Fellini's Parmesan By Holly Searle

When I was growing up, my Mum would recount stories of her adventures in Soho. She had always wanted to be apart of something more exciting than that of the life she had in Surrey on the outskirts of London. So she headed into the city to see what she might find.

One of her jobs was working at Ronnie Scott's Jazz club in Soho. Not the new one, but the old one. She'd make bacon sandwiches for the musicians in the morning and tend the bar during the evening when the club was open.

By then, she had had my brother and was carrying me. One of the tales we were told over the years, was of how Ella Fitzgerald had once sat my brother on her knee. How incredible is that?

During this period in their lives, my parents lived in the heart of Soho. My Dad was an editor at ITN who wanted to be an artist and who regularly courted the company of other artists of his generation.

When I voiced my amazement at how fantastic this must have been, my Mum just says it wasn't really, as it was just like any other place that you would live in with its shops and a community full of local characters.

In the late sixties, my Mum landed a job running a character model agency. In the post war years, there were no agencies like this one for the new wave of photographers like Terence Donovan and David Bailey to book models through. The world was still gazing at Dior type models that wore nice clothes that were being shot by the likes of John French. But times were changing and her agency found a niche in the market and plugged the gap with great success.

Through her job, Mum met and worked with lots of different well known people. As kids, we were not in the least bit interested. We were just children in a normal family trying to make ends meet like everyone else. We weren't ever wealthy, but we were privy too experiences that the other children we knew were not. As we grew we became involved in some aspects of her work, most notably as background artists on films and commercials and the like. We never thought about or sought out the realm of celebrity culture as it wasn't for us and all went on to lead relatively normal everyday lives and were better for it.

I am not telling you these stories because I want to impress you. I am telling you them as I have come to conclude that the value of celebrity in recent years (and in view of the Jimmy Savile Case) has become somewhat tainted by the lacklustre culture that surrounds it.

I recently saw a debate regarding the Savile incidents where someone drew the same conclusion and also upheld an opinion that my Mum had often voiced to us over the years which was this.

All of these people that we invite into our living rooms everyday and watch at the pictures in films are just doing a job like you and I. They are not super humans or deities to be worshipped, they are no different from your postman or that kind lady who gives up her spare time to work in the local charity shop that you often visit.

They are just playing a role in society like everyone else and nothing more.

I was glad my Mum told us this as I think that it coloured our perceptions in a positive way, rather than a deluded one. And probably because of this little bit of simple wisdom, I am not glamoured by fame at all.

But I will tell you what I am impressed by. I am impressed by the production of something tangible that has obviously been produced by an individual with real talent. It might be a book or a painting, or a fine performance in a role or the lyrics of a song, or a piece of music that just blows me away.

It is that that I am impressed by and it is that that makes me want to approach the person who produced it and shake their hand and say to them “ Fine job, well done.”

But, for the majority it doesn't work like that.

It made me think about Kenneth Angers series of Hollywood Babylon books, which concentrated their efforts on exposing the darker side of celebrity in the early years of Hollywood. They are quite nasty really, recounting the vices associated with various stars that were once pin ups and viable movers and shakers within the industry that they made money from (and in turn had made money out of them) who had fallen from grace due to one indiscretion or another.

They were just people, who were probably unable to cope with it all. Maybe it just wasn't a life fit for them or maybe it was one in which they were able to use and abuse the situations in which they found themselves in, until such a time that they were found out. Sound familiar?


Well, in light of this, I thought about the appalling over saturation on our TV's of these search for talent shows that are regularly churned out year in and year out that deliver more celebrities devoid of any real talent that choose to pursue this life (for reasons beyond those I can ever understand) in the limelight and the price they pay for their fifteen minutes of fame.

I couldn't imagine ever being prepared to give away my privacy just so I could be seen as someone in this culture, not even for those fifteen minutes as the price is just too high.

I do think that people need to rethink their own perceptions of fame and of the role it actually plays within their lives. I cannot abide those magazine or reality TV shows that perpetuate this culture as I find it at the best of times shallow and lacking in any form of nutritional brain value. It saddens me immensely more so because a percentage of society aspires to be just like those that they are tuning in to see, or being are entertained by. Definitely a stick of chewing gum for the mind that losses its favour very quickly.

But let me share with you the three times that I have been affected by fame in one sense or another.

Once was when my Mum sent me off to work on a commercial that featured Tony Curtis. Being a child that had grown up on a diet of films of the 1950's, I was literally star stuck to be several feet from away from him. Someone whom I was working with made their approach and asked him to sign something for them. He was gracious and amiable and smiled throughout and was happy to fulfil their request.

I just thought I shouldn't bother the man and I felt it was rude. I regret that as Some Like It Hot is one of my favourite films and I would like to have told him so.

Then there was the time that I attended an exhibition of Lucian Freud's paintings at The Tate with my Dad. It was very quiet in the room as my Dad beckoned me over to him. He pointed to a painting of a group of children all sitting together on a seat and said to me “You see those children in this picture?” “Yes” I replied unsure of where this was leading. “Well” My Dad said “You used to play with them when you were small.”

And then there was that Parmesan cheese that appeared in our fridge at home when I was growing up. I asked my Mum what this alien thing was and she told me. But, it was only years later that she told me that during his visits to London Federico Fellini used to bring her this as a gift from Italy.

I am personally more impressed with these three episodes in my life, than with any reality TV show or celebrity that could ever grace our screens. They were all part of my own personal cultural history and making as I grew up, rather than those that I was spoon fed by the media that held no real value for me.

I am lucky, not only because of all the things I have been privy too, but because in doing so, I have be able to understand that quality is what really matters rather than quantity.

And maybe, that then explains why I never felt the need to write a letter to Jimmy Savile when I was younger asking him to fix something for me and for that I will be eternally grateful.

My Ingenious Little Genius By Holly Searle

When my son was born, I thought to myself "He's been here before."

From the very off he was like a wise little old man and not like a child at all. He was always interested in everything and anything and needed a constant diet of new information and added distractions to keep him occupied.

As he grew, he developed a keen sense of what was right and what was wrong. He cannot abide any form of injustice (I can't think where he gets that from) and if he is able too, he will try to amend the reason for it, too benefit those affected.

I remember once when he was in primary school being retold a story by one of the classroom assistance about his attitude towards one such incident.

During break, he had become aware of an incident against another child and in his effort to make this right, the playground assistant had misinterpreted his actions and had told him off and had sent him indoors.

When the classroom assistant went to check on him, she found him sitting crossed legged, with his hands palms up, with his middle finger and thumb touching. The assistant (who knew him very well) asked him what he was doing. To which he responded “I'm meditating.”

He was seven.

When I first heard that story, I started to wonder, if, he was in fact, the 15th Dalai Lama. It still makes me chuckle when I think about him sitting there like that, as I have absolutely no idea were he had ever come across any one in the lotus position or how on earth he knew what meditating was?

It was beyond me.

He has just started secondary school, which he was ready for. Being a September baby (like me), he was always the eldest in his class and often felt the weight of it. After a minor struggle to get him accepted into the school of his choice, he was excited about his new beginning. I was concerned about his two bus journey to and from the school, so over the Summer I prepared him and when the start date arrived on his twelfth birthday in early September, he was was so ready, that he hardly slept the night before and appeared in full uniform at the foot of my bed an hour before we were due to get up. It was priceless.

I mentally closed my eyes and held my breath and sent him off to school and his new beginning. I am very proud to say, he made it and has taken it all in his stride like a duck takes to water.

With his new school came new rules and regulations to be adhered too. One was the signing of his homework book. He is required to obtain my signature on a weekly basis as a sign of my parental responsibility that he has completed his homework. If he fails to obtain this, he will be given a detention as a punishment.

A few weeks ago he returned home from school and announced to me that he was cross with me because I had forgotten to sign his homework book and he had subsequently been given a detention. I pointed out to him that he did need to remind me that I had to sign his book. He agreed and the matter wasn't discussed any further.

A few days later he returned home from school and told me that he had taken the science lesson that day. He was beaming and so was I and here is why.

On the day of the detention, he is required to sit in a classroom with other children who had also fallen foul to its imprisonment for one reason or another.

He tells me that they were all situated in a one of the science classrooms. The other children are all mucking about, which he is so affronted by and that he ignores them and instead spends the half an hour reading a poster on the wall of the classroom that lists The Five Kingdoms of life on earth. No I didn't know either. Apparently this is a classification system that lists the five forms of life on the planet. Here they all are: Monera, Protists, Fungi, Plants and Animals.

The detention ends.

The following day he has a science lesson and the question put to the class by their teacher is, can anyone name the Five Kingdoms. The only respondent to this question is my son. He duly raises his hand and then reels off the five he has stored in his memory and during the course of which, his teacher asks him to come to the front of the class and explain it all to his fellow classmates, which he does.

I am so proud and all the guilt I had felt by not signing his homework book vanishes as I realise that if I had done so, he would never had used his time wisely to acquire this knowledge.

I also realise, as I have always suspected, that my son is an ingenious little genius that will go far.

The Kindness of Strangers? By Holly Searle

Many years ago when I couldn't have been more than ten, I set off from my home on my own to attend a birthday party I had been invited to by one of the girls in my class.

I was relatively new at the school and was keen to be assimilated into the social network of my peers. I was late. Being a novice navigator, I proceeded in the right direction and to the address not too far from my own, with the knowledge that this was where the party was being held. So you can imagine my panic when I reached the address I had thought that the party was being held at, only to discover that it wasn't there at all and was in fact being held in another location that I had no installed GPS awareness of.

After being informed by the door answerer to my knock, that the party was elsewhere, I crossed the road and stood alone in a state of distress, wondering where on earth the place I was now on the way to actually was.

At that moment a car pulled up and the lady driving learnt over the passenger seat of her car and asked me if I knew the location of a place she was trying to find.

As I was quite new to the area (and as I was having my own onward journey issues myself) I informed her that I had no knowledge of the place that she was asking about.

She asked me where I was going and being a trusting soul, I told her of my plight. At once she asked me if I wanted a lift as she knew where the place I was trying to find was. Call it intuition if you will, but a klaxon sounded in my mind and I declined her offer straight away. She was quite insistent and asked me if I was sure as she repeated her offer once again. I stuck to my guns and refused. Eventually she drove off and I asked in a local shop for directions and made my own way there. I arrived safe and sound, but a little shaken due to my haste and initial confusion, but more so because of this offer.

Fast forward twelve years and I am sitting at a bus stop in Battersea. I am all polished and dressed up having spent the morning acting as a bod in a photo shoot for a friends brother. I am well versed in the art of both as my mother is a well known model agent and my siblings and I have been the subject of photo shoots and random faces in crowds on film sets for years.

I am dressed smartly, not my usual attire, but as I said, it was a requirement of the favour. I am growing tired of waiting for the bus to arrive as a red convertible sports car approaches with a fit Chelsea type at the wheel. He pulls over and asks me if I would like a lift. I decline. He asks me if I am sure? I affirm my first response and he drives away.

I often wonder if I had accepted either one of those offers how they might have affected my life.

Women, I have concluded, rarely harm children in that way (abet Hindley and West of course). So in all probability, she was just being kind and offering a helping hand to a deluded and somewhat stressed ten year old. I could have accepted her offer and arrived at the party earlier and in a less frantic state of being. But, I chose otherwise.

He, Mr. Sloane, may well have been my knight in shining (sports car) armour.

He may have asked me out on a date and changed my life completely in the process. But then again, Ted Bundy wasn't an unattractive man, but nevertheless one that lured women into a false sense of security and ended their lives in the process.

Both of these incidents have nagged away at me over the years and appear to have resurfaced in my brain in view of the events concerning the unequivocal abuse of power by a celebrity in clear view of a patriarchal institution and society.

Sometimes those that aren't strangers are the ones we should all be aware of.

Most personalable crimes are committed by a person known to the victim. Think of all the horrendous crimes that have been the feature of many a news report during the course of this year alone. Some of most horrific ones were against children, a majority of which had been carried out by an assailant known to the victim of the crime. However, a minority was carried out by strangers.

Strangers are people we do not know until we know them and we should never forget that.

Even if they appear on your television screen every week and do good deeds, this is no guarantee that as an individual they are trustworthy. I do not doubt for one moment, hand on heart, that both as a child and as an adult I made the right decisions in turning down both of those offers. For if I had accepted either, I may be telling you a very different set of stories or I may have not been here to tell you any at all.

Slow Hand Clap By Holly Searle

I must say I was quite impressed with Ed Milliband's speech this week. I was probably more impressed by the fact that he delivered it without referring to his notes or hiding behind a lecture like some stuffy salesman at a conference delivering his annual address, oh hang on a minute.

Just like a business man desperate for investment in his company, Mr. Milliband's speech was constructed to carefully hit upon and deal with all the hot topics that are affecting a high percentage of most of us in the UK.

I sat and watched it all, live from beginning to the end and even though I wanted to believe in everything he had to say (as he pretty much read my mind on all of my concerns), there was something niggling away in the back of my mind that was preventing me from jumping up and down on the sofa and whooping with joy like a pint-sized Scientologist.

And this is what it was.

Trust. It is as simple as that.

All business men with a new idea want you to invest in them. Why? Because they need your support to enable them to doff the cap of power and more importantly, they need your money in order to do so. But, as one nation, it would appear that we have learnt to be self-sufficient in view of the mistrust we now have of those the divided majority decided to invest their trust in.

A litany of the most contemptible lies have been exposed of those who had made similar promises and who have since been seen to reel in their fishing lines from which a tasty worm once wriggled.

Sometimes the word sorry just doesn't cut it I am afraid.

All business men, not unlike a professional Gigolo, will tell you exactly what you want to hear so that you'll be so overwhelmed and charmed that you'll believe them and therefore invest in what they have on offer, provided of course that they deliver the goods.

Imagine if you will that you are one of the dragons off of Dragon's Den and some investment hungry person is standing before you. They need you to assist them further to enable their product or scheme to become a reality. They are confident and the product appears investment worthy. You rub your chin whilst thinking about what is on offer, but as you are being asked to invest your time and money in them, you have to ask yourself this question. What are the possibilities of this actually working and will I see a healthy return if I do invest?

Well that was how I should imagine the majority of us felt. We are all suspicious and skeptical about investing further in yet another ideology as the one laid out in Mr. Milliband's speech. We are all interested, but as yet not quite convinced.

And here's why.

I have never voted Tory, well a part from Boris. Yes, okay, but I would defend that action in view of his persona more than anything else. He is a court jester, the perfect host for the city of my birth and personality counts for a lot.

Mr. Milliband should take note as he is a tad hard to warm towards. Although having said that, there is only so much high jinx we can all stomach from the entertainment before yearning for an intelligent discussion of the serious issues facing our nation without being faced with someone who will not answer the questions that are put to them, without trying to derail you with yet another yawn-worthy verbal sight of hand.

It's boring Boris.

There is a void within the social structure of this country and yes, I know that he touched upon that, but touching the void has been so remiss for so long, that the people of this country have lost faith that bridging the gap will ever be possible.

The reality of what actually happens in society and what is actually done about it, is huge and it is getting worse because some Etonian posh boy and his pals have been unashamedly delusional in their interpretation of how to solve it. Something is now so wrong in the state of Denmark, that we need someone who will actually listen to those that need to be heard.

The most inspiration aspect of those that inhabit our country despite it all, has been their capacity be seen to be doing what they do best in times of adversity by standing up and being counted and taking part.

This has been the most incredible year for the UK and regardless of all the trouble and woes we all have. Like children from a broken home, we all got up, took part, volunteered, helped out and cheered and waved our little flags because we still have faith in ourselves if no one else. It was and continues to be a display social solidarity not seen in the UK during or in the aftermath of the Second World War that makes us all worthy individuals.

You can call it Blitz spirit if you like, but I like to think of it as a communal anti-apathy ingrained in all of us entwined with a desire to be seen at our best.

By doing so, we did a very important thing, we highlighted the diabolical actions of those that govern us.

And Mr. Milliband has realised that or has he? I have seen The Thick Of It and find it hard to place my faith and trust in any politician.

In Peter Pan, in order to save Tink, Peter asks that everyone who believes in faeries to clap their hands. Many clapped and some didn't and beasts hissed, Barrie writes. and that is how I feel. I want to believe in faeries and I want to clap, but until I have retreated to the back of the den to discuss my investment further with the rest of the dragons, the jury, I am afraid, is still out.

No Award Could Top That By Holly Searle

I was a lost child at school, an invisible girl who was overlooked largely due to an oversight of the educational system I was in.

Unlike today, I obviously had a form of dyslexia that meant that I was unable to keep up. I shall never forget sitting in my bedroom on a weekly basis learning my ten spellings and then being made to stand up in English the following day and being subjected to ridicule by my teacher Miss Jones.

Today this wouldn't be allowed and I would have been offered some form of assistance instead of being made to feel bad by an adult that should really have known better. The memory of those events scarred me for life. I still hesitate now even when attempting to pronounce a word I am unfamiliar with, let alone trying to spell it.

I also had issues with numbers. I just couldn't see words or numbers in my mind. Even now I have to remember what a word looks like and I have to ask someone to slow down when they give me a telephone number or a set figure.

As a result of this, I was deemed unworthy of sitting O Levels and placed in the classes heading towards taking CSE's.

I wasn't of interest to anyone at school, but do recall quite clearly being questioned by an English teacher as to who the author of a poem I produced was. I explained that it was me, but he still questioned me.

I can honestly say that if it had not of been for Camilla Birkett, my last English teacher at secondary school, I would quite possibly have remained redundant on the reading and writing front for the rest of my life.

She was the first person whom instilled in me the love of reading and writing and for that I shall be forever grateful.

I was such a late educational bloomer, that I had no idea near to leaving school what this place called university was.

All of my friends were off there and I just looked at the ground and kicked a stone and felt ashamed.

Fast forward ten years. I am a single parent to Child One and we are at last settled in a home of our own after two years of being homeless.

I ask myself the question “So, what are you going to do now?” My response to this is to return to education where I will spend the most enjoyable following five years of my life gaining A Levels and a Degree.

I am the first member of my family to achieve this honour and for that, I am very proud of myself. I worked several part time jobs whilst studying and juggled single parenthood. Times were hard and if the purse hadn't of been so empty, I would have continued for as long as I could have done along that magical path of further enlightenment.

But let me tell you this, even though I was immensely proud to have gained this honour, I was even prouder to have been in receipt of the recognition that was bestowed upon me by Child One for the following.

During my first year at university I arrived one afternoon to a film lesson to sit an exam. The lecture room was packed with my fellow students and they were all chatting about their worries and concerns regarding the visual exam we were all about to take. I am a rather stoic person and tend to deal with exams as they unfold. I never saw the point in getting too stressed about it and more than anything, I looked upon them as a challenge.

I had also been lucky enough to have had a previous tutor who give me the following piece of advice. “Whatever you do, don't stop writing during an exam. If you keep writing, ideas with turn up, so don't stop.”

The exam began. We watched the opening sequence of Don't Look Now and were then given a set amount of time to write down everything that came to mind about the piece of film we had just viewed.

Head down, pen poised, off I went. I kept writing until the time was up.

When we had all finished I thought as I always did, that I had done as well as I could. I didn't think that I had done particular well, but I was pleased with the attempt that I had made.

The following week when we all returned, our tutor Leon dealt with the results of the exam first. We all waited. He said that overall he was very pleased and informed us that a majority had gained a C for their effort with some being awarded B's, but that one person had received an A. My friend Simon sitting next to me said “I wonder who that is?” I said “Me too!”.

I sat there waiting and waiting. I kept thinking he has forgotten me. Then after he had handed out everyone else's, he finally focussed his attention on me. He said that I had been awarded the A. I remember blushing quite profusely as everyone looked at me while my friend Simon elbowed me. I didn't know what to do, or where to look. I felt like I had just won an Oscar.

When I got home I retold this story to Child One. She laughed with delight.

A few weeks later I attended Parent's Evening at her school. As I waited for my allotted slot to see her teacher, I looked through her work. I was overwhelmed with pride as I always was at the amount of dedication and effort that she had applied to each piece. There was a story we had talked about, a picture she had drawn and pages about topics she had been working on. Then I turned the page and saw a balloon diagram. Each balloon had a title attributed to it like My Pets Name Is in which she had written her answer. I read each one with a huge smile on my face until I reached one that was entitled I Was Proud When in which she had written “ My Mum got an A.”

My throat suddenly became constricted and tears filled my eyes. I was an emotional wreck.

Although I have those A Levels and a Degree, those five words will always be worth more to me than any award I have or shall ever receive because they were given to me by my little girl.

Education gave up on me, but I didn't give up on it. Never give up if you believe in something and if someone believes in you, as it is worth its weight in gold in the end and more balloons than those that lifted that little house in UP.

Why Human Error Is A Bit Like A Game Of Subbuteo By Holly Searle

For imperfect cousins everywhere.


Let's face it, if Feargal Sharkey had been paying attention during his game of Subbuteo against his perfect cousin Kevin, he may well have won the game if only he'd have been aware of the fact that Kevin had "flicked the kick" without him knowing and therefore had cheated his way to victory.

Human error is a bit like that isn't it? People who aren't paying attention miss what is important and by doing so, often pave the way for an event to unfold that quite frankly could have been avoided if only they had been more on the ball (did you see what I did there).

We see it everyday without fail, but it is usually obscured by the actual event itself. When the dust settles and Columbo finally arrives late (held up no doubt due to human error) he traces the reasons for the event back to the actual root cause. Nice one. By doing so, he not only solves the case but also dispels the thoughts of those he has been investigating that he was just some fool in a dirty raincoat.

There is a great children's book by David McKee called Who Is Mrs Green? that does exactly that. A series of consequential events that are traced back to the misbehaving antics of one Mrs Green and her trip trapping high heels. Because she wakes her neighbour in the early hours, he then vents his anger and frustration on another and than that person does the same and so on and so forth throughout the course of the day that follows on from her initial thoughtless action. If you have children (or even if you don't) it is well worth tracking down a copy and having a read as it is quite thought provoking as so many of David McKee's books are.

Just like in the game of Subbuteo, in life we are governed by rules. Parameters are set out for us, that are there to ensure we don't make mistakes. But unfortunately we live in a world where these are sometimes overlooked because we are just flawed human beings or like cousin Kevin, we just choose to overlook the rules because we can't be bothered to abide by them.

And it seems to me that as a race, we either committee errors because we do not communicate properly with one another or because we are under pressure to deliver something that due to a set of circumstances is impossible to achieve or because we simply do not listen.

A friend and I had a conversation about it all recently and he retold a story to me in which two planes had crashed on the runway they were both about to take off from, due to the fact that the pilot was under pressure to return home for his anniversary party.

The circumstances in which this terrible accident took place were also blighted by bad weather conditions and miscommunication, but the root cause was human error.

My friend concluded that occurrences like this had to take place to enable the fact that they would never happen again.

It is a shame though that so many people suffer to enable these measures to be enforced so that they do not happen again in the future to another bunch of innocent souls. But maybe that is why To err is human, to forgive is divine.

But those are big things, news making incidents that we all collectively share in together. It is the small stuff you have to be aware of.

On the day to day agenda of our lives we encounter and are effected by the errors of others. Be it at work or play, we all fall victim to them. I used to get all het up about it, but now I just try and trace it back to its root cause and weigh up the stress I am prepared to endure or pass on for the benefit of my health. I sometimes feel like Columbo when I am doing this but without the dirty raincoat.

And even though I am more like Feargal than Kevin (as are my family and friends) I am well aware of those that "flicked the kick" and those that do not in this live game of Subbuteo we are all involved in to enable a more durable and productive version of the society I live in.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I5hnCb-93WY

Hope By Holly Searle

This has been a great year for me so far and the city that I was lucky enough to be born in.

As I discussed in Marmalade, the last few years haven't been particularly good for me. But as I welcomed in the New Year, along with everyone else, I had a sense that this was going to be a new start for me. And so far it has been just that, right on the money.

I was lucky enough to have set targets ahead of me, beacons if you will, that had already been lit and put in place to act as positivity markers that illuminated my new journey.

I fulfilled a lifelong dream and visited New York in January. A gift to me for my last birthday from Child One. It was just incredible. Because of the issues that I had had, I did worry that I would find it all too overwhelming, but in fact, I never felt more at home than I did as we drove from the airport to the our hotel on that first night. It was an inspirational trip that was filled to the brim. I cannot wait to go back there one day.

Next, both children and I went off to Ireland to visit our family there. It had been a while and as I have already explained, my Dad hasn't been well, so off we all went. Again, it was like going home.

I also invested some personal time on my own, just mooching around the city and falling back in love with it. I walked around it, visited places I had always wanted to go, made myself board buses and boats to enable me to map the city in my mind's eye and made a whole host of new and enlightening discoveries. I did it all and loved every damn minute of it.

I realised how far I had come, but I also realised how much I wanted to share it all with another like minded soul.

As I count the days down to my forty-ninth birthday, I feel the lacking more now than at any other time in my life of the need to be connected to another adult that I can share my life with. And here is the weird part, it isn't because I am lonely, it is because for the first time in my life I am happy and I want to share that.

It is a fantastic realisation on which to stumble upon. Quite profound in fact. And what is even more illuminating, is that I have a sneaking suspicion that it won't be too long before it becomes a reality.

The story of Pandora's Box illustrates my current situation perfectly. Pandora, a moniker that was very nearly bestowed upon me, was given a box by Zeus to watch over. She was told in no uncertain terms not to open the box or mankind would be doomed. Of course she did, but before it was too late, she managed to close it again. And the only thing that remained in the box was the spirit of hope and mankind was saved.

Young unmarried women used to save items that they had made in their Hope Chests, with which they would furnish their future lives that were still yet to unfold. And I realise now, with all that has gone before and has been stored away in mine, that I am ready for this moment to unfurl.

I have enjoyed being single, it has been fine. I am a dab hand at fixing most things. I can manage my money, I know my limitations and downfalls, I am not too good at knowing when I should really be going to bed for example.

But, and here's the thing, I am missing the presence of a man. I miss the feel of him and the fact that someone will be there as a sounding board for me. I am missing the phones calls to see how I am or when I will be home or if we can attend a do together. I am missing out on the planning and the company of a fellow journeyman to accompany me in the next few chapters of my life, that really should be ours.

I am missing it so much, and I am ready now, for him to arrive and ask me to dance or tell me how attractive I am looking today, or how nice I smell.

I am missing it.

I am missing the shared laughter, the foundations of our companionship and the first kiss and touch and feel of him.

The feel of his chin when he hasn't shaved and the familiarity of his hand in mine and the way I find the back of his neck so attractive.

The way his persona changes when he wears a suit or something more casual.

The life he has lived that has been etched upon his face with such irrevocable grace.

The stories he has to tell about the life he has lived so far, the people he is related to and the hidden talent that he is embarrassed that they might allude too.

The similarities we share and the polarities that we do not.

Most of all I am missing the way he will hold me.

I am missing the way in which we shall just enjoying being.

I want to tell him that I am a worthy adversary that he will be glad of in the coming years.

I want him to see me as I truly am.

You see those couples don't you who are in the throws of the first flush of love.

Their tactile intimacy gives them away.

You don't want to intrude by looking at them, but their enthusiasm for each other demands your attention and draws your gaze. It is so intoxicating that it takes your breath away.

Well, now I am ready to be just like they are because my Hope Chest is so full, that I am having to sit on in order make sure that it is secured.

And so is my heart.

So here I am, ready and waiting for the most incredible journey that with be full of new discoveries and adventures.

Here I am.

On my birthday I shall be surrounded by my friends and family. I am blessed in that way and I shall be raising a glass or two to all that is too come, and will be, and especially to hope.

The Fax By Holly Searle

Pixie Watkins had been a full time extra for the past ten years. Now however she was a part time extra and a full time mother to a 16 month old baby.

Although she loved being a mum, she was knackered and so when her agent had called her to say that she had a job for her, she jumped at the chance of a day away from it all.

She had been in the business for what seemed like a lifetime and although she reasoned that she would probably never win a BAFTA, she had been invited by them to attend the screening of a film that she had once had a small part in. How many people could make that claim she thought as she finished applying her make-up. She smiled at her reflection and thought with all things considered, she looked acceptable.

With her baby in the care of her mother, she made her way to the airport, where she boarded a small plane that took her on the very short blink or you'll miss it flight from London to Plymouth.

On arriving in Plymouth, she hailed a cab, gave the cabbie the address of the location and they set off to find the film crew.

A local regional news reporter's busy schedule had been her gain it would seem as her role for today was to act as her stand in so that the reporter could be released to read the early evening news.

Pixie didn't mind. It was just good to be able to have some time to herself for a few hours and to be part of the familiar buzz of a film set.

She always loved the way the passing public would stop to look to see what was going on. Did they wonder who she was she thought and smiled to herself. She was no great actress, but they didn't know that and it didn't really matter in the scheme of things, it was just exciting to be part of it all.

The filming was taking a little longer than anticipated and the assistant director came over to inform her that as it was now too late to fly back to London they had booked her into the local four star hotel for the night. She knew him from other jobs she had been on, so he suggested that she join him and some of the crew for dinner and drinks later that evening at the hotel.

After they wrapped, cabs were called and people were ferried to the hotel. Pixie checked into her room and plonked her bag on the floor and gave the en suite a quick once over before sitting on the bed.

She picked up the telephone to call her mother to see how the baby was and to inform her that she wouldn't be home until tomorrow afternoon.

She then called her boyfriend Stan, a photographer's assistant, life long Smiths fan and practical joker.

After two rings he answered. "Mark Redman and Associates, Stan speaking, can I help you?"

"Hellllooooo Stan, I am sure I can think of a few ways that you could."

"Well helllooooooo Miss Watkins, I am sure I could if I so wished, but I have to warn you that I am very expensive and charge by the hour. Whats up?"

"Oh, not much. The filming ran over sooooo, I am staying in Plymouth for the night. Shame you're not."

"Oh, I see, that's exciting for you. Are you in a hotel?"

"Yes I am. Why?"

"Oh nothing, just wondered. What are you going to do then?"

"Have dinner with Sean and the rest of the crew from Reels and enjoy myself."

"Oooooohhhh, get you! Well don't enjoy yourself too much."

"Oh give me a break!"

"Oh alright then. Look have a great time. Mark and I are off for a mince in the local, what's the number there? Actually, do they have a fax number?"

"Why?"

"Oh, never you mind. Maybe a fella might want to send his gal a special something later."

"Stan, don't muck about."

"I am not mucking about, I am being serious, just give it to me doll face."

"Okay, but I am trusting you not to do anything bloody stupid. It's 01752 661 610 for the hotel and the same for the fax accept that there is a one at the end of that number instead of a zero."

"Cool beans. Yeah, don't worry, I promise I won't."

"Okay. Don't drink too much. Love you."

"Yeah, laters."


Pixie replaced the handset and laid down on the bed. I am going to regret that she thought.


Later that evening she joined Sean and the others for dinner. It felt bloody odd to be sitting at a table with other adults instead of sitting at one and feeding the baby. At least this is evening she wouldn't end up with food all over her.

Sean told her to order whatever she wanted. She sensed that he felt at bit responsible for her being there, but after a few glasses of wine, she didn't mind. Just relax and enjoy it, she told herself, it's an evening off and when was the last time you had had one of those?

She couldn't remember. As a consequence, she ate and drank far too much. She thanked Sean and excused herself from the table and even though they wanted her to stay for more drinks, she doubted that she would still be upright after one more, so she made her way up to her room where she just managed to make it to her bathroom, before throwing up.

She sat on the bed. She had succeeded, she thought, in over doing it and that wasn't enjoyable. She turned her attention to the tv, staggered over to it and switched it on. There was laminated card resting on the top of it. She picked it up and returned to the bed which she proceeded to lay on in order to read it the card.

The card listed a selection of movies that could be accessed via the in house hotel film channel, most of which Pixie had seen. Her attention, however, was drawn to those listed under the Adult section and one in particular entitled Pinocchio made her raise her eyebrows. Curiosity got the better of her and she pushed herself off of the bed and gently made her way back to the tv. She found the remote, sat back down on the bed and followed the instructions on the card.

The film started just as the telephone rang.

She press pause and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hellooooooooo...”

“Oh, Stan, it's you. I am a bit drunk, no, I am a lot drunk..and I am just about to watch a film, so..”

“A film eh? Did you get my fax?”

“Are you drunk, you sound it. No, what fax?”

“I sent you a little something, just like I promised I would.”

“Oh God! No! I haven't had a fax. Where did you send it?”

“To the number you gave me.”

“Well, I have no fax, but I have a film too watch. I shall let you know if I ever get it. Bye!”

Stan was laughing “Yes do, as I want to hear what you think of it. Byeeeeee!”


After several attempts, Pixie successfully replaced the handset. Where was I, ah, yes. She turned back towards the tv, located the remote and pressed play.

She focused her attention on the film. Porn was probably the best kind of genre to watch especially if you found yourself alone and drunk in a hotel in Plymouth as the storyline was pretty thin and the end result a given.

She was quite looking forward to it when there was a knock at the door. She frowned. She looked at the tv grabbed the remote and swiftly ended the movie.

“Hold on, I am just coming.”

She caught a quick glimpse of herself as she passed the full length mirror on the wall. God she looked rough and contrary to her earlier thoughts, she had ended up with food on her clothes post throw up. Jesus, she thought, one night away from home and your attempts to tick every box on the form entitled Human Degradation and Embarrassment is nearly full.

She opened the door to find two police officers standing there, one WPC and one PC.

“Yes, is everything okay?”

“Good evening Miss, no far from it. Do you know a Mr Mark Redman Miss?”

“Yes, my boyfriend works for him, why?”

The PC looked as though he was going to break out into fits of laughter, the WPC didn't.

“Well Miss, they have received a rather offensive fax in reception and they called us.”

“Offensive? Do you have it with you?”

“No Miss, but if you could speak to your boyfriend and ask him not to send any further faxes Miss, we would appreciate that Miss.”

Pixie mentally ticked another box on the form.

“Yes, I shall do that right now officer.”

The WPC just looked at her.

If looks could kill Pixie thought, I would be toast. “Thank you Miss.”

She looked from one to the other and nodded at them both and then shut the door.

She made her way back to the bed and sat on it and dialled Stan's number.

“Hello?”

“Hello, what exactly was in this fax you sent me?”

He started to laugh.

“Why, haven't you got it?”

“No, I haven't got it, but two members of the Plymouth Police force have just paid me a visit and have informed me that it is rather offensive.”

He was still laughing.

“It's not funny Stan, now tell me what was on it?”

“Oh it was just a photo I thought you might like, that's all. A nice young man, just your type.”

“Right, well, what can I say other than cheers for embarrassing me.”

“Oh, come on, don't be like that Pix, I thought it would make you laugh.”

“Laugh? Yeah, it's hilarious, enjoy the rest of your evening!”

She hung up. She was furious, not so much about the fax, but due to the fact that her evening off had been ruined with her over indulgence and because she would never get to find out what Pinocchio was capable of.

She decided just like Scarlet O’Hara that tomorrow was another day and went into the en suite to get ready for bed.

After cleaning herself up, she felt a little better. Snooze time she thought. She turned off the lights and snuggled down until she found her favourite sleeping position.

She was just starting to relax when she heard a shuffling sound outside her door. Her heckles suddenly went up. Then came the sound of muffled laughter as something was pushed under the door.

She got up and walked over to the door. There on the floor was a plain brown envelope. She returned to the bed, sat down and opened it. Inside there was a folded piece of paper. She unfolded it and there sitting on an Emmanuel styled round backed wicker chair was a man, a naked man. A naked man with a huge erection that you could have hung a coat on. Written across the top on the fax in magic marker were the words How about this boy then? Stan xxxxx

Everyone’s a comic she thought. She folded it and pushed it back in the envelope and went to sleep.


The following morning when she woke up, she suddenly developed a healthy attack of paranoia as she recalled in the cold light of the morning the events of the previous evening. God The team on reception would know all about the activities of the guest staying in her room and the fact that she had tried to watched Pinocchio. God The film crew that would be paying for her room would know about it as well. God

She switched on the tv. On the breakfast show they were running a feature on the 80's pop star Yazz. They were playing her hit The Only Way is Up.

Life mocks me once again she thought.

She got dressed and packed her things away and decided that the best course of action was to adopt the guise of a fleeing criminal. So she called reception and asked them to arrange a cab for her. When it had arrived, they called her to let her know, at which point, she made a dash for the lobby, left the keys on the front desk and jumped into the waiting cab.


She arrived home to find a bunch of flowers waiting for her from Stan.

The note with them simply read "Forgive me?"

She called him.

"Thanks for the flowers, you are forgiven, although I am still slightly annoyed with you."

"Ah, don't be annoyed, it was a well intended joke. I am sure you'll look back on it in a few days time and laugh about it."

"You think?"

"Yes, be guided by your conscious."

"What? Are you telling me to that I should always let my conscious be my guide?"

Pixie laughed.

"And why exactly is that funny?"

Marmalade By Holly Searle

I love marmalade, especially Tiptree. I place my love for this bitter sweet jelly firmly at the feet of my father who introduce me to it many years ago. Even now, when I feel like treating myself I will spend quite a while pondering the vast selection on display at the supermarket until I select one that I either a) feel happy with or b) I have never tried before.

I then look forward to eating it, on toast, the following morning for breakfast. Bliss.

I was so taken with it, that one year I decided to make my own. How hard could it be I wondered ?

It was an exercise that I soon discovered required a lot of deconstruction in order to reconstruct something else.

It took a long time. The process involved sourcing not only the ingredients, but also vast amounts of jars into which the eventual product could be housed.

It was a labour of love, one that was hard work, but nevertheless, productive and enjoyable with a positive outcome in the end.

In May 2010, I became very unwell. At first, I didn't realise how unwell I was, but looking back now, I can clearly see just how sick I was. I suffered both a mental and physical breakdown. It wasn't nice and it was the bleakest moment in my life.

When something like that happens to you, you have no control over it at all. One moment you are spinning plates and juggling balls and then the next you are scratching your head and staring at the floor wondering why there are broken pieces of china and balls all over the place.

You have no recollection of who you are.

At that moment, everything came to a full stop in my life and I spent the days, weeks, months and years that followed, deconstructing it all, in order to reconstruct something else. I started making marmalade.

The day I first went to see my GP, I was on autopilot. She is and will forever remain the primary heroine of this tale to recovery, because without her help, I doubt I would be telling you this story today. She took me in hand and offered me all the support I needed.

I didn't want to take any medication as I was having trouble at that point even remembering where I lived. It was pretty scary stuff. I have no recollection to this day of the first few weeks after its initial occurrence at all. All that I had known, simply vanished.

Time passed and I returned to see my GP again. I was still raw and incredibly vulnerable and at that point she introduced the idea of speaking to someone that would assist me further. I agreed and it was arranged.

What you need to understand, is that I was this powerhouse of a human being. I had a well paid job in which, I was seen as a productive asset. My life was fixed and regimented and for five days a week, it was the same. Get up, get dressed, get my son ready, walk him to school, walk to work, work, walk home, collect my son from his after school club, walk home, make dinner, bed, sleep. Next day, repeat. At the weekends I cleaned up and prepared for the following five days.

I would take a holiday twice a year during April and August, months with only A's in I used to joke. I was a hamster spinning in a wheel, that span and span and span, until one day it fell off its axle.

When you suffer a breakdown, your mind goes blank. It is like your hard drive has been wiped clean and you have to learn how to function all over again.

A good day for me consisted of being able to do a load of washing successfully. I was so tired. I became scared of leaving the house as the thought of taking a bus or a train or even having to speak to other people was a nightmare. My actions became over exaggerated and I found it hard to even speak to anyone on the telephone.

I lost all sense of myself completely.

The appointment to see the counsellor was horrific. I walked into the office and felt ashamed for being there. I had no idea what to expect and I wasn't prepared for what did.

The man who I saw, asked me to explain to him why I was there. So Told him that several weeks before, I had been up a ladder clearing my loft. My daughter was helping me. I had been passing down boxes to her that needed sorting through and she observed how I much stuff there was. At that point, I thought “Well it is a good job I am sorting this all out now as I am not going to be here much longer.”

I cried when I told him that. He then asked me to outline my life in the remaining forty minutes of the session. A big ask. I gave him the abridge version. We made another appointment during which he ripped me to pieces. How a person can do that after only spending just over an hour with a stranger is still beyond me.

However, out of a negative a positive follows. He gave me a booklet that listed all of the local Mental Health organisation and suggested I call one in particular as “They always answered.” So I did. I called them and that is how I started to get better.

Meeting my first counsellor was the best thing that could have happened to me. To be able to speak to someone who was not there to judge me, was the most liberating experience I have ever had. It enabled me to share with them things that I couldn't share with anyone else. I was astonished at the amount of stuff I had to get off my chest. My mind palace had become a rather unsavoury squat in which all sorts of insecurities and hoarded unwanted rubbish had began to pile up. It wasn't pretty, but speaking to her, helped me to make sense of it all and taught me how to tidy up and put things in order.

There were peaks and troughs, it wasn't a sprint, it was a long distance race with no clearly determined finishing line.

I was devastated when I could no longer see her as she had finished her six month intership at the institution. I still needed help and I eventually met the second person who enabled me to see that the end of my journey was both plausible and possible.

From beginning to the end, I spent over 18 months seeing my counsellors. When I arrived, my life was drained of colour, when I eventually felt ready to leave, the world looked bright and vivid to me like a new place that I had never seen before and I wasn't scared any more.

They extended an open invitation to me too return if I needed too and that was the most apt safety net that anyone could have strung below my tightrope wire.

And here is what I learnt. The recipe I had been following to make marmalade was all wrong and I had to find a new one. So I used my recovery time wisely. I did all the things I hadn't been able to do before because I was constantly caught in a series of ever decreasing circles. I reconnected with old friends, I went to places I had never been before, I made new friends, I started living again and more importantly I began to rebuild my life.

Even though I lost my job, I didn't loose my home and I am proud of the fact that throughout this whole process I never once miss a payment on my mortgage. The most import and astonishing thing I realised, was that certain aspects and functions of my old life were so unnecessary and without them, I still able to maintain a reasonable standard of living without all the stresses of the hamster wheel. The fear that had kept me imprisoned for years was just that, a fear, as the reality of no longer living under its regime was surprisingly manageable.

It has been a long journey that at times has been incredibly painful and relentless. It forced me to look at and to deal with situations I wasn't always ready or able to deal with. But, I am better and stronger now and if I ever feel indifferent, I recognise why straight away and by taking a mental deep breath, I am able work out how to deal with it.

I am now new and improved, a fresh batch of marmalade and a successful product of my own reconstruction and for that, I will always be, eternally grateful.

As a postscript, I would like to thank the following people, without whom I would never have got here.

Dr Lucas and Dr Pigett, my wondrous female GP tag team who put me back together.

Matt for calling me ever day to make sure I was okay. Tom for the cuddles.

The stupendous Margaret for listening and forming a super glue fixed bond that will remain with me forever.

Renee for all her vim and infectious view of the world.

All of those at the MCPS.

Yvonne for all of the support you gave me.

Red for all your endless longdistance support and love.

All of my friends who rallied around and checked in to check me out.

All my Cyberspace Pals.



And to my beautiful children, thank you for baring with me until I got all the water out of the sinking boat.

The Foreign Correspondent Years By Holly Searle

Many years ago when Child One reached a certain age, I came to realise that as our offspring enter the Autumn phase of their childhood their hormones start to kick in yelling "Winter in coming!" At which point, it's best to be prepared for all that follows in spite of ourselves.

All that has bound us to them and them to us in the intervening years, monetarily becomes redundant as we find ourselves in the company of an individual that resembles our child but whose temperament we no longer recognise.

When this first happened, I was horrified. Where had my daughter disappeared too? Had she been kidnapped by those alien body snatchers and replaced by a doppelgänger that had been grown in a pod? She looked like my daughter, but she certainly didn't act like her.

It may be harder for the child of a single parent and the single parent of a child to deal with this transition, as the bond between them is often stronger than that of those formulated within the structure of the traditional family unit. I can only speak for myself, but ours was. We were two companions, a tag team adrift in the world, keeping it all together and exploring life on our joint adventures.

So when she did disappear I didn't know what to do or who to turn to. I thereafter came to refer to this period in our lives as the foreign correspondent years, as while she was still there in body at least, her mind was elsewhere and communication was limited. She would report back from time to time, but more often than not, it was strained and at best, we were held at the mercy of a dodgy satellite connection.

At times this was incredibly difficult to deal with for both of us. She was spreading her wings and bridging the gap between childhood and adulthood and I couldn't help her. I became a hindrance to her, the target for all of her contempt. It was heartbreaking.

When this situation first arose I panicked, but then I found it was probably best to just sit back and ride along with it in the hope that she would return relatively unscathed from her trip. Just like Steve Martin's character Gil Buckman in Parenthood, I began to see that being a parent was not dissimilar to boarding a roller coaster ride. There are ups and downs, twists and turns and sometimes you feel excited, while at others you just feel sick. But like all rides, as sure as it begins, so must it end.

I have a huge amount of respect and love for my daughter. She is an intelligent beautiful woman and the first love of my life.

After it was over, she did eventually return to me and although our relationship had altered, we became stronger for it.

In light of this experience, I have reminded myself recently that I am about to embark upon it once again with Child Two. He is after all on the verge of of this journey and I feel that the remembrance of his earlier event, will at least prepare me (and him) for it.

The early signs have already started to appear, but unlike before, I am ready, but will our forthcoming experience, mirror that of the previous one?

There are a lot of urban parental myths about babies and children. It starts from before they are even born. If you are carrying a child a certain way, you are told by the matriarchal members of your tribe that this predicts the gender of the child. I don't believe any of that. Unless you ask during the course of one of your scans, you do not know until the midwife tells you after you have delivered the baby. At which point, even though you are so tired from pushing a huge baby out through a small hole, if she doesn't, I am sure you will ask.

When I had Child One, she was the perfect baby. Even though my labour was long, she was so chilled out and relaxed, that she actually fell asleep whilst being born. She was and is so good natured, that I thought that all babies were like her. She also has a fantastic sense of humour which I put down to all of those episodes of Batman staring Adam West I watched on Night Network while I was pregnant with her.

Child Two however was a very different story altogether. He was a wriggler even before he was born. And when he was born, he was born very quickly and made such a fuss that even the midwife took offence.

Child One overhearing my labour screams later confided in me that she was “Going to adopt."

One thing I can say for absolute certainty is that their personalities are the same today as they were on the days they were born (and possibly before).

After such a long labour, Child One was taken away from me for the night so that I could get some rest. Within half an hour, the nurse returned with her saying that she just wouldn't settle, so she snuggled up with me and we both fell asleep together.

Even though she is the eldest and very independent, she will revert to this initial mode of behaviour when she needs me and that is something, that I believe was established from that moment on.

Child Two on the other hand wouldn't settle after he was born. He set a patten thereafter as being a baby that never slept. For a while he was upside down and slept during the day, but never at night. I didn't even know that I was capable of functioning on so little sleep. I don’t think I slept properly for the first two years of his life. When he righted himself, he never took a nap and when he did, he was always a fretful sleeper and still is today. He choose not to speak until quite late. He would just point at things and as we had created a language based upon his actions, I always knew exactly what he wanted or needed. Many hearing tests later, I was told that there was nothing wrong with him, he just didn't want to speak. When he did eventually start talking, it was a pleasure to hear his voice at last, especially one that was full of so much inquisition at every opportunity.

While she is the very essence of serenity, he has always been busy and not unlike the robot from Short Circuit, Johnny 5, has always required continual input. So Child Two has been filled to the brim with input and just like Johnny 5 is very smart due to the natural curiosity of his nature. Which in my mind, is a good thing and explains why he was always exploring, rather than sleeping.

He is the second love of my life and I am blessed to have two such remarkable children.

And the most remarkable thing about my children, are how these aspects of their personalities compliment mine. While I can spend a pleasurable comfortable silence in the company of my daughter, I am always able to learn something new in the company of my son.

In the Jekyll and Hyde karmatic fabric of the universe, I do therefore wonder if he will in fact coast through this forthcoming event without any disruption at all having had so many earlier on in his childhood. It is a possibility (fingers crossed).

Knowing your children is in all probability what will assist you most when they are off in the wilderness of their own foreign correspondent years.

As I have been there once before, I am blessed at least with the knowledge that something may or may not alter soon. But just to be on the safe side, I am already in the queue waiting to board the ride once more. At least from this angle I can see the roller coaster from where I am standing and it doesn't look as scary as it did before, this time it looks manageable.

Stardust By Holly Searle

For my friend Nik Ratcliffe, one of the best girlfriends I have.

Kitty Ryan's favourite Singer had been Nat King Cole. She was a girl and then a woman who embodied romantic notions of love, so when she had first heard him crooning from the radio, she knew he was the one for her. It was love at first note.

His rendition of Stardust was therefore the song she had chosen to bid her farewell on her exit from this mortal coil. At last she would be reunited with Frank in the cemetery plot that they had purchased together and in which he had been resting for the past twenty odd years.

Maybe not the most appropriate tune for a funeral Walt pondered as he sat in the church listening to Nat's melodic silken tones, but then again, why not? Who had the final word in their own ending if not for the person who had been the major participant in it? Fair play to Kitty, it was after all her day.

It summed up Kitty and all she had stood for in her 87 years on this planet Walt thought. She had always been an eternal optimist always making time for others, listening to their woes and offering a shoulder to cry on and a sympathetic ear as well as a sweet cup of hot tea. No, no one would dare voice an uncharitable word or cynical eye roll about her musical choice. Quite the opposite in fact, for if they had truly known Kitty, they would be smiling with tears in their eyes.

Walt had met Kitty after he had retired from his life in London to the seaside and moved into the modest little house opposite hers in a quiet back street in Brighton.

All the tiny Victorian cottages were painted in complementary pastel shades that would have looked out of place in any other location other than by the seaside. Walt had liked that, he felt that after all that he had seen, that the tranquil coloured houses were just what he needed. Happy houses he had thought when he had first had laid his eyes upon them.

It was after Walt had just moved in and was finally settled and unpacked, that one sunny afternoon he had first met Kitty. He was tending to the window boxes at the front of the house, when he heard a voice.

“ My Frank always loved flowers. “ it said. Walt turned towards its direction and there was Kitty with her beaming smile.

Walt moved towards her and introduced himself “Walter Hawkins” he said extending his hand out to her. “Please call me Walt.” Kitty took it and said “Katharine Ryan, Kitty, very pleased to meet you Walt.”

She was much older than Walt, mid eighties he thought, but still beautiful and well kept. She had a way about her, a friendly manner that was long gone in so many others these days. It shone out of her like sunshine he thought.

“ I saw that you had moved in, I thought that I would wait until you were more settled before I said hello.” She said “I live just opposite, in the green one.” She indicated with her hand pointing backwards over her right shoulder. “If you need to know anything about the area, who, what or where, just ask.” She continued. “Being a stranger in a new place can often be isolating and we don't want that do we?” She smiled.

“No, indeed we do not.” Said Walt smiling back.

And that was how their friendship had begun, as so many do, with a simple exchange and a smile.

After that day, Walt became more aware of Kitty and her ways. She wasn't a nosy old dear, just a genuine people person. He felt quite protective towards her as their friendship developed and even though she was very independent he would often ask if she needed anything when he was popping out to the shops, or if she needed any help.

“No Walt, I am fine thank you dear.” She would always say.

On bright clear days she would open her front window to “Let the day in and the night out and to cleanse her thoughts.” On those days, Walt would often hear the gentle sounds of Nat King Cole drifting across the road from her house to his. This was always a great comfort to him and would make him smile.

And Kitty wasn't lonely either, as there was always a steady stream of visitors of both family and friends to her home.

One crisp day when Walt was on his way home from from town, Kitty called out through her front window as he was passing and asked him if he'd like to join her for a cup of tea. Why not he thought. Thereafter this became a regular thing between the two of them. Walt soon discovered why Kitty had so many friends. She was a joy and a pleasure, a treasure trove of a human being who was easy to talk to and who never tired of listening. She also had many colourful tales of her own to tell about her life both before and after Frank, that Walt adored hearing. She was a very rare thing, a true human being who made no demands on others and who was very wise. She was a gift.

Walt hadn't really wanted to reveal too much about his life before his move, but in a way it was good to share his history with a friend. Especially one that was as non judgemental as Kitty.

During one afternoon in her garden Kitty asked “Walt, forgive me, but I have to ask. You intrigue me.” Walt frowned, it was the first time he had heard anyone in his fifty years ever describe him in that way. He had always just been Walt, that reliable bloke, dedicated to his job, a good work colleague that could be trusted to do what was expected of him, but never intriguing.

“Why?” he said.

“ Well, my Frank used to say A man alone is a mystery to me and he was right. I see a man and he is on his own and that is a mystery to me because I cannot for the life of me understand why Walt?”

Walt returned her gaze as Kitty took his hand in hers “ We are friends and forgive me, but I just don't understand why you are alone. When you first arrived here, I thought to myself Oh I wonder when his wife and children will arrive? but they never did”.

“ Oh, I see, that.” Walt replied a little uncomfortable. “ Well, there is no mystery Kitty, I just never found the right woman, some of us weren't as lucky as you and Frank.”

Kitty squeezed his hand “ Weren't? Why are you speaking in the past tense? You're still a young man, handsome, caring and you like flowers.” She laughed “ Why if I was twenty-five years younger!” And they both laughed. But Walt felt the need to explain.

“I was always so busy at work, I never really had the opportunity to meet the right person.” He offered. “ I joined the police as a young lad and spent my entire career focusing on my work. I kept thinking I would meet someone, then one day I realised how much time had passed me by without even knowing it and I was shocked, so when the option to retire came up, I decided I had done enough and just wanted some time to reflect.”

Kitty raised her eyebrows and nodded her head and gave him her please continue look.

“ Well, I saw so much during my career, things I cannot even begin to talk about Kitty, so I found it hard to let anyone in. So many ugly things and situation, who else would have understood all of that? Being soft just wasn't an option. It never seemed fair to burden another person with the life I chose. In the end, I felt that I had given my all and I was so tired of it all, but now I see that it was at a cost, as I wish had found someone. Maybe I underestimated the empathy that another person could have been capable of? Maybe now is a good time to think about my Options?”

Kitty nodded and held his gaze, but Walt removed his hand from hers to give himself some space, as he suddenly felt very self conscious. He covered his action by drinking some of his tea. He felt exposed discussing personal things. He was so tired of the discomfort he felt. But is was true. Now he had retired and moved away from his previous life, his loneliness appeared to be amplified. If he hadn't made friends with Kitty, he might have gone on thinking it was okay. But now more than at any other time in his life, he didn't so much feel lonely, but just craved the companionship of another human being. God bless her caring enough to notice. Now that had he vocalised it, it sadden him, but it was also a relief.

How he wanted to break out, to be free to find a compass to guide his way forward from this point. Where was he? Adrift in a vast ocean of loneliness that's where. The only tangible thing he had was Kitty.

He was suddenly overwhelmed by this revelation and he began to cry as he mourned for all the time he had lived without that connection to another human being.

“Let it all out Walt.” Kitty soothed, “ Better out than in.” She offered up with all the knowing of someone who had also dealt their loss in the same way.

She moved closer and stroked his back and there they sat in the peace of her garden for as long as it took to dismantle the past.


Walt looked around the church. It was full to the brim. So many people, this was the measure of someone’s life he thought, the people who came for whatever reason, to celebrate the fact that you had once been here. His eyes rested on Kitty's family. Her children Nathan and Annie, their respective spouses and their children. All here because Kitty had once been. Walt felt a sudden tinge of jealousy and then ashamed to be thinking of himself on such a day.


After the funeral, Nathan and Annie had arranged a gathering at the church hall. Walt had never really spoken to them although he had often seen them when they had visited Kitty. He entered the hall and was pleased to see them welcoming the mourners at the door. He approached and introduced himself to them both.

Both Annie and Nathan gave him the same warm welcome that their mother always had.

“ I am so sorry.” Walt said extending his had towards Nathan “ She was a true inspiration, a lovely woman. I will miss her.” Nathan shook Walt's hand and placed the other on his shoulder “ Thank you mate.” Nathan replied. “ She mentioned you often and enjoyed your company and we were glad that you were there, just opposite her if she needed anything, although knowing Mum, she probably never did, but all the same.”

“The street won't be the same without her.” Said Walt. “No.” Said Nathan.


When he arrived home Walt looked out of his window towards Kitty's house. There was no music now and he wondered if there would ever be again. He blew a kiss in the direction of her house “I will miss you Kitty.”


A few weeks later, early one morning, Walt became aware of the all noise and activity across the street at Kitty's house. He looked out of the window and saw Nathan with Annie overseeing the grim task of removing items from Kitty's house. He felt for them, the thought of having to sort through someone else’s items, couldn't be a pleasant. He left them to it with a tear in his eye and a pain in his heart.

Later there was a knock at his door and Walt was pleased to see that it was Nathan.

“Hello mate, how are you?”

“ Oh, could be better. We are sorting through Mum's stuff and I found these and I wanted to give them to you in person while I was here.” Nathan handed Walt a letter addressed to him and a small flat wrapped item. Walt took both and looked at the letter. “Thank you.” He said “I will read this later.”

“Also, are you busy, can I ask you a favour?”

“Of course.” Said Walt “Please come in.”

After Walt had made Nathan a cup of tea and they had settled in the living room, Walt said “So, what can I do for you?”

“Well.” Said Nathan “ Mum said that you had been in The Police, is that right?” “Yes, thirty years service.” Replied Walt “ What do you need? ”

“Annie and I have decided to sell Mum's house, she wanted us to, but it needs a bit of work doing on it and as we aren't close by and seeing as you are and well because you knew Mum and because of what you did, we just wanted to know if you could keep an eye on the house. Please say no if you can't, we will understand.”

“I would be delighted” Walt replied “ It is the least I can do as she never allowed me to do anything for her in the, well in the past, look it will be a pleasure Nathan.”

“Thanks Walt, but only if you are sure? We can leave you a set of keys and exchange numbers? That way, I can let you know when someone is coming to quote on the work, is that okay?”

“Absolutely Nathan, my pleasure.”


Later after Nathan had gone, Walt hung Kitty's keys on a hook in the kitchen. He then picked up the letter and the package that he had also given him and went in to the garden. He sat down and placed the small flat shaped item on the garden table and then turned his attention to the letter.


Dear Walt,

I am so glad that we had the opportunity to become friends.

Our time together meant the world to me.

I have left you one of my most treasured items.

Listen in good health, especially the third song.

And please remember Walt, never say never.

All my love,

Kitty x


Walt placed the letter on the table and picked up the item. He unwrapped it and saw that it was a CD, a Nat King Cole CD. He turned it over and looked at the track listings. Track number three was When I fall in Love. He immediately walked back into the house and slipped it into the CD player and selected the track and pressed play. He then walked to the window and opened it as wide as he could and smiled.


When Nathan called Walt later that week to say that a man called Bill Masters, a local builder, would be calling in on him to collect the keys later that day, he asked him if he wouldn't mind showing him around. Walt, said it was fine and he would.

At just after seven, a van pulled up outside Walt's house and a young man in his late twenties got out. He looked at Kitty's house across the road and then at a piece of paper he held in his hand, before turning on his heels and heading for Walt's front door.

Walt grabbed the keys to Kitty's house on the way to answer the knock at the door. Bill Masters held out his hand “Hi, Walt? I am Bill from Master Builders, I understand that you have the keys to number 46?”

Walt shook Bill's hand. “Yes, I am and I do. Nice to meet you Bill. Shall we go?”


As they crossed over the road to Kitty's house Bill Said “Nice road, nice house, I understand that you were a friend of the lady that lived here?”

“That's right. “ said Walt “She was a lovely lady, I miss her very much. It is a great house, I am sure is won't be on the market long before someone puts an offer in, but I doubt they will be able to replace Kitty.”

Walt opened the door and Bill followed him in and closed the door behind him. It felt odd and intrusive to be entering Kitty's house without her being there to invite them in. It was the first time he had been there without her ever being there. He suddenly realised that it had been emptied and now all that was left was the house itself and that just felt hollow.

Bill's voice suddenly filled the void. “Shall I have a quick look round? Nathan said he thought it needed a bit of work, but to be honest, and you won't hear this from that many builders, but it looks to be in pretty good nick to me. Great house, nice original features and I bet there is a solid wood floor under the carpet crying out to be seen.”

“Yes do” Said Walt and Bill disappeared up the stairs to see the rest of the house. Walt remained downstairs and slowly walked around, he could hear Bill above him knocking on walls and opening and closing doors and windows.

Walt went into the garden and waited for Bill. After a short while he heard him coming back down the stairs. Moments later, Bill was standing next to him. “ Well, are you going to call Nathan and give him a quote for the work?” Walt asked “I think I am going to do more than that, I think I am actually going to put in an offer for the place.”
“Really?” Walt responded “For yourself or to sell on? Sorry, it isn't really any of my business.”

“No, no, not for me, for my Mum actually, Julia, she asked me to keep a look out for any properties for her to buy. Long story, which I won't go into, but she would love this house. I shall take a few photos if that is okay to show her and then, if she likes it, great, if not I will call Nathan and give him a quote for the work.”

“ Sounds like a plan, yes work away I am sure Nathan won't mind and I am sure knowing Kitty, she wouldn't have either.”

“Great.” Said Bill and “I will try not to keep you too much longer I am sure your family must be wondering if you have been abducted by now?”

“Sadly not, as I don't have one.” Said Walt “Oh, sorry mate, I didn't mean to. I mean I just assumed.” “Like you said Bill, long story. Photos?” Walt reminded him. “Yep, on it, I won't be long.” And with that Bill was off again, visiting each room to take photos to show his Mum.

Walt walked Bill back to his car, said goodbye and returned to his house.


The following morning Nathan called him. “Hi Walt, I just wanted to say thank you for showing Bill Masters around Mum's house last night.”

“My pleasure Nathan, he seemed very keen on the house.”

“Yes he was very keen, so much so, that he has put an offer in, which Annie and I are considering. Listen do you mind keeping hold of the keys for a bit longer?”

“No, not at all, just let me know if you need me to do anything else.”

“Will do. Thanks again mate, bye.”

“Bye Nathan.”

Walt replaced the handset and thought about what Kitty would think and decided that she would have liked Bill Masters.


A few days later, Walt was returning home when he saw Bill's van parked outside Kitty's house with Bill sitting in it. As he drew closer, both doors of the van opened and Bill got out of one side, while a woman got out of the other.

Bill turned and waved at Walt and Walt waved back. The lady also turned and smiled at Walt.

“Walt, this is my Mum Julia. Mum this is Walt.”

“Please to meet you Walt.” Said Julia.

“Please to meet you too.” Said Walt.

“Are you here to look at the house?” Walt asked “ Mum came down from London today, out of the blue after I had told her about it, I know it wasn't planned, but do you think it would be okay?” Asked Bill. “Let me just call Nathan” Said Walt “Great” Said Bill.

Nathan said it was fine, he also told Walt that they had decided to accept Bill's offer and said that he would call Bill in a while to tell him. In the meantime, he asked Walt to let them into the house before he called them with the news.

Walt did as he was asked and left Bill and Julia alone in the house while he returned to his own to make some lunch.

While he prepared it, he decided a bit of Nat King Cole was needed, so he went into the living room, placed the CD kitty had left him into the CD player and opened his front window and pressed play.

Just before track three started to play, there was a knock at the front door. When Walt answered it he was surprised to see Julia there. “Bill said that you were the key holder, well for now at least, so I am just returning them.” She smiled and handed them back to Walt. “Thanks.” He said “ What do you think of the house?” “It's just perfect.” Beamed Julia “And they have accepted the offer, so hopefully it won't be too long before we are neighbours.” “That's great.” Said Walt smiling back at her surprised by his own openness towards someone he had just met.

Julia smiled “ It isn't isn't it?”

“Yes” Said Walt.

“That's Nat King Cole isn't it?”

“Yes it is”

“I just adore him and this is one of my favourite songs, that's a good omen as well isn't it?” Said Julia.

“Yes” Said Walt “I believe it is.”