My Gran

When I was a little girl I lived a stereotypically northern working class life. My family was and is close and it came from having very little money that our family I believe remained a unit.
For us Sunday was sacred and our family would all convene to eat a delicious roast finished off with tinned peaches or the left over Yorkshire pudding simply reheated and served with sugar.
Always present were my grandmas, both amazing ladies in their own rights but poles apart in personality.
My Gran Taylor was the joker, she would give you her last pound (and had been known to do so on far more occasions than any of us would like to admit) and my Gran Boulton was the traditional cake baking, mint sucking and cardigan knitting Nan.
I lost my Gran Taylor 16 years ago, I still miss her, more so because she never got to meet my children, they would have adored her.
My Gran Boulton on the other hand has got to know my boys Tyde 11, and Evan 9.
Gran B and I have always had a close relationship, I would travel to hers every Tuesday from my high school and would always within moments of arriving be knee deep in the best stews I have ever tasted, followed by syrup sponge pudding and various treats. My father would often find me sprawled on her couch, sleeping off the feast when he arrived to pick me up.
She would spend patient hours trying to teach me to knit, I can thanks to her plain knit and knit one pearl one....I just can't actually cast on or off, so basically I can't knit if I am being completely honest!
One thing I did learn from her was baking, she would every birthday present me and my siblings with the most wonderful cakes. Aside from them tasting incredible, they looked unbelievable. From chess boards to log cabins, my Gran would always come good.
She recently gave me a pile of her baking equipment, I use them all the time and I feel that this is my legacy, to make sure that we always eat home cooked foods!
My Gran B also used to make a trifle that no other trifle has ever compared to, the way she made the perfect custard, blamanghe and sponge is anybody's guess? But what made my Gran B's trifle totally unique is that somehow, whilst making it, the unique smell of my Gran B's house somehow by some form of osmosis found it's way into the pudding? We called this 'Eau du Gran'. Oddly it never put us off eating it!!!!
When I was 17 (and very lost) I can remember sitting with my head in her lap crying large tears as we talked about life and how one day we all become whispers in other people's memories.
She talked of hoping to live another 10 years and I told her that to even imagine her not being here was totally impossible. I made her promise to live until she was 100; she wouldn't promise, but she said that she would try.
My Gran B had spent her life without her husband from the age of 61. Grandad was a fantastic human being, strong, clever, contained and kind, unfortunately his heart was poor and we lost him when he was 64.
My Gran B has spoken of missing him from the day he died. She adored him and taught me that love really can exist forever, even in different realms. I once asked her why she had never entertained another relationship, my Gran without hesitation said 'when you have had the best Emma, why settle for anything less'. I never needed any further reasoning.
My gran has remained a strong feature in my life, when my children were little we would visit all the time  running in her door, they would head straight to her bedroom, where by the side of her wardrobe they would discover an ever filled bag of sweets. My Gran B always ensured this ritual took place.
My boys have known and grown with this woman since their beginnings, she has taught them the respect of wisdom and the strength of character in the years where your body no longer reciprocates your will.
In the last ten years, I have become the Sunday home where family gathers.
 This Christmas when we were all sat feasting I looked at my Gran B,
almost 95 years of age. She was sat quietly eating her food, surrounded by a huge family squashed into my dining area, she the last remaining matriarch with her wisdom and stories and beauty.
My Uncle Derek raised a glass and toasted this amazing lady who had managed to watch her family grow into a space so large that there was little room to move.
My Gran B became ill earlier this week, her body has become frail of late and the spark in her eyes has faded. Her mobility has become impossible and whilst she has remained in her association housing for 71 years, it is due to the care from her two children that she has been able to remain where she spent her entire married and widowed life.
On Sunday night I was called to hospital by my mum, Gran had started to falter, her breathing was becoming shallow and it appeared she would not make the night.
My family all arrived and like at Christmas we struggled for space, this time around her hospital bed. We played her favourite music and we all told her how much we loved her, how much we will always love her and how much she has meant. We shared memories across the bed with each other, laughing as much if not more that we were crying.
My Gran didn't die on Sunday however, she held on and I couldn't help but wonder if she knew that there were more goodbyes that needed to occur.
My eldest son had been away with his best friend and was totally unaware that his Nan was so poorly.
My younger son had been able to see her Monday day and heartbreaking as it was he had cuddled her and told her that he loved her; he had been able to openly cry and watch others returning the feelings.
The moment my eldest son arrived home we all clambered in the car and set off to the hospital.
My Gran was sleeping heavily, she looked peaceful, small, content and ready. My boys, my man and my kids all spent a long time with her and we said are final goodbyes.
We placed my iPhone on her ear and we played her favourite songs, I like to think she was dancing with my grandad in her dreams.
When we left I took one last look at a woman who I have known and loved my entire life, a woman who has loved me without question in return. She has been present for every important event that my life has known. She has watched every terrible piece of television I have ever done and she has been proud of me, but no more proud than she has of my brother and sister.
My Gran died at 1.30am this morning. Mum, Dad and Uncle D were holding her hand as she ended this journey to begin her new adventure.
For me, I have a picture in my mind of my Grandad and her laughing, back together again after 34 years of silence. It's a brilliant picture.
I love you Gran, we all do. Until we meet again, dance, laugh, love and know that you will always be our Gran xxxx

Growing

This blog is a tiny beginning on a subject that has formed me. There is equal beauty and sorrow in watching my boys grow. As they walk towards independence, they begin degree by degree to turn their back upon me, something that will one day lead to a home filled only with the ghosts and shadows of the children they once were, as they journey boldly into their adult lives. I have been blessed as a mother In more ways than one. Firstly I am naturally unable to conceive; however due to the medical advances in fertility drugs I have become a mother to two amazing children. Secondly I had until the moment I held my first son never had a maternal bone in my body, in fact throughout my pregnancy I genuinely questioned why on earth I felt the need to breed. Moreover I didn't on reflection feel the need, I just thought that marriage demanded it. So when that tiny bundle (he was 5 pounds as I became magnificently ill at 4 months gestation and spent the rest of my pregnancy unable to eat and on a drip....though on a positive note I got straight back in my size 8 jeans!) was placed in my skinny arms, to say I was overwhelmed by the sudden and ferocious love that would challenge any love I had known before was an absolute understatement. In that micro second everything changed. I knew that firstly I would never live a day without worry again, secondly that my happiness was inextricably linked to my sons own and finally that it was time to get my head sorted and grow up. And I did, I allowed myself to accept my responsibilities, to ignite my ambition and to begin to at least try and live my dreams, because what I recognised in the immediacy of my sons first breath was the knowledge that I would be the most important relationship, example, role model, companion, confidante, that he would ever know...the fact that he hadn't even been given a choice in the matter increased the urgency to ensure I gave it a bloody good go. My boys made me who I am, I mean that in it's most messy of definitions; I am not perfect and I know that at some point both of my children will throw some particular memory at me that they feel messed them up. I am human, I am technicolor in my imperfections and I don't believe I am an amazing.....I am simply a mother. And tonight it is the mother within me that is feeling vulnerable. It is the part of me that is most sacred; the part amidst all the chaos that created the calm, the centre, and the core of me that feels the whisper of insecurity. I can see my craftsmanship as they laugh loudly with their friends; I relish their resilience as they throw themselves fearlessly and without question into new experiences. My heart swells as I watch both my boys spending long hours in the company of each other, planning their den building trips or discussing their lives. They are becoming the most beautiful creatures, compassionate, strong willed, creative, intelligent and so kind, but they are also becoming more capable in dealing with life and the emotional complexities that once I would have been called on to navigate. I am becoming less of their everything and it hurts. It is my job to fully enable them to continue their journey from me into the world. It is my intention as painful as it may be to smile as they shift away from my advice and guidance choosing others to guide them. They will one day fall in love and their hearts will be filled with another woman's scent (or indeed a mans as it may play out) and the space they save for me will be but a sliver. This is my duty, I just didn't realise how tough the knowledge would be? So, I shall end as I began, there is equal beauty and sorrow in watching my boys grow...but without question it's been the most appealing agony. Sent from my iPhone

                    

        

My Mums Birthday!

Firstly I apologise for the punctuation and spelling here. I am dyslexic and haven't got my spell checker on the pad I am using, so bear with me.

Tomorrow is my mothers birthday, she will be 72, 72!!!!! How is that possible, how has my mother got well......old? I mean I know she isn't elderly, she can out walk me, is a size 6 and genuinely has more class than I will ever own, she is a real lady so to speak, but she is 8 years away from being 80.
Me and my Mother were a poor match for many years, she didn't particularly like me when I was a kid, she will admit that. I was a little odd and persistently analysed our mother daughter relationship from the day I could talk, kind of an emotional tap,  I drained the life out of her.
I loved her desperately and always knew she loved me, just in a way that felt distant and aloof. I would clamber for her attention often clumsily attempting connection in ways that simply served to fracture further an already awkward relationship.

We were working class and pretty stretched financially, mum stayed at home and my dad worked as a rep for a textile company. I have to mention at this point that due to money being tight my dad would get the last season samples and mum would take them to a local dress maker Mrs Urine (I kid you not!) and she would machine us up these hideous A line skirt and bolero outfits (for a tomboy like me, this was beyond horrific!).
Me and my sister were the only kids that you could coordinate with your bedrooms!

Looking back, I can totally understand why my mum was the way she was back then. She was brought up in a household full of love, but starved of physical expression. My grandparents  didn't hug each other or their kids.
My father on the other hand was brought up in a loud, loving and expressive family and he was totally spoilt with affection. This meant that my dad was open, loving and tactile as a parent, which was and still is fantastic, but it literally volumised the distance I felt from my mum.

Don't get me wrong, she always made me feel safe, secure and wanted. I never questioned that I would always have a home to go to (I still feel that way) but I disappointed her massively over many years and hence as I noted at the beginning of this blog, we had a strained relationship.
There were moments however where just for a few moments she and I would find ourselves laughing uncontrollably and usually inappropriately, or agreeing passionately about a certain subject. These I believe we would both savour and certainly gave me flickers of the future relationship we were finally to enjoy.
My Mother is an amazing woman, she hugged me properly for the first time when I was 14 and I will remember the oddness and courage of that moment until I take my last breath.
She has been for very many years my biggest fan, supporter, nanny, confidant, role model, protector and dear, dear friend. All the things I asked her to change so that we could enjoy the bond we now have she affected, all the disappointments, problems and awful things I did she has forgiven, forgotten even?
I cannot believe that tomorrow my Mum is 72, not because I can't believe how old I have become, (we only ever see out of the same eyes after all) but because I know she will not be around forever nowadays. I always took her presence in my life for granted, even at times choosing to exclude her from mine, because I believed she would always be there.
One day this brilliant woman will be but a memory, as will her touch, words, and love of M&S lattes!
I am not trying to sound morbid, I am sure that many people who stumble across this blog will have long since lost their own mothers, possibly at a far younger age than mine is tomorrow. I am simply reminding myself that this life has gone so fast, that I blinked and suddenly my mum was a pensioner. I am reminding myself of how precious, awesome, amazing and fantastic my mother is and yes, how already I fear her loss.
I have learnt in the years becoming the woman who writes this blog today, that we don't have time.
We need to tell the people we love how we feel about them. We need to repair the relationships we have let slide, yet miss. We need to say the kind words that make the difference and that enable the receiver to feel the warmth of that care.
My Mother and I are close because we dealt with the hurt, we confronted the conflict and we both enabled the other to understand the 'whys' that affected our relationship.
Tomorrow I will sit across a table from my Mother toasting her birthday, relishing that I get to share another with her, listening intently to her talk about whatever and whoever, just loving hearing the voice I knew before any others.
Our relationships define us, but sometimes we get the chance to redefine them.
I hope if you read this and have unfinished business with someone that matters you will pick up the phone, knock on their door or text that message you have wanted to for so long and begin to redefine the relationships that can truly make us who we are.

Lately I have been pondering a great deal about love, what it is, why it is and of course the issues that occur from experiencing, or indeed failing to experience it.

I have worked for many years with clients who I believe have suffered on the whole from a poverty of love. These clients may have fundamentally encountered many different life issues, dependency, low self-esteem, depression, feelings of deep and tragic isolation etc., but what has often made the difference between a relatively straightforward healing process and a process with great complexity tends to come down to love.

So if I meet a client who has fell into a deep depression after the loss of a loved one, so long as they feel and felt loved there tends to be a process of healing and acceptance; this takes time and is painful, but it often appears that the love that formed the bond also creates a foundation that protects the individual from remaining unhappy. Very often in fact the individual finds that they grow further and learn to love harder through the experience.

Now imagine a client with a similar experience who walks into my office, only the relationship that has been lost was more complex in nature. Imagine that they questioned the authenticity of the lost relationship and the love that ‘should’ have existed between the two parties.

Very often it is these questions that cause the greatest of pain.

It is knowing that we are and have been ‘authentically’ loved that allows a simplicity in grief; yes unbelievably painful, but linear in experience.

I have experienced my tragedies in life, deep and wounding with moments where I believed I would drown in the darkness of the deep, black nothing….but instead, with the words, company, reassurances of others, I found my way back to shore….albeit on my father’s back at times.

You see love somehow weaves its way around the most broken people returning their pieces to the original positions albeit for a few chips here and there.

I struggled with love for so many years; self-love and indeed the trust to love others. Fortunately, the blueprint that my parents created equipped me to find such intensity when I had my first child. From considering myself an incredibly cold person; known as the ice queen at work for my steely ability to deal with some unimaginably horrible cases without any real impact on my own emotional state, I transformed into a warm and nurturing mother and woman.

Essentially, even when we are loved, we need to allow its warmth to flow into each and every organ, deep through our veins and into our souls, we need to turn toward it, to accept it and of course to believe we deserve it.

Whilst it’s not PC to say, I genuinely feel that the reason I am good at my job is because I love my clients. Yes I may not love them in a way that means I take them home, adopt them and get them to call me mum, but I share the love I have for humanity with them.

I believe in teaching my clients what a good relationship feels like; a relationship that can then be replicated elsewhere.

Sometimes I can see how difficult my clients find being cared for, in these circumstances I actually turn the volume up and make the care even louder. I am always privileged and humbled that anyone would choose to share their journeys with me. This is why it is so easy to love and care for my clients; because they trust me and they deserve to be safely and authentically cared for.

Many professionals would criticise me for this belief system, (if you do, you need to be loved more yourself, only good things can come from love and this means there is nothing to fear) but it works for me and my clients and that will do for me.

Of course learning to be loved is at times challenging, my own partner simply grabbed on and refused to let go, (though I did try to prise him off a couple of times) and I guess that this is one of my greatest lessons, that another can love us with such intensity and integrity that they can in fact transform us.

He transformed me, I cannot look back to that woman I once was. He taught me the privilege of safety, the joy of true connection and the loyalty that is so effortless and unwritten that it doesn’t need to be mentioned. Essentially, he loved me in spite of myself, and in doing so helped me to love myself (yes I know it might pang of co-dependency but believe me I am incredibly happy and considered well-adjusted so it works for me.)

And I guess that’s the main part of what my blog is about today, the fact that we can all love each other more. Spreading love can involve a smile, a kind word, a knock on the door of that old lady we know who lives alone at the bottom of the street.

We can remember to answer conflict with care and anger with understanding. Love is always freeing, forming and positive and it’s available to all of us as long as we believe we deserve it…..and all of us deserve it.

So today I am reminding you (possibly preaching a bit….so sorry about that but this is pretty darned important to me)that a world full of more loving people means a world full of happier people and wouldn’t that be a better world for us and our children to live in?

I don’t want utopia, I don’t want heaven on earth and I don’t want a perfect impossible world. I want what is entirely achievable.

So if you know an individual with a poverty of love, try and share a little of your own because the tiniest flicker can turn into the greatest of fires.

 

x

Recently I have noticed the changes occurring for my 11-year-old son, his irritability seems high, patience low and his moods all over the place. This often results in him becoming angry with his 9 year old brother who remains in a very innocent child state, one that my 11 year old was privy to until three or four months ago.

I know what it means and it involves both excitement and fear for me as a parent much as it involves equal curses and blessings for him.

Watching his struggle (its clear for anyone who fancies bobbing round on an early morning to mine after he has been forcibly prized from his bed to see) brings me to reflect on how enormously important it is for young people to feel that they are neither alone nor judged during this tough transition.

I genuinely remember as I am sure many of you will relate to those intense feelings as a pre teenager where I suddenly realized what a huge responsibility life could be.

I would lie on my bed thinking about the possibilities that lay ahead (at some point these would usually eventuate in me owning a castle) and I would undergo a plethora of emotions, like a roller coaster of highs and lows that could both intoxicate and terrify me.

I didn’t know what these feelings were or where they’d arrived from, nor did I know how to control them, all I understood was they consumed me.

I was a child of the 70’s, parenting was traditional and my mother and father would both acknowledge today that we didn’t necessarily spend a great deal of time talking about our feelings, we were a typical working class bunch and this meant that dad worked long hours and mum stayed at home. Moreover back in the day my Mum found emotional tactility relatively difficult so I would during periods of difficulty withdraw as opposed to connect from her.

This resulted is me becoming what I suppose could be considered a difficult teenager (I wont start on that story as you all have lives and it will take several months to note) and this is why my current situation with my eldest son is playing on my mind so much.

I wonder how different this phase would have been for me should someone have actually sat me down and talked me through what was happening to my body, brain and emotions alike? What would it have felt like to know that someone had my back so to say and during periods of turmoil to have been able to ask for a hug and a cup of tea?

My parents were always on my side and would have helped me if I had known that and further known how to ask…..but I didn’t.

And that’s my point really, how often do we teach our children how to ask for their needs to be met? So often we find ourselves instead reacting to their tantrums and mishaps, or explaining why they have to do everything the way we want them to.

I have worked constantly for 16 years with some of the most deprived young people, emotionally, educationally, parentally  and socio economically and ALWAYS it is their feelings of abandonment and aspirational poverty that has affected their development most.

What would have been the difference if early on and throughout their young and adolescent years someone had been there for them to guide them through the emotionally murky waters of life?

This is why its so important that educators recognize to take that extra moment with that struggling child, and when that child becomes an angry teenager they are cared for by their teachers I spite of their ‘attitudes’ because that anger stems from feeling that they have no one on their side.

So back to me and my boy and of course what I am trying to get across to anyone who has, is going to have, or is related to any close to puberty kid. Your job is to become an active and obvious guide. I say obvious because believe me with prepubescent and pubescent kids you need to SPELL IT OUT!!!

I am asking you to let them know that you are their wingmen, that you understand fully how it feels, that you can offer comfort in the confusion and understanding in the moments of great emotional anguish and self questioning.

Instead of using anger to react to their moods or allowing them to isolate themselves in their bedrooms I am calling on you to instead bring them further into the belongingness and connectedness of the family.

Hug them tighter, more often and in spite of their protests and remind them each and every day that they are wonderful and that you love them.

This is what I am learning to do with my own child, imperfect as I am and at times as confused as he is, together we can get through it and hopefully get through to adulthood with one thing that we are completely sure of; the love we have between us.

I wish this had been my experience, it would I believe have saved me a great many mistakes including some truly horrendous hair colours and painful piercings.

I am sure there will be moments where I mess up and use the immediacy of anger to deal with certain scenarios, but right now I reckon its 85% communication to 15% reaction and that I hope will see us through.

Sitting in my office today I encountered upon a chat with a colleague of mine who will shortly be coming to work for me full time in a business venture I am launching. This individual is perhaps the most authentic, considerate, loyal and compassionate human being I have ever had the pleasure to know.
We met eight years ago just after I had experienced a profound loss in my life and required an ear shall we say.
I knew why I was sad, I knew that it was ok for me to be sad, I didn't need to talk about my feelings. At this point in time, I just required someone who would sit beside me simply letting me cry.
I didn't require comfort, pity or platitudes, just company in my grief.
For me like anyone, loss is painful, however it is also a powerful emotional representation of a relationship that was filled with love. These relationships are what form and sustain us, their passing cause deep, yet beautiful scars. After all, what would life be without love?
I didn't know this man well back then, I saw him around and I was aware of his beliefs, but for some reason I was drawn to him.
After a brief chat one day I chanced the suggestion of spending some 'silent' time with him, he agreed without question.
We spent many hours he and I, engaged in a thick and powerful silence that I felt able and safe enough to swim within.
After I found my way back to my shore, I realised that he had provided a life jacket so effective yet lightweight, that I had hardly noticed it's strength and importance.
We became firm friends and he remains one of the single most important people I have ever had the good fortune to meet.
So what brings me to write this blog? I suppose partly it's to put in writing the importance of chance encounters and personal risk.
I don't like asking for help, yet I dared to with this man. I also could have ignored my instinct that led me to him; after all we were mere strangers when I took the step of asking him to share his time with me.
What arrived from these 'moments' is a deep, long lasting, respect and friendship soaked in an integrity I have felt few places in my world.
How often do we actually dare to have our needs met? In personal, professional and even intimate relationships? So often we instead allow ourselves the scraps of what could instead by a hearty and fulfilling meal.
We are amazing, beautiful, capable individuals us humans, we have the capacity to do so much good to ourselves and others, but so often we sit afraid and helpless watching what we need drift away.
Imagine a life for a moment where instead we grab on to what we need, unashamedly asking, demanding even to have our needs met. A life where those who harm us are removed without feelings of guilt or regret.
Where a 'no' is less to offend another and more simply an insurance to accept our own needs.
Imagine relationships where the key is 'being and giving the best' to the person we are sharing our lives with.
This isn't utopia, this isn't an idealistic perspective through rose coloured spectacles, this is possible, probable even! You just have to realise your worth, potential and desires; clinging on at all times and refusing lesser alternatives.
In my office today, this wonderful man, friend, mentor, colleague and guide looked directly at me and said I just don't understand why you believe in me?'
That moment exists for all of us doesn't it! It has for me on many occasions, sometimes I have voiced it (these days I would), on many occasions instead I have kept it silent and failed therefore to receive the encouragement that could have made all the difference, soothing me and easing my worries.
I was able to tell my friend that it was I who actually needed him far more than the reverse. I am a keen business woman and he is far more capable than I (there were other softer and emotional reasons of course).
So what am I saying in this long convoluted gabble?
Simple, we are all able to have a life we desire, but only when we allow ourselves the right to ask for what we need.
So today instead of letting the moment pass, take a deep breath and chance to have your needs met. Whatever the outcome, DO NOT let it silence you instead turn the emotions volume up until you are heard.
Finally if no matter what, your needs are ignored, refused, belittled or abused, then the action required is clear, be your own best friend and move on to happier, healthier pastures.
Create what you desire. X

Well it's Tuesday and I am off for the day discussing my new business.
It's both exciting and terrifying and I feel one or the other dependant on my mood.
Today is an excited 'lots to do' feeling day, equally last week it was a 'can I please hide under the covers and be 8 again' week.
That's the thing about being human, no matter how old we get we never forget the child we once were. I by the way was an incredibly shy child, I had a plethora of tics that were disturbing for pretty much anyone who looked at me stranger or friend!
I also had a fabulous imagination that meant during difficult moments I could escape to a future in my head where everything was possible.
Trouble is these days that very same little girl occasionally somehow grabs control of this adult body and brain and wreaks havoc!
The tics return (much milder and I can usually run off to the toilets where I can contort my body for a few minutes which suffices, thus preventing colleagues wondering what's happened to me!) and the fear that I am useless at everything will consume me.
Of course these days instead of pretending that this isn't happening, I have the tools and resources to create perspective and understand that it's completely natural to feel a level of fear and vulnerability when entering into new territories.
I also know that the little girl Emma isn't trying to screw things up for me, the tics were always a useful tool as a child to distract my brain and emotions from feeling hyper anxious and so she throws this coping mechanism into the mix, the only one she knew!
In fact it's that little girl who appears when I need to ask for help, guidance, support, love and hugs; she is not as arrogant as the adult in me who refuses to acknowledge the needs we all have, seeing it as weakness.
So I guess what I am noting is that we are all the same us humans, an amalgamation of many selves who have lived many different lives and selves during the same lifetime. These selves act as shadows, ghosts almost of a life once lived, still there but hard to see. Until of course one of them manages to creep back, seemingly saying 'yep I know this territory, I'll handle this!'  Hence why so many of us keep repeating patterns of unhelpful behaviour. It's also why when we suffer an intense grief and then a less significant one further down the line, that the feelings can feel as intense as before.
The self that dealt with the first blow that we have moved on from suddenly takes control again.
That's how I feel about it all anyhow. I am sure some 'evidenced based' academic would disagree with me and site some interesting research (that my 8 year old self will refuse to read as it uses boring and unnecessary intellectual language that aims to only let 'clever' people understand!....see, like I said, sometimes the 8 year old has a point!) but for me, this is how I explore who I am, have been and have become.
When I work with clients I try to get them to 'hear' the messages that these surfacing selves are speaking. This way we can listen constructively to them and understand the feelings within their current self that is causing the eliciting of such emotions.
Anyway I have to go now! It's time for the grown up me to go and sort out important business. That noted it involves the web so me and the eight year me are going to be in very good company with one another, as neither of us understand it!!!