The Countdown is On....

According to the internet there is 10 days, 1 hour and 59 minutes left until Christmas. Where has the time gone? It was the beginning of December yesterday. My tree is up, my lovely Snape angel is complete and taking pride of place at the top (although he’s still a little bit big for it, but far more suited to the role than any of my other Snapes have been) and I have at least managed to make and write most (although not all) of my Christmas cards. I haven’t yet started wrapping the presents, although I have drunk the wine I bought to drink while I was wrapping.

Strangely, although I’ve been wearing my Christmas tops (including a rather fantastic snowman dalek, which satisfies both my nerd and Christmas sides at the same time), have my workstation decorated with more tinsel and fairy lights than Santa’s grotto and have already been to the works Christmas dinner (a bit of a disappointment to be honest, All Bar One) I’m not really feeling very Christmassy. Partly this is because I’ve got other things on my mind which are detracting from me enjoying myself and partly it’s because of that pile of presents still needing to be wrapped.

This weekend is the Wizarding Winter Fair, which is a replacement for the Snow Ball and is being held in Macclesfield. Unfortunately I can’t make it, which would explain why this year, instead of being snowed in (as has happened the previous two years when trying to get to Edinburgh), it seems that with the exception of a bit of wind and maybe a storm, the weather will be fine. Gutted as I am not to be able to join my fellow wizards for some pre-Christmas wrock and fun, Mrs H3 and I will instead be spending Friday evening celebrating our own early Christmas (due to my imminent departure to Spain) at Bluewater with a meal, presents and Robert Downey Junior (phwoar!) in Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows. I’m hoping that by Friday I’ll be feeling a little more in the spirit.

It occurred to me that I’ve never documented my Harry Potter Christmas tree properly before and so I’ve taken some photos of the tree, Snape angel (I made the wings from decoupaged glitter card in the end and they look fab in real life), and the decorations so you can see just how wonderful they are.        

I’m not sure if I’ll get a chance to post again before I go to Spain as I’m pretty busy for the next few days, but if not I’d like to thank you all for reading my blog, sporadic as it’s been over the last year or so and wish you all a very merry Christmas (holiday season etc.) and a happy and healthy New Year!

Knitting

When I was in my teens I used to knit all the time (it started during a phase where I made all my own clothes). I knitted some fabulously intricate patterns: from a jumper covered with multi-coloured Egyptian hieroglyphs and a jewel-bright Pharaoh’s collar to match, to fashionable tops containing the latest and most interesting wools. Nothing was too difficult for me to have a go at as several large fluffy cable knit jumper dresses and a very difficult to knit (and hugely expensive) silk and alpaca cardigan showed.

And then I stopped.

Thinking about it now I have absolutely no idea why. I’m not even quite sure when I stopped as I can remember days of sitting at boot fairs, knitting my way through balls of angora wool and I remember showing Jane how to knit when she got pregnant, so that she could make some baby clothes. But at some point I stopped, and although I made a couple of scarves a few years ago, I’ve not really been involved in serious knitting for years.

Until now.

A few weeks ago I was trawling the interwebs trying to find something to go on the top of my Christmas tree (my beautiful Severus Snape dolls are either too big, and thus too heavy or too small and not imposing enough) when I discovered a knitted Snape doll which I thought would be perfect, both in size and weight. There were two choices: I could buy the doll ready-made, which was quite expensive, or I could buy the pattern and knit it myself. I decided to go for the latter and have spent the last few evenings immersed in trying to create this doll.

But somewhere along the way I seem to have lost my ability to knit, or at least, I’ve lost the ability to do anything but row after row of stocking stitch. Increasing without creating holes in my work is a problem I need to solve (Snape’s face depends on it) and, sad to admit, I even had to look up how to cast off because I couldn’t remember how to do it. Fortunately knitting is a pretty well-covered hobby on the internet and so there’s a million tutorials on every possible subject and even helpful videos, so hopefully the holey face will soon be sorted, but working on the doll has re-kindled my enjoyment of knitting and I’m seriously considering making a jumper … perhaps I’ll make a Weasley sweater for Mrs H3.

Mrs H3 is knitting too. She started making me a Slytherin scarf for Christmas about three years ago and I’m still waiting for it. She has recently moved home and is currently without television or the computer so I told her she might want to finish the scarf for something to do, a suggestion which she didn’t seem too happy with. She has promised that I’ll have it by my fiftieth birthday though – so only another five years to wait!

Photos of the doll will follow once I get him finished. Now, I wonder where I can find a pattern for angel wings?

       

A Catch Up

Here it is almost the end of November and my current total of words for NaNoWriMo stands at zero – yep I’ve not written a single word. At least I haven’t written a word of my novel. I have of course written blog posts for my other blog, written a bit of fan fiction, made lists of stuff, done some writing for work, but the novel has remained elusively out of sight. And so, for this year, I officially give up.

And now it’s almost Christmas again. It seems to me like it was only a few weeks ago that I was writing about it being Christmas last year, time flies so fast these days. I have seen the billboards with the Coke lorry, M&S have released a dreadful Christmas advert and John Lewis have split the country with their offering which is either tedious and mawkish or unbelievably cute and tear-jerking depending on which side of the line you fall. I have to admit to quite liking the advert, although it didn’t reduce me to tears – but then maybe that’s because I was picturing something nasty in the present he’s so eager to give.

I’m actually feeling ahead of the game for probably the first time ever in my life as almost all my presents are bought and are ready to be wrapped (I can’t actually wrap them until my Christmas tree goes up and that doesn’t happen until 1 December, obviously, although it may be delayed as I still have to knit my angel Snape for the top of the tree). The only person who I haven’t yet got a present for is my God-daughter Leanne, but she’s easy to buy for and so I’ll get her sorted in the next few days. As long as there’s no problem with the post I should be all done and dusted by next weekend, which leaves me a few weeks to get cards sorted out, as I haven’t yet got started on those, although I’ve meant to a few times.

One of the nice things about Christmas is the countdown and advent calendars. Whilst I do have the traditional Thornton’s chocolate one (bought by my friend Richard as he has done every year for the last ten years or so) I’m trying to lose a bit more weight and am wrestling over whether to eat it or not. But I also have (and have sent to friends and family) the Jacquie Lawson advent calendar. I got last year’s and it was a delight, having a little animated scene to play out every day, and I understand that Freddie and Aiden enjoyed it almost as much as I did.

I’ve added a few photos from Halloween and the Labyrinth Masked Ball that Mrs H3 and I attended, along with a few other friends (that’s Foxhunter in the Hannibal Lecter outfit). Unfortunately there aren’t many of Mrs H3 as they didn’t come out too well apparently. As you can see we had lots of fun – and no, of course we didn’t get looked at all, travelling across London by tube dressed like that!

 

Hello World

Oh dear, once again my resolution to blog more has been hijacked by life. It’s been a real whirl since I last posted: concerts, parties, farewells, fun times, job losses, lottery wins ….

Okay, actually that last one isn’t true, but I have been a busy beaver recently. I don’t really want to dwell on the second to last item, which I was rather unhappy about  when I found out (a slight understatement), but have pretty much got over now, so let’s concentrate on the more fun stuff instead!

Saturday 24 September was the six month anniversary of my dad’s death. I had brought some of his ashes back to England with the intention of scattering them in the Thames, as he’d wanted, having previously worked as a Thames Lighterman, but it had never seemed quite the right time. As the six months drew nearer, however, it really was time to say goodbye.

Mrs H3 and I took a journey on the Thames Clipper with a view to inconspicuously scattering the ashes as we made our way down the Thames. However, the boat was considerably busier than we’d expected and it was impossible to even get near the side of the boat, let alone empty the ashes without being seen and to add to the stress we were both feeling a little seasick. We therefore sailed to Embankment and walked down to Cleopatra’s Needle, which is a nice spot, and after a few minutes of contemplation and remembrance, added his ashes to the water there. The journey back was on a catamaran rather than a boat and was much better seasickness-wise and, of course, was much quieter (sod’s law) and we could easily have scattered the ashes in the wake. I would love to go on a catamaran at full speed down the Thames without it having to stop every few minutes at the various piers as it would be brilliant fun.

We have been to a few concerts recently, although sadly not I Am Kloot, as astonishingly, they seem to be taking a break from touring. I can only assume this is because Johnny’s girlfriend isn’t happy with him being on the road all the time, as he used to play solo gigs in-between the IAK ones and was therefore touring constantly all year. Hopefully it won’t be too long before they’re back down South, maybe even with a new album (she says hopefully).

Gary Numan played an absolute blinder of a concert (and that’s not just me being biased, honestly). He also made the error of having a decent support act for the first time since the 1980s – a guy called Jayce Lewis (check him out) which meant that instead of being able to get a seat, which we normally manage with no problem as everyone stays in the bar until Gary takes to the stage, the place was packed for the support and we ended up having to stand all night, which was not fun for my poor old arthritic feet.

Pete Doherty was, I have to admit, a real disappointment for us. Having seen him several times over the years we’ve seen the highs and lows that he’s capable of, but this concert – his last for a long time (his words), was absolutely diabolical. Pete has made no secret of the fact that he’s had problems coming to terms with Amy Winehouse’s death and sadly it really showed at Brixton, where once he had come onstage he seemed determined not to stop playing for anything. There were no breaks between the songs, his usual quite skilful guitar playing was a shambles and he spent a good deal of time dedicating songs to Amy and another friend of his who had died recently. His singing, usually a high point, even when he’s been stoned out of his skull, was average at best and below par for most of it. It was sad to see him in such a state and can only agree with his assessment that he needs to go away and sort himself out.

And so onto the Bluetones, who played a wonderful set at Shepherds Bush. I was pleased to see such a good turnout for their final show and Mrs H3 and I both thoroughly enjoyed it, despite Mrs H3 not knowing a single one of their songs, not even their hits. I have to say that part of me was pleased that whilst they were entertaining they weren’t totally fabulous to the extent that I regretted not having been to see them during their previous seventeen years of touring, but I am glad we went to see them at the end.

Marc Almond at Tunbridge Wells Assembly Halls was a much quieter evening and one for which we were late (as we always seem to be for his shows). This was partially due to bad timing advice from Mrs H3’s dad and her dodgy Garmin sat nav, which has a mind of its own and is not always very helpful. Every time we’ve seen Marc he’s always been different and this time was no exception. The first half was mainly him sitting on a stool, with a pianist and a harpist for accompaniment, wearing a pair of grey trousers and a black velvet jacket. It was torch song heaven, surrounded by an amazing amount of table lamps and he made us laugh a couple of times when he cranked up the dry ice and turned the lights way down low as it reminded us of Echo and the Bunnymen, although we could still see Marc as he sang.

The second half was slightly more upbeat, and included a dress change from Marc, into jeans and black leather jacket and his band who were wearing grey suits with Hawaiian shirts. What impressed me most were some of the unusual cover versions he performed, beginning with David Bowie’s ‘John, I’m Only Dancing’, continuing with Syd Barrett’s ‘Terrapin’ and ending with Lou Reed’s ‘The Bed’ – which he amazingly managed to make sound like a half decent song (I’ve always thought this to be one of the most depressing songs ever written and always had a problem listening to the original).

I had a little detour last week, without my partner-in-crime as she was busy elsewhere, to see Rockin’ Republic, a local covers band containing an old friend of mine at a nearby pub. It gave me a chance to catch up with some old friends that I haven’t seen for ages and was a pretty good evening and certainly made a change from sitting in on a Saturday night.

So this takes us to last night and our annual trip to see Alice Cooper at Alexandra Palace, with his Halloween Night of Fear. As always he and his band provided a good show, although it was slightly less theatrical than in previous years and there was a lot of guitar work, I guess due to the fact that he had three guitarists including Lou Reed. However, the snake, dead Ethel and the guillotine were all in attendance as well as a giant Frankenstein’s monster version of Alice. This year there were a lot more people dressed up, as were we, Mrs H3 as a corpse bride and me as a witch with a fabulous feathery bright red hat. There was also a late surprise during the encore, when Arthur Brown appeared onstage to sing his hit ‘Fire’ whilst wearing that famous flaming headdress.  Unfortunately, as ever, we arrived late and missed the support which was the New York Dolls, who I would have liked to have seen, but it also had the added benefit of having missed the freaks who stab themselves and stuff, that Alice so likes to pepper his shows with. All in all another brilliant evening – and in fancy dress too, which always cheers me up.

Tomorrow night is another fancy dress party at the Beacon Court in Gillingham where there will be some live bands and on Thursday we are going to see Blue October, which I’m really excited about as it’s been a long time since they were last in the UK. We’re also having a bonfire party at Mrs H3’s house on Friday, where they are going to let us set fire to things (mad people). Later in the month we’re going to a Labyrinth masquerade ball at the Prince Charles Cinema, where we get to dress up again and wear masks, before spending the evening enjoying David Bowie’s incredibly tight trousers.

Oh, and while I remember, this week saw David Hasselhoff announce a tour of the UK in March next year and of course we have tickets for his date at IndigO2. Unfortunately, we were a little too late for the V.I.P. meet and greet option, but we’ve still got prime seats. Excited? Me not so much, but Mrs H3 certainly is and that’s all that matters.

Of course, it’s also that time of the year again. I mean of course NaNoWriMo, that annual torture where I try to force myself to write 50,000 words of a story and generally fail abysmally – although last year I did manage it, but only by writing fan fiction rather than an original story. This year I’m going into it completely blind, with absolutely no plot, no characters and not even any idea, at this stage, of what type of story I’m going to write. Yep, sounds to me like a cause for failure again too, but I’m not going to let it put me off. So, once more into the breach dear friends!

Autumn

So it's Autumn. The weather is finally showing signs of being vaguely Summery, although subject to change at any moment and the night's are drawing in. I'm now getting up for work and the gym in the dark and noticing the early morning chill in the air. Also depressingly, the first adverts related to Christmas have already been shown on the telly (thanks Sun newspaper!)

The good thing is that with Autumn comes Halloween and, of course, a spate of concerts. I'm really pleased about this as I've been dying of boredom sitting at home without anything interesting to do but nerd out on the internet.

The first of these concerts is tomorrow - Gary Numan at Shepherd's Bush Empire. I am really looking forward to this as it's a showcase for his new album Dead Son Rising that was released this week and I will be buying a copy at the show (one of the few artists that I'm still getting physical copies of their work rather than just the MP3 version).

Next is a visit to see our old mate, Peter Doherty (assuming he manages to stay out of prison until then) at Brixton Academy, which will be good as we missed out on his last concert due to the snow, swiftly followed by a stop to see the final ever concert by The Bluetones at Shepherd's Bush. Then it's a trip to Tunbridge Wells to spend a pleasant evening with the ever lovely Marc Almond, leading us neatly up to Halloween when we will, of course, be joining horror-meister Alice Cooper on his Halloween Night of Fear tour at Alexandra Palace. Then, just when you think everything's calmed down we'll be going mad over Blue October, finally coming back to the UK and appearing at O2 Islington. Sadly there's no sign of any imminent I Am Kloot shows, or even Johnny Bramwell solo evenings, but I'm hoping they'll be doing something soon.

Currently there isn't anything past Blue October, but after that it won't be long until Panto season starts. Whilst there's no majorly exciting productions this year (with the Hoff reproducing his Captain Hook role in Bristol and Brian Blessed not appearing at all) there are still enough to keep us going for a few weeks over the festive season.

If anyone is checking out my old posts you'll notice that many of the photos and slideshows have gone. This is because the company I was using to host them closed down. I do have another hosting site now so future posts will once again feature photos, but I'm not going to bother to put the old photos back unless anyone is desperately interested. If so, please let me know.

Also, I just want to remind you about my health and fitness journal which you can find here. I'm doing quite well so far, but support and recipe ideas are always welcome - and I've managed to get a post in every day so far, which is more than can be said for here, although I really am trying!

Gosh it’s been a long time since I last blogged. I really did mean to start writing again, but time slipped away as it has a nasty habit of doing these days and suddenly it was time for Mrs H3 and I to go on the holiday of a lifetime (something I will be making a separate blog about in the near future, featuring lots of lovely photos) and then there was the extended recovery from the holiday of a lifetime. Suddenly months have gone by, summer (whatever that is) has gone and it’s almost Halloween once again.

So what have I been doing? To be honest with the exception of the holiday - not much. We’ve been to a few concerts and seen a few films, but mostly it’s been a staying in kind of time due to the expense of going to the USA and to Universal Studios and the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in particular.

I will still try to update this blog slightly more often assuming anything interesting happens – there are a few concerts on the not too distant horizon, but I will also be keeping a daily journal to record my latest attempt to live a healthier and fitter life which can be found here. Please feel free to join me over there with any helpful tips, advice or encouragement.

Oh and don’t forget to watch out for the holiday of a lifetime special, coming to a blog near you shortly. 

In Memorium – Raymond Edwin Sexton

I am aware I haven’t posted anything for a very long time (four months excluding the Rebellion post-it, which doesn’t really count), but to be honest, I haven’t actually been in the mood or even really been able to write much.

My wonderful and much beloved father spent the past four and a half years battling with prostate and bone cancer. Although it was something I would normally have blogged about, as I have often used this blog as a stress reliever, I was unable to do so as we’d kept the true severity of his condition a secret so he wouldn’t lose heart and give up. As my father was an avid reader of my blog, always wanting to keep up with what I was doing, it was hard to express my feelings on his illness when he was likely to read it and therefore I moved into complete silence on the subject, but then found it hard, especially once his condition became critical, to write on more light-hearted matters.

As you know, I spent three months in Spain last summer, which was actually to help my mother with caring for my father in what we thought (and were told) were his final days. In fact we spent a week in hospital with him, during which we were all sure that it was only a matter of days if not hours before we lost him. However, being the fighter he always was, dad wasn’t ready to go then (despite dire warnings from every medical person to cross his path - the reason we were keeping it a secret and hence my three month ‘vacation’). As autumn drew on, he began to show an amazing recovery – the pain seemingly absent and with his steely determination he forced himself to get himself out of bed, an amazing feat as the muscles in his legs had almost withered away to nothing. Although not well by any means, he was at least able to enjoy some quality of life again – being able to watch the television, read his beloved books and use the computer, and over time had even managed to get himself walking again with the use of a frame.

Unfortunately, a couple of months ago, in his haste to move (impatience ever being one of his faults, as it is mine) he fell and this set him on a downward path. A detached retina in one eye added to a worsening cataract in the other meant he could no longer read, always his greatest pleasure in life and his worst loss, and a swift return of the pain, increasing to the stage where no painkillers could help (and he was high as a kite from the cocktail of drugs most of the time), meant that for the second time in a year we had to prepare ourselves for the worst. Once again I went to Spain, ready to help my mother, exhausted as she was from the constant round-the-clock care she had been providing since his fall – and of course, to say goodbye to my precious dad.

Heartbreakingly, my father passed away, peacefully and finally free from the pain he’d been in for so long, at nine am on a grey and rainy Thursday, on 24 March 2011.

I had been due to fly home the following day, as the coming weekend (containing Mrs H3’s birthday) was going to be the busiest of the year, with concerts by Chas & Dave and Elbow to go to, as well as an England football game at Wembley and a 1970s themed fancy dress party (an excuse for Mrs H3 to finally wear the roller skates I got for her previous birthday!) At that moment all those things ceased to exist for me and all I could think about was being there to support my mum through those first few tough days (although I will admit I was gutted not to be able to do those things so long planned - especially the Elbow concert, which I understand was brilliant).

The Spanish custom is for the funeral to take place as soon as possible after death, usually within twenty four to forty eight hours. However, mum and dad have a funeral plan (if you live abroad you really need to get one of these, seriously, as it really saves you money and a lot of hassle) which allows them to extend the mortuary time, and the people running the plan were incredibly efficient and extremely helpful. Mum, ever considerate of other people, even at such a distressing time wasn’t keen on the funeral happening on the Saturday, as friends of theirs were celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary at a party that evening, and there was the question of whether any of the family would be attending and so the funeral was arranged for Monday 28 March.

Mum and I, along with Sam, a good friend of my father’s went to view the body (also a Spanish custom as they only ever hold closed coffin funerals) on Sunday evening. This was a strange time for me as I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him, but felt I ought to, in support for my mother. I will admit I only lasted in the room for a few seconds. The body lying in the coffin wasn’t my dad. He was long gone and I couldn’t bear to see his body lying there, looking somehow artificial. There was also an awful smell, although I apparently was the only one who noticed that. Bizarrely, and I suppose it’s always at stressful times you get these odd types of thoughts, the first thing I noticed was that he seemed to be covered in glitter… sparkling you might say, and I couldn’t help but wonder whether my father had turned into a vampire (although I was careful enough to keep that part of the observation to myself).

Monday was a beautiful sunny day, in total contrast to the day of dad’s death and (possibly because of the old wives tale) it made me feel that he was happy now he was free from pain. As he was an ex-Serviceman, the Royal British Legion (of which he was a member) gave him a Service funeral which was held in a nice chapel in a lovely modern-looking Tantatorio in Orihuela. The coffin, draped in the RAF flag and bearing a poppy wreath and a tribute from my mother, sister and I stood in place of honour as standard bearers carried their flags into the chapel and took their places for the service. This was conducted by a friendly and caring lay preacher called Keith Brown and was heart warming and touching, at times both funny and sad.

Originally mum and I had decided we weren’t going to say anything at the funeral, but surfing the web the day after dad’s passing I found a poem which expressed perfectly just how his last moments had been and how mum, Jo and I felt about his leaving us. As soon as I saw it I knew I had to read it at the service, although every time I read it through the words always left me in tears and both I and the preacher were a little worried that I wouldn’t be able to go through with it.

Although upset and still somewhat raw during the service, I was determined I wasn’t going to cry. If I’d done that the poem definitely wouldn’t have been read as I’d never have been able to stop for long enough to get through it. Instead I gritted myself and tried not to think about the sadness as I waited for my cue, about half way through the service. I was so glad they didn’t play any of the music we’d chosen before my big moment or I’d have been a blubbering mess.

And then it was my turn. Suddenly I had to read the poem (slowly, Keith had told me) and it was then, standing at the lectern and looking out at the mourners that I realized just how many people had come to the funeral. The room was full and all those people were looking expectantly at me as I tried not to lose it up there in front of everyone. I took a long deep breath then launched into an explanation of how I’d come across the poem and finally said the words that meant so much to us:

God saw you getting tired,
When a cure was not to be.
So He wrapped his arms around you,
and whispered, "come to me."

You didn't deserve what you went through,
So He gave you rest.
God's garden must be beautiful,
He only takes the best

And when I saw you sleeping,
So peaceful and free from pain
I could not wish you back
To suffer that again.

Amazingly, I managed to get through it without crying for the first time ever, but almost before I had a chance to sit down mum’s choice of song came on – “True Love Ways” by Buddy Holly and that was it for me. With mum sobbing openly now, all I could do was stroke her arm and try to comfort her as my own tears flowed silently down my cheeks. How we got through the farewell, where mum and I stood by dad’s coffin as the Kohima Epitaph was recited and the standards were withdrawn I don’t remember, I was too busy thinking of dad to take much notice of what was happening. And then they were playing our second choice, dad’s favourite song by his favourite band – “Wild West Hero” by E.L.O. and my tears were no longer silent. The song, always a favourite of mine too, evoked such strong memories of my dad that I couldn’t help but release the pent-up sorrow that I’d been holding inside for so long.

And then it was over and the final Spanish custom (touching the coffin to say farewell) was taking place, with mum and I at the head of the procession. Outside, we talked to the huge quantity of people that had attended and I admitted that I’d been terrified about my reading. Many of them told me the poem had been absolutely perfect for the occasion and most had assumed I’d written it as it was so “from the heart”. I shall state here that I’ve no idea who wrote the poem as it is generally credited as being by an unknown author, although several people have claimed credit for it, if Google is anything to go by.

Flowers are also not a Spanish custom, so instead we had asked people to make a donation for the Paul Cunningham Nurses, who had done so much to help dad in his final year. I am pleased to say that this raised almost five hundred euros for the charity.

And so a month has passed. In some ways it all seems like a distant memory, yet in others it’s still as raw as it was on the morning of dad’s death. I won’t lie, there were a few tears yesterday morning at 8am when I realised that it was exactly a month since he’d left us. A part of me can’t believe that he won’t be there waiting for me when I return to Spain and I know that whilst he will always be with me in my heart there will also be a little part of me missing that will never heal.

Jo, Freddie and I will be heading back to Spain in May, to spend a week with mum – giving her the chance to enjoy her grandson properly, for the first time, and giving us all a chance to say a final goodbye to dad as we scatter his ashes up in the mountains where he used to walk to the dogs.

Goodbye dad.

Leave the Scar - MiM Rebellion