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!

This week has been seven days of hell where my health is concerned, so much so, I am thinking of taking matters into my own hands. I have so many conditions to contend with at the moment, that I literally don't know what ailment is causing which pain. It has become very hard functioning on a daily basis, without experiencing some sort of discomfort. I don't know how many times I have mentioned it to my GP, only to be fobbed off with a generalised answer, that is designed to make me feel better... WELL, I DON'T FEEL GOOD, I DON'T FEEL GOOD AT ALL!

After a series of Xrays on my back and hips, I had an appointment with Rheumatology this week, to discuss the results. As usual, I was expecting the worst and had mixed feelings about hearing from the consultant. As it happens, there was good and bad news, and it certainly wasn't as terrible as I thought it would be.

Luckily, I have been told that I don't have rheumatoid arthritis, which would have been the worst outcome of all. The signs were there, but the blood tests and xrays came back negative. The bad news was really as I expected. I have substantial damage to the discs and joints in my lower back, which have been causing me a lot of pain. The Doctor explained that ultimately I may have to have an operation, but as long as I can live with the aching, she recommended I do nothing yet. Also, I would be referred back to physiotherapy, which could now be more tailored to my own personal needs. As per usual, she suggested I lose weight, which is easier said than done. Despite all the walking I do on a daily basis, the pounds just seem to pile on.

Speaking to her about  my difficulty with weight loss and other chronic symptoms I have been experiencing, she hinted there may be a problem with my thyroid. A chat with my GP and more tests and referrals, could help me discover why I am feeling the way I am.  I'm sure my GP must think I am a hypochondriac at times, but after three years, she is used to my ongoing complaints. To be honest, looking at my constant push for answers, I have discovered many ailments, I never knew I had. You do have to be as vocal as you can, especially during a pandemic, because surgeries across the country are not working as they should and many people are being left in pain, like me. It is important for me to find out what is going on, so I can finally move on with my life.

On Thursday, whilst talking to Darrell on the phone, I was interrupted by a phone call from QA Hospital, from the surgical unit of the upper GI department. They had a date for my cholecystectomy operation to remove my gallbladder, finally, after a year and three months of waiting. I was informed the date would be 17 July and I would need to make arrangements to attend on that day. I am also required to self-isolate for three days prior to the operation and take a PCR COVID-19 test a few days before. Despite the logistical nightmare, of having a procedure during a pandemic, I was just relieved I would finally have my gallbladder removed and could hopefully start living a normal life again. Only time will tell whether this will be enough to stop the pain I experience on a daily basis, or if I will have to undergo more treatment in the future.

Today, whilst at work, I was contacted by QA Hospital once again to change the appointment date to the following week, due to no radiologist being available on that day. On the same weekend my Aunt is throwing her first party for close family and friends, I will be confined to a room upstairs. This is rather annoying if I am honest, but I am so desperate to have this operation, I will just have to do what is necessary. This is the only date available, and I just can't pick and chose right now.

On top of the conditions I suffer with, Diverticular Disease, GERD, a large Hiatal Hernia, gallbladder disease and narrowing of the spine, I also have IBS symptoms on a daily basis. As you would expect, my IBS is out of control at the moment. I always refer to IBS as 'my IBS' because all of us who suffer with it, have our own unique symptoms. This is an individual disease, that affects each of us differently. My symptoms are ongoing, every day, but thankfully some days are better than others.

Since my first severe symptoms more than three years ago, with careful planning, eating a relatively low FODMAP diet and medication, I have managed to control the worst aspects of IBS. I do, however, suffer more frequently now than I used to, just in a milder form. I have been told that the chronic conditions I experience, are at least in part responsible for the abdominal pain I have, but I just can't be sure by how much. IBS controls your whole life, sucks the lifeblood out of you and consumes every waking hour. Stomach, back, hip and pelvic pain is common, as well as a change in bowel habits, nausea, dizziness and depression. I am frequently reminded how I will have to live with this for the rest of my life, and I am constantly searching for solutions to help me cope with the anxiety and distress this causes.

I am hoping that after my operation, my IBS symptoms will subside, but I am told that may not happen, and there is a chance I could be left in a worse state than I am now. Having a cholecystectomy is no guarantee of normality, in fact it may well just be the beginning of a journey to repair the damage done to my body over many years. I have learned to live well again, eating healthy, no longer smoking or drinking and working hard to survive. I have rebuilt my life and become a much better person, but the years of neglect have taken their toll and I will most probably live with persistent pain for the rest of my days. Managing the challenging aspects of illness, and mitigating the worst characteristics of these complaints, should help me regain some form of control. As a wise man once told me, 'Don't let it control you, control it!' Removing the constraints I have lived under for so long, is my overriding priority now, beating back the spectre of illness and overcoming my concerns, offers a path of hope through a sea of pain!

It's been a mixed week, full of ups and downs, but I have at least managed to grab some valuable family time, whilst having a few days off work.

Monday was a difficult day; I received a message from the daughter of my dear friend Mrs F, who told me she had passed away in a hospice, after a short battle with cancer. She explained, she would have told me sooner, but hadn't been able to contact me. This sweet lady died on the 1 June and her funeral took place this Wednesday. With COVID-19 restrictions still in place, I wasn't able to attend the service at Portchester Crematorium, but she sent me a link to view the ceremony online, where I could say my goodbyes and pay my respects.

Before her death, I had started to write some letters to Mrs F's family on her behalf, sitting down with her, taking notes and bringing together her memories of better times. Regrettably we had only managed to write a few pages, before she was admitted to a hospice, so I duly passed on her words to her family. Her death was so sudden, that I couldn't even speak to her on the phone. After being given three months to live, she barely had three weeks. One minute she was there, chatting on the telephone, the next she had passed away. Thankfully, she didn't suffer, and died peacefully in her sleep, the way she would have liked it.

Her funeral service was rather short, but emphasised just how religious she was. A Priest spoke eloquently about her life and, interestingly, the difficulties she had experienced. It was refreshing to learn about the more demanding episodes and not the usual sugar coated monologues I have witnessed in the  past. Her family's sadness was clear to see;  these were people who hadn't been able to say their farewells, in the way they would have liked and clearly had a lot to say. I was honoured to feel a part of her final journey, and although I hadn't known her for long, I was appreciative of the friendship we had and the times we spent together.

Having a week off work, has meant spending more time with family, which as been wonderful. Today I am surrounded by Cousins at every turn, in complete contrast to my life before. My little God Son, Eli, is growing up fast and his personality is starting to shine through. Different to his Brother Cain, they have both become closer during the year and a half pandemic.

I adore having all my family around me, they are the reason Darrell and I will probably stay in Portsmouth long term. We are considering various options at the moment, but it seems sensible to stay where we know best. I never again want to miss out on the lives of those closest, the milestones and events that make us who we are. In the past, I would have walked away at any given opportunity and wouldn't have even needed an excuse to up sticks and leave. I realise just how much I have lost by my previous lifestyle choices, and I will not be making the same mistakes again.

On the final day of my holiday, I went with my Cousin's Rachel and Emmy and the kids to the Blue Reef Aquarium in Portsmouth. This isn't a place I have been to before and at a cost of £12.50 each, I was expecting an amazing experience. However, it wasn't as great as I would have liked, although it was wonderful to see the kids faces light up in such an environment.

Yes it was an expensive day, especially for a large family, but when one considers the ongoing pandemic and closure of such facilities, it is clear, all of us have a responsibility to get out and keep these places open. The upkeep of Blue Reef is obviously huge, so I can understand the price charged, but however, would never choose to go again myself.

Despite my annoyance about the price, Blue Reef did offer a perfect family friendly location to spend the day. There was a splash pool and picnic area for the children, with playground rides and water fountains, as well as a gift shop and café next door, both of which were rather overpriced; taking a packed lunch would have saved a lot of time and money. In this cost conscious age, all of us have to think of the pennies. A venue like this will only survive for as long as people go and lend their support. If they feel they aren't getting value for money, Blue Reef will close, like many other such places up and down the country.

For me, it was about spending time with family and that made Thursday special, especially on a dull rainy morning. Portsmouth does have a lot to offer in the way of days out and tourist attractions, far more than Southampton, where I used to live. Nevertheless, I do find myself missing the long sunny days in Spain and the more relaxed way of life, something you just don't get in Britain. Only time will tell where we end up staying, ideally having a base here and in Spain would be the best of both Worlds, but it will all depend on where we go when Darrell gets home!

Darrell, like me, is beginning to feel the fatigue; living apart does create problems and is more tiring than one would imagine. Our way of life is getting both of us down, especially at the moment. We have both reached a point of exhaustion with the situation we are in; every day is literally a rollercoaster ride.

Looking at the internet, more specifically social media, you are constantly inundated with stories from Australia - most recently the news that the Australian government are relaxing laws, allowing people with two jabs, the ability to travel. Then in another article, suggesting they won't be opening borders until March 2022. You are literally bombarded with so much contradictory information, that you just don't know what's real and what's not. The whole process wears you down, makes you feel on edge, and creates anxiety and stress you could do without.

The tiredness we feel, is frustration at not being able to do anything to solve the difficulties we are experiencing, and the lack of help and support available to us and others in our position at this time. Both of us are living through a nightmare that never seems to end, and we just long for the day when all of this is over. No concrete plans to be reunited for now, just a desire to return to normal and a hope the pandemic runs its course.

It's been a while since I last talked about bullying and sociopathy, but after recent events, I thought I would once again write about a subject, that started me blogging six years ago. It is a difficult topic to discuss, especially after suffering myself, but writing about my experiences was particularly cathartic and helped my heal from a relentless period in my life.

I often hear from people who are dealing with the aftermath of intimidation and have come across my blog, whilst searching 'google' for help. I am by no means an expert on how to handle, often harrowing circumstances, but I am able to use my ordeal to help those who need it. This week I heard from someone who had split from her husband after a ten-year marriage, where she felt trapped and unable to turn to anyone for help.

I was abused over many years by someone who I used to regard as close. A work colleague and superior, who was instrumental in the decisions I made at work and at home, had decided to infiltrate my life, in such a way, that I was unaware it was even happening, until it was too late. I only ever realised what was going on, after talking to a professional, who immediately suggested steps to remove myself from a situation that was destroying me, little by little, day by day.

Of course my experience wasn't atypical, in fact the trauma I suffered six years ago was highly unusual. However, it taught me many lessons about people and human nature at its worst. When you hear from others also suffering, it does trigger memories that you think you have forgotten; really they have just been put to one side, until they resurface and transport you back to times you would rather forget. As a blogger and writer, I feel it is part of my remit to discuss matters that have caused me pain; it helps to understand the process that was underway and confirm my suspicions.

The lady who messaged me this week, is still in the middle of a deeply painful period, often feeling hopeless in the face of a bully, who she thought loved her. Nevertheless, there is light at the end of darkness, there is a way out of her distress, even if she can't see it now. When you are alone, you often question your own feelings. I remember when I was in the midst of my own affray, there were days when I felt confused, unable to see what was actually happening and questioned my own judgement. I was always someone who was proud of my intuition and ability to see through deception, but after a long period of abuse, I no longer believed in myself; I had no self-worth or confidence, just muddle and bewilderment.

Being bullied does change you as a person, I got the impression this young lady had aged beyond her years. She thought she was the problem and had to change; maybe, just maybe, she was at fault and imagining everything that was going on. A bully understands exactly what they are doing; they break your will and make you feel like you are the obstacle, which isn't the case. The first step is admitting to yourself, there is an issue, after that you can deal with each point, one step at a time. Try looking at the individual elements that encompass the abuse you are suffering, keep a diary  and note specific events that make you question yourself. It is only when you look back, that you will see the destructive behaviour at play.

When you are a victim of bullying, you frequently can't see fact from fiction. Often alone and separated from loved ones, you find yourself having to deal with thoughts and feelings that are hard to comprehend. I turned to an advice service when I was at my lowest, who turned my life around. They were able to reassure me that what I thought was happening, actually was. Significantly, they explained the importance of removing toxic people from my life, which I was able to do. This wasn't easy, it meant changing completely, but with perseverance, time and the help of good friends, I have become stronger, wiser and able to give advice to others who are suffering right now. Tearing up everything you have ever known and taking a leap of faith is a big step, but starting over again and getting back the self-respect you lost is the most important freeing process you'll ever do.... Life will get better, life will return to normal, and you will be able to live again!

The last week has been an expensive one, for me at least. Today, I spend very little, preferring to save for my precarious future, rather than waste money on going out and buying rubbish I don't actually need. This past couple of years has taught me much about survival, and I am no longer the person I once was. I am most certainly more careful with my finances, so much so, some people would call me damn right tight, but after the times I have lived through, I have no option but to build a new life for me and Darrell when he returns from Australia.

Anyone who knows me well enough, understands just how bad I was with money in the past. Always living for the moment, I spent money quicker than I could earn it, never having anything for a rainy day. I have very little to show for it, but I have lived a life most people could only dream of. I have travelled the World, lived abroad and enjoyed myself to the full. My party lifestyle extending from my teens, throughout my young adulthood and well into my forties. To think, I was still clubbing for days on end at 45 years old. You have to understand, I have had very little responsibility in life, no kids to look after and a career path that never stayed in the same place for too long. I was able to do what I wanted, when I wanted, despite the consequences.

I was, in fact still am, a person with a highly addictive personality. Shopping was my major downfall, whether buying from shopping channels on TV, especially QVC, or buying houses (three in a year, ) I would always do it to excess. Package after package would arrive at the front door, brochures for holidays, details for property in France or a 'buy to let' up north; you name it, I would buy it, usually with little or no research. When I decided to open a share dealing account, investing thousands of pounds in various companies, with little knowledge of their business plans, it was a recipe for disaster. As easy as it was to invest, it was easier to lose it all, which I did in spectacular form. Within four years I went from having the World,  to owning nothing, zilch, not a dime.

Today, I regard spending a few hundred pounds as extravagant and over the top, so replacing a mattress and television, as I have had to this week, has made me shudder. It takes me back to bad times and a chapter in my life that left me penniless. Even though I am aware I will not go down that path again, I still feel that pain. Anything I did to the extreme, does affect me negatively today. I have enjoyed my life and have some fantastic memories, but all of them are tinged with sadness. When we experience highs in life, lows will inevitably follow. I suppose living through this pandemic, is in many respects the penance I have to pay for the mistakes of the past. The frugal life I lead now, is a lesson for the future and should help me stay grounded for as long as it takes to start over again.

In the grand scheme of things, the money I spent this week means very little. I have built up a substantial nest egg, but I just can't forget the history of who I am. I am scared I will head back to the dark days of spending without limits, and that isn't where I want to go again. My relationship with money is fraught with problems, but I have no choice but to learn from my mistakes and adopt a new mindset.

This process of renewal began when I lived in Spain, subsistence living at its finest, and I continue very much in the same vein today. Spain was a great healer for me, that brought me back to a way of life, I last experienced living with my Mother and Father in the 1970s. As a child, I had no money, my family working hard for everything they had. There was no credit, no debt and no help from others. The only thing that mattered then, was keeping a roof over ones head, just as it does today. I don't need or want luxuries any more, I just want to survive, be around family and NOT, I repeat NOT, make the same mistakes of the past.

This old man is still learning; I am doing what I should have done years ago. It's the little things that make me happy, it's the money saving, cautious, prudent and thrifty me that should have been centre stage. This week I was able to find an NHS dentist, after not being able to afford to go to one in over a decade. Instead of spending six or seven hundred pounds, I paid a mere fraction of that, in order to get my teeth back in good shape. Despite the reasonable price, I still remained reluctant to part with my hard-earned cash, that's how far I have come.

The passing years have been a challenge in every respect. I have changed out of all proportion, something I hope to continue to do. You won't find me repeating the mistakes of the past, because I can't afford to. The journey I have been on, even since I started blogging in 2015, has been arduous, and I continue to fight for the life I should have had. The pennies I save today will open doors to my future tomorrow and help Darrell and I finally settle down together. Our success lies in our love for each other, the memories we share and our tried and tested relationship. We won't ever be rich and enjoy the lifestyle of our peers, but we will remain happy together, ducking, diving, working hard and surviving. Pushing forwards with positivity, we will always be  mindful of failure and tripping at the final hurdle.