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.

Cheat Day. All day. Mwah ha ha. Let the chocolate games begin.

You couldn’t get two more different cats than at our new house-sit. Relaxed docile teddy bear Charlie and intelligent panther Squiggy. We’ve arrived pretty much in the middle of nowhere on the Warwickshire border at Charlie and Squiggy’s house. Two boy cats. They’re hunters 🙄 (there’s a mouse still hiding in the house somewhere). We’re near a fair few towns and going to Oxford tomorrow to meet an old friend. Yay.

Transitioning between places can be a little stressful and disorientating but I like to focus on the beauty I see round the place. It keeps me grounded. This evening the birdsong was deep and velvety and the air thick with dewy damp scents. The area is green and lush with flowers.

Through arriving here and leaving bustling Dartmouth I’ve realised how much I’m now missing the vibe of being around lots of people. I’ve realised how much I love the community and vibrancy of a populated area and how I’m moving away from enjoying the solitary life of countryside living. In the meantime, whilst learning more lessons like these and finishing a year’s worth of countryside housesits (I know, the irony), I’m going to get as fit and strong as possible and concentrate on my development and purpose. Dances will be danced and kitchen floors will be polished as I demi-pointe and shimmy across them. Tonight I flexed my hips again, got back into the rhythm and remembered how much my body and tummy muscles love to move. I’m going to be the best version of myself here in no-man’s land and when the city’s ready to call me back, I’ll be there.

Staying in Devon means you gotta love hills. I don’t, but I do them anyway 🙄 My lazy lizard brain yawns going up. Any reasonable communication shuts down when I see one too steep. I become a dramatic, flustered child. Part from exhaustion, part from exasperation (why are we doing this again exactly?). And under no circumstances can Simon make me laugh. Sometimes it’s better if he doesn’t talk at all because if I get the giggles (he’s usually saying something funny), I could be stranded half way up a hill, in fits of laughter, with no strength to carry on walking up or down. It’s always fun, especially when I reach the top.

The Yum Tower of Nom Nom. Low carb diets open you up to a world a juicy veg, ancient grains and crunchy smokin’ nuts.

Oh Dartmouth, how you woo me with your cobbled streets, sparkling sea and sexy french lingerie shop. I’m energised just being here in your happy, chilled out vibe. Tomorrow the wind brings new change but today, it’s you and me and the endless possibilities baby.

I love this mis-mash mountain of moss. Surviving sufficiently on gutter water. Enjoying living in a posh Dartmouth street. Left alone to do is own thing. Brilliant.

Wild flowers growing in walls are one of my favourite things.

Little tears well up in my eyes as I see beauty and struggle. The little girl who runs to her daddy to be picked up and cuddled in a warm embrace, the strapping young man with the beautiful beard who gets up from his seat and walks away on two prosthetic limbs, the bench where I sit with a sweet, loving memory from the past. I’m seeing life and I’m both terrified and elated by it.

Best vibe in town.

This is my dad. He’s not around anymore. He became actual stardust eight years ago. I’d been preparing for him to leave since I was thirteen. His health wasn’t great even back then but the sparkle in his eye shone through for another twenty years. He was a hard worker. Even in hospital I remember him on his laptop, designing magazine pages with nurses fussing and tutting over him. He worked for himself and had deadlines to keep. This was my dad. He wore a tie to work even though he worked from home. He was interested in technology. He could make the TV area look like a server room with wires and cables protruding from every machine’s input/output/scart plug/hole available. He loved recording in long play. He could get four films on one videotape. He would often miss the beginning of films so I grew up never seeing the beginning of The Goonies or Back to the Future. He introduced me to a light pen, an MSX, Theme Hospital and The Secretary. He drove me to Greece. He loved card games. He taught me Chase The Button. He played cricket with me. He was the baddie to my She-Ra. He talked about astronomy. He read books. He adored buying them in charity shops. He wore at least two pairs of reading glasses at a time and had a third in his back pocket that he often sat on. He told fine funny stories which made everyone laugh. I called him everyday from uni for a whole year. I felt like his best friend as well as his daughter. He looked like Albert Einstein. At one point he thought I’d joined a cult and gaily wrote to his friend about it, I found a copy of that letter a few years ago.

Today I drunk a strong black coffee for him as I serendipitously sat where he sat when I made him come to a vegetarian restaurant for my birthday. My dad, who told me there were more stars in the sky than grains of sand in all the deserts and beaches in all the world, what a brilliant, loveable devil of a man you were.

Water Magic