Today is the first day I have actually been able to do some writing, after the operation on Monday. I am still feeling quite groggy and disorientated, which I personally put down to the general anaesthetic I had. The truth is, I have always suffered after being anaesthetised; after an operation in the late 1980s, I was left sick for many days, so it was no surprise that I felt the same way this time. I am just thankful to have finally had my gallbladder removed.

In the evening, before my operation on Monday, I was contacted by the Hospital and asked to attend the Theatre admissions department at 6.30 am. The lady I spoke to said I would be  first on the list that day, and they wanted to get me prepped and ready for the cholecystectomy by 8.30 in the morning. There was no eating allowed before the op, and I had to bring a dressing gown and a pair of slippers with me.

I arrived at the admissions' suite early and was immediately seen by a nurse who asked me a series of questions, and took my blood pressure, it was 124/80, more or less normal, as it should be. For me, this alone is a big achievement; ditching blood pressure tablets and managing to get my blood pressure under control, with lifestyle changes, including stopping drinking and smoking was a big undertaking. She seemed pleased with the result and directed me to a room to change into a surgical gown. Finally, she gave me a pair of stockings to wear, and said I would have to keep them on for the next 48 hours, just in case of blood clots.

Whilst not the most attractive fashion statement, the nurse explained how important it was to keep these on at all times and I wouldn't be able to bathe or shower during the 48-hour period. She also told me to keep hold of them for any future long haul flight, since they would afford better protection than other shop bought travel tights. Suitably impressed, I've only just taken my tights off today. I certainly don't have a predisposition to blood clots, but one can never be too careful after surgery.

The operation lasted about an hour and a half to two hours, which was longer than expected. As a rule, it takes about forty-five minutes to remove the gallbladder, but that is dependent on individual circumstances. I had been experiencing a lot of left sided pain, so it was suggested some of the biliary ducts in the area could have been affected, although I wasn't told this for sure. The reason for removal on my discharge notes states biliary colic, which encompasses any of the scenario's that could have occurred during surgery. I was told by a friend who I used to go to school with, that she had also had a cholecystectomy and had remained in theatre for a little over six hours, which made me thankful, mine was so quick.

Despite this being a routine procedure, it is still a major operation and does take its toll on the body. Initially, it took me many hours to eventually come round after the operation. I was particularly ill afterwards, vomiting constantly; my aversion to the anaesthetic and the opiates used, made me feel dreadful, something I still haven't recovered from three days later.

According to the nurse taking care of me after the operation, the laparoscopic procedure used to remove my gallbladder, uses CO2 gas to blow up the abdomen. This makes the body cavity easier to navigate; She did stress that I would feel some residual gas afterwards, which could cause pain. The tight chest I was experiencing, which was getting worse by the minute, was the gas moving up the body. It was particularly difficult to breathe, and she gave me what she could to ease the pain.

The wounds on my torso were less painful, at least initially, although the one just above my belly button was hurting far more than the others. With a large bruise forming just below, it was clear this was where the main point of entry was. Still under the effects of the anaesthetic, I wasn't really aware of just how painful it would be later on.

I was discharged from QA at 7pm, feeling decidedly sick. It was wonderful being cared for by Nurse Beverly, a regular at The Newcome Public House where I work, who looked after me faultlessly. In typical NHS style, she brought me Ginger nuts to settle my stomach and some peppermint tea to make me feel better. They were a wonderful bunch in 'recovery' and made my brief stay as comfortable as possible.

Today is Thursday, three days after the operation, and I have only just started to feel better. The gas has almost gone now, but pain where my scars are, have really kicked in, as they begin to heal and pull ever tighter. I have been given two weeks off work and should be OK to return by then, although I will have to avoid heavy lifting for several weeks after that.

This was an operation that was a long time coming, and I am hoping that after a year and a half I can start to feel more like my old self again. I am not sure whether or not the IBS symptoms I have been experiencing, over the last three years will remain, or get worse, or better in the preceding months. No one really knows if there was a relationship between gallbladder disease and the IBS I suffered with. All I can say is I feel pretty good for now and haven't needed to take any IBS medication. My wish is I finally see the back of it, the reality is rather different. I expect my IBS to last way beyond this operation, but gradually as I start to reintroduce food into my diet, that I haven't eaten in years, I hope there will be some improvement; so far so good. For now, I remain hopeful that life will finally get better, and the pain will eventually subside!

In 2015, I wrote an article about a house I used to live in, 'The Mansion.' That was the name we called it; a place a group of friends and like-minded individuals inhabited between 1994 and 1995. This was the house I fell in love with and have remained connected to ever since. The short amount of time I stayed there, had a profound effect on my life and was a big part of my youth, growing up in early 90s Southampton. Ever since I left 'The Mansion,' I have always wondered about its history, the people who lived and died there and the memories people had of this beautiful old building, near Bitterne Triangle in Southampton.

Twenty-seven years ago, seven of us decided to rent this rather large, imposing property and live our lives together, safe in the knowledge that we would look after one another and be there when times got tough. Growing up gay in the late eighties, early nineties was very different to today. All of us were regarded as second class citizens and many suffered bullying, abuse and attacks on a daily basis. Renting a house jointly was a great way to feel secure, safety in numbers if you will, and live like the family unit many of us never had!

The day we visited was cold and uninviting. I remember looking up and down the road for the right house, but there was no number on any of the doors. By a process of elimination, we deduced, the large mock Tudor residence, at the top of the hill, must be the one. How could it be? How could this large, sprawling estate be our new home, the place we had come to see? In fact, this substantial, well-formed property was,  and as we entered the hallway, I think I can speak for everyone when I say, we fell in love.

Each room we entered was old, faded and had seen better days. Peeling wallpaper, patterned swirly carpet and the imprints left from paintings removed from walls. The vast 1960s blue melamine kitchen had mirror tiles on the wall, a reminder of times long since past. There were open fires, tall ceilings, a sweeping staircase and room after room, hidden behind every door, each one bigger than the last. There was an upstairs kitchen, a small bedroom with a balcony, as well and an old lift, no longer working. Cracks in the walls, broken windows and plumbing that used to echo throughout the house and a musty smell, damp and neglected. Despite its dilapidated state, it was a house that pulled at our emotional strings and became such a large part of all our lives. This was the place I still dream about today and remember with fondness, as a monument to my past and all those who came before.

To us, 'The Mansion' was a party house, where we danced weekends away, filled with friends and clubbers, straggling out of the Magnum Club during the early hours of Sunday morning. All of us continued to celebrate our sexuality, the music of the time and the freedom that youth brings. I met many people during this period, including my husband; some I remain friends with today, others were fleeting acquaintances that left as quick as they came. People from all walks of life, would descent on our home for a few days, never to be seen again. Even today I get messages from people, who remember the 'Mansion Parties' of the past and I just can't place who they are; Transient friendships are not the best for making memories.

Of course the neighbours who lived in their large well maintained homes, along the Avenue, must have been at their wits end, suffering yet another night of revelling. Cars used to park up and down its whole length, blocking drives and traffic trying to get past. As our driveway filled, so did the neighbouring roads and backstreets. The Mansion was a beacon for the gay community and holds an affectionate place in all our hearts for the great times it epitomised and the freedoms it encouraged.

My interest in 'The Mansion' has spanned a quarter of a century, and I have been interested in other people's memories of this once great house. Today, with the power of social media, I have been able to collate the reflections of neighbours and others who have a deep connection to the house, reading about their experiences and feelings as this building was torn down and a faceless block of flats was built in its place.

The comments about number 49 were above all positive, as members of the public recalled the splendour of the building; countless respondents said they used to play in the forest next door. Every one said how sad it was, that it was torn down and replaced by apartments, as I am also. When a building leaves a mark, it is a sadness when the physical memory is erased.

Many of those who replied to my advert for help, remembered the house in its heyday. They spoke eloquently about walking past, glancing back and wishing they lived there. Others mentioned playing around 'Deep Dene,' at the back of the house, meandering down to Bitterne Triangle at the end of the road. Ghostly walks, an emotional drive past and a price tag of £9000, many years ago. The response has been amazing, and I am astounded that so many individuals hold this building dear, just like me, for their own sentimental reasons.

One of the previous owners, Mr Harding also commented:

'The house was called Willowthorpe and was known as 49 Cobden Avenue. My parents purchased the home in the late 1960s, from an old lady who wasn't able to live there any longer, due to age and health. The lady worked on cruise ships and owned the hairdressing salons. The home was in a poor state and my parents turned it into a wonderful family home, where myself and my two brothers had a wonderful childhood.

My parents ran a plumbing business known as G E Harding and sons Ltd from our home, and all three brothers trained as apprentice plumbers in the business. This business still remains to this day.'

Mr Harding emphasised that many comments on my social media post are close to correct, but many others are not. The house was not haunted as many speculated, and other words about family discontent are also not true. The family are alive and well, having moved to Bassett and finally Warsash.

Willowthorpe or 'The Mansion' as we called it, seems to have left lasting memories with the people of Bitterne Triangle and Southampton as a whole.  This smart, handsome building, built in the early 20th century, saw many families come and go over the years. Like so many other large houses of the time, it was torn down and replaced with flats, HMO's and other, smaller family homes. Its enduring legacy is the impression it left on those who lived there, walked past each day, and others who dreamt of a lottery win, buying this spacious home. It will forever remain prominent in my life and was at least in part responsible for the path I followed, the relationship I have today and the people who still talk about the 'Mansion House' days. I will forever be reminded of the parties, time spent with friends no longer with us and the beautiful mock Tudor residence, I was happy to call home.

On Monday, I finally have my cholecystectomy, after a year and a half of waiting; it has been a long road getting here, but I am glad it won't be too long before it's finally over. I was speaking to a friend recently, who has also undergone surgery to remove their gallbladder, and they were honest in their reactions. I had to agree that the pain, resulting from a failing gallbladder and the formation of stones, is like nothing I have experienced before. Without swearing, it is the most intense agony, worse than anything you can imagine. For them, it was a relief getting back to a semblance of normality, after suffering for years. I don't care how painful this operation is, I just want the damn thing out!

Over the last few days, I have had to have a number of tests done, attending QA Hospital to have blood taken, ensuring I am OK to have the procedure on Monday. As someone who hates needles, I don't think I did too badly, not fainting once. Yes, there has been an occasion when I did pass out during a blood test, but thankfully this time, I was OK and managed to get through relatively unscathed.


My first visit to Laparoscopy was on Monday, and yesterday I received a call from the Hospital, asking me to go back to have yet more blood tests, as the last one of five hadn't been accepted; the label was written out wrong and rejected by the laboratory. Luckily today, I was heading back to QA for my PCR COVID test, so with little time to spare, I ran to the outpatients department to have the sample retaken. It was important to have it done, since it would indicate my blood group, should I need a transfusion during surgery. After an apology from the head nurse, everything was done in preparation for Monday, and I could finally relax.

I have to be at the Hospital at 6.30am on Monday and have been told to bring an overnight bag with dressing gown and slippers. I expect to be in for most of the day, although my consultant told me I was first on the list. Keyhole surgery is the preferred method to remove the gallbladder, but because It has been left so long, nobody is quite sure how much damage has been done and whether or not I will need further or more intensive treatment.

I have started a three-day period of self-isolation, from today  before my op. Legally, I have to do this, in order to protect me and those I come into contact with in Hospital. I have had to do this many times during the pandemic, so I am well-used to it. I have jumped through hoops to get this operation done and will not take any risks now. Also, I am taking a lateral flow test every day until Monday, and I am hoping my PCR test comes back negative, which I will have confirmed or not in a few days.

In Australia, Darrell has had his second vaccination, one of the rare twelve percent of the Australian population that has; both of us can breathe a sigh of relief where this dreaded virus is concerned. Of course, this doesn't mean he is in the clear yet, and he won't really know how much protection he has, until he flies to the UK later in the year. We are all constantly told, that the vaccine will only help prevent serious illness and doesn't stop people actually getting the disease. The hope is, Darrell will remain safe during his journey, at a time when very few people are allowed to leave the Australasian continent.

There is still much uncertainty surrounding Darrell's return; after speaking to him over the last few days, it would seem his Mother's cancer could be causing some problems in other areas of her health. Up until now, she has been undergoing chemotherapy to treat her condition, but it  is also responsible for the Anaemia she is currently suffering from. As a result, she has been told to stop the chemo to bring it under control.

Neither of us are sure how this will affect her overall health and whether it will delay Darrell's return to Britain. We are both well aware of the importance of him flying back within a set timescale, in order to keep to the terms of his Indefinite Leave To Remain visa. What we are not so sure about, is what will happen if his Mother's health deteriorates, and he has to remain in Australia, beyond the two-year limit required by the Immigration and Nationality Directorate here back home. Once again our life together remains as bumpy as ever, as we try and find solutions to a problem, not of our making!

For now, I am focused on my wellbeing and the surgery on Monday. I am struck by how much our health has been playing a part in mine and Darrell's life together, in recent times. We are both getting older and things are certainly not going to get any easier; so for now, we will just keep muddling through the best we can, as we always have. One day, the sun will shine again, and we can get back to living life in the way we always used to!

On Monday, I had my pre-op with the Upper GI department at Queen Alexandra Hospital. Having only ever had one operation before, in the 1980s, for an emergency appendix removal, I really have no idea what to expect. According to the lovely lady I spoke to on the phone, times have changed a lot, since the last time I had a general anaesthetic. Naturally however I am worried about having major surgery, especially because I have so many other conditions to contend with, but suitably reassured, I am looking forward to having my gallbladder finally removed, after a year and a half wait.

The operation itself shouldn't be too difficult and is a relatively common procedure. It is carried out through keyhole surgery, unless they have to do an open removal, which would complicate matters and extend the recovery time. My biggest concern is how much damage has been done, because of the long wait due to the pandemic. Also, I have a lot of left sided pain, rather than right, which is unusual and may indicate something different is going on. At the moment, I just don't know how bad the damage is; this is an operation that should have been scheduled a year ago.

The severity of the pain I have been experiencing would suggest other internal processes at work. My symptoms are wide and varied, probably because of IBS and the other illnesses I suffer with, but I am trying to remain focused on the future and what happens after the operation.

Of course, I am hoping my quality of life will improve after the cholecystectomy, but that isn't guaranteed. Most people return to normal afterwards and are able to eat a conventional diet, but for others it isn't that simple.  For some, eating a diet that contains fat of any kind is impossible, with the body unable to process it in the same way again; this isn't dissimilar to my eating habits today. Currently, I can only eat very small amounts of fat in my diet, due to a dysfunctional gallbladder. If I do consume too much, the pain is unbearable, and I am immediately sick. I am so careful with what I consume, because of the terrible symptoms I suffer, if I stray too far away from natural, non-processed foods. I am well aware of the difficulties ahead, but am prepared to have the procedure anyway, in order to try to get back to a semblance of normality and a regular routine, of sorts.

It looks like I will be off work for a couple of weeks, while the wounds heal. I will be left with five small scars across my abdomen, after the gallbladder is removed. Initially they will be sore, but should improve quickly, and I should be up and about in a relatively short time. Unable to do anything strenuous for six weeks, I hope to be back to my old self by September, although I will probably live with Gastrointestinal issues for a lot longer. Naturally, I have read much on the operation, especially in conjunction with IBS, and I am apprehensive, my IBS may get worse. I have so many GI issues now, that my stomach just doesn't know whether it's coming or going, and I have a feeling this is something I will have to live with long term. Preparing for the worst is my forte; being the realist I am, I just have to keep hoping for the best case scenario!

Sadly, Darrell will not be here when I am in Hospital, which of course adds extra anxiety, to an already challenging situation. Like so many other milestones in our life together recently, we will not be together, and that makes everything more difficult. Having an operation, whilst my partner is in another country, is going to be hard. I keep having thoughts of not waking up and never seeing him again. I have been preparing for any eventuality and making sure all my affairs are in order before my op on the 26th. Making sure Darrell is aware of any issues that may arise, is top of my agenda, just in case the worst happens, but let's not dwell and only concentrate on the new beginning that will follow.

On Monday I have a series of blood tests, to check my iron levels and make sure I am well enough to have the operation, then on Friday I will have a PCR COVID test and immediately go into self-isolation, before the operation on Monday morning. I have been told it may be a long wait and that I will also have to stay in hospital afterwards, to be monitored, mainly because I don't have anyone who can be with me for 24 hours after the procedure. Staying in hospital during a pandemic, is also not something I am looking forward to, but I am aware I will be kept in the safest parts of QA and will be as protected as I can be.

Whatever the outcome, I am just glad it will be finally over. Unless the pandemic really accelerates and hospital beds fill, cancelling the gallbladder operation. I hope to be back at work within a few weeks, until then, I'll just sit, worry, procrastinate and act like the nervous wreck I normally am; it's the way I have always muddled through and part of the person I have always been.

It was my absolute pleasure to be interviewed for the 'Artist First Radio Network,' and the 'Debra Rufini' show this week. Debra was engaging as ever, as we both spoke about the issues important to us. I was able to talk at length, for an hour, about my life, blogging, my campaign against bullying and my experience growing up gay in the 1970s/80s.

As a blogger, it is important to get my message across to my readership, so when the lovely Debra Rufini approached me for an interview, I was delighted to oblige. I have listened to her show numerous times and followed her radio programme with interest. Talking about a wide range of subjects, her interviews have always struck a chord with me. From spirituality, writing, narcissism and bullying, her topic of conversation, never fails to inform and entertain. My small contribution has allowed me to finally speak about subjects close to my heart, with a person who understands the mission statement of 'Roaming Brit.'

I felt relaxed talking with Debra, through a medium I have never used before. The radio is a great way for me to get my message across to others; expressing my feelings, vocally, has been an empowering experience. After listening to the broadcast yesterday, I was happy to have been given the opportunity to tell a small part of my story.

The original reasons for creating 'Roaming Brit' all those years ago, are still there and my passion about ending bullying and abuse in all its forms, is as important today as it was then. Debra and I have much in common; our shared values and beliefs come across in an interview that spanned nearly an hour. For me, it was a cosy chat with a friend, but it is also a programme that explored my character, sentiment and conviction. Debra made me remember why I blog, who I blog for, how it has shaped my life and, more seditiously, just how much trauma I have suffered throughout.

My sexuality is the common factor that linked every component in the interview. This is the one single theme, that has really been responsible for the decisions I have made and the challenges I have faced. This connection was at the forefront of my mind during my chat with Debra and continues to dominate my life, even today. From bullying and writing, to childhood and family, homosexuality has been the most tenacious obstacle to my sense of self-worth. It has controlled my life and has made me the person I am today. It isn't until you listen back to a conversation or, in this case, a dialogue on a radio show, that you realise, just what shaped your future direction. If only all of us were accepted for who we are, we wouldn't have to go through the terrible pattern of injustice, that many LGBTQ+ people suffer daily.

My sincere hope, is this interview will help others, who are suffering from bullying. I have written so much about the subject, that I was glad to be able to finally tell my story. Debra was wonderful at making me feel at ease and comfortable, so I felt in a position to tell my narrative, in a way I wanted to, not how others would have demanded. Bullying and abuse are serious issues that need to be addressed, and it is only by talking, that you are able to see through fog. The 'smoke and mirrors' effect, so often used by abusers to muddy the water and make you feel guilty, is a difficult method of manipulation to see through. Listening to other stories, is a great way of understanding the sinister processes at play.

Do take a listen to the podcast of the broadcast on YouTube, which I have included in the link above, and of course let me know what you think. I would of course like to thank Debra and all those at The Debra Rufini Show for their support and for the opportunity to tell my story. I have been amazed by the positive feedback I have received and hope it isn't too long before you hear from me again. Roaming Brit survives, because of its readership and I hope you will all take a moment, to sit and listen to my experiences, in this crazy World we all live in.

This radio interview is dedicated to all those who have suffered and continue to suffer abuse. Many of you helped me come to terms with my struggles, and for that I am truly thankful. Without your love and support, I wouldn't be here today!

I have always encouraged myself to tell the truth, even in the  most difficult of circumstances, it's the reason I decided to call myself 'The Real Truth Blogger.' Writing about my experiences in life, in the most sincere way possible, has always been my mantra. I have never looked at life through rose-tinted glasses or been under any illusions about the mistakes I have made and the challenges that have brought me to where I am today. My life is hard; the lifestyle choices I made many years ago have come back to haunt me, and I am fully aware of the difficult road ahead, because I have been here before. The stories I write, blogs I compose and memories I reflect upon, are as honest as I believe they should be. Nevertheless, all of us, even me, try to remember the best of times, often leaving traumatic accounts locked away, rarely seeing the light of day.

I have had an amazing life and been to places, that others could only dream of. I have partied, sometimes for days on end, and lived abroad, meeting some wonderful people. Never staying in one place too long, I have rarely settled for any length of time; despite this, I have a loving husband, who I adore more now, than ever. Living an alternative life, full of spontaneous adventure, excitement and amazing experiences has been truly fantastic, but it really is only half the story. Isn't it true, that we only want to remember those productive and uplifting moments, papering over the cracks and larger gaping wounds, that only show people what we want them to see?

We live in such an image conscious World, that being truthful has become a dying art. Airbrushing photos, applying a filter to our face and deleting bad pictures and memories have become commonplace. You could be forgiven for believing all our lives are a scene from the 'Truman Show,' perfect in every respect, faultless and without complication and hardship. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth; I am as guilty as anyone for concentrating my endeavours on happy events and milestones and ignoring the more controversial occurrences that define us as individuals.

I write about my childhood often, a time I find difficult to comprehend, even now after thirty-five, forty years. The narrative, is often reflective of favourable situations and occasions and tends to skip over the role negativity played. For the most part, I had a particularly unhappy childhood, but that isn't always echoed in the words I write. Apart from the odd one of two traumatic scenarios, it feels as if I have forgotten the damn right destructive days, that far outweigh the creativity I like to express.

Childhood trauma can be hard to remember; I have tried to forget most of the bad days, many too painful to recall. When it comes to writing about the most distressing periods I have lived through, I have unconsciously forgotten the worst details, often afraid to dig deep enough. Even now, as I compose this entry, I understand just how harrowing my life was at times, but I don't remember the details well enough to include them in this blog.

Just because my life is relatively fortuitous today, it doesn't mean it always was. Growing up gay in the 1970s/80s, alone, with very few friends, has had a very damaging effect on my wellbeing. The depression and anxiety I suffer with, today, is a direct response to the circumstances that surrounded my youth. Sitting down quietly, remembering with fondness a time I hated with a passion, is an escape from reality, that allows me to concentrate on the heart-warming anecdotes. These tend to remain at the forefront of my mind, overriding all the heartache and anguish that really should be addressed.

Of course confronting one's demons isn't an easy task, and I have at least started to analyse a past that was littered with self loathing, insecurity and fear. This blog is primarily about documenting events and expressing myself, as I struggle through life's ups and downs. It is also about remembering a past that wasn't always prosperous or constructive, and recalling a journey that hasn't been easy. As I have become more self-aware, I have also become uncompromising in my search for the truth, about who I am and what has made me the walking catastrophe I was born to be.

It is hard coming to terms with one's failings in life, but it is harder ignoring the significance they play in one's future direction. In order to move on, move forward, without the constraints of the past, I do have to learn from the mistakes I made. Accepting the consequences of my actions and never repeating them again, creates a chance for  a new beginning and a catalyst for change, even at fifty years of age!