Mollie has arrived from Australia, where she has been for the last two years. Like most of our personal belongings she was shipped to Perth when we left Spain in 2018 and that is where she stayed. I asked Darrell if he would post her several weeks ago as my life isn't the same without her. This grand old lady has travelled  with both of us, all over the World and I thought it was about time she came back home.

The truth is, Darrell and I haven't decided where we want to stay long term, but it looks likely to be somewhere in Europe, when this Pandemic is finally over, so Mollie would have to return to this part of the World one day. She was one of the few possessions I kept when we left our home in Gran Alacant, and she is a big part of my life, containing many memories.

This is the picture I commissioned when the actress Mollie Sugden died. She was the lady I grew up with on the television set, as I sat down to watch 'Are You Being Served' with my Mother in the 1980s. Of course, it wasn't until later I understood much of the meaning behind the comedy that was a part of the show, but that didn't stop me laughing at sketches that still resonate today.

Like most comedy shows of the 1970s and 80s, they weren't particularly politically correct and would never be instructed today, but 'Are You Being Served' echoed a different Age, that seemed far more innocent than now. Mollie was an actress who never failed to make me laugh and a house full of laughter is the most important aspect to life. Happiness at times of stress and upheaval is the key to success, which is why Mollie is home where she belongs!

Over the last few weeks, my IBS has been extremely painful and I have been trying everything I can to elevate the symptoms. I can't tell you how many times I have adjusted my diet, introduced different supplements, removed, what I think are offending items and generally done all I can to feel better. Usually I can do something to help and by a process of elimination  can manage my symptoms quite well. Recently I just haven't been able to get to grips with the pain and if I am honest, it has been getting me down.

I suppose the throbbing I experience is worse than most; I also have Diverticulitis and a hiatus hernia to contend with, all part of a digestive nightmare, that is unrelenting; I have persistent stomach cramps every day. From the moment I wake up, until the time I go to bed, I am continuously dealing with what I can only describe as niggling discomfort. On a bad day, it will turn into full-blown agony.

Stress, worry and circumstances also play a big role in how bad or not I am feeling. As someone who suffers with anxiety, I am forever adjusting my lifestyle and way of thinking, in order to compensate for the uneasiness I have to deal with. Each of the 'minor' conditions I have, require a slightly different diet and yes that does include anxiety. I generally try to follow a low FODMAP diet, but it doesn't always work as well as one would expect. There has been times, where I have tried to introduce a new or different food into my diet and the consequences have been dire; I have literally been left doubled up in pain.

The day before yesterday was a bad day for me. I had been sick, probably due to the hernia, and I was feeling run down. I decided to phone the GP surgery. Not something I often do these days, since Coronavirus has taken priority, but the pounding was so difficult to contend with, I felt I didn't have a choice. My GP phoned back yesterday and offered me some advice, I hadn't been given before. I am guessing from the conversation we had, she also suffers with IBS, speaking very knowledgeably on the subject. After describing my symptoms, she wasn't concerned I was facing anything too bad. One of the major problems with IBS, is a sustained feeling you have something more serious, which increases anxiety and thus makes symptoms worse. She believed I was just going through a rough patch and recommended 'fasting' as a way to help with the pain.

Fasting is a way of allowing my stomach the time to calm down and deal with IBS, without having to process food at the same time. There are many nerve endings in this region of the body and people who suffer with this condition react to pain very differently to others. What may seem trivial to some, is mirrored a hundred times over in my case, which seems logical considering worry and stress (usually about things that do not matter, ) play the biggest part in reactions or rather over reactions to this disorder.

She told me I should fast for twelve, ideally fourteen hours, to let my stomach adjust itself and then introduce eating gradually, taking notice of the body's reaction to each foodstuff and adjusting my diet accordingly. So today I am fasting; I haven't eaten since 5pm yesterday and will eat tomorrow morning, leaving it as long as I can. I have never given up food willingly for any length of time, certainly not recently, so I will see how this goes. At the moment I feel hungry as hell, but my stomach feels so much better and I have little irritation and soreness. Hopefully I will be able to calm this flare up down and try to get back to a semblance of normality. Unless you suffer with IBS, you really have no idea how painful it can be; it was good to finally talk to someone who understood the difficulties I faced and thankfully gave me advice, that I have never received before - I just hope it works!

The World does seem to be in a constant state of flux at the moment. The pandemic is still raging across continents, taking lives indiscriminately, creating uncertainty and leaving a trail of death and destruction that will take generations to mitigate. After the death of George Floyd, the 'Black Lives Matter' (human rights organisation) campaign is gathering pace globally, as black people fight for equality and campaign against violence and systematic racism towards black people. And all of us juggle our ever decreasing finances to make ends meet, as unemployment continues to rise, in the wake of COVID-19. These are strange, difficult and thought-provoking times, a period that will be talked about for years to come. The adversities all of us face on a daily basis, do indeed make us who we are and with circumstances the way they are I am reminded of my own battles, many of which I still fight today!

I was always a child who suffered at the hands of bullies. I knew I was gay from about the age of eleven and consequently found it hard to hide who I was. Back in the early 1980s, it was not acceptable to be homosexual  and I suffered physically and mentally as a result. When I look back at my school days I shudder at just how bad they were and what I had to do to survive. There was of course an element of lying about who I was, but there was more than that. I knew I was different, found men attractive and couldn't be who I wanted to be, but I was still a young boy growing up at a time of great prejudice, with feelings that were so different to my peers and as a result I became a 'self isolating outcast,' spending the majority of the time on my own, away from others, for fear of being attacked or worse, for who I was.

Of course when one spends too much time on ones own, the real battles outside turn to conflicts in the mind. My mental health became fragile, from an early age, but without the help and support people are accorded today, I tried and failed miserably, to overcome some dark and distressing periods. I often felt deeply depressed and alone and more worryingly had suicidal thoughts, that overtook my life. While my friends were growing up 'normally' enjoying all the activities 'normal' kids enjoy, I rapidly became more and more insular, afraid and scared of the future.

At the same time, AIDS impacted all our lives, rather like the pandemic of today and my sexuality became even more of a problem; I cried every night wrestling with fears that were spiralling out of control. I believed being gay would kill me and I wouldn't be able to stop it. I had no one to talk to, since the Government of the time introduced 'Section 28' prohibiting any conversations with professionals, who could have helped and life became even more pained than it was already. By the time I left school in 1987, I was a nervous wreck, with nowhere to turn, turning to alcohol and cigarettes for support.

The early 90s was a time of great liberation; I finally found myself and accept my lot in life. I attended Pride marches, joined the Anti-Nazi League and began fighting for my right to exist as a gay man. There were set backs and phases when I questioned my sexuality, but this was due to other people opinions and their destructive influences. I was attacked several times and on one occasion thrown into the back of a car and beaten for over an hour, finally thrown out in a ditch at the side of the road, where, battered and bruised I made my way home. The constant assaults and barrage of abuse  made me even more determined to carry on being me and I became physically stronger as a result. Despite this my mental health was in tatters and depression and suicide raised their ugly heads again.

When I met my current husband in 1995, I was ready to settle down with someone I truly loved and that is where my biggest struggle began. Darrell was Australian, and we were both embarking on a same-sex relationship during a time when we were not recognised as a couple. In law, we were denied the right to live together and were told to move to Australia or another country that recognised the nature of our relationship; there was literally no precedent in place to allow us to coexist in Britain. You have to remember this was a time when discrimination was rife, commonplace and endemic in British culture, and we had to fight hard to establish our credentials as a partnership.

Initially we moved to Australia and back again, finally ending up back in Perth for a second time, with the intention of living there for the rest of our lives. Circumstances dictated our next move; Labour won the next General Election of 1997, and we made a last ditched attempt to restart our life in the UK, when the New Labour Government changed the law to finally recognise our relationship. The next five years were tough as we fought the system through much hardship in order to remain in the country. The damage to both our careers, health and sense of well-being was beyond measure, but in the early 2000s Darrell was finally granted 'Indefinite Leave to Remain,' and we could finally start living, six years after we got together.

The battles I fought then are carried around with me still, a reminder that together we can overcome anything. When both of us became the victims of bullying, we decided, once again to carry on fighting. This was one of the biggest challenges of our life, and we went through the motions, followed the rules and did what we could to hold our heads high. In the end, we won the battle, but decided to leave the UK altogether and start a new life somewhere else, this time in Spain, away from the memories that had haunted us for so long. From then on, the World was our oyster, or, so we thought, until events once again conspired to change the course of our life.

Since 2016 we have lived apart for most of the year, while Darrell helps his Mother deal with the spectre of Cancer. I have returned to the UK and continue to do what I can to survive during difficult times. Both of us are also dealing with our own health issues, built up over many years of stress and anxiety and do what we can to support one another. Even today, as we both contend with a pandemic that is keeping us apart on opposite sides of the World, we both remain committed and focused on our relationship. The battles we fought at the beginning have really taught us much about staying the course and each of us have an undying sense of purpose as we traverse the later stages of our life together.

Thursday seemed like any other day when I got up, but within a few minutes I was experiencing a severe tight pain across my chest. It was like a band pulling ever tighter and tighter, squeezing and stopping me from breathing. To be honest, initially I thought I had a bout of indigestion and took some ant-acids to no avail. The pain was getting worse and I had no idea what to do.

I returned to bed a few minutes after the pain started, just to see if that alleviated the discomfort, but nothing I did worked and by now the throbbing had moved around my back and down my left arm. I was sure that I was having a heart attack, so reached for my mobile and rang 999. Explaining my situation to the operator, she immediately signalled for help and an ambulance arrived within ten minutes.

Immediately I opened the door they had me wired up and took an ECG of my heart as well as monitoring my blood pressure, which was sky-high. One of the paramedics then sprayed something under my tongue and asked me to chew an Aspirin tablet and the pain began to subside, almost immediately. I was then asked to get ready for hospital as I would need to go in straight away. Feeling OK, I asked if it was entirely necessary, but was told in no uncertain terms it was and not to argue!

I was strapped in a seat in the ambulance and given some Co-codamol and paracetamol, whilst trying to give the paramedic my details. With a pain in my chest, left over from my experience with suspected COVID-19 in April, they were interested in getting as much information as they possibly could.

Within a few minutes we arrived at a very different Accident and Emergency Department at Queen Alexandra Hospital in Cosham, greeted by Doctors wearing full PPE, who directed me away from the COVID Red area and into the 'Green Channel' as he called it. I was then shown to a chair, not a bed, in what looked like a makeshift triage area.

It must have been half an hour when I was taken into a small room, full of boxes and equipment and given a series of blood tests. The room had clearly been adapted and was probably a sluice room previously. Squeezing between boxes of medical supplies I was able to lay on a bed. The nurse, whose Birthday it was, the day after mine was fantastic in every respect and made me feel at ease, after I explained my aversion to blood tests, and she told me not to worry and to try to relax, despite the pain that was starting to return.

Next a chest X-ray and brief chat with a Doctor who asked me a series of standard questions, eventually steering me back to chair 8 in the main concourse. Sitting there I was struck by how empty it was. There were just four of us sat there waiting. Before I was taken in to hospital, I asked one of the Paramedics if it was safe, and they said it was probably safer than it had ever been, commenting on how few admissions there were at the moment, with people unwilling to go to hospital during this crisis. I could finally see that for myself and it was stark, I had never seen QA quite like it and it was certainly a reminder of the unusual times we are living through.

After a couple of hours, I had received my test results back and was taken into a private room to discuss them. The Doctor said that I didn't have any cardiac issues, but I did have a Hiatus Hernia, which had been responsible for the excruciating pain. In his words 'A Hiatus Hernia mimics heart attack pain and is responsible for many admissions of patients thinking they are having one.'

I couldn't quite believe that a hernia had caused such agony, but was thankful it was nothing more serious. I was prescribed omeprazole and given some brief dietary advice and finally congratulated for phoning an ambulance in the first place, rather than taking risks with my life. Every NHS healthcare worker I came into contact with were extremely professional and looked after me perfectly. I can only really echo their advice and encourage you to go to hospital if you really need to, don't take a chance, look after your life first and foremost. We may well be in the middle of a pandemic, but hospitals are still working normally and your health is still their priority.

Today I feel a lot better after taking the prescribed medication and am grateful I was given answers to what transpired last Thursday. If anything I know what a heart attack feels like now and won't hesitate to phone the emergency services if I need to in the future!

Thanks NHS!

I have been a blogger for nearly five years now  and spend a good proportion of my life blogging about pretty mundane stuff really. It is something I enjoy and a passion that was born out of adverse times. In April 2015 I started to document a very difficult period in my life, for no other reason, than to keep my own sanity. There is something very soothing about putting words down on a page and offloading your inner most thoughts. By the end of entry 1, I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders and was looking forward to entry number two.

My own circumstances turned to illness and I spend a year writing about my struggle with depression. It was an important part of the heeling process and the beginning of a vocation that I have always continued, almost on a daily basis.

Of course much has happened in my life since 2015, there have been many ups and downs and I have always found a reason to blog. Not only do I enjoy writing, but I also want to help others. You only have to look at the different categories on the right-hand side of this post, to understand the subject matter I choose to write about. Bullying, homosexuality, Expat life, illness, family and politics, just some topics I cover. The blog has reached many people, who continue to read it when they can. I have had letters, phone calls, emails and messages from hundreds of loyal readers who just need someone to talk to, who understands their plight. The most import aspect of blogging, is the connections I have made over the years.

Coronavirus has changed the focus of my writing greatly. Today I find myself commenting on a subject that has touched all our hearts. This is an important time in history and it is the job of writers, diarists, in fact any one of us, to record events for posterity and our families for generations to come. The dreadful loss of life, brave key workers, nurses, doctors and all those who play a role in keeping us safe at this time, need to be recognised for their efforts in helping to stem the tide of disease.

Of course, I am also in self-isolation, having been told to stay at home because of the symptoms I now have. Being told you likely have the illness is a bombshell, but it is also important, for me to keep writing and carrying on with normal life. Other people may decide not to even speak about their symptoms, but without words, how will others understand the seriousness of this situation. Each one of us is vulnerable, young or old, and we need to follow Government guidelines to the letter!

It is necessary to clarify my aims and objectives as a blogger from time to time and although my focus changes, to suit the times we live in, the reasons for writing are always the same - Making others aware of the circumstances that shape all our lives. I don't hide my emotions, I wear them on Roaming Brit and until I decide otherwise, I will continue doing what I believe is right. Words from the heart are worth more than money itself!

I was brought up to look out for others and do what I can to help anyone who needs it. I have always done as much as I am able to give other people a sense of self-worth and boost their confidence at times when they are feeling low. First and foremost I am a people person and just want to help if I can. One of the reasons I joined Action For Children as a volunteer in 2010, was to give something back to the community in which I live, by encouraging kids from difficult backgrounds to feel good about themselves and work towards a better future. The role as a Mentor and Advocate was a challenging one, but a position I found rewarding and a benchmark for my future outlook on life.

Living in Portsmouth, I recently bumped into a lady (Mrs F) who needed  someone to talk to. Living opposite my Aunts home in Portsmouth, I try to pop in to make sure she is OK when I can. We are all told to keep an eye out for the older generation, especially when they live alone and I do what I can as a friend and neighbour to help lift her spirits. Everyone deserves to be thought of once in a while, brought a bunch of flowers or made to smile when they are feeling down and chatting to this dear soul is a pleasure, something I enjoy, offering contact with community when it can often be difficult to go outside!

Older people feel lonely and invisible, spending much of their time away from society, confined to their home, especially now with Coronavirus on the rise. Today we are told to isolate the old and vulnerable from the ravages of Covid-19, but it shouldn't stop us from visiting them when we can. I enjoy listening to the stories from an age before I was born and I know Mrs F enjoys our chats also. The wise words and wisdom from senior citizens are  words we can all learn from and Mrs F has much to offer the rest of us.

All of us should take the time to check on elderly friends and neighbours, a friendly face can often mean the difference between a good and bad day. Everyone deserves to be noticed, respected and afforded the courtesy they would give us, if the shoe was on the other foot. Old people matter, they are a link to the past we can ill afford to lose!

As a child I was very much a loner, preferring my own company to that of others. I would spend hours in my room, writing, reading or watching television, consequently I had very few friends to speak of and spent the first decade and a half of my life without many people around me. That is what suited me at the time, I wasn't a people person and found others annoying and tiresome. I don't remember enjoying my teenage years at all, in fact it was an extremely gruelling and formidable time. Without friends my experiences were pretty nondescript and unmemorable; these were years I would rather forget and by and large have, only touching on their relevance  from time to time.

On Thursday evening I went out with friends from my voluntary job at Cancer Research, to a new restaurant here in Portsmouth. I thoroughly enjoyed being in their company and had a fantastic night, as I always do with this bunch. In 2020 my life is very different and I mix with many people. I suppose I actually like being centre of attention and the introverted child I was, is no longer a person I comprehend. When I left school, I evolved into someone very different, in many respects an individual I didn't recognise but someone I liked; I finally found out who I was and rather late, granted, became the personality I am today. Education kept me in a box away from the real World and never allowed me to be the unique, slightly eccentric guy I am. I did well at school, but I didn't excel, I didn't fulfil my dreams and become the person I craved. For the most part I didn't mix with others because I didn't enjoy their company, find them stimulating or even fit in with their agenda. The few friends I did have were like me and as I discovered later in life, went through the same traumas I did. Life was not easy as a kid, but it did teach me a lot about the World and how to stand on my own two feet without the help of others.

My journey from the age of sixteen was full of people, weird and wonderful characters who have remained a part of my life for many years. I was attracted to like-minded individuals, mainly from the gay community which I played an active role in and discovered there were other people like me. Looking back at my school days now, I am sure my homosexuality played a big part in my discontent and stopped me from following my dreams and aspirations. The awkwardness I felt for many years was really the product of my hidden sexuality and the times I grew up in.

After decades living on a gay scene, that could be destructive at times, inward looking and surrounded by more so-called friends than I could ever hope for, I have reached a cross road in my life, where I am now looking to achieve a balance between friends, family, work life and me time. Today I literally have too many people around me and making time for each one of them can be challenging. Of course, I no longer live on a large gay scene or have a large gay family to contend with on a daily basis, but I still have connections with others that I need and want to keep alive. Those closest are the ones that stood the test of time and have always been there on my journey. These are the ones who never judged me for my failings, accepted my sexuality and were there when others were not; these were the friends who made me who I am today.

I have lost many companions along the way, mainly through choice and realising they were not the people I thought they were. At 48 years old I am not afraid to tell someone where to go, especially if I believe they are making me feel like that depressed child I once was. I have a lifestyle that involves working three jobs, blogging, writing and socialising when I am able, if others can't make allowances for that, then they can not be a part of my life. I can't be that weekend party animal I used to be or spend two hundred pounds drinking on a Saturday night, while those financially better off than I can. The reality is, I am just an average, hard-working guy, I haven't had an amazing career, made oodles of money or boast about my achievements, but I am happy being me. Content with the friends I have, I  am no longer looking for the recognition and approval I used to crave. My life is difficult, challenging, content and eventful. My fate is mine to do with as I please and when I make a decision today it's about what is right for me, not anyone else, just me, my family and the path I have chosen to follow.

Last night I spent a lovely evening with friends, talking, gossiping and putting the World to rights. It felt great to relax in good company for a change, especially after the week I have had.  The pain from Diverticulitis and IBS has been getting me down, especially over the last few days. I find it important to do things that take my mind off the way I am feeling, so being around people chatting the night away is just what the Doctor ordered; my mind was at least clear for a few quality hours!

It is true to say, I have suffered greatly with various conditions and ailments over the last year, mainly due to stress and anxiety, but I am learning to live with the pain. Today however, when I woke up, it was just too much to bear and I rang the Doctors surgery for advice. After describing the situation I was made an appointment and told to come in later in the day.

This is the first time Diverticular Disease has caused me significant problems and most certainly won't be the last, so it is necessary to do what I can to stop any future complications; this is one difficulty I don't want getting out of hand.

The Doctor did the usual checks and diagnosed a Diverticulitis flare up and a particularly nasty one at that. I am hoping a course of antibiotics will cure the problem for now, if not I could end up in hospital, which I really don't want. She understood the complications of the disease and was pretty helpful in regard to living with it, stressing the importance of change and eating a simple, non-spicy diet. Plain chicken, salad or vegetables with no carbs is best.

I also discussed the reasons why I may have acquired IBS in the first place, something that has always puzzled me. The first time I noticed any digestive issues was when I was living in Spain, shortly after being given Statins to lower my high cholesterol; before that, I was perfectly healthy, except maybe for stress and the odd bout of depression. Having read up on Statins, I came across story after story of people suffering from joint pain and abdominal spasms, similar to those experienced in IBS. The timing of my symptoms, coinciding with the prescribing of Pravastatin was no accident and I firmly believe the two are related. I mentioned my concerns to the Doctor who understood what I was trying to say but told me to mention it to my own GP when I next see her.

I seem to be looking for answers don't I, well I guess I am; taking a lot of medication every day can't be good for one's constitution. Taking other pills in the past made me feel similarly unwell at times, not as bad as I do now, but nevertheless not one hundred percent. I would dearly love to stop popping statins, which are intensely nasty drugs, but I understand I am supposed to live with them for the rest of my life. I need to take advice about what to do next; even cutting my dose of Statins will help to stem the tide of pain I experience at the moment I'm sure; so a trip to the Doctors once again is in order and hopefully we can come to a long term plan to help reduce the manifestations I experience almost on a daily basis!

On Sunday my relatives from Liverpool arrived in Portsmouth, to attend Mum's funeral. Aunty Margaret, 91 year old Aunty Mary and my Cousin Angela. This was the first time I had seen them, since 2012 at my Nan's funeral and it was lovely to see them again, after so long! It does seem, that the only time I really get to see extended family is on such upsetting occasions, but nevertheless it was important they attended, to see Mother on her final passage.

In the evening we chatted and reminisced about the 'old days,' talking about Nan and Grandad, long since gone and happier times, when our scouse relatives came to visit. Of course this may well be the last time I see my Aunts. Like all our family, I lead a busy life and have no idea what the future holds. Making the most of the time I had with my kin folk from the north was amazing and brought back so many memories of my childhood. This was a special Sunday evening, perfect before we said goodbye to Mum!

We got to my Fathers house early Monday morning, where my Brother and his wife had already arrived. The atmosphere was somber as one would expect, but Dad was holding up well, under the most difficult of situations. He seemed pleased to see his Liverpool family, who sat chatting about Mum. Aunty Mary presented Dad with two folders, detailing prayers said in church for her. These two Aunts are deeply spiritual and were both brought up Catholics, so it was comforting to know, that Mother had been in their thoughts and those of the Church.

Other family guests arrived over the next hour. My Cousins Chris and Maria, Mum's sisters and Brother and her two nephews, all mourning her passing and celebrating the life of a Lady, who will always remain in all out hearts.

The funeral cortege left Dads bungalow at 12pm, followed by the family in two limousines and others attending the funeral. As I sat there, looking out at my old stomping ground passing by, many pictures popped into my head - Time spent with Mum, Dad and my Brother, growing up in an idyllic part of the World. Playing in fields, long lazy summers, walking towards the woods at the end of our road and being cradled tightly, securely by Mum, at times of trouble. This was Mum's final journey, taking a route she had travelled many times before, but it was also the last trip I would take, following in her footsteps, in the place I used to call home.

We arrived slightly late for the funeral, after trying to navigate through a rather long traffic jam. The next funeral was already waiting to one side as we pulled up. It was strange that the other funeral was for the Mother of a young lady who I work with. As selfish as it may seem. I did feel comforted by that fact, knowing I wasn't the only one grieving a loved one that day. As I've discovered, it is always best to grieve as a group, comforting each other and helping one another through the difficult concept of death.

There were a lot of people at Mum's funeral, far more than we could have expected and that made the day even more poignant. Although Mum and Dad rarely had visitors in their latter years, due to Mum's ill health, there were still many who took the time to pay tribute to someone they had known. I was amazed to see the hairdresser who did Mum's hair before her Wedding, friends and neighbours from our time living in Thorni Avenue and to finally meet Dad's Best Man at their Wedding. All of these people, made Mum and Dad who they were and all of them cared enough to remember the life of someone who touched their heart.

Along with my Brother, Uncle Paul and John and Mum's nephews Lloyd and Kye, we carried the coffin into Portchester Crematorium, where a priest from Holy Trinity Church, where Mum and Dad got married, conducted a beautiful service of remembrance. My Uncle Paul read a Eulogy I wrote for Mum, unable to speak the words myself and Mothers favourite songs and hymn, Amazing Grace was played. It was a deeply emotional occasion for all of us who attended and and event I shall always remember.

Eulogy - Mary Elizabeth Light 1949-2019

As Mary’s Brother it is my honour to read a tribute to her, on behalf of her husband David and children Luke and Kevin. The following Eulogy include the thoughts and feelings of my sisters grieving family at this difficult time!

Mary was born on the 11th February 1949, to Poppy and John Frampton, in the small market town of Fareham. She was one of five siblings and leaves behind sisters Susan, Diane, Helen and Brother Paul! All of us will miss her deeply, a bond that can never be broken. A local girl at heart, she rarely travelled far; her priority in life very much centred around her family. As a small child she was diagnosed with type 1 Diabetes, an illness that would change her life forever, as she began the process of coming to terms with her condition.

In 1962 Mary met her then future husband David, whilst at school. David ‘thought he would like a date, with this lovely looking girl’ and a year later in 1963, they began a courtship that would see their eventual engagement in 1965. David would bring along his friends and gather in Poppy and John’s breakfast room, playing darts, chatting and getting to know one another. On one memorable occasion, David missed the dart board, piercing a water pipe, leaving damage in its wake, but that didn’t dampen their spirit and they eventually married at Holy Trinity Church in Fareham in 1967.

On the way to their honeymoon in St Ives, Mary and David travelled by coach. David had placed their case in the rack above, as they sat enjoying the journey ahead. When the time came to get off this old ‘bone shaker’ David jumped up and started to pull down the luggage. Losing his grip, he dropped in square on Mary’s head. Just the first of many bumps in the road and a time they still laughed about until recently. The beginning of their journey together and a lifetime of memories that flowed!

Mary worked at Suttons the Bookshop and Keast’s in Fareham, which sold Prams and baby equipment, finally training to become a hairdresser like David in the late 1960s. She followed a full time hairdressing career into the 1970s, when she finally gave up full time work to look after their first child Luke, who was born prematurely in 1971. Still working when she could, she relished her new role as a Mum and housewife. In 1975, David and Mary’s second child Kevin was born and their family was complete. Doting over her children, Mary would never waver in her devotion to her husband and sons, even during testing times; all the while dealing with the spectre of diabetes, that was never too far away.

Sat on a chair in the kitchen as Mum cut his hair, Luke was never one to sit still, fidgeting throughout and objecting to having to suffer the indignity of having his hair cut by Mum, Luke slipped further and further downwards, at which point, his Mother turned round, grabbed the kitchen bowl and placed it firmly on his head, threatening to give him a cut he’d remember if he didn’t sit still. It was the 1970s, a time of weird and wonderful hair, but even Luke sat up straight at the thought of a bowl cut, to go with his flared trousers and wide collared shirt!

Mary became a carer for David in 1998, when her husband suffered a brain hemorrhage. Her priorities as a wife and Mother had changed and turned full circle as David began a process of rehabilitation, aided by Mary and her belief in the man she married and the words ‘in sickness and health,’ ringing in her ears.

As a ‘protector’ Mary championed the needs of others, above her own. In the words of her son Kevin, she would have made a great ‘Health and Safety Officer;’ she always saw danger in everything. Over cautious, thinking of the worst case scenario, the bathroom door would remain unlocked, when anyone was having a bath – Just in case they fell asleep and slipped under the water. This ombudsman and campaigner of safeguarding always set her clocks ten minutes fast ‘just in case,’ a tradition carried on by her youngest son. There was always an emergency toilet roll to hand and she never trusted anyone with a key to the house. In her medical bag, an emergency kit-kat, packet of Mini Cheddars and neatly folded kitchen roll; prepared for every eventuality!

Mary was also a battler and grafter, working two jobs, at the Highlands Co-Op and as a cleaner at the local school for many years and of course caring for her growing family. This was a happy and productive time, until she retired in 2007. In 2008 Mary suffered the loss of her left leg, after years of injecting insulin took its toll. She remained determined to keep walking on her new prosthetic limb, right up until 2013, when she sadly lost her right leg and was confined to a wheel chair.

Despite all the heartache Mary was delighted at the birth of her grandchildren Meghan in 2010 and Hayley in 2013, two beautiful young girls who she adored and always gave her hope for the future. Mary may have been disabled, but she was now a proud Grandmother and always looked forward to seeing them when she could. Family were the linchpin of her life and without the love of her husband, Mum and Dad, brother and sisters, children and grandchildren, the difficulties she faced would have been so much harder to bear. This local lass from Fareham left an indelible footprint in the heart of all those who knew her and will be a great loss for everyone, especially her husband David, who cared for her during her final years of life.

In life we can’t always choose the battles we fight. Mary’s road was a hard one, but it made her stronger and more determined to beat the struggles she endured. With her customary smile and stoical outlook, she fought bravely, everyday and never faltered in her desire to grasp every second of life she had left! She will always remain in the hearts of those who knew her, a hero in every sense of the word!

The wake at Cam's Hall Estate concluded a fantastic send off for Mum. I was delighted that many family members attended, many of whom I haven't seen in years. It was great to listen to their stories about her and recall the more propitious circumstances that defined her life.

2019 has been a terrible year for losing loved ones and it is a time I would rather forget, but on the plus side, I have been able to see many friends and relatives I have missed, reconnecting with a family I was estranged from for over twenty five years. The wake, made me realise the significance of my ancestry and I am finally aware of just how important these people are.

Mum's passing is a milestone that can not be matched. I know we should have been closer, especially during the 'lost' years, but as time moves on and our lives continue on this journey called life, I am happy to have had the best, most loving, dedicated and strong minded Mother in the World - A World, that was all the better for having her in it!

As Mum slowly slipped away, I looked around the room. It was stark in comparison to her other visits. There was a bag of medication on the floor and a hairbrush on her table and that was it. The minutes after Mum's death were deeply moving for all of us there, but Mother had gone, her spirit had left the room when she breathed her last. Talking had turned to crying, as it was time to say that final goodbye.

Rebecca, the nurse in charge had asked that we remove all Mum's personal effects when we are ready to leave. Dad said he wanted to stay until the sun came up, not wanting to leave Mum alone in the dark. It's not easy leaving the lady you were married to behind, after spending fifty two years together, every day of your life. Mum and Dad were inseparable, loving each other deeply, since they met at school in the 1960s. They were childhood sweethearts then, as they were when Mother finally passed away. The love and affection on my Father's face was as clear as day; he didn't want to let go, he didn't want to say goodbye.

I walked over to the bedside table and picked up Mum's hairbrush and said I would take it home with me, as a small reminder. After I removed her glasses and closed her eyes, I finally brushed her hair, as my Father had done many times before. Mum always had perfect hair. No matter how ill she was, there was always a hairbrush not too far away. Ever inch a lady she looked immaculately turned out without exception, wanting to look perfect, even in hospital. As I gently brushed her hair, I thought about all the times, she had done the same for me and I was happy to do it for her one last time. Mum was lying there fast asleep and I wanted to make sure she looked perfect before we left.

Both my parents were hairdressers, which explains why they always wanted to look their best.   As a child I was used to seeing friends and family coming round our house, coiffured, pampered and permed, made to look a million dollars. Old ladies, scary, without makeup, hair backcombed high, a purple scarf to protect them from the elements, a bit of lippy  before they went outside. I would find hair clips that had gone astray lying in the carpet, walked around pretending to be a monster, claw like hands, with hair rollers on each finger and inhaling the setting lotion and peroxide bleach, holding my nose for dear life.

Growing up as a hairdressers son was never dull, I had more Uncles and Aunts than I can remember. Fawned over by ladies, ruffing my hair and feeding me sweets, I enjoyed being sat in a chair listening to those stories hairdressers and clients talk about. Cups of tea, digestive biscuits and magazines, all part of the course when you are a hairdresser son!

Mum's hairbrush is the most precious thing in the World to me, a reminder of someone who brought me into this World, loved me unconditionally and was proud to call me her son, no matter how bad I may have been at times. Loosing someone close is hard,  the hardest thing I have ever experienced. Writing, remembering and reminiscing allows me to come to terms with loss, but tangible memories are a link to Mum, who is no longer with us. Whether a piece of jewellery, photograph or hairbrush, the meaning is the same - The love a Mother has for her sons and a bond that will always be there!