of staff who was able to talk us through the walk with his mouthpiece that transmitted to our walkie talkie style set ups. We emerged from the training area onto the steels of the inner bridge. Attached to it securely gave reason to relax. Focus at first was on the left right left right march of our feet until we were told a duck and step over was needed. A steel girder blocked the way ahead for both feet and head. And you therefore have to take a large step over while ducking your head under. The man in front of me turned to say something to his companion and hit his head clear into the steel beam. The ‘dong’ sound rang out dull and loud under the roadway. 

The climb itself passes without much trouble. Even the steps up and over the bridge are not enough trouble to be called taxing. They are very shallow steps which makes the whole process that much easier. It is a shame you cannot take a camera with you as every step warrants a snap of the lens. 

As you reach the top of the bridge you are graced with the wind sent by the gods to cool down your slick body. Assumptions were right, in those suits, there is no place for sweat to escape. At the top you are given enough time to pause. And what a reason to pause in life. High above the cars, boats and water of this powerhouse of a city you are an ant. An ant with the most incredible sweeping views. The harbour stretches to the Tasmanian sea and beyond. Ferries moor up beside cruise ships. People look up at you from the shadows of the Opera House and Mrs Macquaries chair. 

It is a strange feeling to behold the world from such an icon. You feel both insignificant and important all at the same time. Insignificant due to its dominance against your own in this world and important enough to be allowed to straddle its history and power. You quite literally feel on top of the world. 

At first you don’t accept that you have done it, but when you cross the middle of the bridge and start your descent, you realise it is over. That thing you were most nervous about was amazing and you’d, quite frankly, do it again in a heartbeat. On the descent, you find you have to go down a staircase backwards, watching the others go first shows you just what pace to take and your nerves are beaten. As you reach the top, a bottle of water is poured behind a whirring fan and its drenching, coolness brings your face back to life. It was not 15 minutes ago when the wind froze the smile on your face as you posed for the photographer at the bridge’s highest point. The smile has been there since. 

The climb was everything you hadn’t expected. It was so much more in every single way. 

Work it out – take six and seven

Happy September! This is the month we go on our huge road trip. Eeeee!

Tonight has been busy, busy, busy. This isn’t going to be a travel blog (boo’s from the audience). But this is a simple update about the weight lifting workouts I’ve been doing with help from Mr W.

Tuesday’s workout was not great, I managed 3 of the 5 sets as I had hurt my back. The workout took a long time as I needed help up from the bench and was very slow with the repetitions. 

Today was a different story. 

My brother gifted us a 10kg kettlebell and it has changed my squat game. Resting the bar on my shoulders was just hurting the top of my spine so much. I think it is something to do with my arms keeping my body centred when I’m holding the bell that is really helping too. Unfortunately it only weighs 10kg and I was squating with the bar and weights at 9kg so it’s a tiny bit more but will soon feel like nothing. BUT my legs are still feeling the burn so next week I think it would be a good idea to stick with the 10kg kettlebell but do more reps. Who knows. This is all new to me. And as I said to Mr W today I do find it boring sometimes, but this week where I’ve not felt 100% I’ve just wanted to finish it. 

Squats 

5 x 10kg

Mr W’s set

5 x 10kg

Mr W’s set

5 x 10kg

Mr W’s set

5 x 10kg

Mr W’s set

5 x 10kg

Mr W’s set

This is where things got interesting. Mr W actually witnessed how uncoordinated my arms are. My right is so much stronger than my left and as I progress through the set I try to adjust and the bar will wobble side to side. I’m going to keep an eye on this and see if we can adjust this as we go along. But we did up the weight today for my bench press and it was good to up the challenge. It didn’t feel too strenuous so on the last set I pushed on to see how far I could go. The weight on the bar is now up to a total of 15kg now so I’m well chuffed. The first workout was 2 weeks ago today and I have doubled (plus some) on my bench press. So mini celebration for me!

5 x 15kg

Mr W’s set

5 x 15kg

Mr W’s set

5 x 15kg

Mr W’s set

5 x 15kg

Mr W’s set

9 x 15kg

Mr W’s set

Mr W has said that my deadlifts have seemed way too easy in previous sessions, so he left his weights on today and wanted me to try. A total weight of 19kgs seemed mad. But I actually did it. He has told me that to feel the benefits you need to squeeze your core? I can’t help but laugh, all I could squeeze was my bum. So that’s a success for weight training and some knickers to eat for my bum!

5 x 19kg

Mr W’s set

5 x 19kg

Mr W’s set

5 x 19kg

Mr W’s set

5 x 19kg

Mr W’s set

9 x 19kg

Mr W’s set

This is where I surprised myself, the overhead barbell press still makes me nervous. Something about a weighted metal pole above your head and it crashing down might be it. But we kept the 15kgs on. I actually managed it! And I went above and beyond on the last two sets too. But even typing this now I can feel it in my arms, so there’s proof it is working!

5 x 15kg

Mr W’s set

5 x 15kg

Mr W’s set

5 x 15kg

Mr W’s set

6 x 15kg

Mr W’s set

9 x 15kg

Mr W’s set

I must admit I really like the ‘row’ lift and wasn’t able to do it Tuesday. We ramped up the weight today and even though I couldn’t keep up the reps after the good start I am really happy with pushing myself. Next time I’m going to build up the reps from 5, to 7 and then see how it goes. At least then there won’t be a decline. As you can see from today, I started with 10 and then reached 12 and by the fourth and fifth set I could barely do 9. So I will try next time to build it slowly. 

10 x 15kg

Mr W’s set

12 x 15kg

Mr W’s set

11 x 15kg

Mr W’s set

9.5 x 15kg

Mr W’s set

9 x 15kg

Mr W’s set

So for someone who has been finding the workouts boring I was really chuffed by today’s challenges. Mr W suggested that the last repetitions of the set we should try and push ourselves. Keep ‘going until you fail’ to just make it more interesting. So that will be interesting. He also said he had been reading up on PCOS and how these low impact types of workouts are so much more beneficial than cardio workouts. I’ve discussed this before here and just knowing he has taken it on himself to look has made all the difference. If you are reading this and have PCOS you know how important it is to feel understood so make sure you surround yourselves with those that care and are willing to understand. 

To those that are reading this to see what it’s like as a bigger girl. I wholeheartedly say go for it. You are in control. You say how many repetitions and how much weight. You can change weights when you feel comfortable. The most important thing is whether you enjoy it. Movement doesn’t have to be a bastard or a chore. You got this!

Mental health: triggers

A few weeks ago I wrote ‘The new healthy’ (link below) and it was the most open I’ve been about my mental health for a while. I spoke about how being a people pleaser can sometimes land you in hot water and how if it is misconstrued as meddling it can often have a detrimental effect. I also believe that however good and helpful it is to be a people-pleaser, over time it diminishes your ability to please yourself. You have no capacity left to think about you and your needs and certainly no energy once you’ve stopped running around after everyone. There needs to be a limit. 

While writing that blog, I felt the need to talk about something that I have recognised in myself recently. The word ‘trigger’ is mentioned a lot these days when it comes to mental health. There are more discussions than ever before about our mental health and the introduction of the word ‘trigger’ is not far behind. 

To be triggered is to have an adverse feeling caused by something being done or said around you. The adverse effect is normally something that makes your mental health plummet. May it be temporary anxiety or sadness. Often it is indescribable but I am attempting today to explain mine. 

I am not a positive person. I believe this goes hand in hand with my anxiety. When looking at a situation I am more than likely to discuss what could go wrong as a way of coping with it before it/or if it actually happens. By assessing it in this way, I’m almost preparing myself mentally. You can see where my OCD nature of planning comes into play here. As lovely as it would be to be spontaneous, the anxiety that simmers under the surface of my skin would quite frankly not allow it. Feeling this way is hard. It makes life hard. It has for a very long time. To this effect, I don’t like other people to feel sad. I want to make sure no one feels this way. It is not a mission I choose to live by, but if I see someone in pain and mental anguish, I want to be their cheerleader. I want to listen and guide and offer advice to lessen their load. By that reasoning I am trying to lead ‘cheer’. And others will often tell me, why cant you be that kind to yourself?

But the question is, what happens when you can’t fix something? When the story is told and there is no happy ending to be found? No way out of the maze of sadness? How does one be a cheerleader for that kind of story? There is being someone’s shoulder and listening but that can only do so much. 

What if the negativity of someone else’s life infiltrates yours?

There are times when I truly want to listen to my friends and family. When I want to help them. But it can’t happen. It doesn’t work. Ultimately every situation can’t be fixed or explored. There is no way out. Only that person stuck in the often unpreventable, but sometimes self-made, unhappiness. It is the self-made unhappiness that I struggle with the most. Where I literally cannot offer any words of comfort or logic when my own mental health crumbles. 

Have I failed as a cheerleader? Am I required to hand back my pom poms?

It has become an issue that I find I cannot ignore. This negativity trigger of mine stops the words in my mouth and the heart in my chest. I find myself retreating into my very being. I can literally feel my back arching and my head falling to reach my shoulders. The word tense seems apt. 

That is where the idea of boundaries came along. To detach myself from certain conversations in my life to adjust my anxieties to suit my fragile mental health. There are situations that are revisited time and time again that have no solution that I have asked to be kept out of. Does it mean I don’t care? Of course not, but caring and not being able to solve it is making me ill. Mental health, when it gets that bad, makes you ill. What good am I to anyone in that case?

There will be times when a boundary isn’t needed. You can just nod along and pretend everything is fine before you quickly find a way to exit the situation. It makes for a very inventive way of living for sure. Oh, I forgot to make that cup of tea. One minute I think the cat is clawing at the door. Oh, I need to pee.  Sometimes though boundaries are not in fact even available. My trigger is now that bad, that even nasty words said online can have a harmful impact. 

Due to the pandemic, my facebook page which was once successful and on its way to becoming a career has stalled. It is sad but I’ve taken the hit and moved on. Now, I spend my days trawling the online groups to ask real people about their experiences around the world and ask my own questions to widen my understanding of a place, city etc. Being privy to all this information is astounding. Other times, there are people who hide behind their keyboards and are so rude that it is really shocking. Whether it’s a remark made to me or another person makes no difference to me really, it still shocks and triggers. Where does that boundary come in? 

Truth be told I’ve retaliated at times recently to stand up for people and even though it gets me nowhere I feel good for defending others. But now, I’ve come to the realisation that the people behind their screens are leading very sad lives in which to get their jollies, bully others. So now I report, delete and block. I don’t need or want to understand the logic behind their motives and my boundary is to delete it so I can’t see it. Those negative triggers are much easier to stop in their tracks. Talking to Mr W will often result in ‘their morons leading moronic lives’ and a giggle from me.

No boundaries needed. Just swift action. And a laugh. 

When it’s closer to home I find that the delete and blocking option is not there. So what now? Taking a step back? Finding those boundaries and being brave enough to enforce them?

Perhaps. 

What I’ve come to accept recently is that the trigger is there and I’m not the one pulling it. Just understanding why it happens and how I can work around it by being open is just the beginning. It’s the biggest step to take. Acknowledgement always will be. 

https://frameworktravel.home.blog/2022/08/16/the-new-healthy/

Healing and hungover at Heathrow

In early October 2018, Mr W and I were newlyweds and heading on our Honeymoon. After a morning swim at our hotel Mr W was feeling slightly refreshed after a tiring day at our wedding 24 hours previously. I sat on a sun lounger with my feet up watching my new husband in disbelief. My feet had started to swell from being in heels all day and I had some nasty sores on the back of my heels. My airport outfit as a newlywed was cute without trying too hard. Jeans and a sparkly, striped jumper with espadrille type shoes. Cosy with a hint of glamour. The plan was to relax for a few hours before heading to the airport in a taxi. At the airport we would grab a drink and toast our marriage. 

Having eaten twice at the hotel, a delectable buffet breakfast and a shared dinner, we weren’t looking to eat at the airport so settled on a drink. Having slept on and off for maybe four hours the night before, my ears pounding with the music from the DJ and my brain running wild with images of love and laughter, sleep hadn’t come easy. The adrenaline flowed and flowed. As it was now past 6pm and a full 27 hours since we had said ‘I do’, we were both looking to sleep as much as possible on the 10 hour flight to Colombo before our short flight to Male. Quickly after leaving our hotel, the feeling of tiredness came over us and arriving at a bar we both toasted our marriage with tea. The glam life was slipping away!

As I shuffled through the airport I felt the tiredness take control of my emotions and became extremely upset about the pain in my feet. Trying to ignore it wasn’t working. Mr W led me to an Accessorize where we bought some thin socks to act as a barrier between my feet and shoes. As I sat on a bench seat seeing to my shoes, I remember thinking that things were not going to plan. This wasn’t how I wanted our honeymoon to start. With my new husband and healing limbs we slowly made our way to the departure gate. 

The gate was simply stunning. Used to the gates of Easyjet flights that are en masses in one big hall with seats in rows and gates cut into the large glass wall of windows, this was something else entirely. 

There was a little doorway that we were ushered into, like a giant arch with people checking you in beforehand and then bliss beyond. The room was purely for the use of this flight. Along one side of the room, a huge expanse of ferns and other lush greens were planted vertically on a living wall. Occasionally misting wands directed their waters at the plants. It covered the entirety of the wall. From side to side and top to the bench below. Surprisingly not many couples were present and I reasoned it was because we were flying into Colombo first. Families with young children were paying visit to relatives and men in business suits filled the room. 

Unsure of when our seat row would be called out, we settled in to be called forward. As you do in a crowd of people, I began people watching. Our seats were perpendicular to the living wall and with Mr W on my left, I had to bend forward and look past him to gaze upon it. It was fascinating how the plants were living so happily in a totally man made environment. No natural light in sight. As my roving eye continued I noticed a suited man on the bench connected to the plant paradise. He had earphones in and was gesticulating wildly. I had found my person to watch and wonder about. Not long after I noticed him, did he take his shoes off. Not in some dramatic fashion but casually slipped them off, as if he had just arrived home and was getting comfy. Then he swung his legs up, body around and lay down on the bench. By this point, I wasn’t the only one watching him. Nudging Mr W, soon saw him watching and looking round the room, I found that this strange man had quite the captive audience. There was no question of what flight he was going to be on. This was one gate for the one flight. 

I remember thinking, oh please don’t let him on. Quite obviously drunk, he was a complication my sleep addled brain did not need on this flight. All of a sudden the man reached up his hand and tugged on one of the plants in the display. Shreds of leaves and soil fell down on him as people around him slid away. Mouths around the room fell open. And still he lay there completely oblivious. 

Meanwhile the ticket desk had opened and rows were being called out. It dawned on me that with only 30 or so people left in the room it was quite possible that this man would be sitting near us. With the room less crowded, flight staff in high-vis jackets had noticed his behaviour and had approached him. He sat up, swaying on his seated spot and smiling at their questions. I felt for sure that he would not be allowed on the flight while he was that intoxicated. At one point, one of the attendants, raised their hand and held up three fingers. They were asking him to count their fingers! Now I really had seen everything. They did this several times. 

Our row was finally called and we sped forward. We were the last of maybe 10 people left in the departure lounge, including the inebriated man. And oh my god, they were letting him on the flight.  As we boarded, Mr W, ever the gentleman, let me have the window seat. We buckled up as it became very clear that the man was going to be seated in front of us. 

Bracing for a difficult flight, we tuned into the inflight entertainment, folded our bodies into origami arrangements and tried to sleep. 10 hours later, having been fed and watered with beautiful food from Sri Lankan Airlines and feeling more human than expected, we landed in Colombo. The flight was superb, at over 6 foot tall Mr W always struggles for room on flights and when the exceptionally taller man in front of him reclined his seat as soon as stepping on board, the lovely flight attendant asked him to kindly refrain from doing so and monitored the situation for the duration. The same flight attendant also soothed and rocked a baby who was crying throughout the night by shhh’ing and swaying her around the galley. Spectacular. To make things even better, the drunk man… slept the entire flight. He woke up for breakfast, had two orange juices and was very quiet indeed. I did not envy him his hangover. Flights are bad enough to dehydrate the body at the best of times, but when drunk? No thank you!

Anxious about our connecting flight, we burst from the plane and looked around quickly for signs. And there they were. A team of people, in a line, ushering us onto the small aircraft to Male. Our 30 minute connection time was completed in less than 5 minutes. Just fantastic. 

A short while later, we took off from the Sri Lankan capital and crossed the Laccadive sea.  From nowhere coral reefs and atolls sprung from the blue seascape and our honeymoon began. The hectic moments were behind us. Paradise was ahead.  

The day the sun came out

Naked side of the Maldives

Things we gained in the fire

Secretive London

Yesterday’s blog detailed our early trip into London, the link is below if you want to hear just how early! The following is an account of the rest of our day and just how surprising secretive London can be. 

Mr W has an affinity for Shad Thames. You can find this on the south bank of the Thames, cross Tower Bridge and take the stairs on the left. The cobbled streets are mesmerising and the once upon a time warehouses reach tall into the sky leaving a narrow walkway below. The gantries above hark back to the building’s industrial past and it’s fascinating to witness London’s history as you have a wander. It was just after 7am as we took the slow stroll and apart from a few joggers we had the place to ourselves. On the other side of this path is Butlers Wharf with the most beautiful view of the city. I can only imagine what the view is like from the apartments that now occupy the old buildings of Shad Thames and with a hefty price tag of £7000+ a month in rent, imagining is all I’ll be doing! 

After a brief visit we crossed the river and took a chance on somewhere new. Always a ‘let’s do it next time’, St Katharine’s Dock has always taken a back seat in our plans. Across the road from the Tower of London it hides between tall buildings and unless you know it is there it is so easy to walk past. But not this time!

Tired but driven, we walked into the docks in amazement. Huge boats costing hundreds of thousands of pounds casually floated in situ. The space was silent. The water was still. I didn’t expect to see anyone at 7:15am and it wasn’t until we walked past the restaurants that lined the basin that we saw another soul. Making note of the coffee bar with benches outside we wandered our way around the outskirts taking in the fantastic swathes of flowers and cobble line pathways. At first I felt like we were trespassing on someone else’s property. The walkways are so close to the boats that you could reach out and hi-five the occupants if the occasion called for it. As it happened, I was able to say good morning to a particularly friendly and bouncing poodle and I was reminded once again how much we miss having a loyal companion of our own. 

The sky above was bright with the morning sun and yet the vast dock was intimate in the shadows. The sun had not yet kissed the space and therefore I felt the need to almost tiptoe to keep the peace. A beautiful willow tree swayed in the breeze as we crossed one of the small bridges. Mr W stomped his feet and made the walkway shiver. He knows I’m unsure of structures with no evident stability. He laughed at my nervousness and I cursed his mocking. 

Hand in hand we took a brief detour to the Blitz memorial in Hermitage Riverside Memorial Garden in Wapping. The park itself was quite unremarkable but is a much needed greenspace for the residents of the concrete jungle of Central London. I can imagine lots of dog walkers come here and enjoy the views up river while their pooches stretch their legs. Dozens of sparrows chased each other through the bushes and surrounding trees as we gazed upon the stunning memorial. A large cutout of a dove commemorates the residents of the East End of London who died during the blitz in World War II. You can view it from both sides and different angles. It is really quite beautiful. 

We stayed long enough for the sparrows to settle and then talk a slow walk back to St Katharine’s dock. Eager for coffee we made a beeline to the benches we had reserved in our minds. Walking past private and council flats alike I reminded myself of how London neighbourhoods are so close to everything ‘touristy’ and historic. I’ll never get over how someone can walk out their front door and see the Tower London or Tower Bridge. It is fascinating. I somehow always forget that the cities of the world, London, New York, Barcelona, Paris etc are residential and how this must feel for the people living there. Do they see it differently to me? 

Mr W took the initiative to order me a latte (no decaf this time) with a shot of vanilla. He knows me so well. We sat on the bench outside the tiny coffee shop on one of the tiny walkways that lined the dock and drank it all in. We sat side by side so we could both enjoy the view. 

Big boats, 

Big sky. 

Big caffeine hit.     

I could have been anywhere. Bryant park in New York with a starbucks in hand. A Parisienne cafè with a tiny cappuccino. It was just lovely to stop. Being somewhere new does that I think. The coffee tastes better. The sounds are different. Everything feels good. St Katharine’s Dock in the sun rising haze felt easy like a sunday morning where the world is waking up and starting its day. It felt like a whispered secret between us and the big rousing city. 

Summer sunrise on the Thames

Summer sunrise on the Thames

When the alarm sounded at 3:30am this morning I cursed our need to try something new. My mind, the night before, decided that 9:30pm was not an appropriate time to try and sleep and therefore played hopscotch with every thought I’d had for the past six months for two hours. Then the neighbour’s dog decided to add its voice into the mix and falling asleep before midnight became impossible. So yes, when the alarm sounded, I wondered what on earth we were doing. Grabbing the pre-packed backpack from the night before and throwing on my comfiest clothes, I stumbled down the stairs, out the front door and into the car. 

The roads were quiet and the skies pitch black. Mr W consulted the maps in his head and drove the roads for London. There were just a few cars on the roads and I guessed that most of them were cabs, owing to this our journey was exceptionally fast and smooth. 40 minutes after leaving home we pulled up at the north end of Brick Lane. A house party broke the silence of the night and we saw a straggly fox wander through a fence. 

We head out for the short walk ahead. Pausing to pick up salt beef bagels and drinks, we made our way through Spitalfields and were lucky enough to see its latest art installation called ‘The Herd of Hope’. The bronze, lifesize elephants are strewn around the market and absolutely stunning. Only there until the end of this summer we are exceptionally lucky to have seen them. From here we trekked our way past Liverpool Street Station and Heron Tower. The night was calm save for a few revellers dotted here and there. I noticed there were a lot of clouds above us and hoped it would clear soon.

We soon found ourselves on London Bridge, but wanting to watch the colours of the sky change behind Tower Bridge we stayed on the north bank of the Thames and walked east.

Realising quickly that I had misjudged the need to be on the Southbank to be at the correct angle to see the sun rise properly we sped up our pace. We walked past the old Billingsgate market and around the Tower of London. The light was trickling into the sky and our stroll had turned into a march. Missing this was not an option. 

As we walked over Tower Bridge I caught a sniff of the filled bagels in my bag and for a second I think it pushed me on faster. Walking alongside the Thames on the Queens walk at Potters Field Park we tried to find the perfect spot to sit and drink in our surroundings. A few revellers were still dancing on the large grassy steps and I was absolutely stunned at the litter left from the night before. Mr W walked ahead slightly and found a raised area with large benches. 

Perspiring and hungry, we were thankful for the respite on the cool stone plinth. The salt beef bagels were still warm and so juicy and tender that we sat in a happy state of silence eating. Below us the river danced with light as it flowed east. From between the clouds on the horizon we saw yellows and reds ignite in the sky. The lights that had adorned the bridge flickered off as night faded away. 

I alternated between resting and getting up to take photos as the sky changed rapidly. I said to Mr W how amazing it was to witness our capital city like this. How we were having the most delicious breakfast in the sleepy city and how it felt like we were the only people around for miles. 

A lot of people will and have asked why we got up so early and the answer is: space. Well, that and experiencing something new. The space we had to ourselves this morning was so special. If we had left home an hour later, there would have been people passing by on their way to work and joggers and dog walkers galore. By getting there so early we felt like London was our own playground. Like the sun was rising just for us. This isn’t our first sunrise we’ve gotten up ridiculously early to see but it was the first time witnessing the colours of the Thames change. It was the first time we were watching the buildings that make up Fenchurch street transform from night to day. 

I reminded myself then and there that waking up at 3:30am is a small sacrifice to pay to do something out of the ordinary. There will be mornings of plentitude that we’ll be waking at 7/8am. Why not try something new once in a while? 

A small smattering of rain fell from the sky above us and I found myself unbothered. Let it come, I thought, I’m not moving. Finishing my breakfast of champions and taking picture number 326 of the scene before me we decided on the route ahead… 

Work it out. Take four and five.

I hope to keep this short as my brain really needs the time to stare at the tv and switch off. For the past two nights the humidity has woken me up numerous times and I need a long shower and cool down before getting an early night. Things could be worse I am sure. But right now, I feel like a gross sticky mess and I want my bed!

Tuesday’s workout was okay. I managed all the workouts fine except the barbell deadlift where I felt my back twinge. So ended up mirroring Mr W while he had the bar to avoid any injuries. 

Today, Thursday, I was determined to keep up the pace with adding more weight and stepping up to the ‘plate’ confidently. The rain was kind enough to stay away after today’s deluge in Essex. It has been glorious to smell and watch that glorious water escape the sky. Too long has it avoided our town!

I continued my squat movements from Tuesday and am faring much better. Keeping my back straight but at a different angle to the ground I am definitely able to squat lower. Today Mr W added 2 x 1kg weights to the 7kg bar. So I am up to 9kgs on my squats. I would say that the weight on this set is not the issue. It’s getting the squat movement and back angle correct. The good thing is the pain in my upper thighs is nowhere near as painful as when we first started.

Barbell squat

5 x 9kgs

Mr W’s set

5 x 9kgs

Mr W’s set

5 x 9kgs

Mr W’s set

5 x 9kgs

Mr W’s set

5 x 9kgs

Mr W’s set

I am really enjoying the barbell bench press. Today we took it up to 2 x 2kgs on the 7kg barbell and despite struggling on one lift, and then noticing I still had Mr W’s weights on the bar, it went well. I even managed more than 5 on some of the repetitions. I have adjusted my leg placement so I can keep my core in control which will hopefully mean the bar is less wobbly when I bring it back down towards my chest. I need to remember the pace of my breathing, I am focusing on my arms so much that my breathing is often out of sync. I feel more comfortable when my breathing sets the pace. It almost sets the whole situation up for control.

Barbell deadlift

5 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

5 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

5 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

8 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

10 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

Today’s barbell deadlift was much better. As I felt a twinge on Tuesday we only added 2 x 2kgs onto the 7kg barbell and I took it very slowly. Ironically it was the other side of my back that started twinging towards the end of the full set. I did feel it for the duration of the workout. It’s more of an ache than pain. So I’ll keep an eye on that. I must admit, this part of the whole workout is really quite boring and I know I’m not keeping my whole spine straight when I stand back up as I’m tending to look around quite a bit. As my hip’s loosen I’m hoping to add more weight and that it starts to spark some interest again. 

Barbell deadlift

5 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

5 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

5 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

5 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

5 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

Next, my favourite, the barbell overhead press, 2 x 2kgs and the 7kg barbell. I really like the whole movement in this and the stance. I feel empowered. Like I should have my hands on my hips in the superhero pose! Today I was able to lift the bar for longer than usual but was still very aware of the weight above my face. Self confidence will come in time. 

Barbell overhead press

5 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

5 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

5 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

6 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

8 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

The same weight was added for the barbell row and even though I could feel my back aching I found the 4kgs on the 7kg barbell relatively easy. Again I am critical of myself for keeping my arms level and working at the same pace. My body is so out of sync with itself it is unbelievable!

5 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

5 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

5 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

8 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

10 x 11kgs

Mr W’s set

The workouts are gradually increasing in time due to how many more repetitions Mr W is doing and the few I added on today. The sweat is coming quicker and even though it makes me feel gross, I am glad to see that the workout is having the desired effect!