I have been thinking recently, about how I can best encourage our daughter to create a life that she really wants to live. And realise that so far in my life most of the funny, exciting and unusual things have happened to me more when I said yes than when I said no. So, this month’s post is my random collection of memories from when I just said, ‘yes’.
Emerging twenty-one years ago as a newly- wed, onto the steps of St Peters, Brockley and being showered with rose petals, appropriated from the garden three doors down. Someone (who shall remain nameless) had figured out that as neither confetti nor rice were allowed, stolen rose petals were the next best option.
Officiating as Reverend Janice, in the wedding ceremony, between Prince Aloysius Charming and Cinderella in the 2017 production of Cinderella and the Beanstalk at The Old Market, Hove. Couldn’t resist when asked in the final moments of the show. Some of you will already know, I love a panto.
Sightseeing around Paris with no knickers after a night out and a last-minute change of sleeping arrangements. In my knee-length skirt, no one would have been any the wiser if I had not inadvertently stepped onto an air vent whilst crossing the road back to the flat where we were staying.
Eating frogs, legs soaked in garlic on said trip to Paris.
Leading Prayers from the front of our church at Easter alongside my friend ‘Alice’ and our two primary age children. I stopped worrying about being stared at when I realised that all heads would be bent down, in prayer.
Squatting in a field at midnight, along with forty others, somewhere in France on the second leg of our coach journey to Italy. Our driver had consistently and persistently refused to allow us access to the loo on the coach but did generously allow us the time we needed to get ourselves sorted, in the field opposite the gas station. We’d already arrived too late to use their loos.
Tumbling out of a hired, white mini- van to play Gaelic football, in a park somewhere in North London. I remember lots of running around, I was a lot fitter then, lots of people (15 aside for Gaelic) but not so much with the ball itself. Come to think of it, I have a vague memory of having a go at rugby too.
Getting up at stupid o’clock in the morning to catch sight of a ‘Lesser Spotted Grebe’, well some kind of bird. Travelling to somewhere like Kings Lynn, in my friend Mandy’s canary yellow Volvo along with Martin, our resident Twitcher.
Whooping it up at the Middlesex Sevens Rugby tournament and laughing at the three men bellowing out behind me, ‘It’s not the taking part. It’s the winning.’
Trekking for three hours on horseback in Runaway Bay, Jamaica, in 2014. It started with us stopping the traffic as we trotted across the main freeway and ended with a knee-deep jaunt in the sea. I’d been under the impression that a paddle meant a couple of inches, around the horses’ hooves.
Clubbing every night for a week, in Fuengirola, Costa Del Sol, on my one and only full- blown girlie holiday with my sister Jackie and my best friend Fiona. One of the funniest holidays I’ve been on, with its own cast of characters from the lovely Jonathon our tour rep, Lego Man who we took under our wing, Fiona’s fan club from Newcastle and applique lady, who always wanted a gossip with us ‘young uns’.
Returning to London by coach with food poisoning after a week of camping in Spain. I was meant to be earning my passage back by serving teas and coffees to the other passengers. But in the end the driver took pity on me and allowed me to sit up at the front.
Swanning around on campus in my first year at Hatfield in a graduation gown and from memory a straw boater. Ten pounds seemed such a bargain at the time for this iconic piece of clothing, spotted and paid for at Camden Market.
Being quizzed about my career prospects at the Houses of Parliament by my then boyfriend’s father, the MP for Bradford South as he was then. It was the first time meeting his parents, so being interviewed by his dad was a little nerve wracking to say the least.
Spitting out, after a night of clubbing, the chewed, saliva covered scrap of paper, on which was written the phone number of my friend’s future husband. She did have to scream at me a few times, before I deposited it into her palm. She didn’t want to have to try and find him again in Charlie Chans. But I did get a lovely thank you from her husband at their wedding reception for not swallowing his number completely. You’re welcome.
Singing a solo part with Brighton Goes Gospel at their summer concert in May 2013, my first term back after the death of my mum.
Watching Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi back to back in a London cinema with my mate, Jules.
Floating off on a cloud of Pethidine around sixteen hours or so into my labour with our daughter. The effect was instantaneous and as the needle entered my arm, all I clearly remember is turning to the nurse and asking, ‘how long does this last?’
Looking back, I can see that saying yes more times than I said no, meant that I did stuff and at the end of my days the one thing I know I won’t be doing, is boring myself to death 😉.
So, there you have it until next time.