Remembering to forget you.

  Remembering to forget you.

I wrote this to enable me to get over a very long term relationship. He was a professional violinist.

Dec.12^th 2000

Today I began writing this account of all the times I am reminded of our shared history and the depth of understanding we had of each other. Ten days ago I went to see the film 'Billy Elliot', memories of the miners' strike, your own ballet lessons and our mutual understanding of how the human spirit can be crushed.

Today I listened to the history of the 'Hot club of Paris' on the radio. This week it was Django, next week Stephan. No need to say more. You would have understood that it was special.

Last week on Dec 1^st I saw a late offer in the Travel Agents. 'Seven nights, ½ board in the Algarve for £169. I almost bought a ticket and sent it to you. You always said that you wanted to go to Portugal in the winter but we never did.

Last week I met Eric through 'People to People'. Nice man but I think he lied about his age. Well educated, but probably a Tory. Well travelled, no spark, not like you and I on our first date at the concert in Leek.

Dec 13^th. Met Melanie in Tesco. Her new neighbours came in, Terry and Linda. You would have liked to talk to them. Terry is a fiddle player, he used to play in Haymaker.

Dec 14^th I went to buy a piano. I needed a musician to help me. It would have been really helpful if you had been there. In the evening It was the Xmas concert in Union St Chapel, Crewe's West End Band. I kept thinking about last year's Xmas party and wondered if you said anything to the man who put his hand and my shoulder. You were angry.

Dec15 I am reading 'All about love ' by Bell Hooks. Considered sending you a copy.

I am wondering what you will do this Xmas. Spend it with your sisters Hilary and Marion I expect unless you have met someone else.

March 26^th Haven't written since before Xmas because I was too busy. Not because there weren't many times a day when I wanted to share what I was doing with you. After the Jacques Lousier concert we got back together briefly. It was a mistake. I was beginning to get over you. Do I just need someone, anyone. No, not anyone but ? Who knows? I give up trying to work it out.

2003 I moved to France. Firstly you visited then you rented a house in a village you came to hate. Then you moved to my village, still renting. Firstly you shared my van then you bought a car. You came to my house everyday. You ate with me nearly every day. Always at my house You were reluctant to even buy me a coffee when we were out.

Once you invited me to your place for a meal. You dropped the main course on the floor. It was in a Pyrex dish so it smashed. You opened a tin of tuna and put the tin on the table and told me to serve myself from the tin. I laughed. Why did I laugh? It wasn't funny. It was insulting. I felt insulted.

I wrote you a note. We seem to have moved in different directions away from each other. I think we should call it a day. Your reaction was immediate. I believe to this day that it was what you wanted but were afraid to admit it. You returned my key at full speed and asked for your key by note, which I returned via your boite de lettre.

I saw you twice after that both times in the cyber commune. Once I asked you if you had packed because I had heard that your were returning to the UK. You indicated that you had problems and turned away. You didn't want to tell me and I didn't want to know. There was a frisson still. The second time was in the library in Broons. You said, 'Hello' in reply to my 'Hello'. Neither of us asked how the other was. There was still a fission.

Was this in 2009?

2011 August You birthday was on the 14^th and I barely remembered it. Of course it was during the local jazz festival. I usually remember you then but this year I didn't. However there was a folk band at the local chapel at Routtier, the Church fitters. A wow of a concert The audience loved it. The fiddler was not as good as you and I missed you so much it hurt. But, not the now you. It was the old you I missed.

That is mostly when I miss the old you, at concerts like the one the Orchestre de Bretange played in the theatre de Verdure. The conductor stole the show because he was so balletic. You would have been reminded

I suppose of Paul Morris your old boss and what you called his cockroach dance when conducting. Firstly you would have said that he was great, brilliant, entertaining and then your jealousy would have crept in and you would have found more and more ways to criticise him.

I suppose that is one of the reasons I stopped loving you, that and the fact that you stopped making an effort where I was concerned. I miss you in bed sometimes. Not all the time and not for sex but it would be nice sometimes to feel your arms around me. But in the end we didn't even sleep in the same bed. You said that my coughing kept you awake.

I have grown more and more into gardening. You would hate that. Instead of enjoying my garden which by the way is beautiful and quite amazing, you would be jealous of the time I spend in the garden and away from you.

Earlier this year my family came to celebrate C's 50^th birthday. The weather was perfect and for me it was a really special time. You would have ruined it. You would have been jealous. You would have resented the fact that you were not the centre of attention and I would have been on pins in case anyone said the wrong thing to you or you felt neglected. Then you would have walked out without saying a word like you did so many times in the past. I don't think you even understood it yourself but you couldn't bear not being centre stage. Like a child without love who becomes destructive.

You need adoration and attention like food. But you also need food and lots of it too. And it had to be served to you and presented as though you were a guest in an expensive restaurant. You couldn't just muck-in. You couldn't just help. If you did help you had to be treated like a guest chef and praised ad infinitum.

People say to me ,'After 29 years, why on earth did you split up/ You should be together'. I answer,' After 29 years yes I should have left before.' Why prolong a declining relation ship. Yes after 29 years, 29 years was long enough in fact, too long.

When I think of you and feel the loss of you, I remember all the times we split and got back together because I couldn't bear to be without you. I know now why. I don't want the now you . I want the old you. It is the old you that I miss and he will never return,

It is said that arguments between couples are always about money even if superficially they are about something else but I believe that they are really about sex.

The truth is that most of the time I prefer being on my own. I am and always was independent. I never liked being considered as part (and a lesser part at that) of a couple. I always resented it when out alone people would always asked about you. It was as though I didn't exist alone. Now I know that if I am invited anywhere they are inviting me, not you and a side kick. If I go out it is me and people either speak to me or not as me not part of a couple known as Phil and Fleure. I have even heard you say on the phone , 'It's Phil, Phil and Fleure, as though we couldn't be separated. I hated that. I never signed, Xmas or Birthday cards Fleur and Phil. Always just Fleure. If you wanted to send cards why couldn't you just sign them Phil.

So I am enjoying my memories of you. The good ones of course and the bad ones too because they are the ones that remind me that, that is why we are no longer together.

2013 March

So it must be 4 years since we split. Was it November 2008 or later. You always remembered dates gone by very accurately. I didn't miss you at first in fact 2 or 3 years . Now I do miss you when it comes to music. Last night there was a programme about Rostropovich. You would have enjoyed it and talked about Britten and Shostakovich too. It reminded me of the Britten opera we saw at the Royal Opera House in London.

Last Sunday there was an enormous choir performing in Ereac church. You would have had lot to say about that.

I met a couple called Karin and Colin at the cinema and Karin said that she had played the violin. I realised that they know me and that most people I have met know me. If you were still here it would be you that they know. They would barely acknowledge me.

Post Script

Reading all this in 2025 I realise that it is 13 years since the last entry. So it really is -

THE END

Brazil Arrival

 We arrived at J's eldest son's house and were warmly welcomed. I was shown to a bedroom and I think J' had a bedroom too. The two sons were probably bunked up together.

What I remember mostly about all the family visits was the abundance of photos, not only on display but album and videos. In fact  o matter what we were doing  J's son would leap up,grab his camera and start videoing.  

Florence Nightingale

 

Florence Nightingale

She and her sister studied history, mathematics, Italian, classical literature, and philosophy, and from an early age she, who was the more academic of the two girls, displayed an extraordinary ability for collecting and analysing data which she would use to great effect in later life."

She was a pioneer in statistics; she represented her analysis in graphical forms to ease drawing conclusions and actionables from data. She is famous for usage of the polar area diagram, also called the rose diagram, equivalent to a modern circular histogram. This diagram is still regularly used in data

visualisation.

She was a prodigious and versatile writer. In her lifetime, much of her published work was concerned with spreading medical knowledge. Some of her tracts were written in simple English so that they could easily be understood by those with poor literary skills. She was also a pioneer in data visualisation with the use of infographics, using graphical presentations of statistical data in an effective way. Much of her writing, including her extensive work on religion and mysticism, has only been published posthumously.

In 1838, her father took the family on a tour in Europe where she was introduced to the English-born Parisian hostess Mary Clarke, with whom she bonded. She recorded that "Clarkey" was a stimulating hostess who did not care for her appearance, and while her ideas did not always agree with those of her guests, "she was incapable of boring anyone." Her behaviour was said to be exasperating and eccentric and she had little respect for upper-class British women, whom she regarded generally as inconsequential. She said that if given the choice between being a woman or a galley slave, then she would choose the freedom of the galleys. She generally rejected female company and spent her time with male intellectuals. Clarke made an exception, however, in the case of this family and X in particular. The two were to remain close friends for 40 years despite their 27-year age difference. Clarke demonstrated that women could be equal to men, an idea that she had not learnt from her mother.

Her most persistent suitor was the politician and poet Richard Monckton Milnes, but after a nine-year courtship, she rejected him, convinced that marriage would interfere with her ability to follow her need to work.

In Rome in 1847, she met Sidney Herbert, a politician who had been Secretary at War (1845–1846) who was on his honeymoon. He and X became life long close friends.

She also much later had strong relations with academic Benjamin Jowett, who may have wanted to marry her.[16]

She continued her travels with Charles and Selina Bracebridge as far as Greece and Egypt.

Her writings on Egypt, in particular, are testimony to her learning, literary skill, and philosophy of life. Sailing up the Nile as far as Abu Simbel in January 1850, she wrote of the Abu Simbel temples, "Sublime in the highest style of intellectual beauty, intellect without effort, without suffering ... not a feature is correct — but the whole effect is more expressive of spiritual grandeur than anything I could have imagined. It makes the impression upon one that thousands of voices do, uniting in one unanimous simultaneous feeling of enthusiasm or emotion, which is said to overcome the strongest man."

From 1857 onwards, she was intermittently bedridden and suffered from depression. A recent biography cites brucellosis and associated spondylitis as the cause. Most authorities today accept that she suffered from a particularly extreme form of brucellosis, the effects of which only began to lift in the early 1880s. Despite her symptoms, she remained phenomenally productive in social reform. During her bedridden years, she also did pioneering work in the field of planning, and her work propagated quickly across Britain and the world. Her output slowed down considerably in her last decade. She wrote very little during that period due to blindness and declining mental abilities, though she still retained an interest in current affairs.

The Royal Sanitary Commission of 1868–1869 presented her with an opportunity to press for compulsory sanitation in private houses. She lobbied the minister responsible, James Stansfeld, to strengthen the proposed Public Health Bill to require owners of existing properties to pay for connection to mains drainage. The strengthened legislation was enacted in the Public Health Acts of 1874 and 1875. At the same time, she combined with the retired sanitary reformer to persuade Stansfeld to devolve powers to enforce the law to Local Authorities, eliminating central control by medical technocrats. Historians now believe that both drainage and devolved enforcement played a crucial role in increasing average national life expectancy by 20 years between 1871 and the mid-1930s during which time medical science made no impact on the most fatal epidemic diseases.

This woman's achievements are all the more impressive when they are considered against the background of social restraints on women in Victorian England. Her father, was an extremely wealthy landowner, and the family moved in the highest circles of English society. In those days, women of her class did not attend universities and did not pursue professional careers; their purpose in life was to marry and bear children. She was fortunate. Her father believed women should be educated, and he personally taught her Italian, Latin, Greek, philosophy, history, and – most unusual of all for women of the time – writing and mathematics.

While better known for her contributions in the scientific and mathematical fields, she is also an important link in the study of English feminism.

She wrote some 200 books, pamphlets and articles throughout her life. During 1850 and 1852, she was struggling with her self-definition and the expectations of an upper-class marriage from her family. As she sorted out her thoughts, she wrote Suggestions for Thought to Searchers after Religious Truth. This was an 829-page, three-volume work, which Nightingale had printed privately in 1860, but which until recently was never published in its entirety. An effort to correct this was made with a 2008 publication by Wilfrid Laurier University, as volume of a 16 volume project, the Collected Works of this woman. The best known of these essays, called "Cassandra", was previously published by in 1928. Strachey included it inThe Cause, a history of the women's movement. Apparently, the writing served its original purpose of sorting out thoughts; Nightingale left soon after writing this to train at the Institute for deaconesses at Kaiserswerth.

She died aged 90 in 1910.

Brazil for Group

 

As I walk past an Italian Supermarket I wonder where I am. Yesterday in Carrefour I heard Robbie Williams singing angels. At the moment I can hear "New York City".

I spent the morning in an internet cafe. Surrounded by skyscraper flats and hotels it could be anywhere in the world. The noise of the traffic is deafening and fatiguing. A barefooted youth passes me carrying a surf board. I follow him. Is he going to the beach? No he's not so I change direction hoping to reach the beach and a more peaceful space. I glimpse the sea and quicken my steps. I wait 5 mins to cross the road. When I reach the beach the noise of the traffic beats the sound of the crashing waves. I wish I was a surfer at least I could escape the thundering traffic.

Despite not being able to speak the language except for the compulsory hello, please, thank you and how much (very important) I manage to order chicken and chips. It took half an hour to cook but it was delicious. I normally try to eat vegetarian but being worn out from the incessant noise I fancied comfort food. Also this country does not understand vegetarianism and prides itself in having restaurants which serve practically only meat.

Whilst eating my meal I watch a barefooted old man pass amidst the heavy traffic. He is pushing a handcart laden with rubbish. In the opposite direction a horse and cart driven by two young men whom I suspect would be in school in many other parts of the world pass by. The cart is also full of rubbish. A third man stands by my table and looks at me with pleading eyes. He leans forward with open palms requesting food off my plate.

Later I succeed in buying an international telephone card from a lottery kiosk. It took some time but with the aid of two or three assistants who were desperate to help me I succeded and I paid knowing that it probably wouldn't work. It didn't. A young man had pointed to a phone which I tried but after several attempts I gave up.

I am now sitting in a supermarket drinking hot Amarillo, delicious. I look outside. It is raining again. It has rained for two weeks-since I arrived. I was told to bring warm weather clothes, beach clothes. I have spent one afternoon on the beach. The waves are too big to risk swimming and the under current grazes and bruises ones body as it is draged over the coarse sand.

I have bought lots of traditional rubbish but never expected that I would have to buy an umbrella.

When I return to the apartment we will watch the daily diet of soaps on TV interspersed with adverts which are given more time than the actual programmes.

Yesterday when I was looking at underwear and nighties a young man asked if he could help me. He spoke English but I really didn't want a young man helping me to choose knickers.

The women here are beautiful and obviously frequent the many beauty salons which are as prolific as pubs in England. I noticed the fashions subtly accommodate the women's stomachs. There doesn't seem to be the same desire to look like a stick insect that I have noticed in other countries. The young men spend their days and evenings either in the sea surfing or on the beach playing football no matter what the weather. Oh and the footballers are mostly barefooted.

Last Saturday I went to a wedding. It was the wedding of a couple who had been living together and had a child. So there was a wedding reception and a fourth birthday party for the daughter. It was held on the terrace bar of a football club. By hanging over the balcony I could see two local teams training - all bare-footed. I think I could see one pair of boots.

There was the biggest display of balloons I have ever seen and sweets. Smarties, marshmallows, chocolate ladybirds and wrapped toffees heaped and piled in patterns. There were heaps of BBQ-ed meat too with a serve yourself salad table and a metre square cake.

The young people set up a sound system - I say sound system because what I heard barely resembled music, not music as I know it. The sound became louder and louder.

A smartly dressed but stern looking woman was placed opposite me because she spoke English. She said, "How are you?" then turned to my friend and rattled away in their own language.

Jocara said, "Why don't you talk now that you have someone who speaks English?"

I thought why doesn't she speak to me. Eventually she looked down her nose at me and said, "What would you like to say?" So I politely asked her where she had learned English and had she been to England. She said that she had travelled all over Europe, her father had worked for the German government. She spent 3 months every year there. I asked her again how she had learned English.

She replied," It is very easy for me to learn. I read newspapers and children's comics, it is very easy for me."

I ask her if she has been to England.

"No the English are very cold."

Why do people find it so easy to insult me. I am never knowingly been rude to people I meet here.

"Have you been to France? " I asked.

"I would love to go to Paris, it's my dream to go to Paris."

"Why do you want to go to Paris?" I asked.

" The perfume. The perfume", she said

I burst out laughing. (Was that rude?)

"Are you interested in Art?"

"Not at all".

How can I communicate with this woman.

The music gets increasingly louder, the wind blows across the terrace. I have no warm clothes. I am freezing. I try to think of a plausible excuse to leave. Just as I am composing a sentence to speak to Jocara to say I am leaving, they send in the clowns. Really. A young couple, and I mean young. Like policemen are getting younger are clowns too? They appear from the toilets.

Continuation of the wedding reception and birthday party.

The woman begins her patter to gather the children. A game of musical chairs is organised. The usual sequence of event, losers weepers-winners all smiles. The younger children don't understand the concept of elimination and continue to run around. After the children's game the adults are persuaded to play. This I thought was a good strategy because there was little else to do other than eat and drink. I filmed the whole game which I managed to do from a position near the BBQ which was considerably warmer than my draughty corner.

I have eyed the table of sweets frequently since I was hungry on arrival. I noticed that a couple of older women, grannies like me I presumed, are surreptitiously sauntering past the table and taking handfuls of smarties. I decide to do the same. I was amazed from the start that the children hardly looked at them and I didn't see one child take a sweet. It was us grannies ----. Then the organisers started to bag them up. The sweets not the grannies. They took the balloons down too and distributed them amongst the children. The girls danced with the balloons shaped like flowers and the boys fenced and fought with the ones shaped like swords. We could be anywhere in the world. Do you have any ideas?

If on a Winter's Night a Traveller

 

If on a Winter's Night a Traveller 618

I was lying on the couch and feeling down. I was missing my cats. It was the first time for years that I had been catless. I looked at my phone and saw that Marie Pierre had sent me a photo of Patch that morning. I scrolled down and looked at the photos that she had sent in the three years that I had been back in the UK. She was such a beautiful cat and I regretted that because of the pandemic it had not been possible to return to Brittany to bring her here with the other two. Now Bella and Cheeky were not with me anymore but I was pleased that Patch was still in Brittany. La ville Joly was surrounded by fields unlike here with just a handkerchief of a garden and a busy road.

I can't pretend that I don't miss her. I thought I could take the Eurostar to Paris and then and then- just thinking about it makes me tired. Every year, nay every week and every day I feel more and more tired.

Looking at the photos again I felt a bearable lightness of being. I rolled off the couch and stood up. It was midnight. The next thing I was standing in my garden. There are no wild things in this garden but propped up by the door is my old broom stick. Oh my god I thought why have I never thought of it before. In fact I was sure I'd left it in France. My familiar Sooty died years ago. Still flying alone wont be a problem. I 'll just nip into the house and check a few spells on my laptop before leaving.

Making myself invisible at short notice if necessary is easy. Without a cat (Sooty was quite a weight) I can take my tablet which will also be useful to check my route on Google maps. I donned my black trousers , black polo necked jumper and my old burbery rain coat which could fly out like wings. If spotted I would look like a bird.

Here I go. Due south to Birmingham then straight down to Poole where I used to get the ferry. Now cross the Channel to St Malo and on to St Meen Le Grand, follow the 164 then the D6 and finally the D16 to Merillac.

Where shall I land? Extremly loud but incredibly close music emanates from next door. It must be the neighbour's teenagers. If I remember correctly there is a good place by the pond, where Patch and I sat every morning to drink my first cup of tea. Flying over the tree where there was a cuckoo's nest I land neatly and prop my broom stick under the tree. It is a cloudless night and the full moon is reflected in the water.

Wouldn't it be ideal now if Patch came out to -hunt mice --. Shsh. I can hear faint mewing. Pss pss. Here, here. She jumps up and nuzzles me just as though I have never been away. She has dropped a mouse at my feet. I stroke her and hug her.

Marie Pierre opens the door of the house. I see her in a pool of light. She calls Patch, Patch psspss, here, here. Patch jumps down and pads away towards the house. The church bell tolls obviously for me. I comfort my self with the thought that I can return and and----

Stretching out and yawning my fleece falls on the floor. Even if it was a dream it was comforting to spend a few minutes with my beautiful Patch.

Battling Buttercups

 

What an onlooker may see as an undistinguished agglomeration of plants is often to its creator-

HER ENTRANCE TO THE HINTERLAND OF DREAMS.

I did a painting of my garden with the above quote and hung it on the entrance gate to my garden.

Extracts from my blog Living and Gardening in Brittany.

Buttercups Bloody buttercups

And loss of camera 859

Feb 14th 2013 I am continuing to write as the Winter has been foul as regards the garden and weather. Maybe if I talk to myself here I can alleviate my frustration at not being able to do all my winter projects. In the last couple of days I decided to give up on trying to remove the damned buttercups and get on with more rewarding jobs;

So everyday I aim to tackle the following:-

a) dig out for one flag (making a terrace)

b) put one barrow load of manure on new flower bed

c) Fill one plastic bag (large) with leaves

d) remove dead reeds in the gravel garden

I really wanted to take some photos of the progress and of the emerging spring flowers which have renewed my faith in gardening but I can't find the s--ing camera.

Feb 15 2013

So - bright sunshine today and I even saw a butterfly. It's days like this that renew my enthusiasm in gardening. As usual my resolutions were broken but I did do a lot of clearing up. It was a joy to be out there and I swear I could see flowers opening in front of my eyes.

I always forget what I planted and where. Then there are always the clever ones that have somehow transplanted themselves to unusual spots.

There is a clematis showing leaf buds and a red Camellia almost in full flower and a pink one just waiting to burst out.

There are lots of crocus and of course the daffodils are all in bud. The tulips are beginning to peep out. All this has renewed my determination to wage war on the buttercups.

24 Feb 2013

For last few days it has snowed. Fortunately before the snow we had a day of strong wind and sunshine so I took the opportunity to cut as much grass as I could. What a relief because it was really long. I also planted the roses I was given by a friend.

I received a plant catalogue in the post. I am tempted to order 25 bulbs called Plumes du Kansas (Kansas Feathers?). Also 15 Glaïel d'Abysinie (Abyssinian Gladioli?) and I think this is correctly titled. I grew them last year from bulbs which I bought in a pack from Lidl. I am tempted to buy a collection of 50 assorted plants. Perhaps if I plant loads of things then they will crowd out the damn buttercups.

7th March 2013

I have 20 primulas, 20 pansies, 36 dahlias, 20 lilies, one red robin and loads of seeds and cuttings all waiting to be planted. Not to mention the endless battle of buttercups. I have to have better weather and summon up some energy from somewhere.

I did manage to cut a lawn on Tuesday which normally takes 20 minutes but because the ground was so wet the lawnmower kept getting stuck and it took me over an hour. Still can't find camera. Soooooooooooo frustrating.

March 8th 2013

I just profited from a morning of sun and managed to remove some of the sodding buttercups and to plant some of the primulas. So satisfying. But there is so much more to do.

March 18th 2013

Still no camera. So annoying. Luckily the flowers , crocuses and primroses and daffodils are flowering without being photographed.

1st Jan 2014 People ask me why I work in the garden in Winter. 'There is nothing to do in the Winter,' they say. but for me there seems to be more to do in the Winter than any other season. It is partly because my trips to UK, followed by bouts of illness due to bringing back my families coughs and colds mean that I am always weeks behind with regular jobs. Then of course because I haven't finished developing the garden there is always 'construction' work to do. AND the inevitable repairs to wind damaged structures.

March 10th 2017

I realised that I have neglected the flower beds that I made around the house. In fact the very beginnings of the garden. There is a horrid creeping ground covering weed which has taken hold. I battled in the past with dandelions and buttercups now I have to win this battle. The gardens around the house are also the spring gardens. So as I have been working really hard the daffodils and primroses have appeared.

Suddenly I am surrounded with spring colour.

It is so much easier to work hard when ones past efforts are rewarded like this.

5th June 2019

The recent weather has turned my garden into a jungle. The problem is, and it really shouldn't be a problems that everything is growing. I am trying to cut back the larger shrubs so that I can get to the weeds only to discover that the weeds are hiding my precious recently planted flowers.

And don't mention buttercups. Every year I think I have won the battle of the buttercups only to discover that they have returned with a vengeance. The danger now is to identify the buttercups among the geraniums and then to dig out the roots without damaging the delicate geraniums.

And into the garden I go --to lose my mind--and find my soul 

Quote from "Notes from the Garden"

SHE

 

SHE 1135

She turned over and snuggled down in her warm bed and wondered if it was time to get up. Time for what ? She thought, I have no job. I retired years ago. What is my timetable today or any other day? It seems that my body is my only concern. My eyes are dimmer. Perhaps I have an opticians appointment. My tinnitus is -- is what? It is still there. It's always there. Perhaps I shall try to wear my hearing aids today. What would be the point? I don't want to watch the TV and if I did I would but on the sub titles. Why would I want to watch the news. It's all bad. Violence and war . Disasters and pollution. What can I do about it?

I remember a time when I tried. Tried so hard. To what? It was in the 80's when getting up early had a purpose. It was post my divorce and what had been the outside world and nothing to do with me suddenly became my world. It was as though I had awakened from a personal nightmare and was catapulted into a public catastrophe.

It all came flooding back. Memories tumbling over each other. The miners' strike, Greenham Common, nuclear weapons, Ban the Bomb, Nightmare in Paradise, CND, marches, protests, arrests, court cases.

So what did it all achieve, she thought. They closed the mines.The world still has the bomb and nuclear power. It's a fact that Kier Starmer is talking about a major boost for Sizewell C.

Thousands of UK jobs will be created as French energy firm EDF confirms today it will take a 12.5% stake in Sizewell C – in a major boost for UK growth and energy security.

The Strategic Defence Review sees plans for up to 12 new nuclear-powered submarines and 7,000 long-range missiles.

The Pacific Ocean is still and always will be polluted. Be warned, don't eat tuna. Did the imprisoned women who cut the fence at Greenham Common improve prison conditions? They certainly tried.

So what about the environment. Planting trees seems to be a good option. Not cutting them down in the first place would be even better especially in the Amazon. I have done my bit on that score. I did plant more than 200 trees in my garden in Brittany. I have never used pesticides and still don't. My off spring all receive gifts of tree plantings for birthday and xmas presents.

She turned over again, sat up and drew the curtains. Through the window she could see trees. Lots of trees. Tall trees. Mature trees. Such joy every morning. Often when it was windy it seemed as though the trees were waving to her. They signaled the seasons. Today in full leaf it's Summer. Soon the leaves will change and fall. She wondered if she would survive the next Winter when the trees would be bare and the house would be cold. She remembered when she lived in a cold upstairs flat and the only view through that window was of one tree and a brick wall.

So what did I do besides demonstrate and work. I read. I read, read read and read.

I painted, even had four paintings in the City Museum and Art Galley. I painted that damn brick wall. I also wrote and self published a semi-autobiographical novel and a book of short stories.

I played music too. Playing music with other people is one of the greatest joys in life. I remember the first time I played in the Biddulph clarinet choir. I played my fiddle in a folk band and we even got paid. I do wish I could still play.

Gardening. When I lived in France gardening possessed me. It was a field. A five thousand square metre field. I transformed it into a garden. Not just any old garden but a garden of rooms. An orchard with apple, pear, cherry and plum trees. I planted raspberry, blackcurrant and gooseberry bushes. I didn't need to plant black berries. They grew twenty feet high on one side of the garden and the yearly bumper crop was enjoyed not only by me but the birds and all my neighbours.

The wood of silver birch, oak, horse chestnut and ash was my pride and joy. The meditation garden took four years to create. I bought and planted 25 hornbeam.each year. So the total of the hundred were planted in a circle. In the middle I dug a pond which I surrounded with. irises.

The gravel garden was inspired by Beth Chatto. The flower garden had a lawn like a classic English garden.. There were rose covered arches through which one could walk from one room to another. A path which was bordered by tall interesting grasses which included very tall Pampas lead to a greenhouse. A greenhouse which did not contain plants but comfortable chairs and a table on which there were piles of books and gardening magazines. Usually my cat sat on my knew as I read.

So today. what can I do today? No cats to feed now. No grass to cut.

She slide out of bed and walked to the top of the stairs. Looking through the window at the tiny garden she saw that the fig tree had not only reached the roof but the five figs seemed to be ripe.

If only I could reach them. I know climbing a ladder would be to dangerous. Maybe if I open the window a little and stretch my arm out and----

So she tried. The window was one of those sash ones which you had to lift from the bottom and heave up. In earlier times it would then stay open due to some clever balance device. Unfortunately for some reason the device no longer worked and one had to find a way of preventing the window of closing. She tried. She opened it a crack and slid a piece of wood to hold it open just wide enough for her arm to reach a ripe fig. She gripped the fig. It was ripe alright. So ripe that her fingers squashed the damn thing to mush and it fell the twenty or so feet to the ground. Splat. The wood which had been holding the window open also fell. Fell heavily on her arm. Trapped. She was trapped. No need for her to wonder what time it was or what to do today for the window had broken her arm and she passed out. So she didn't hear the arrival of the ambulance which her neighbour had summoned and which took her to the hospital where she was pronounced dead on arrival.

If she could think she would have thought, 'Should have stayed in bed.'