I remember vividly listening to Phantom of the Opera at home as a child. Dad would crank up the volume. He always had classical music on but these melodies stood out more than others. I dove into a depth of feeling so palpible it made me fly into melancholic sadness sometimes. Michael Crawford sung so sweetly and passionately. I’m going to have a new listen, with 39 year old ears. Thanks dad. You introduced me to beautiful things. 🎶

There’s a fair few cat toys at this house-sit. In a pile. It wasn’t until flies started circling I realised one of the mice wasn’t a toy 😬

I’m watching an awesome series with Tim Roth - Lie To Me - I’m enthralled by the clues, twists and turns. Great actors. Great concept. Great fun. 🎥

I’m a full time housesitter and look after people’s pets when they’re away. I usually only look after cats but I’ve looked after dogs in the past and sometimes I think about looking after dogs again, especially when they look so cute and cuddly in their profile pics.

This is how I begin my thoughts on dog-sitting.

Idyllic dog-sitting fantasy: Running free through a flower meadow with a well behaved, relaxed dog running alongside, smiling up at me. They play and bounce around happily with another dog friend. The sun shines down on the delightful scene of love and joy. I laugh. Doggie comes when I ask. I trust doggie implicitly. Doggie sleeps soundly at night waiting patiently for me to wake up and greets me with loving cuddles, sweet licks and tail wags.

Then I remember…

The reality: I’m being pulled along a suburban street by a strong, highly stressed dog who barks at everything. In the woods, doggie will bolt if they smell deer and be found hours later by another dog walker, exhausted, wandering, covered in bracken. Doggie, suddenly becomes hyper freaked out and chews instantaneously through their lead. I’m miles from the car. I have to shout louder than I’ve ever shouted before for them to stop as nothing else works. My holler can be heard echoing across the hills and valleys on this peaceful day (for everyone else). Doggie finds a rabbit hole and has to be pulled out by their back legs, snapping and growling (pure comedy seen for an observer) in case they disappear down the tunnel for days. I laugh hysterically because that’s how I behave in emergency situations (can be awkward if you need to run fast giggling your pants off). At home doggie has a habit of ‘wazzing off’ on their favourite toy. Or, I’ll be greeted with a poo on the kitchen floor each morning after they’ve barked me awake at 5am.

Extreme of course, all experienced by me (except the bolting bit because after I heard that story by the owners, that dog was kept on a lead the entire walk 😉). Always a possible reality for the innocent, eager dog-sitter. I used to be one of those. 😃

Oh dear (he still seems happy at least).

Cheeeeeaaat Daaaaaaay!

A video about never giving up. It’s old, you’ve probably seen it but it’s worth watching again. I wept with joy. Amazing. Never Give Up

Day 11. Words can’t begin to express how happy I am this evening. I went on an epic journey into my body and explored how I’m put together. I figured something out. Basically, that my ball and hip joints aren’t fully understanding where they’re supposed to be in relation to the rest of my body. They’re lost and need guidance. It’s like that area doesn’t exist in my mind. It’s never had to work before. My back has always taken up the job that my hips should be doing. What a revelation.

Tonight I felt a shift. I felt a seed of importance being dropped in my psyche. I felt how important this particular hip and groin stretch is to the wellbeing of my entire frame. I can walk taller and stand more balanced. My legs lift higher when I ask them to. My bum tightens, my chest rises and I look less like the silhouette of a pregnant woman and more like the woman I want to become. It’s a bit of a mind bender when you resign yourself to a situation (the mechanics of your body) and it turns out they can be changed for the better. I’m super excited.

Now if I can just keep remembering this reality, I’ll be onto something massive. Something life changing. This discovery comes from dancing everyday to an epic musical drum and base soundtrack (from Spotify radio). I devour songs. My whole body sings, jiggles, leaps and sways. I’m on a journey of self-discovery finding the light-footed feet I never knew I had.

Here are two pictures of me from the side. The first is taken unconsciously - see how my neck is forward and my head looks up scrunching my neck. It creates stress and pain in the shoulders. Then the second picture where I am more relaxed in my neck and therefore more aligned in my spine = happier neck for sure.

Fav song - Electric Echo - Metrik and Gunship. Felt like I was in a futuristic 80s nightclub where the music is pumping and amazing synth sounds keep coming on waves of pure velvet.

Think I just made the best salad ever using microleaves - radish and mustard sprouts. With a drizzling of olive oil. I feel like I’m eating colourful rainbow magic of the earth.

I’ve been reflecting on my social media use and why it brings up feelings of annoyance and frustration. Instagram and Facebook are my demons. I’ve just deleted both apps from my phone and I’m cutting my posts/viewing time down to one day a week. I’ve got a diet for food, why not have a diet for social media? Once a week I have a cheat day where I can eat anything and everything, so I thought I’m only going to make social media available on that day too. No more mindless tapping and flicking on Instagram, barely concentrating on what I’m doing. This is about consciousness.

Recently I’ve had great feedback (on Facebook) from friends saying I should write a book, they would buy it, that I had an easy writing style. Then the next post I’d write, they wouldn’t even like it and I’d feel deflated. Why did I care so much? They have their own lives to lead. It wasn’t all about me. But I started to expect something. It felt like an addiction. What was going on with me?

I enjoyed the writing process, I adored it but then the moment a post didn’t receive attention, all that effort and love I’d put into the words fell away a little to be replaced with a strange disappointment. My body of work was growing but the feedback wasn’t. I felt out of control of my emotions and a tiny bit bitter. Wasn’t I good enough? What did they want out of me? I didn’t stop writing though. I just had to keep writing no matter what. And I knew I was better than all that psycho bullshit babble going on in my head. I just decided to stop posting so much on those two platforms. I felt they didn’t deserve my words and they’d be wasted.

I talked to Simon. He told me about studies linking likes on social media to the effects on brain chemistry. I was getting high on likes. I was drugged up one minute and depressed the next. I realised social media wasn’t a place to flow and engage long term, like on Microblog where real, deep, caring kindnesses and connections can be made. It was like I was in a washing machine of desperate desires and unhealthy emotions.

Damn those likes!! I don’t want them anymore. They mean nothing. They’re mindless. I’m after true encouragement, love and empathy. I’m not swimming against the tide of instant gratification anymore. Pictures and scrolling. Like, move on, repeat. Fuck off!!

I belong to myself and fly high into a place of eloquence (despite the swear words) and beautiful creativity. This is my blog, these are my words. I write for myself, then I write for you. Now I’m more relaxed and confident. I expect nothing. I am true to myself and need no-one’s approval. Alleluia.

I’ve found Instagram to be a great way to connect with awesome, upcoming djs and music producers. I’ve sent many an appreciative thank you message to tell them that their music has helped me become a graceful bellydancing diva. This is when it works for me. When I send out gratitude into the world.

Eventually I got braver and stronger and went to the local school. Mickleover Infant School. I got to see Nick’s willy in Mrs Gray’s class when she’d gone out the room. He showed the whole class would you believe! I had a bit of a thing with a boy called Michael Bingley too. He was a year older than me so I only sat near him in assembly. I’d get excited when he sat right behind me because he’d spend the whole assembly playing with my hair. Those were my first true feelings of love and lust. I used to flick it in his face to encourage him. What a minx. I knew what I wanted. Hair play right there. I think I had some early ASMR behaviour going on because I just loved it.

I’m pleased I could feel things like this after the incident with my grandfather a year earlier. Four years old. I’m in the kitchen. Mum’s upstairs doing grandma’s hair. I’m alone with him. He’s sitting on a chair, undoes his fly and pulls himself out. He touches me too. Not massively. I’m not raped or anything but I know I’m feeling awkward and have no idea what to do. I can’t move because I don’t know how to. I can’t remember much else. I must have told my mum at some point that day because I always told mum everything.

It’s a trauma that has been with me throughout my life. It’s hard to admit but my parents dealt with it in a strange way. I’ve stopped judging them now. I don’t feel as ashamed. It’s taken years. They did what they thought best. It’s how they dealt with it that has actually stayed with me more than the deed itself.

They consulted the doctor and the police and went to visit him. He was so sorry he said. He cried. Authorities said just forget it ever happened, I’ll forget over time and it’s ok for me to keep having a relationship with my grandparents. Just make sure I’m never left alone with him. I have no idea what happened at that first reintroduction but I could never wholly forget. Yes we got together and went round for tea, did normal things, always together, but when everyone left the room and I was there alone with him, I felt like prey again. My parents encouraged me not to tell anyone about what had happened but I had a big mouth and felt I needed to talk about it with my friends. Maybe I did it for attention.

He didn’t do anything strange again until I was about 13 and already having doubts about seeing him when they would visit. I was growing up and questioning things more and more. I was sitting in the kitchen (how fitting) watching TV. There was no one around. He walked passed me and bent down and kissed me on the lips. It was out of character. I froze again. No idea what to do. But then he left. After that time I stopped seeing him. I refused. I was confused by my parent’s behaviour - I was their darling little girl - why would they do this to me? I couldn’t begin to think about letting my own kids go through that. A line had been crossed and trust was gone. It made me feel like I wasn’t cared about. But they’re my parents and I knew they loved me so what could I do? I carried on keeping quiet until I was 17 and then the shit really hit the fan.

Day 10. Another lesson with my online teacher today. She’s so fab. Abdominal wall rolls are next level exhaustion. I’m trying to see myself as a bellydance queen rather than a pregnant dancing duck. Learnt a showgirl move - get me! Side hip lifts, pointed toes and graceful arm movements all at the same time. In front of the mirror there are certain moves I feel comfortable doing (I look kinda cool) and others where I’m like, oh god really?! What would you feel like if you saw your dance moves in a mirror? Have you got names for them?

Went to see this little pixie last night. SOAK. Her voice is sweet. I’m entranced. She’s real, raw, honest and fun. Also, it felt rather cool to be in Oxford late at night rather than curled up in a comfy chair with a cocoa 😃 Everybody Loves You is a great song to listen to.

As I grew to the ripe old age of 3 I found out that walking was cool. I’d make my dad walk me up and down the garden again and again. I needed his arms to hold onto, I couldn’t do it alone. We’d play bat and ball and bless him for sticking with me - I know how tedious that might have been. He taught me how to catch. I can hear his words now ‘Watch the ball!’. It’s just what I said to children now if I’m teaching them too. Paying it forward.

I remember having reigns when we went out. I remember needing to hold my parent’s hands. My mum had a habit of walking in front of me and tripping me up. It became a bit of a joke. ‘Legging me over’ we called it. Balancing was a challenge. I’d ended up with one leg longer and weak uncoordinated legs after coming out of frog plaster. It was hard for mum to let me go. She wanted to protect me (despite the legging over business). She told me she watched me run across a park once, in a little blue dress, and was so delighted to see me charge along. Then I fell over and it hurt her. I can only begin to imagine the sympathy and internal conflict going on inside her wanting to save me but also wanting me to get up by myself.

I had a mixture of toys in the early years. The classic Doctor’s Kit and Fisher Price record player along with the doggie that got pulled along on wheels. One orange Care Bear, a blue My Little Pony, a sweet Snugglebum that lit up when you squeezed its tummy, a Poochie, a disco Barbie complete with high heels, permed hair and iluminous orange bracelet, a couple of Sindys, lots of clothes for them none of which seemed to fit.

I had a cooker that had red hobs when you twisted the dials. That was exciting. My friend Angela had a sink with taps that you could fill with water and fairy liquid. You pressed a button and water would squirt out into a basin where we washed our doll’s hair. This was heaven to me. She also had a baby doll that weed and cried. That was cool too. We used to swing in her hammock, in the winter, with the covers on. It was our den. I had lots of adventures with Angela. Her Go-Kart was something extraordinary. A machine of perfection. She let me borrow it sometimes.

I had a lot of books. An entire bookcase covered the wall. Didn’t read them all. I had a doll. Mum decided to get me one called Lolly, with bright red hair. She looked like that delightful film character Chucky. Luckily I didn’t know who Chucky was at the time though I did get a bit scared at night sometimes if I could see her eyes glinting in the moonlight.

Lolly went in the pram I had from my baby days but better than that was when my pets sat in it. I had an array of dogs and cats to play with. My brothers and sisters. When they were feeling patient enough they’d endure my pram antics and let me fuss over them. Mostly they wouldn’t and were off pretty quick, unless it was sunny. One day I was feeling particularly imaginative and took all the dogs upstairs, into my bedroom, up the bunk bed ladder and onto the top bunk. They stayed for a while, why wouldn’t they want to stay I thought, they were having a great time too. Then I watched them all leap off, one by one, do a crazy roll on landing, and run away. I was so shocked and scared I might have hurt them (I didn’t) I learnt the lesson never to do that again. I did lots of other things to them though 🙄

Dear friends, if you had 3 weeks free in October and wanted to make the most of the late Mediterranean sun and last minute swimming season, where would you go? I’m looking at a flight of 4 hours or less from the UK. Any suggestions would be fun to hear. I have a few ideas so far.

Day 9. Dance time. Big shifts today. I noticed how my left leg never wants to lead because it’s been on the weaker side my whole life. It’s always second in command to my right leg which has dominated my body and walking patterns. Tonight I changed that and brought lefty centre stage. It pretty much freaked out and wobbled across the floor in an uncoordinated floppy way but began to feel stronger with each passing second. I didn’t give up and lose faith because I want my body to be stronger than it’s ever been before. I want to nurture myself.

Demi-pointe helped. Standing on tiptoes = my absolute nemesis. Tonight as I attempted to engage my calves (I don’t usually get much feeling down there) I explored the realm of the left side. Something important to explore because this one sided habit thing affects me daily. I’ve been unbalanced most of my life. I can literally fall over standing on the spot. Amazing right? Sometimes standing still can feel like a being on tightrope. I’ve got two different halves inside me, each with their own ideas and habits and I’m learning how to intertwine them.

During my dance, as I connected with both sides, my head span and I had ideas. Everything clicked into place. I thought about being in hospital so young and learning to walk. I thought about how everyone around must have given me so much praise for any movement I did - to encourage and help. I thought about how that would have made me feel. I would have wanted to please people and get praise. And I reflected that some people grow up with no notion that their body can’t do things. They’ve had complete freedom of movement from their fingertips to their toes. It makes me realise that my past trauma has encouraged me to seek assurance, praise and kind words too often from others and I’m no longer independent from their opinions. I can’t make decisions because I don’t believe or trust in myself fully. So I’m learning to flow inside my own body, with my own movements and my own mind. I’m learning to find my own strength and praise and coordination to move forward with confidence and freedom. For myself.

Fav song - Freak by Friction and Josh Barry. What passion you unleash. Beautiful.

Bought an Aeropress today. Oh yum. Adiós weak filter coffee. Hello strong, powerful, smooth magical liquid from the Gods. Amen.

What a privilege. Squiggy on me. I’m a bit nervous of him, he’s a black panther after all with the biggest paws and sharpest claws. Mice don’t stand a chance, of which he regularly catches. I pity the mouse who comes across him. Wise and wild, calm and aloof. All cat this one.

Charlie. Quite an odd little pickle. I could spend half the night letting him in and out if he got his own way. Last night he lounged in the middle of the lawn in the cold darkness. He’s got a bit of a vacant stare like he did too many drugs when he was a youngster.

I remember I didn’t like getting told off by teachers. Or being left by my mum in any way, shape or form. I was four when mum took me to Derby High School Kindergarten. I lasted a day. There was a small wooden climbing frame in the middle of the room, water and sand trays around the sides. Everything was fine when mum was there.

I loved playing in the home corner, using the pans to cook on the stove, putting the washing on (how stereotypical). I used to love the advert for the A la Carte kitchen toy (Cue kitchness - I thought it was pronounced Anna Kart and that girl was Anna 😃). She made real beans for her dad. I never understood how she could do that - like get the beans into that plastic saucepan. Where did they come from? I never got real beans, mine were just imaginary. I’m sure I wasn’t the only child to think like this. I never got the kitchen, it was only ever a beautiful fantasy.

In the nursery I needed a wee. Mum came with me and waited outside. She told me she’d wait. I recall my horror and fear at coming out of the cubicle to Mrs Morley’s huge frame staring down at me. My mum had gone. Mrs Morley had told her to go, that I’d be fine. I cried. She gruffly told me not to be a baby. I was mortified that mum had just gone and left me. It was traumatic. A part of me had disappeared.

I can’t remember the rest of the session. Maybe I even had a good time, but to my dear little four year old’s mind, freedom and familiarity came the moment I got out of that classroom and back into my mum’s arms. I didn’t go back to that school until I was twelve and that’s a story for another time.

Yay for mums! What a rollercoaster of love you’re on. Strong, brilliant, full of unconditional love ❤️ I admire you. You’re wonderful. Here’s me and my mum. She’s full of eccentricities and craziness. I can go a bit nuts when she’s around. Patience calls me often. I love her.

Day 8. Back from an enforced break. I have the biggest dance floor ever. Kitchen. No island in the middle. No chairs. No table. Just space. I practised old moves, said hi to my stomach muscles again, swooshed. Learning to spin now. With grace. I’ll get back to you on that one 🤪

When I was born I had a clicky hip. I spun round in the womb and tried to come out feet first. A caesarian section was necessary. Different from the very beginning, amazing I was born at all. Mum had five miscarriages before she had me.

I didn’t walk until I was two. In and out of hospital, confined to my legs being in a frog plaster to make my hip stable. I spent weeks lying on my back. It’s the position I feel happiest in even now. But during that time I was having my hips stretched outwards. It was called being ‘on traction’. Sometimes my legs were stretched so far apart that mum had to intervene because I cried and she couldn’t bear it.

I had a lot of x-rays. A nurse told mum to make sure my ovaries were always protected from the radiation and that I may never have children. It’s something I’m researching now because I would like to have a baby. I’m hopeful and positive and healthy and these days don’t take what one person says as the truth. I want to put all the best bits of myself, all the love and joy I feel into my child. Yet, while I wish for this, I also accept that if it goes a different way, I’ll be ok.

People waiting around on me became normal and I expected it. I had no independence. It was easier if they did everything. I got used to that. Even in my thinking, to a degree. This mindset has followed me through life. It took until age 17 for me to stay away from home for even a night and not cry and miss mum. It finally happened when I met a boy.

My parents invented a special high chair that hooked onto the end of a table and meant my legs could rest stretched out to each side. I was a happy baby who liked eating coal and cooing at pigeons.

I finally learnt to navigate gravity and understand my legs. I ran along the hall leaning against the wall as my mum called out letters of the alphabet that were stuck along it. I still love walls. Leaning against them, sometimes using them for support if my foot hurts, they are my friends but I’m learning not to rely on them too much. When I spent time in Australia I found out it was best not to lean on walls because redback spiders live between the bricks. Eeeek.

I love this man. Despite heavy rain, he sat reading his paper while droplets poured down. I was impressed and full of giggles in equal parts.