I'm 49 and feeling menopausal. Apparently it's called peri-menopause, or peripause. What this really means is that on a good day I cry at the John Lewis advert with the boy and the Christmas gift for mum and dad, and on a bad day I want to throttle the gal sat next to me on the train for tweezing her eyebrows in public. I have a child who is sweet and beautiful and smart, and nuttier than a box of rocks. I am single - as in unmarried, unattached and at times feeling just 'un'. I've got near-constant chatter clogging my head, and not in a schizophrenic kinda way. I thought an online journal might be a good place to deposit my middle-aged chatter. Here goes...

Saturday, 6 October 2012

Life after death

I am bereft, missing my father so much I may stop breathing. When I close my eyes I can see his gaunt face and sweet eyes searching for mine – that impish slow smirk on recognising my face. I hear his voice calling out to me, calling my name – his gruff baritone voice, at once ominous and soothing.

I miss his lemony scent, and leaning against him on the sofa as he fingered my hair and kissed the top of my head. I miss the feel of his soft lips and prickly moustache on my forehead, the way he’d mispronounce bicycle and his impromptu rants about Mexicans, private healthcare and rubbish collection.

Everyone says grief grips you long after, when you least expect it, when you accept that you will never again hear your Babbo’s baritone voice, or smell his lemony neck, or feel his soft lips and prickly moustache on your face. That’s when the gaping chasm in your heart swallows you whole and you can no longer see for the tears cascading from your eyes onto your keyboard like a dripping tap.


So you try to quell the pain by wrapping your lonely arms around your sleeping child, spooning him, weeping quietly into the back of his neck, while he breathes deeply, innocently, knowing that some day you too will inflict upon him the kind of anguish you yourself feel today, and hoping he may have someone in his life who makes his grief slightly more bearable.


  1. mmmm, i can't find room in this post for a stock in trade amusing quip, such is the prosaic misery ... in times such as these I have relied heavily on Carry on /Hammer Horror films as they are as comforting as Weetabix with hot milk and brown sugar, and stoicism, for 'All things Must Pass' eventually, including grief. Alternatively, a bottle of cold Sancerre with a gracious friend or half a bottle of scotch alone sitting on the bathroom floor.

  2. I prefer my Weetabix with cane sugar and cold milk - and cream. I am fortunate to have many 'gracious friends', as you say, who are all too happy to get me hammered, and pretzel up with me. Thanks for your comment. I know it will pass, I do - it doesn't help being 4,000 away from family. Anyhoo... on to my next point: I received your email via this blog and PROMISE I will read it and get back to you. Thanks for all your comments x

  3. Some women are even worse...


    The very definition of narcissist.

  4. I'm not a fan of Hayley, to be honest, although I concede she writes well. What bugs me about that blogpost is that it was all a bitchy game for her - entrapment, really. She set men up so she could ridicule them and later mock them on her blog. It was deliberate, orchestrated - a strategy and, in my opinion, unethical. Women like Hayley let the sisters down. There is nothing about what she did that merits praise. I've been very careful in my blog not to use any REAL usernames, or descriptions of the men I goof on, so as to protect their anonymity. I couldn't live with myself otherwise. Thanks for sending me that link. I doubt I'll ever click on her blog again. As an aside, she is interviewing Neil Gaiman, apparently. Here's a link to an 'inspirational' commencement address he delivered. It's lovely, and so is he. If you have 20 minutes to spare, it's well worth it http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ikAb-NYkseI&noredirect=1

  5. Sorry, I posted my comment (14:20) on the more sombre page of your blog I didn't mean to. Thanks for the link I watched the video too.

    I don't read her blog and I've never heard of her before, it just came up as I googled "Guardian Soulmates." as does your blog. It was odd because rather than just saying in a straightforward way that she signed up to the dating site to prove to herself that she could top the female rankings, she claims that it was mainly as result of a competition she was having with her male friend. I gave her the benefit of the doubt while reading the post until I saw that she posted the print screen of the website showing her at Number 1. That was too much for me.... a little creepy even.

    On another note, given they already have ratings (which are essentially a proxy vote for physical attractiveness) we can see adult human beings competing with eachother, for eachother. Those with the best attributes thrive and can have whatever they want, those shy of such attributes don't really have much of a chance. It's nice to see it happen on the Guardian website without the help of Ayn Rand, Thatcher, David Cameron and Exxon Mobil.

    Perhaps were all just twats


  6. http://peripauseforthought.blogspot.com/2012/12/america-its-not-so-beautiful.html?showComment=1429865702975#c9129311843898628871