Unchained Melody as House Sale in Jeopardy

Faith House, Tufton Street, Westminster

Faith House, Tufton Street, Westminster (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The chain for my house sale and flat purchase is in a state of semi-collapse. Solicitor’s secretary has tried to calm me down! Situation: My buyers’ buyers withdrew their offer. (My buyer can’t purchase my house until he’s sold his.)

Fortunately, he already has another 4 viewings at least on his house this week (complicated, huh?) and the chain could be reinstated.

I feel permanently thwarted in my efforts to move on from the marital home. First my dad died, then I had major health probs, then surgery, which took months to recover from, then all the work involved to get the house ‘sale ready’. All this while coping with an as yet incurable chronic illness.

I genuinely feel like some malevolent force is keeping me prisoner in this house. It’s pathetic. And if any soul tells me “it’s all in God’s plan” and that “he has wonderful things in store for me” I shall either commit hari kari or scream. Loudly.

I am tempted to think that faith is a load of bunkum. But then I meet people for whom faith is a real, solid entity. Are they just deluded? I don’t know. My faith is shaky.


Peter Andre and My BFF

English: Peter Andre on 5 February 2010.

English: Peter Andre on 5 February 2010. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Antipodean crooner and reality star Peter Andre, currently wowing viewers of Strictly Come Dancing, is a deadringer for my male BFF. They even share accents.

BFF leads a dangerous life in many ways – through his work and hobbies. All legal and above board, of course, but they are activities that most other men and women would never contemplate doing. Needless to say, he is often in my prayers.

What a contrast to my MPF (male platonic friend) who won’t go anywhere without a companion. Not even to a concert. And he’s in his 50s too. What a waste. He should be in my prayers too because not to have the confidence to do such simple everyday things is an affliction, isn’t it?

The Passive Mother and My Prayers for Patience

Portrait of Miss Georgina Pope, head nurse of ...

Portrait of Miss Georgina Pope, head nurse of First Canadian Contingent during the Boer war. Possibly in her nurse’s uniform from Bellevue Hospital, New York (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Why does my mother not ask people questions or ask how they are? Is it selfishness or a lack of confidence? I think it is the latter. I hope it’s that!

I think it infantilises me because its left up to me to do the ‘filling in’, all the communication work – like the child I was returning home from school and babbling on about my day. I still have to do that. I also feel that i have to persuade her on the worth of my words. Weird.

When she came to stay here for 4 weeks she didn’t ask my (many!) friends one question. Not one question. She did ask my ex-husband a question but only after I prompted her.
When my platonic male friend (PMF) came to stay with us overnight she didn’t ask him anything. She talked to him at length but about herself. She has always been like this, it’s not just because she’s elderly, although it becomes more apparent when someone is elderly.

Maybe it is something to do with the job she had. She was a nurse, beginning in the 1950s. I think it might be something to do with working with consultants. I think these men made women, i.e., the nurses, feel stupid if they asked anything. They were like gods. Consultants spoke and nurses listened and carried out tasks.

My whole life I have never known her to ask a shop assistant for help. Rather than do that she will just walk out of the place without buying the thing that she needs.

I am praying for more patience and understanding!

In the Waiting Room


Am sitting here waiting to see if this man who has offered my house before, but who wasn’t in a position to move but is now, is going to buy my house. It’s torture. Like waiting for a callback on X Factor!

Divorce Support Group Comes Through For Me

Divorce Busting

Divorce Busting (Photo credit: Wikipedia). This book didn’t save my marriage but it did help us to part more amicably than we could have done. 

I popped back to my divorce support group last night after a long absence – as something has come up in my ‘journey’ that made that feel necessary. After 28 years of us being in each others’ lives my Ex is moving several hundred miles away.

This has brought up a confusing mix of feelings, memories and thoughts. The group really did help though. One of my church friends just said a few sentences that made such a lot of sense and I also got to see how far I have come in relation to the ‘newbies’ – the ones who are in the early stages of separation.