Heard on the radio yesterday that Earth is entering the Leonid Meteor belt so opened my kitchen door at a quarter to eight last night and bang on cue the most glittering shooting star swept across the cloudless sky. It's supposed to be a sign of good luck and so made my wish accordingly.
Then, treat of treats, Peter Andre's Next Chapter was on the TV. The guy is such a delight -how can he be so nice. Pete now wants to 'give something back to the fans' because he thinks he's been so blessed by them and fortune. Who could fail to be moved by the sight of Pete with his oldest admirer, a sprightly lady of a hundred and four. And the way he is with those kids. Decided I want a Peter Andre next time around.
My track record with the opposite sex is quite legendary. When I became single again I had a few dates with some really quite nice guys but cleverly swept them aside for yet another plonker. He had the inevitable troubled background and so I was driven to think that fate had merged our paths and that we two damaged birds would learn to fly again together. The whole sorry affair went on for seven years (as the joke goes only six years, eleven months, three weeks and six days too many), before I finally realised it's healthier to be on your own than locked into a septic struggle for control over another person. I never lived with him or anything like that - he was always simply a 'boyfriend' and as such kept apart from home and family - but the one thing I really must thank him for is he helped me develop emotional independence. It's quite a big step to think that solitude is preferable to having anyone. And to be honest maybe if I had found someone only half suitable then I would have settled on the compromise candidate and that would have been another disaster. Que sera sera.
What with everything going on at the moment feel that autonomony is being jeopardised for the first time in a long time. Don't like being afraid all the time.
Had another hilarious e-mail from my birding friend. She was explaining the jargon of the sport, as in the bird community there really is a lingo of its own. You don't 'see' a creature, you 'have' it. Hence the infamous shout of 'I've just had a shag on the rocks and it made my day' - all perfectly clean and true. Her photographs are stunning and apparently the delicate little creatures who dart about the small tree near my house, singing the most enchanting song are actually vicious psychopaths called 'blue tits'.
Not heard from H who should be well and truly settled back in Dartmouth if all has gone to plan. Spoke to R and she's fine - really enjoying uni. Not heard anything about my dear neighbour so she must be holding on.
C never out of my thoughts for a moment.
Please God all safe and well
Speak soon. A soldier's Mum x
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