Tag: family

Writing My Memoirs


Advance warning – I am jumping on the bandwagon and I am writing my memoirs!

Happy New Year

Hello, hello, hello and a very happy New Year! Have you forgotten who I am? Have you found other gurus to adore and worship? I do hope not. I haven’t forgotten about you, I can assure you. I just felt I needed time to find myself again and, lacking the funds to relocate to California to do this, as some have done, I have been going to the pub instead. It was during one of these visits that I had the idea to write a book about my life, giving all the salacious details about my family and the rows and adventures that we had. Strangely, someone else seems to have had a similar idea…
I recall one particularly vicious argument many years ago in Wales with one of my male siblings – I’ll call him David for the sake of anonymity – about a baked bean. I had been out for the evening, as had David, and we arrived home at about the same time. We were both hungry and decided to heat up some baked beans our mother had left in a pan. We chose to do the whole gourmet scene and added toast as well, arranging the beans artfully on top. We took it in turns to eat until there was just one bean left. I regarded it as MY baked bean because it was my turn to eat, but David snaffled it before I could get my fork into it. And there it was – gone! A red mist came down in front of my eyes and I screamed that that should have been MY bean and that David had always been a selfish so-and-so. I then stormed off to bed, much aggrieved, convinced that I was starving to death because I hadn’t had my full share of beans. I think alcohol may have played a part. I’m still waiting for the apology for stealing food from under my nose.
Then there was the occasion, again in Wales, when youngest male sibling – who guards his privacy jealously, so I won’t call him Trefor – and I had a jumping competition over a low white fence around the next door neighbour’s front garden. It didn’t end well. We had been out for the evening and it seemed a jolly good idea when we got back into our street to see if we could both jump over the little white fence next door before going into our house. I went first and caught my foot on the fence, falling onto the gravel path inside the fence. I was laughing so much I couldn’t get up before Trefor took his turn and did exactly the same thing, catching his foot and falling – but not onto the path. Oh no… he fell onto my head! I think alcohol may have played a part. Still laughing, we went home, but when I got up the next morning, my hair was plastered to the side of my face where it had been scraped by the gravel as youngest sibling landed on my head! I was deeply hurt when I went to the doctor that morning, an old family friend, to ask for some antibiotics and he said, ‘How did you do that? Do I get the truth or the story you’ve probably told your mother?’ He was quite right, of course! (I’ll tell you the tale I told my mother another time.) I’m still waiting for the apology for sitting on my head.
Of course, none of these incidents was my fault – it is other people who made me the victim of starvation and injury. The LSG doesn’t admit to fault – near-perfection is faultless. I will leave you on that note. Plenty more to come!
PS Recollections may differ.


A very good evening to you all from the Lifestyle Support Guru!
I am writing this whilst sitting in a drinking establishment in Coventry. Why Coventry, you may well ask. Why not, I may well answer. It seemed as good a place as any to visit for the night on the way back from Cambridge. Why Cambridge, you may well ask. Why not, I may well answer, but I shan’t, because that would be the wrong answer. One male sibling and I went there to visit oldest female sibling and her granddaughter, who are visiting their son and dad respectively while he lolls around Cambridge University inventing things to do with storage of heat and energy – I would explain this more fully, since I understand the process completely, but I don’t have enough time or space and I can assure you, Faithful Followers, that you would have no idea what I am on about, and I’m pretty sure that any explanation will not help you manoeuvre your way through the many miseries this life will throw at you.

The other female sibling in our Happy Family also joined us, making the Great Trek up through the Dreaded Dartford Tunnel (DDT), so we were a jolly band. If only Youngest Sibling had been able to hurry down from Hull (I am in an alliterative mood tonight), we should have been a complete family! The Hull family member said he was too busy sorting papers to make the journey, but I have a feeling this may have been a euphemism for ‘You must be joking! A family reunion! I’d rather stick pins in my eyes.’

We went to a lovely pub/restaurant on the river for lunch and ordered some food which, we were told, would take about 40 minutes because they were very busy. That seemed fine because conversation was taking a long time anyway – one or two of the group are a little hard of hearing, so everything had to be repeated at least twice, and throw in a Northern Ireland accent and you have the makings of an international conference without the benefit of an interpreter. (The food took an hour, by the way, so conversation was beginning to wane and we almost turned to the dreaded Brexit topic, but the triple-cooked chips arrived in the nick of time!)

John Collier (1850–1934)

Painted by John Collier (1850–1934)

I am now communicating with you ‘live’ from the ‘welcoming bar’ (booking.com description) of our Coventry hotel instead of from the Indian restaurant next door where we had hoped to end the evening. The restaurant, advertised as open until 23.59 (we arrived at 21.45), was, we were told, closing in 30 minutes – for good! However, the waiter recommended a five-minute walk to a ‘whole street’ of restaurants. Did I mention that it was pouring with rain?

We decided to cut our losses and finish the evening with a glass of wine and a packet of crisps in the hotel’s ‘welcoming’ bar. The barmaid took a little while to serve us because she needed to finish her cigarette outside first, and when a note was tendered to pay, the change was given in 10p pieces – three pounds’ worth of 10p pieces! Why would a bar have a till full of 10p pieces and not a single £1 coin?
Meanwhile, some of the clientele are seated in the ‘welcoming’ bar area ringing a takeaway restaurant to complain that they haven’t received enough chips with their kebabs. Apparently, ‘only’ 20 chips per kebab aren’t enough. First World problems, eh?

Anyway, that’s Coventry covered (unlike Lady Godiva), so there is no need to return to the place – unless I find that the 10p pieces can only be spent in Coventry!

Sleep well, Beloved Believers – I have a feeling I may not!