... always be honest about my condition.

Have I mentioned that I'm not supposed to drink alcohol with the ADs I'm on? Really? Pretty sure I must have said something. In passing. At some point. About my not being able to drink. It's enough to make me depressed... I've definitely said that. On more than one occasion.

Here's the real question I want to ask you. If you were on medication for a heart problem or an infection, and someone asked if you wanted a drink, would you tell them the reason why you couldn't have one? For most of us the answer is probably yes. "No I won't thanks, I'm a diabetic." "No I can't, I'm on antibiotics". However what about if you were on drugs to help with a mental health condition? An illness that isn't always thought of in the same way.

When my GP finally persuaded me I needed to take some medication I asked lots of questions. Would it affect my creativity? Would I live in a permanent state of numbness with fewer lows but also not so many highs? How long would I need to take them? What about treatment for my toenail...? Did he think I was an idiot? Weak? Pathetic? I'm fairly sure the poor bloke was relieved when I eventually left his office. I bombarded him with everything I could think of in between tears, self ridicule and some seriously blunt questioning. Why I forgot to ask him if I could still drink I don't know. Probably because I don't drink a huge amount and it's not top of the list when you're staring down the barrel of a metaphoric gun.

It didn't occur to me until I got home and decided to read the notes inside the pill box before I committed to a mid to long term relationship.

"This drug is known for causing tiredness as a side effect. Combining Prozac with alcohol can quickly lead to increased sedation. Even one drink combined with the drug can cause tranquilisation. As a magnifier of the drug’s effect, alcohol mixed with the sedative can produce potentially dangerous situations." 

The potentially dangerous situations? Mixing alcohol with prozac (fluoxetine) can lead to suicidal thoughts. I kid you not! You couldn't make this stuff up. Ok clearly you could but seriously if Alanis Morissette ever decides to rewrite Ironic she should chat to some people who suffer from mental health problems. We'd have a enough material for a track that rivalled the length of Fools Gold and This Is What She's Like.

Which finally brings me to my point (note to self: check if side effects also include an inability to retain a single train of thought...). If I was on any other medication and someone offered me a drink I'd politely decline and probably say why. But since I started taking ADs I've become increasingly aware that honesty isn't always the best policy. It is for me. I feel liberated. But I recognise that it does leave some people tongue tied. What do you say when someone tells you they're on antidepressants? Maybe ask them if they want to talk about it. Are the tablets helping? Is it hard adjusting to life without a cold glass of white (yes is the answer)? Are you nuts? Perhaps save that one for those friendships where they expect that sort of response...

Initially I shied away from addressing the issue and said I was on a health kick; taking 3 months off the booze as part of a lifestyle change. Then I realised it was just too much to hide and so began a level of openness, alongside a new level of abstinence, both of which I fully accept make some people uncomfortable. I'm still fundamentally the same person I was before the meds albeit a bit less manic and hopefully on my way to being a lot happier. If we're really going to remove the stigma associated with mental health we can all play a part in understanding what it means. For my friends and family it now means they have a regular designated driver. Not all bad news is it?

... realise that I'm never walking alone.

Come on. I'm a scouser I'm allowed to use that reference!

When I wrote my 'share all' blog a few days ago I hesitated enormously before I clicked the post button.

What if the response was really negative? There's been one person who I can see doesn't know what to say to me. I totally understand. I must seem like a stranger to some of you. I'm not really. Just revealing a side of me that has stayed hidden for too long. About 30 years too long.

And what if I lost work as a result of my honesty? Mental health is still largely misunderstood. I don't claim to be an expert. I'm finding my feet here as much as the next person but I need to be realistic. I'm self-employed and I need to stay on top of my game. There's no sick leave. No compassionate leave. At least not officially. As I mentioned earlier this week I'm extremely fortunate to work with clients who treat me like one of the team but I can't take this for granted.

It was a huge risk. But I knew I couldn't carry on the way I was. Being able to talk to people could quite literally save my life. I'll come on to the S word in a later post; I'm not at the stage where I can share how I really feel about this yet. It's too raw. I'm too raw. And I don't think the people closest to me are ready either.

I have however been blown away by the response. Firstly the people who reached out with good wishes and to give me a virtual hug. Thank you. It may seem small but it really does mean a lot.

SANE runs a campaign called 'Send a text save a life' which encourages people to send an unsolicited 'are you ok' text to someone who needs it. One of my friends sent me a funny photo of one of his kids. No other message. No 'how are you?' or 'how's it going?'. Just a really cute picture with a caption that made me laugh. That sort of support has such a positive impact so thanks especially to you Mr X, you know who you are :)

Secondly I've received a surprising number of messages from friends, family, colleagues and strangers who are currently going through, or have experienced, depression in their lives. Again thank you. I know how hard it can be to share your experience. Each one of us is on our own personal journey. Everything we go through is relative to us and I can't compare my depressive apple with your depressive orange. However if I can help any of you please let me know. For now I'll live by the SANE approach and send you a message now and again to remind you that I care.

That's it really. I took a risk and the early signs are good. Thanks for reading.


Photo by LFCJosh

...ask for help.

Someone reminded me that I hadn't blogged for a while. It's been over a year.

I could have conceived and given birth to a baby in that time.
Or grown a pineapple.
Completed an MBA.

I didn't do any of these things. I didn't blog either. Other than a few posts, I haven't written much at all since finishing my photo a day blog on 31st December 2013.

I have worked though. A lot. And I've been unhappy with myself.

So unhappy that I was in danger of doing something stupid. This isn't a cry for attention. I'm self sufficient. My family would tell you too self sufficient. I never ask for help and that can be tiring for all of us. When I began to check that all my paperwork was in order and regularly thought everyone would be better off without me; that's when I finally realised I hadn't been happy for as long as I can remember and asked for help.

And that's why eight weeks ago I found myself telling a complete stranger that I couldn't cope anymore. It was a GP, not some random person in the street and actually I couldn't even tell him at first. Instead I showed him a damaged toenail even though he knew why I was there because I'd had to tell the receptionist when I made the appointment. In truly British fashion I apologised constantly for taking up his time on something so stupid but he listened patiently and I left with a prescription for Fluoxetine and a meeting with a counsellor.

I had at last faced the truth and accepted that I was depressed. Not a bit down. Not a bit miserable. Depressed. I'd become quite good at hiding it. People who know me well but not well enough would probably describe me as happy. I like to play the joker. To make other people laugh. To be there for people who are having a tough time.

Robin Williams is quoted as saying "I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it's like to feel absolutely worthless and they don't want anyone else to feel like that." I can relate to that.

Saying the words 'I'm depressed" out loud was, I hope, the start of my recovery. I know I'm lucky to have a great family, a job I love and (what could be) a beautiful home but as I've previously said to people who don't understand depression, "It's not about what you have, it's about how you feel."

I fell out with a cousin who I care for a lot because we disagreed on this. I wasn't brave enough to tell him I know this is true because it's how I've felt every day.

Before I sought help I set up another twitter account to share my real feelings and to connect with other people who are in a similar situation. I now take part in twitter chats about mental health. It helps to be honest about how I was doing. To talk about my medication and its side effects. To talk. Full stop. With complete honesty and without judgement. Except it's not completely honest is it because nobody knows who I really am?

My counsellor asked if I could speak to Will (my husband) about how I felt. However how do you tell someone that loves you that you don't want to go on living? Of course he knows I'm getting help and I talk to him when I need to but there are parts of our life together that I don't want to spoil for him. As I said before, it's not about what I have, or who I'm with, it's about who I am and how that makes me feel. If you're reading this and have no comprehension of what I'm talking about. Good. I'm pleased for you. It's a wretched place and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Well maybe a small handful of people but only if really pushed.

It's taken two months for the meds to begin to balance themselves out. I spent 6 weeks feeling nauseous and exhausted during the day, then suffering from insomnia at night. Then I changed the time of day that I took them and it's starting to feel a little better. Being self employed has brought additional pressures. I'm extremely lucky that I've been able to tell my clients what I'm going through, to have had the flexibility to adjust to the meds. They've all been amazing.

I'm not looking for sympathy or pity. If just one other person who feels like I have reads this and decides to make a change that's a good thing. If someone who thinks that depression only happens to the weak changes their mind that's good too.

I think I'm pretty tough. I believe I can do anything. Except beat this on my own. This may seem like a tiny step but one small step for (wo)man - well - I'm hoping that's one giant leap for my own peace of mind.

This is the start of my journey. The road to happiness. And I'm going to share some of it in this blog.

... remember.

Just over two weeks ago something rather special started to happen at the Tower of London. To mark 100 years since Britain entered the First World War the dry moat that surrounds the Tower is being progressively filled with 888,246 ceramic red poppies. Each poppy representing one of the British or Colonial soldiers that died. Each one hand made by 1 of 30 artists in Derby. Each one planted by a team of volunteers, like me, honoured to play a small part in this historic and emotive project.  

It’s peaceful in the moat. 

With just the gentle tapping of hammers against metal posts it’s easy to forget the thousands of tourists watching from the viewing areas high above. Many of us lost in our own thoughts, silently taking in the 100,000 poppies already in place, a reminder of the fallen. 

Called ‘Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red’, this installation has been created by ceramic artist Paul Cummins and stage designer Tom Piper. Paul, who has himself already made 50,000 poppies in his Derbyshire studio, joins us in the moat to see how the planting is going. Tom’s daughter Rachel is one of the team leaders walking us through how best to plant the poppies to maintain a stunning visual throughout the construction phase. 

It’s exciting to talk to both of them but really this is a large-scale community art project and it’s the people working quietly alongside me that make the day truly special. The man from Birmingham who caught a coach at 3am to make sure he arrived in plenty of time for his 9am shift and is already planning another visit later in the year. The lady who describes each poppy as being ‘as unique as the person it represents’, teary eyed, her voice trembling slightly. Everyone that I speak to feels privileged to be involved. This doesn’t feel like volunteering. We feel we're getting more out of this than we're putting back. 

We work in small teams. There are general instructions about which size of poppy should be used and where. My team is working close to the section where the flowers tumble from the Tower wall to fill the moat below. We are using the smallest size stalk and asked to plant them approximately 15 cm apart in a non-uniform way. Other than that it's up to us. If we feel inclined we can choose to place a taller poppy to break up the section. My teammate is right when she describes them as unique. Each flower is different and as I plant them I too begin to see them as the soldiers they portray. This band of red flowers becomes a band of brothers. Standing shoulder to shoulder. Side by side. Marching forwards, united in a single goal. It is overwhelmingly emotional and eerily quiet. And then someone speaks and we're back in the present day. Planting flowers in a moat to say thank you to those whose hands we can longer shake. To acknowledge the sacrifice they made for us all. To maintain our promise to remember them. Lest we forget.

All too soon our shift is over. We take photos of the poppies, our teammates, of the crowds and each other. We’re reluctant to leave. Making our way slowly back to the site office we wish each other a safe journey, sneaking last glances at what is sure to become an iconic reminder of the centennial commemorations. 

Later on that day I walk past the Tower again as I head to the tube station, making my way home to Norfolk. The next shift of volunteers has now taken our place and I feel a connection with a group of people that I don’t even know. Aware that I have been replaced by the next wave but wearing my volunteer t-shirt like a medal of honour. They are adding to a section that clearly depicts going over the top. I head over to look at the patch of poppies that I planted and pause to take in the view one last time. Just a spectator now I feel proud to have been involved and as I head home I can't help but smile. Yes there is sadness in the scene we're creating but there's also great joy. Red may well be the colour associated with danger but it also symbolises passion and warmth; it's the colour of love.

In his now famous poem, In Flanders Fields, John McCrae wrote ‘…the poppies blow, between the crosses, row on row’. 

Today, working safely in a different kind of trench, I watched as the poppies grew. Row on row, between the walls, and like those all around me I remembered. 

Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red will be launched officially on August 5th and throughout the next 14 weeks volunteers will continue to plant poppies in the moat. The last poppy will be planted on Armistice Day. 

Every evening at dusk the names of 180 soldiers will be read out before the Last Post is played. 

You can buy a poppy from the HRP website and a % of the purchase price will be shared by six service charities.

If you would like to volunteer you can register your interest here.

#TowerPoppies

... do more for charity.

I managed to piss off a handful of people on Facebook this week. The younger me would have been mortified. Tried to appease those I'd upset and yet still maintain my position. This me is less inclined to care. I don't purposely want to upset anyone but it's impossible to have an opinion that everyone agrees with.

It started with this: the #nomakeupselfie. My timeline was filled with friends, friends of friends and random celebrities baring their all and going make-up free to raise awareness about cancer. On twitter and Facebook I saw photo after photo of fresh faced women nominating others to join in but with no mention of the reason for posting their pics.

I was irritated. Mildly. Only one friend had included details of why she was doing this and how to donate - I did, immediately. Several other people told me they had donated and shared this link outlining how CRUK had received more than 800,000 donations since Tuesday, most of them via text message donations. So why weren't they including the details in their posts?

Not for one minute did I believe that they intentionally left off the reason, simply that like so many things on social media it's easy to get swept along with a hashtag long after its original meaning has been forgotten. Assuming that people will know what you're doing, share your views and support your cause, presumably getting the message by telepathy. Equally I'm not against digital campaigns being used to generate money for good causes but people need to know what the cause is and how to contribute. If they choose not to that's up to them but without the details campaigns like this can seem more about conceit than cancer.

And in saying this I alienated myself pretty quickly from several people. I did however notice that shortly afterwards some of them added the 'Text BEAT to 70099 to donate £3 to CRUK' message to their posts which can only be good.

As a monthly contributor to CRUK I'm a supporter of cancer charities. I've witnessed my Mum and her sister battle with breast cancer (successfully) at a young age, and then last year my Dad died after his cancer re-emerged with ferocious intensity. So it may seem odd to be so critical. But I am. Because whilst 800,000 donations is a spectacularly positive result, how many donation opportunities have been missed because of a lack of information?

I mentioned how the speed of social, a bit like Chinese whispers, can result in something's meaning getting lost as it hurtles from one profile to another. I was unaware of the source of the #nomakeupselfie until a friend shared the origins of this campaign with me. Last September #DARETOBARE encouraged women to go make-up free at work or on a night out as part of a breast cancer awareness campaign. They were to seek sponsorship for going make-up free. It's a courageous thing to do; a nod to those cancer sufferers who have had to brave the world looking different to their former selves - exposed and bare. And do you know something? Evolving #DARETOBARE into a #nomakeupselfie campaign is no bad thing but please explain what you're trying to achieve. If you don't it just looks like you want us to tell you how beautiful you look without your make-up on before asking us to take our own photo hopefully showing us in a similarly good light. And by the way, most of you did look pretty gorgeous bare faced but the one asking me to donate, not pose, got my vote.

There are plenty of cancer charities out there. Pick the one that means something to you. Raise awareness AND make a donation. Encourage cynics like me to put our money where our mouths are - lipstick free.

Next month my husband Will is running the London marathon. He's raising money for Dove House, the hospice where my Dad died. If you haven't donated to a charity recently but would like to support a good cause I can assure you he'll be running make-up free. We'll even share a picture afterwards to prove it ;0) You can donate here.

... have a smile and a giggle. A smiggle if you will. by Bea Honeybone

Hi.

My name's Beatrice and I'm one of the few people who got invited to write a blog about Smiggle. It stands for "where a smile meets a giggle". A very nice lady called Mel Kirk, from Tribal Media, organised it so I could take part in telling you about Smiggle before the first shop opens in London on Thursday.

My Mum told me that I had a package and I was really excited. I knew it was stationery as soon as she said it was something for me to do. It was FULL of Smiggle stuff.

In my package I got an amazing pencil case that has 9 places to put my things including the pencil holders that can have 7 pencils in each. I also got some double ended pens - thick and thin tipped, double ended pencils, an ordinary pencil with an owl rubber on top. There was a 30cm rubber in the shape of a flume and a sketch pad with A5 pieces of paper in it. A horse stencil and sticker book and black scratch pad. Last of all I got a book light which is cool because I love to read in bed.

I've created some of my own pictures using all my Smiggle stuff. Here is the first piece of art I did using the horse stencil. It's called 'The Horse in the Mushrooms".

My second piece of art is the name Smiggle. I call this 'Smiggle with a Hummingbird'.

This is quite unique I think, well that's how I'd describe it. 'The Alien in the Wrong Space!' It's 3D and uses the black scratch pad and the A5 pad as well as the double ended pencils.

Finally, I made this for my homework last week. We had to draw a picture of an alien spaceship. The egg shaped aliens have hearts hanging from their ship and my teacher gave me extra merits for this. You can see some of my Smiggle goodies here too.

I really like Smiggle because their products are great for adults and children. They seem very friendly and I advise you to go to Smiggle when it opens in Westfield Stratford City. I wish it had been there when we went to the Olympics!

Thank you for reading this blog.

From Beatrice :)

Age 9

... take a photo - Day 1

It's January 1st and many of you will be making resolutions for the forthcoming year. Not me though. After repeatedly failing to keep mine I've finally realised that if I want to achieve something I need to act straight away, not wait for the clock to strike midnight on New Year's Eve.

So this year instead I'm going to steal an idea from a twitter friend and post a photo a day. Let's hope when I get to December 31st I don't look back and think 'well that was a dull year'!

Here's day one.

... go back to the 80s

This morning at breakfast, Frankie Goes to Hollywood's version of The Power of Love played on Radio 2. Now although I think the John Lewis ad has a certain saccharin sweetness about it, for me it lacks power, the key component of this song. A song I listened to repeatedly, on 12", whilst studying for my finals. A song that still has the ability to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. A song I love but that isn't the focus of this post.

I was explaining to my 8 year old that this was the original version of the song she knows and asked her who sings the one that's in the charts today. I thought she replied 'I don't like this singer' but what she actually said was 'I don't know a lot about singers'. That got me thinking.

Although I was a little older than my daughter, by the early 80s I was already poised over the record and play buttons of my radio cassette player, every Sunday, to record the chart show, the illegal downloading of its day.

Of course I didn't record the whole show. Like so many others of my generation, I waited, adrenalin fuelled, with the sole objective of trying to record my favourite songs WITHOUT any of the DJ's banter. This weekly activity coupled with the regular purchase of Smash Hits, meant I was able to hold my head up high in the playground when my savvy class mates sang the latest single by Michael Jackson or Bucks Fizz - cutting edge musical tastes at my school obviously! My need for music has continued throughout my life and the devices I listen on have progressed from Sony Walkman to Discman, from iPod to iPhone. It is a staple in my life and although  I do still have some Michael Jackson on my playlists, Bucks Fizz, I'm glad to say, have long been replaced by the likes of Bowie, Springsteen, Muse and The Beatles.

Whilst I get it that today my daughter and her friends have the whole internet at their fingertips I realise that I have finally reached that stage of my life where I am increasingly on the verge of saying 'When I was young...'. Not that I think it was better when I was a child, just different. I loved those Sunday afternoons when for two hours it was just me, in my bedroom with my philips radio cassette player and a run down of the top 40 singles in the UK; an introduction to the new and an enjoyment of the familiar. Happy days. When I was young.

...get to know Norfolk

October 2008. That's when we moved to Norfolk. Having survived a fairly traumatic summer that tested our resolve beyond all normal limits, it was a fresh start, a new area, an opportunity to regroup and refocus.

With a 3 year old in tow, life revolved around discovering places where we could take Bea. Places to play, eat, relax, socialise and learn. We had to find schools, restaurants, shops and public services. It was exciting but also daunting. 

Now four years on I feel it's time to rediscover Norfolk all over again but this time with a focus on more grown-up places. With its big skies and dramatic coast line, Norfolk is a natural home for artists and artisans, with something to suit the taste of visitors and locals. Travel through the towns and villages of this glorious county and you'll pass numerous galleries and independent shops - an absolute joy if, like me, you love to uncover something a little bit different to the mass produced products available on most high streets.


So this weekend I'm heading to Burnham Market for the switch on of the Christmas Lights by Cliff Parisi no less (honestly; I had to google who this was) before heading to Granny's Attic at Burnham Overy Staithe - an event described as 'an eclectic mix of small antiques, furniture, decorative and positively quirky objects' - frankly they had me at eclectic.

Although I won't have much time to shop (I'm co-manning the stall of The White Florist), I'm looking forward to connecting with some new Norfolk businesses and as the event is raising funds for Wells Community Hospital, it should be a good night all round.

I'll let you know what quirky gems I uncover.

...learn a bit more about parenting

Today I had coffee with my friend Rae. She's a new friend but sometimes we talk more often that I do with some of my oldest friends (thanks to Twitter and Facebook). 


Coffee and cake should be about incessant chattering, interspersed only by the mumblings of cake filled mouths and the clinking of spoons or forks on china. However, the addition of a 7 year old child, and a precocious one at that, means a longed for catch up is frequently interrupted by irrelevant requests that translate into 'give me your attention'!
So if you've read my daughter's blog post from today: 'Last Friday night', here's today's activities from my side of the fence.


Today we went to the Science Museum and we got to do lots of experiments - Today I took Bea to the Science Museum. She ran around like a 5 year old bashing the hell out of everything she could and feigning interest in the facts the 'experts' told her, generally nodding and saying yes so she could move onto the next activity. The exception to this was an experiment where she had to bounce a ball onto a metal plate and work out its trajectory, placing 5 hoops in a line so that the ball went through them all - she got it through 3 which I have to admit was pretty good. 


We met Rachel who’s Mummy’s friend and we went to the Hummingbird Cafe and we each had a cake - Bea and I met the lovely Ms Singh for coffee and cake. After a promising start where Bea educated Rae on all things Moshi, Rae and I caught up on life, cakes, French schools and our mothers. This was clearly a subliminal trigger for Bea to try every trick in her 7 year old book to be the centre of attention, ranging from 'can I have my iPod/paper/pens/magazine' to 'I need to go to the toilet now I'm SOOOO desperate'. We then wandered around a few gorgeous shops where every other sentence seemed to be accompanied by an echo that said 'Can I have this? Can I buy this? How much is this?'

I'm inside the Katsuma suit - a portable padded cell for coping with volatile youngsters

Then we went to Harrods and I had the Moshi Monster Guide signed by Michael Acton who invented MOSHI MONSTERS!!!!!!!! -  We arrived in time for Bea to be one of the first 200 kids in line and receive a special gift bag. After queuing for almost 2 hours, during which time Bea made friends with a lovely girl from SE London, we were at the front of the queue. Bea handed over her ideas for new moshlings and the Moshi Monsters press officer asked if she could film Bea for Moshi TV. The time came to leave and of course this was a completely unreasonable request. I mean why wouldn't I expect Bea to be cross, after all I had spent most of the day trying to make sure she had fun. The result was a full blown row where I of course lost my high ground by resorting to her level of commentary and Bea told me she hated me. Joy oh joy.


Then for our last dinner we went to Iberica and had some gorgeous ham and other bits and bobs of tapas - this bit is true. By the time we'd reached South Kensington on the tube, a delightful retired couple commented on how lovely Bea was and she turned the charm up to 11. I couldn't help but smile and we whiled away a couple of hours eating tapas, practicing Spanish and drinking pineapple juice (her) and cava (me). 


Basically as Rae's Mum said to her 'kids don't come with an instruction manual' but then even when things do we often dump the instructions in a drawer and muddle through without them. Tonight Bea's not in a drawer but I continue to muddle through. That said, I wouldn't swap her because truth be told I know I was exactly the same and as MY Mum would say, 'What goes around, comes around!'


Good luck to all you parents out there and here's a little something that sums up our lot in life :0) [Go to 5:16 for the bit on parenting].

...relish being a have instead of a have not

High speed BB is awesome! Well, that's a slight exaggeration, I'm not American after all. But it's pretty good. As I type I'm tweeting via my phone, watching a film online and downloading games onto my 7 year old's iPod. This may seem trivial to those of you living in urban bliss, regularly accessing speeds I can only imagine but today I have joined the 'haves' thanks to the loan of a friend's flat in Central London.

Aside from multi device access, not having to hold a phone up towards the window in the far corner of the study just to get a signal (don't even get me started on our guaranteed speed of up to 0.5M...) is a novelty I'd like to become a reality.

Guinea Fowl - West Norfolk

So over the next few days I shall revel in the speeds B and I can share as we both update our blogs (check out her first post here) and take comfort in the fact that whilst our digital lives still run at a snail's pace, our real lives are unhindered by the endless queues of traffic and stifling tube journeys.

After all how many of you can claim to see this sight on your way home? Sometimes country living has its benefits. And sometimes it's slower than I'd like.

...tick things off a list

Now properly into my 40s, like many people I guess, I'm realising there are some things in life I'd really like to experience. The usual suspects feature:

• Go tiger trekking in India
• Hike to Mount Everest base camp
• See Mount Uluru
• Visit exotic, remote islands with endless white sandy beaches and vivid blue waters
• Take the time to get in touch with family and friends

And those more specific to me:

• Buy a new wardrobe of clothes because I'm fed up of jumpers and jeans
• Wear lipstick for the hell of it instead of just when I go out 
• Finish all those stories I've started

The list is long and egocentric of course because it's all about me! 

First up on the list was a long standing ambition to go to a Springsteen gig having been a fan for more than 25 years. Finally on Friday June 22nd I saw the magic that is The Boss. Three and a half hours of raw energy that brought some of the grown men around us to tears. I watched in amazement as he pulled a woman on the stage to dance with him and she was wearing....a onesie - Courtney Cox eat your heart out! Tried not to stare when a couple arrived at 9.00pm complete with very young baby in a papoose on its Dad's chest and wearing ear defenders. We had arrived late assuming Bruce and the E Street Band wouldn't be on until at least 7.30 and had no idea who the support act was; there was no support act, just this energetic bunch of 60 year old rockers who kicked off at 7.10pm, so we missed the first song. And despite no 'Born in the USA', the set list was epic and we, his followers, united in the Etihad Stadium, sang our hearts out to the last song of the night: Twist and Shout (all the more fitting for a couple of Liverpool girls).

For now the tiger trekking and Everest trip will have to wait and I have no idea if there's a style that's particularly me but I'm wearing lipstick as I type...

... market my own business

It's late.

I've just finished work, and despite the fact I should go to bed, it's such a long time since I last posted that an extra ten minutes can't do any harm.

Life, or rather work, has picked up a notch since my last blog, which is the reason for my lack of updates but not really a decent excuse.

So work is good.

But because it's good it made me think; perhaps it's time to market myself. I spend my working life helping other businesses to market their products and services but this is the first time I've been 'client side'. Interesting.

Suddenly I'm experiencing first hand the need to make a choice and pick a brand, select a colour palette, write copy that sells what I do. It's given me a whole new perspective on how it feels to be the client.

So here's the point of this short, but at least it's here, post. If you offer a service to customers, take the time to see how it feels to be in their shoes. Hopefully you'll discover that your experience is pretty similar to their's but if you don't, at least you'll know what you need to do to make things better.

Try it; only good things can happen as a result.

Now it really is time for bed.

...remind people that their kids aren't always cute

As a mum I know how all consuming your children can be. Every parent, well every good one anyway, will at times think that their child is the best, the most beautiful, the funniest or whatever attribute, or collection of attributes they think describe their offspring.

That's fine. That's how it should be. With one exception.

Once you leave the boundary of your own home and enter the world that's populated by other people, not all of them parents, you need to get just a little perspective.

Yesterday I had breakfast at Smiths of Smithfield. My second time in 4 weeks which is pretty good going as I live in Norfolk. As a place to eat your first meal of the day it's a hit for me for two reasons:

1. I LOVE the branding - uber cool staff uniforms, loud music and the warehouse environment
2. The pricing is in fractions so it costs 4 1/2 pounds for pancakes...simple pleasures

Yesterday, a bit tired after a very late night, I arrived at SOS, following a 20 minute walk from the hotel, happy to see the doors wide open and lots of people enjoying a full English. There were plenty of children there too, not a problem, I like family dining especially at this time of day.

Shortly after we sat down, some people arrived at the next table to us; a man, woman and toddler. 

Strike 1: When asked by her male companion what she'd like to eat the woman replied 'Oh, I've already eaten.' WTF? Really? Isn't that slightly rude? (He paid and we got the impression he'd invited her.) And also why bother coming to SOS if you're not going to eat?

Strike 2: After clinging to his Mum for the first 10 minutes, the boy finally decided he didn't need to sit on his mother's lap, (most parents have experienced the limpet child), instead he wanted to lie on the floor. He was in the way of customers and staff but as she talked to him constantly whilst he was there she clearly thought this was ok. Finally, after two waitresses had to ask her to move him so they could get past, one of the waiters insisted she sit him elsewhere and pointed out to her 'It's not the most sensible thing to let him lie in the way when we're carrying hot food and drinks is it?' She look affronted, I wanted to applaud him.

Strike 3; you're out!: After drinking their coffee and settling the bill she then followed her son around, holding his reins, as he walked in between all of the tables, basically annoying the other diners for a good 5 minutes. There's a big difference between keeping a child happy and allowing them to do as they wish.

My own treasure has had many moments during her 6 years...

So all new or prospective parents take note: what you will think is cute will invariably be annoying for someone else, but rather than hide away for the first 5 years of your child's life just apply a little common sense and I guarantee most of us will be happy. 

Failing that, please avoid SOS on a Sunday morning just in case I'm enjoying their delicious pancakes and a freshly squeezed OJ. Thanks; I appreciate it.

...write about funerals

Children shouldn't go to funerals.

It's too traumatic, they're disruptive, they won't understand, we need to protect them from the reality of death, they'll be emotionally scarred...

The reasons for excluding children, from what is essentially a major family occasion, are many and in my opinion, unfounded.

The passing of a loved one is of course a difficult subject to address with a child, especially true if the death is unexpected or the circumstances are unnatural, but being involved can prepare children in a positive way for the time when they lose those closest to them and enable them to deal with their emotions in a positive and supported way.

When my Grandad died last month, we sat our 6 year old down to tell her the news. She had visited him in hospital the month before and was understandably upset, albeit in a quiet way. We answered all of her questions honestly and used simple language (with no mention of angels or heaven) and she was keen to know more about what happened next. After explaining what a funeral was (a chance to say goodbye, give thanks, be with family who would be feeling the same way as we did) she expressed a wish to go but of course the decision was not ours to make. Children were excluded and our 6 year old was in tears. Her argument, and she did argue her point, was why wasn't she allowed to say goodbye when grown-ups were. I couldn't disagree with her that this was a valid point and my concern is this: by excluding children from what is a very normal part of life, do we risk instilling in them feelings of resentment and anger in later life?

I'm not in any way saying that children should be forced to attend funerals, it's important that they understand what will happen and can make an informed decision, and this will depend on the maturity, not the age, of the child. But if they do wish to go, there's plenty of information available to help families prepare them for the experience.

During the run up to our family funeral I read lots of articles and research on taking children to funerals but the paper 'My Grandad plants people!' from the Bereavement Advice Centre sums it up perfectly. With advice on how to explain death, what happens to a body when they die and what funerals are for, it contains most things a parent or guardian could need to discuss death with a child.

I still believe my daughter would have benefited from being able to say goodbye to her Great-Grandad, because after all what is the alternative; what is she left with? Basically he was here, but now he's not. He's simply disappeared.

The decision to include children can be a difficult and personal one based on your own beliefs and values but I hope more people move away from the view that funerals are not for children and at least consider embracing the service as one the whole family can take part in - if they want to. Children have a wonderful, open view of life and their honesty is often accompanied by humour - what better emotion to share at the passing of a loved one?

...buy more art

Having just returned from an exhibition of Fabian Perez's latest collection 'Into the Night', at a gallery in Cambridge, I was reflecting on my first foray into the art world. Sadly I'm not gifted artistically, with any vision I have for artistic projects being disproportionate to my ability, but I do love art.

I can still remember where and when it started; the Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool and I was 9. This iconic building houses must see paintings by many of the world's most famous artists, and after seeing Holbein's 'Henry VIII' and Hockney's 'Peter getting out of Nick's Pool', I was hooked (I'm wondering now were they hung in alphabetical order and I arrived in the H section?).

As nerdy as it was I spent many a Saturday afternoon looking endlessly at a single painting, and I totally got the scene in Ferris Bueller's Day Off where Cameron stares at Seuret's 'A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jutte', but with no internet access if I wanted to know more about a particular artist I had to pay a visit to the library next door (another place I spent far too much time in as a kid).

I still have the first print I bought, a still life from Marks & Spencer, and it's a shocker. But I keep it because my grandmother gave me the money to buy it and it reminds me that this is where I started; it wasn't grand, or based on an informed opinion, I bought it because I liked it. And that's an approach that's stuck with me to this day.

Googling any artist returns all the information you could need to decide whether an artist is 'collectible' but whilst that may be good practice for an art collector with a must-have list of pieces, looking to invest money in a bid to offset tax liability, for me art remains about the sensory experience. The emotion it evokes each time you look at it. The memories it stirs when you talk about it. It's not about building a pension portfolio.

So tonight, whilst I gazed upon the sublime work of Fabian Perez, for a moment I was 9 years old again, full of admiration for the talents of one individual and filled with excitement that this time I would be taking a piece home with me to look at whenever I wanted to.

I left the gallery with a new painting, and the smallest of crushes on an Argentinian painter who may well be the next big thing, but as I don't plan on selling my copy of 'Calles de san Tellemos', that really is beside the point.

... research marketing through social media channels

I like research. Conducting it and reading it. Something to do with the facts and figures. Reasoning based partly on evidence and partly on opinion. It has something for everyone.

A couple of months ago I ran into an old friend in a petrol station in Liverpool. I no longer live in Liverpool and I drove purposefully to that particular petrol station because I knew they ran a card only system so the queue tends to move quickly. The friend, who I hadn't managed to arrange to meet up with during the trip, happened to be in front of me in the queue. That in itself surely warrants a probability study but it was the outcome of that meeting that got me thinking.

My friend had just picked up some cupcakes which he kindly shared with me and my daughter (securing a friend for life) and because they were so delicious I emailed him the next day for the supplier details.

There began my online relationship with Laura's Little Bakery. Not only does Laura bake truly yummy cakes (the first step to a successful cake business) but she's also an incredibly friendly business woman. During the last 2 months I have watched via Twitter, Facebook and email as her company profile has soared, mainly as a result of marketing through a combination of social media channels. Yes, she has a few flyers in cafes in Liverpool but almost 95% of her marketing is via Twitter and Facebook. She has the use of both sites down to a fine art using a mixture of personal messages, lots of photos and sharing tweets from the interesting and the famous. In Liverpool she's building a reputation as a master baker as well as the sort of company you'd like to do business with, and her 'Kopcakes' are becoming legendary especially after being presented to Rafa on Football Focus this week. (My personal favourite is the salted caramel with union jack.)

It's peaked my interest. Outside of news based organisations there are very few national/international companies that I'd choose to follow on any social network, after all it's the personal element that makes it interesting, but the small businesses...now that's a different matter. Some of my favourites aside from @LaurasBakery are @lemanoir, @nothsdotcom and @EdinburghZoo all of which bring an element of personalisation and sometimes humour to companies and institutions that I'm already a fan of.

And that's what I'd like to research. What's the difference between success and failure in this channel?  Why is it that people like Laura and the Not on the High Street team 'get it' when others don't?

I suspect it's partly down to passion about the product and partly as a result of the right type of  personality. Whatever it is, if the companies I like keep it up they'll have a loyal follower for a long time to come.

...keep up this blog

It's been a while since I last posted but the past month has thrown more than its fair share of challenges my way. On the one hand being busy has prevented me from dwelling on the issues involved but the flip side is that the things I enjoy doing have taken a back seat.

Earlier this month Seth Godin posted 'You don't need more time ... you just need to decide' and whilst I agree with this as a premise I'm not convinced of its translation into practice. How do you decide between the responsibilities of family life, work and your own interests? I could of course choose not to take my daughter to the numerous after school activities on offer reminding her that 'we didn't have all this in our day and we did just fine', but for most of us, this is the very reason why we want our children to have the opportunity to embrace them.

When it comes to work perhaps I need to be more disciplined in when I check emails, how much I undertake in my own time and follow a more structured GTD style approach to organising projects. As a freelancer though, as I've said before in an earlier post, the fear that next month may hold a dry spell makes this a difficult one to do, not the organisation bit - that's a no brainer; but the concept of limiting how much work is done in a day. Most of the work I undertake I actually really enjoy doing so my frustration is this: by the time I've done all that's required of me for work and home (which includes being the primary carer and housekeeper) there just aren't enough hours in the day for me to sit in my chair, finish the books I have on the go and listen to the numerous new albums I've downloaded.

And there my argument stumbles because deep down I know this is all an excuse. I waste as much time as  the next person browsing through favourite websites including blogs, twitter and facebook so my solution is this. I'm going to expand my GTD to limit the time I indulge in the technosphere and increase the time I have for more traditional activities.

It seems after all that Seth is right; I don't need more time...I just need to decide.

...buy a new chair

If there's one thing our house doesn't need it's any more furniture. It's a 3 bedroom, 3 reception room house, average size and there are only 3 of us living in it (excluding the cat and she doesn't take up too much space with her stuff). But for some reason we have five sofas and four chairs spread about the place. I'd like to get rid of two of the sofas; they're old and saggy but my husband loves them, as do most people who spend time sitting in them. For now they can stay.

So another chair is not high on our list of needs, but it's crept to the top of my list of wants.

On Sunday with Christmas behind us we threw caution to the wind, ignored the tradition of twelfth night, and un-decked our Christmas tree. We'd shuffled the furniture around in the sitting room to accommodate the usual oversized tree, so once we'd relocated it to its new home on the bonfire, ready to combust in a tinder fuelled blaze, that's when the idea was sparked. There in the corner of the room was the perfect place for a new chair. There'd be plenty of room for a table, lamp, pile of books, ipod speaker; a square metre of floor space allocated purely to the art of relaxation. And this wouldn't be just any chair. It's a Charles Eames lounge chair and ottoman (reproduction sadly) in chocolate brown leather with a walnut frame. In a word, exquisite. I've already bought it in my head. I sit in it after the chosen one has gone to bed; reading, listening to music, glass of wine to hand and a view of the garden straight ahead.

I'm pretending to debate the merits. On the 'for' side we'd then have equal quantities of chairs and sofas, a fact that is of course ridiculous but nevertheless satisfies my need for symmetry and order. On the 'against' side we could spend the money on plenty of other things: a treadmill, wallpaper, new garden furniture...the list is lengthy and all items are worthy of consideration.

It is of course a done deal. But once it's in place we'll need to think about whether we should buy a new side table and lamp too. Not to mention the fact that there'd be a space on the wall behind which would probably need a new paining...I'll think about it; from my new chair.

...go to a school play

Today was the 3rd and final performance of my daughter's Christmas play 'Babushka'. Kids ranging in age from 5 to 9 did themselves, and the school, proud as they sang and acted their hearts out, missed cues, dropped the baby Jesus on his head and managed wardrobe malfunctions. I know it's the same at primary schools up and down the UK but there's just something a bit special about your school's play.

In all honesty, like many parents, I was less than impressed that we had to block out time for 3 performances; it's a busy time juggling work, school activities, Christmas present buying and wrapping as well as the seemingly, never-ending culinary demands. However all frustration disappeared as my 6 year old took to the stage to perform a Russian dance with 9 of her classmates. Resplendent in Russian dress, the beaming smile on her face said it all. This is it. Life is good. And if it's not good when you're 6 then there's really not much to be optimistic about.

The year 2 who played the lead role was hilarious with a good sense of the comedy of her character and the younger pupils made adorable angels, farmyard animals and insects (if you don't know the story:  Babushka meets the 3 wise men on her way to 'rescue' the new born baby King from a dirty stable; well in the main). The daughter of a friend of ours sang a solo and another child picked his nose for most of the performance. It was, as it should be, a play of contrasts and the perfect start to the Christmas celebrations, reminding me that some things are more important than others.

With our star of the show now tucked up in bed it's time to catch up on work but the memory of a joyful 6 year old looking for me in the audience and watching my reaction as she sang and danced her way through the show is well worth the late night.