Drama in Dubai- anyone for TV? Chapter 2 Holiday Dramas

Being in Dubai without a credit card, is a bit like forgetting your swimming costume when you go to the SPA, the whole experience is diminished. Shock – Horror we were credit card less in Dubai. And it was not that straightforward to get cash from the ATM’s there either. There was a glimmer of hope however as our lobby, linked into Festival City shopping centre, which had an ATM that actually took our debit card ( thank god). We could access some cash albeit that particular purse was severely limited.

Desperate to look as if we could afford to be here we tried this out, but I could tell it was dawning on the night manager that he was dealing with a right couple of chancers. Any credibility that we were actual customers of a certain standing seemed to have disappeared into the night along with the bogus taxi driver. Despite his obvious misgivings, and probably against his better judgement, we were finally taken to our room, it was 2 in the morning.

Our room was palatial, we had upgraded this so would have been disappointed if the reception cock up meant we would not have been able to get the room we had paid for. But we were comfortably ensconced and with this securely under our belt, I rang the credit card company to establish why my card had been cancelled. OK, I get it I did have a slight idea why, but I also knew that the process had been aborted (I threw the phone away). Frankly I had not expected the automaton (that couldn’t speak Scottish) to have a modicum of brain matter that allowed it, not only to translate my abrupt narrative sufficiently but equally to have the artificial intelligence to complete the incomplete and work out that it needed to cancel my card.

While the call centre staff were helpful and understanding of my plight (even to the point of empathy for the lack of a card in this particular location), there was no way I was going to have my card reactivated and available to me on this holiday. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of my husband, who had remained quite quiet throughout this conversation, breathing a sigh of relief that our bank balance had unwittingly achieved a little reprieve on this particular trip.

At 3am I fell into bed, exhausted, frustrated and annoyed. Sleep in this state was elusive but after about an hour I could feel my eyelids weighted with exhaustion and just about to drop off when the TV (60 inch screen) suddenly jumped into life and bellowed pop music. We sat erect shifting from semi-slumber to wide awake club in seconds. Searching frantically for the doofer to turn it down or off we scrambled from the bed feeling around the furniture before finally locating it on top of the TV unit (where else?). And we zapped it ferociously and the room fell into momentary silence.

Now all we had to do was get back to sleep, but the wheels of frustration started rolling again and it was another 20 minutes before I started to fall asleep. I was just about there………….then the TV lit up again, not quite booming but nevertheless shattering the silence and our sleep. We zapped it again, muted it and tentatively looked at each other before we lay back down on the bed. And this blinking TV insisted on breaching into the bedroom every 30 minutes after that.

On the fourth occasion, I murdered it; frenziedly pulling the wires out of the wall. It lay motionless and blank but it did the trick and finally we were able to get some shut eye. We were both exhausted and deflated as we headed for breakfast the next morning. But first stop reception, where we had become so familiar with the night manager the evening before, to report the malfunctioning tele.

It was while in reception I noticed that there was a bit of tartan adorning the pillars surrounding the Lobby and a poster welcoming the Graduates of Herriot Watt University. All the way to Dubai and a graduation party for a University less than 10 miles from home, it was unbelievable! As we headed for breakfast, sitting at the first table as we entered the buffet, was a lady I knew well enough to have shared more than a few glasses of wine with.

Turns out she was organising the graduation party, what an incredible coincidence. We exchanged niceties but I also regaled the tale of the credit card, (you can tell how much this had upset me). She went immediately to her purse to offer us her card, how tempting it was but I declined this offer, preferring to stew and wallow in my misfortune because I knew my other half was actually breathing a sigh of relief it couldn’t be used.

I was ready to accept this, after all we were on holiday, it was Dubai and nothing else could go wrong, could it???????????????????

Dramas with Dirhams in Dubai. Chapter 1 Book of holiday dramas

A Facebook post this week reminded me of our eventful trip to Dubai in November 2013. It’s really no coincidence that we take holidays in November, it is our wedding anniversary as I have previously intimated. As we couldn’t afford a honeymoon in 1982 every year since I try to organise a holiday masquerading as the honeymoon we never had. We have had a few interesting trips over the years and not always abroad. But if you go in November and you want sunshine you do have to go a bit further to get it and Dubai appeared to deliver that.

I had never been to the Middle East and, as Dubai was enjoying a period of popularity as a holiday destination, it was an easy decision. I made plans and booked our trip some 6 months ahead for November. I was so excited to be staying in Festival City and travelling Emirates for the first time. For me it was an exotic, untested adventure for us and one that promised romance, mystique and intrigue. For my husband; he was not an explorer, he was non-plussed, not one for demonstrating his emotions, instead he prefers to humour my childlike excitement and anticipation for the trip. However on reflection given all the dramas we have experienced perhaps it’s more likely that he’s quietly speculating what calamity will befall us this time (note the choice of tense).

In a totally separate but connected incident the mermaid put my driving licence in between a space in the floorboards a few weeks before we travelled, and unless we wanted to lift the floor ( which we had to do two years later) I had to apply for a new one. I went on-line, but unfortunately it was early in my silver surfing career and I was not aware of the Google algorithms that would prioritise services for me. Hence it was that I was guided to a site, similar to the Government site, but where you had to pay money for what was in essence a free service. I was reasonably far into this application, including having given my credit card details to pay for what was free, when it crashed and everything was lost.

This alerted me to a potential fraud and misappropriation of my visa credit card, so my next move was to cancel that. Now I was more than a little frustrated by this techno failure but cancelling the credit card took that to an entirely a different level. It was an automated system (non-human) requiring you to speak, fine, except it did not speak Scottish (most of them don’t). Despite using my best rolling r’s accent (received pronunciation) I continued to flummox the computer persona, unable to make any progress with the process, and as I was already frazzled I discontinued the call (threw the phone away) half way through.

I didn’t hear another word from them, and having calmed down sufficiently to make rational decisions, I determined that since the process had failed my card was still active. The card details did not appear to have been compromised so I was going to forget about cancelling it.

The next two weeks flew past, and soon it was time to head off to Dubai. When we arrived at the airport we were immediately approached by a man offering to taxi us to our hotel. Although we later became suspicious of him, when he took us to his car in the car park, we initially judged him harmless and threw in our cases and got in the back. Nothing about this vehicle looked like a taxi, there was no meter, it was sparkling clean (should have been a clue), but lacked any safety or regulatory notices. Our hotel was only a five minute drive from the airport so despite nervously exchanging glances and holding onto our hand luggage just that little bit tighter, we made a timely and safe arrival.

When he charged us 100 Dihram I contemplated whether that was bit too much, but to be honest we were more relieved we hadn’t been slaughtered or kidnapped by this random individual posing as a taxi driver. What a start to our holiday… I was immediately distracted by this absolutely fantastic hotel; splendour and glamour emanated from within the Lobby, which was a vault of statement, stature and style. It was midnight and although there was an absence of guests, clearly staff were still milling around in numbers and smartly whisked our cases off to the desk and corralled us into the reception

Exhausted from the travelling, overwhelmed by the Lobby and relieved we had our lives intact, we prepared to check-in. I provided our details and waited, taking in our palatial surroundings I noted it was almost 1230am. We waited, then the desk clerk went off to find the night manager ( sorry, it was not Tom Hiddleston). He arrived and while we continued to wait, both of them were transfixed by a screen, muttering in Arabic, and then making another call which had the effect of summoning a woman. Half an hour passed while all three continued to stare at the screen, before finally informing me that our booking had been cancelled. Flabbergasted, but ready for retaliation I proudly produced the email confirmation. This created further palaver and to-ing and fro-ing, all the while being reassured that everything would be fine. Then suddenly to a cacophony of 1000 apologies, we were allocated our room, our anxiety palpably disappearing momentarily. ” We just need your credit card” and I handed it over.

We did not have many Dirhams with us, and had planned to rely on using our credit card to savour many of the treasures that Dubai had to offer. But that was until the manager advised me it had been cancelled……………………

Happier Birthdays are promised. Chapter 1 Book of the family

two woman hugging each other
Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

Today is my daughter-in-law’s big 30 birthday, she is currently in hospital in Glasgow so not quite the nightclub, cocktail, dancing til dawn fest she was hoping for. In fact this year alone she and my son have had to cancel two awesome holidays, (seems that my lucky white heather has a phenomenal reach) and numerous concerts (thanks for the Ed Sheerhan tickets).

Nonetheless she remains, on the whole, eternally positive despite the many challenges that she has faced over the past year or so. And she has, from her sick bed, raised over £1300 for a charity aligned to her current condition; Cauda Equina Syndrome. It’s incredible that one so young could have been at risk from a potentially life limiting condition but sadly she is one of two young women we know, of the same age, that have it.

My son introduced us to his future wife 7 years ago;  he brought her to the house while we were celebrating a birthday for the mermaid. Now, although we considered we had dragged him up to the highest of social standards, nerves got the better of him  and he left her lingering in the hallway, rather than proudly announcing to the assembled family that this was his girl. Actually, he’s to be congratulated for his efforts at keeping our prying eyes and our attempts to have a premature introduction at bay. In the early days their relationship was so covert we resorted to territorial subterfuge and espionage so we did not miss an opportunity to meet, assess and vet her as a suitable partner.

Once when they were heading out on a date date she arrived in her car, we were warned not to watch, and they had cleverly arranged their rendezvous sufficiently  beyond our visual reach. Me and He were strategically positioned at different windows to maximise the opportunity to catch a glimpse, squeezing our faces flat  against the closed window, stretching as far as we could to allow our eyes to catch a  simple glimpse of  her. To no avail. In the end we had to settle for the mermaid’s birthday.

I cannot stress how really important it is when your child takes a partner; both of mine did this at the same time so stress levels associated with the choice of their prospective partners, were magnified ( I needed a lot of wine). It is the single most important decision they will take while you still have some influence (albeit diminished) in their lives. In addition that old rhyme “A son’s a son ’til he takes a wife, a daughter’s a daughter for the rest of your life” suggested that it had to be right or I’d lose him for ever. (Hmmmmm)

And breathe, from the instant we were officially introduced I instantly took to her and hoped we could establish a friendship that in mythical terms is dammed from the outset. I thought her a live wire, an effervescent, gregarious and convivial individual – just right for my son. She lit up the room with her chatter, she always had stories to tell, was intelligent, funny and broad minded. But I am aware of the myths about this kind of relationship  so I regularly check out the website http//www.scarymommy.com  where  15  mother -in- law behaviours that warrant a punch in the face are outlined,  a weekly  scan reveals so far I’m owed at least two.

When he finally announced that I needed a hat, I was delighted;  a lovely girl, nice family, his ying to her yang and that was the start of their love story and marital bliss. Then the sore back hit her like a wrecking ball.   Now we know a thing or two about sore backs in this family, it’s plagued my husband’s life since he was 15, and more recently my daughter was also diagnosed with bulging discs.

But my daughter-in-law had this very serious condition which could cause paralysis if untreated. There were many dramas associated with her diagnosis (not all mine to tell).   Her own parents were the arbiters of that revelation. However it is this condition and subsequent surgery that landed her back in hospital for treatment of a serious infection and the potential for further surgery that,  alongside my father-in-law’s illness, brought us home.

She has had the most horrendous time, but she remains strong, positive and determined, she has raised all of this money to support and highlight the condition to others. And I continue to be in awe of her ability to cope with the daily pain and discomfort her condition has caused her. Yep, it is not the birthday she would have wanted, but some good news today  suggests further surgery might not be on the cards and finally she might have  some respite from this dreadful condition…………………………

Lazarus-more than one miracle. Chapter 29

In my humble opinion, the Lazarus story in the Gospel of St John is one of the most uplifting, inspiring miracles that Jesus performed. You may have read about it or seen it in my favourite visual representation of it played by Robert Powell in the lead role of Franco Zaffarelli’s 1977 film “Jesus of Nazareth”. (Although the water into wine does threaten its status ever so slightly). The facts of this miracle are simply a statement of faith.

Remarkably, and on more than one occasion, we too have experienced our very own thaumaturgy right here in our own back yard. This is not intended to be a blasphemous or offensive statement; these ‘miracles’ may for many people be difficult to explain, understand, discern or even accept. But we have been here before with our hearts in our mouths, making mercy dashes or fearing the worst. It’s these inexplicable events that I truly believe it’s something more or bigger than just coincidence.

The first time I was sitting in a restaurant with my friend, just about to order lunch, when I’d a frantic call from my sister. My mother was more than a little concerned about my father’s health. Before I could order my drink and peruse the menu, I was making a merciful dash for home.

Was it good fortune I was nearby or was it fortuitous I was able to get there quickly? Was it a blessing my mother had postponed her usual hair appointment that day, went home early and found him? Was it a miracle that the ambulance team that was free to attend was able to be with us within half an hour? Was it just fate that they’d had the training and experience to recognise that my father was suffering an Abdominal Aeortic Aneurysm and needed to be taken straight to Edinburgh rather than our local hospital? Was it more than destiny that the staff in A&E put me straight into a relatives room knowing the most likely prognosis for his condition was fatal? It is a fact that only 2/10 people survive this type of abruption, and that day he was one of the 2.

All of the things that needed to happen that day, at the right time did. You might suggest that it was the stars that were aligned, or that fate or destiny had a hand in it. If you have no faith you might consider this was all a bit of a coincidence. But it was my un-shakable belief that he pulled through that day because there was a greater power and a plan, one that might not always be visible but who has a plan all the same. All of the conditions that were needed enabled my dad to survive that day; someone, somewhere, somehow made sure they were in place.

And it was to be more of the same on our dash home from the Caribbean; there were prayers, many, many prayers. Would we be able to get home on time? Would we be able to pay one last visit? Would there be time for the religious beliefs of our loved one to be administered?

Was it just tardiness that the heating was still on when he fell keeping his temperature steady? Was it just fate that a Nurse arrived when the first caller gained access to the house? Once again the people we needed were right where they needed to be when the drama unfolded. The Nurse was able to give life saving treatment, until the ambulance arrived. Was it just ignorance that the ambulance staff, unfamiliar with the area, asked for advice and were directed, more appropriately to the hospital more capable of the kind of response that was needed? Was it a coincidence that the hospital where he was taken had surgeons at the top of their game, where their experience was second to none and were able to deliver him back to his family?

That’s why I believe it was faith that ensured that when we arrived, absolutely gratified, our ‘Lazarus’ was raised; seated, smiling and welcoming us back from our holiday…………

Paradise can wait…. Chapter 28

There are times in life when you know beyond question what the right thing to do is. I found a wide range of blogs out there to ‘advise’ you what you might need to do if someone you love becomes ill when you are on holiday. We are never known to do things by halves, so you won’t be surprised to learn that in our case there were two people whom we love that had been admitted to hospital. This was also impacting on the family who remained at home trying to cope with the situation. In the end the blogs themselves were interesting but we didn’t need the advice really, if you have a dilemma it matters not a jot what’s in your mind, for us it was about what was in our hearts.

When the decision was made, all that remained was to light the blue touch paper and ignite the plans. Of course we had insurance but the mechanics of getting home, where to begin, were a bit of a mystery. I had a bit of an idea but my husband admitted if he had been on his own, he would have struggled to know where to start. Even if you have an idea it’s still a bit tricky when you are out with the UK, to know where to begin.

A sensible first stop was British Airways our carrier, then the insurance company, so I sent off emails. Given the time difference I sent them off on Wednesday morning at 5am St Lucia time, then spent the entire day checking my emails for their response. (For the record the insurance company have yet to reply despite being home 2 days now). It felt as though we were suspended in virtual paradise while we awaited the return emails to begin our descent into reality.

As we waited, we were able to receive hourly reports from home thanks to lots of texts on WhatsApp, which was free when we had WiFi (otherwise the phone bill would be off the scale). We were also able to make internet and video calls free that enabled us to get a real handle on the ever shifting sands of the evolving situation.

There were tears; emotions were constantly on show, we were on high alert to every ping and tinkle of the phone. The appeal of all Coconut Bay had to offer paled into insignificance. We drifted in and out of conscious awareness that the difficulties were ever present on the other side of the world, and these were having a massive impact on our ability to take any real part in our holiday. It was over as soon as we arrived to be honest.

By Thursday we had an email response from BA, only to find I’d cocked up and had contacted the wrong department. They apologised for this causing an administrative delay, (admitting they didn’t deal with urgent matters normally) and provided us with alternative contact information. Another discussion with family further confused our decision but that was momentary. No sooner had things started to sound hopeful in Edinburgh, when more bad news emerged from Glasgow. It was so obvious someone, somewhere was trying to tell us we should not be here.

Our minds made up we made an emotional approach to reception. It was clear this was not for the daily currency exchange and when the penny dropped staff stepped up to the next level from the usual laconic holiday approach. Although we had the number, reception took charge and helped us to place our call. After a few attempts it was apparent that the local BA office was not going to be able to help us promptly. Our second call was international and answered in a call centre, but they quickly realised that once again we were in the wrong place. Instead of starting all over again Raoul put us on hold and transferred us (and thankfully all our information) to the right place.

Albert, ( also worthy of a name mention) took no more than fifteen minutes to get us on the flight that evening, waived all costs, arranged airside assistance and our same flight seating that we had on the way out. This is when you are so grateful you have booked with British Airways. We had 10 hours to pack, grab the last of the Caribbean sunshine, gather our thoughts, build up our energy and hope that we would arrive in time to see and support our loved ones……

A little bit of paradise. Chapter 27

St Lucia is one of the smaller Caribbean islands, easily accessed by British Airways. Our hotel, Coconut Bay Resort and Spa, was situated on the Atlantic coast a mere 5 minutes from Henowarra International airport. We were here on a recommendation from my son and his wife and were looking forward to two weeks in the Caribbean sun.

The Atlantic coastal beaches have been plagued by Saragossa seaweed, making the beach almost inaccessible. This was a shame as the gardens of our hotel , with just a few steps, linked us directly with the Atlantic Ocean. Ever since we had arrived strong winds were whipping up foaming white surf, laced with Saragossa seaweed that it spewed out angrily, unrecognised and unwanted by its host, and directly onto our beach. Local information suggests the unusual appearance is as a result of climate change but is not entirely clear whether that has been proven. As a result the Hotel had arranged twice daily transfers to a Caribbean Sea beach located just 10 minutes away. I was looking forward to trying that out.

From our bedroom window a few hundred yards to the right a couple of large volcanic rock formations protruded from the ocean floor posing as mini mountains, or small islands. Brightly coated with a variety of green foliage they gave the impression of secluded islands decorated by white surf and sandy beaches. We were tempted out to these idyllic escapes with the offer of night cruises. It was a beautiful view and we were so fortunate to even be here to see it.

The hotel has two functions to serve those that don’t want to be disturbed by children and those children who don’t want adults spoiling their fun. For this reason the resort is split into Harmony and Splash. I will let you work out which is which. It is an all inclusive resort so peppered with cabanas, restaurants, swim up pool bars, jerk tree huts all feeding off the central lobby. The Coconut Walk buffet caters for most tastes and thankfully most children, leaving the fine dining to those of us able to actually appreciate it. Not that Coconut Walk didn’t delight in its range and variety of savoury and sweet delights, but the whole self-service school dining experience leaves me aching for silver service, especially on holiday.

Welcoming cocktails contain premium spirits so no chance of tummy upsets unless you over indulge. Wine, red, white or sparkling was also on offer and in the evening it was rather pleasant by the bar to take in the ambience of all types and characters disguised as holidaymakers gathering for dinner.

At the pool, staff aimlessly wander around taking drinks orders, impressively without pen nor paper, memorising the concoctions that needed to be delivered hastily just before the ice melted. Thankfully there were no quibbles about nabbing beds, there were plenty of options and more than a few swimming pools to chose from depending on your sun bathing needs.

We made friend with some Americans, here to be married, we shared a glass of bubbles in the evening with fellow diners, we sampled steak, tried out four other restaurants each with a Caribbean twist, found the staff courteous and helpful, always smiling and keen to know if you were enjoying your stays, they emanated a sense of pride and loyalty that was genuine in their conversations with guests.

Everything was as it should be; our sea view, spacious bedroom, balcony, swans crafted from towels and fresh flora fanned out on the bed welcomed us to paradise, and for a few moments we were.

Sadly its all over too soon, on the first actual day of our holiday an unforeseen drama which now bids us home began to unfold. Less than a week into our paradise we are waiting in the departure lounge of the airport not knowing what our future might hold……

Stage 3 hamstring- 3 months update. Chapter 26

That has now been 3 months since my awful slip in Edinburgh, I’m excited to reveal my progress and what a person might expect by now if they have had the misfortune to experience a stage 3 hamstring injury. Not wanting to appear ageist, but if you’re younger than 55-60 then you might have a slightly different prognosis and experience. Although I was active and reasonably fit, there is little doubt healing takes a bit longer when you are middle-aged and menopausal.

The good news is I am now able to dress myself without assistance, take a shower (but slipping is a real and present danger) and use the toilet without a seat raiser. In the morning, for about 40 minutes, I can walk freely without sticks, I feel very little pain at this time but movement is cautious and restricted. Managing the stairs one at a time is laborious but it is possible now to manoeuvre these more than once a day.

Continuing the positive vibes, I’m now able to fix my own breakfast, dependent on the 40 minutes of freedom window, if that diminishes, it means I need the sticks to ambulate around my kitchen. It is also impossible to carry what ever delights I have created and my morning cuppa into another room. I still need assistance to do this, as sitting at the kitchen table continues to evade me. I have mastered new ways of achieving this if no help is available; I can carry my hot water bottle, that goes everywhere with me, (including the Caribbean) by my teeth. This additional holding vice also allows me to balance my mug of tea, albeit precariously with spillage highly likely, on the left handle of the crutch. If I get the right grip, and tread carefully, I can slowly hobble through the lounge and into my sanctuary- the TV room.

Impressively I can now walk outside with the sticks. The distance can vary dependent on pain thresholds which alternate continually, but the pace is inordinately slow. It is not unusual for actual turtles to move past me with ease, as I have found to be the case on this trip. Other holiday makers become impatient to get to the pool so I can be side-tracked to allow them to pass which inevitably slows me down even further. More exhausted.

Walking now requires an enormous amount of concentration, this I’d put down to my lack of right/left distinction. Coordinating the left stick and the right foot alignment in strides, just normal gait, takes me a few seconds to consciously call to my mind. So if I’m hovering like a humming bird before a step is taken its normally because I’m trying to work out how to start (or it could be a little pain has given me brain stagnation). The fairly simple and inherent ability to walk is further rocked by the fact that I’m left footed and right handed so the brain is entirely flummoxed by having to get the right foot moving first. Oh, I’m exhausted just explaining that.

I cannot swim but we have a hot tub in the pool, just perfect in 80 degree heat, because the hot water gives me instant relief. Much like my fellow travellers seeking the coolness of the swimming pool I’m in the hot tub about 8 times a day just for some reprieve from the pain. I cannot reach the tub without my sticks which are fascinatingly now amphibious and have become as frequent a feature of the poolside furniture as cocktails, floats, and loungers.

I have found, and catalogued previously, that missing meds just won’t wash. Even self medication, mainly of the red wine variety, has to be taken in moderation as I haven’t the stomach for it frankly. If I do miss the meds to increase the red wine intake Lord I pay for it the next day. On these days I have constant sharp excruciating pain in my left thigh when I move or stand. Normally this is a dull pain when medicated but without sufficient intervention I’m constantly reminded that I have a debilitating injury and my movement and just ordinary comfort is elusive. Even if meds are re-introduced I’m lagging a day behind and all because I wanted a glass of wine. So lessons still being learned and I cannot do without the pain killers yet.

Even as I type I’m laying here 10 hours good sleep in thanks to Codeine but the pain is already gnawing at me and will dictate any activity I’m able to achieve in the day. This leads me rather awkwardly into other natural bedroom activities. Normal service cannot be resumed there, they have been severely curtailed and are currently off piste. So we are all piste off about that.

However, there are so many positives for me to regale at this point, mainly that we got to our holiday despite it all and lying in the sun rather than fighting back the winter frost is glorious. I’m going to be a little bit tanned more on the front as laying on my belly causes the hamstring to sink and sting like misery. Ah the joys, 3 months down and 6 months of recovery to go……………….

Me and my Lion. Chapter 1 Book of the Lion

It’s our wedding anniversary today, 36 years ago we said I do. It was a whirlwind romance, exactly the kind of romance you would expect from this impulsive, risk-taking dreamer. He was cautious, hesitant and averse to any kind of risk, the perfect balance then! Despite its spontaneous origins and our polarised personalities our marriage has endured (or in his case been endured) and defied any logic or odds that, on this basis, it would have survived.

Living with me has seemed at times chaotic, capricious, erratic and even effervescent, No two days were the same and he soon realised that life as he once knew it was never going to be the predictable, stable and ordered way it had been. It all suggests it’s a miracle we are here at all. And to be honest, it’s only as I have gotten older and more introspective that I have actually realised this, and it makes me all the more grateful that we made it.

We met while I was working, helping out at a local youth club where he and his cronies were playing indoor football. I was immediately drawn to his smouldering good looks, despite the fact he had a moustache ( it was the 1980’s) Our eyes met across the kitchen server at the Lanthorn in August 1980 and we had our first date in April 1981. ‘Making your mind up’ won Eurovision the night we had our first kiss, after which I certainly had.

The blog title “life’s little dramas” was not a random selection and, it’s been well documented there, that total disaster lurks around every corner, and not only when it comes to holidays. There were so many other events in our marriage that were also predicated on the same dramatic foundation I wonder why we survived them?

During the 36 yrs we have had 5 house moves, none of which he wanted to make. I used all available tactics to ensure I could get what I wanted, Once he came home and there was a for sale sign being erected in the garden. I took him to see our potential second home by torchlight that evening. I persuaded him to move to our fourth house without having sold the third and we ended up bridging for over a year when the housing market crashed in the late 80’s. (Accept that wasn’t my finest decision) Our current home, which was in need of a major upgrade when we bought it, was the closest we have ever come to a divorce but its the one he loves the most and that has secured us financially.

To the onlookers this all might curl your toes, it provides the appearance of a very unequal arrangement; perhaps you see a browbeaten husband who kowtows to his wife’s every whim. Don’t make that mistake because beneath that placid, easy going nature there’s an inner lion. While he is clearly the hesitant one, his calm, considered and thoughtful approach emerges in just the right measure when necessary. He has learned, rather deftly it must be said, to keep me tamed without me even realising it was hapening. A subtle glance, the slight tightening of the lips, the total lack of any verbal response that he knows drives me crazy but buys him the exact amount of time for the impulse to dissipate and for my reflective brain to kick in.

Also in my defence, while my decisions on the surface convey an illusion of being haphazard and ill-considered, there was amidst it all a long term strategy for our future. To give us the best opportunities later in life, required risk, boldness and bravery. He acknowledges that if it was up to him we’d still be in our first home, change was never a welcome activity. And I’ve come to realise that my impulsive decision-making wasn’t the only thing that got us here. All the best partnerships have the right blend and antidotes fundamental to establishing and maintaining equilibrium. His hesitance, pain and even panic amid my endless determination and ambition has ensured we made it in one piece to our destination.

It may have started out as a whirlwind romance, with nothing but hopes and dreams to build on, has been the rollercoaster ride of our lives. But believe that someone has a plan for me and that it was not destiny, no He sent me exactly the man that I needed. Here is to the next 36 years (if we get them) and I cant wait to see what dramas life has for us and what my lion has to cope with next. Love ya❤️

The Usain Bolt of airside assistance. Chapter 25

I gingerly edged out of the buggy, the absence of the pre-ordered wheelchairs meant that we had to walk through the security system at Gatwick. In normal circumstances that’s fine but my pace at the moment is tortoise and we ain’t got that much time. The other passenger in the buggy however was much older, had heart failure and she was exhausted just getting out of the buggy. (Shame on you Gatwick). The driver stayed with her as my husband and I started to meander through the second set of security since being airside for 1 hour and 10 minutes.

Theoretically we may have surreptitiously been targeted while contained in the safe custody of passenger assistance and had something slipped in our hand luggage. We may have been the unwitting bearer of unknown terrors between deplaning and waiting for a buggy to arrive. But as we are frequent flyers we acknowledged the need for security despite the rapidly reducing time to reach our flight. When we eventually made it to the belt other customers, who were obviously not frequent flyers and not the slightest bit aware of the rules or regulations for modern travelling, were ahead of us.

They were frantically searching their carry-on’s (that were big enough for the hold) for bottles of liquid, sharp objects and aerosols as if it was all new to them. Their ignorance nonetheless creating a sense of sheer frustration for those of us in the know and waiting to begin the security process. While I stood there patiently fuming, I was increasingly aware of my continuing bad karma that had directed me to the wrong queue. A quick glance behind us and I could see our elderly companion some way behind struggling to even make it to the line.

As we piled our minimal hand luggage into the plastic tray, I had to also remove shoes and jewellery whereas in Edinburgh, with assistance we were fast tracked and was not asked to do this. It took time with two crutches to achieve this. As in Edinburgh we were body scanned and swabbed just to be extra sure but we still managed to get through it within 10 minutes. However that only left 10 minutes until we departed. Our other companion was still being processed and, acutely aware of our plight, was notably more than a little stressed. Our buggy driver joined us advising he had organised wheelchairs which were waiting for us on the upper floor, he would then collect us at a place the buggy was accessible and take us onto the flight. Pardon me if I’m not entirely convinced this might happen as planned,

In the lift our poor companion, god bless her, continued to apologise claiming she was hindering us in our dash to make the flight. I tried to reassure her but she knew it anyway. She could hardly catch a breath, it was an awful situation we were now in thanks to the delays experienced in getting the much needed assistance in the first place. Thankfully when the lift arrived and the doors opened two wheelchairs and assistance staff were in situ, exquisite joy all round. All we had to do now was wait for the buggy. However it was clear the anxiety around our soon to depart flight was finally dawning on the assistance staff, and our woman took the initiative to take us directly to the gate herself. I have to admit that, considering the distance of this entire transition, we would never have made it to the flight on time on the crutches either.

It became apparent we had the Usain Bolt of the assistance team. we reached warp factor 50 as the wheelchair flew toward gate 21. Folk were jumping clear in fear of being mowed down like skittles. There was a considerable queue at the gate as it became obvious that boarding had commenced and almost completed. That was when Usain morphed into a bowling ball shouting “Coming Through” rattling through the jet stream of waiting passengers. Admirably and without fuss they all moved to the side and there we were tipped out of the chair and finally able to get onto our plane……………

Mobility matters. Chapter 24

Having taken the risk of going on holiday with an injury, I was seeking to explore the support for those with mobility issues. While at the same time experiencing the holiday from a completely different perspective than I am used to. It’s been an eye-opener and of course a drama.

When travelling it is always best to advise the insurance company and we have an annual plan. It was straightforward enough there were 4 simple questions to test whether you needed further assessment from medical practitioners. Bit like NHS 24; a triage system with the specific difference being that the call take is only trained in answering the phone. So the process is designed to get rid of the dross immediately. Did I have a terminal condition? Not that I was currently aware of, so NO. Has your Doctor advised you not to travel? Now that is an easy one because I have asked this repeatedly, I’m going with the senior professional as it adds weight; the Consultant suggested 6 weeks ago, ” should be fine”. Check two. Do you have any medical admissions or treatment planned while away? This was also easier since the misdiagnosis mean’t I couldnt have any, NO. And finally, the insurance get out of jail free card ” is there any reason you think you should not travel?” I’m thinking many reasons my holiday experience will be diluted; potential of DVTs, not really able to drink, sleep, dance, go excursions, but still I have answered NO despite this which should tell you how desperate I was to get out of here………

Next, I need to get my meds organised. An on-line repeat prescription all that was needed for my liquid Morphine. In fairness I wasn’t using it all that much now but ever the pragmatist, I felt there might be a risk of slips or further falls, so wanted to cover that eventuality because frankly nothing else covered that level of pain. All good, except the request prompts a call from my GP, checking of course I’m not addicted to it…..yet. But also because I might not be able to take it into the country. (Oh didn’t think of that one.) A website called HealthPro will provide the insight but my helpful GP, who having recently read the appalling debacle surrounding my injury and diagnosis was more than happy to do a little bit more and checked it out herself. Lo and behold right enough not able to take it into St Lucia. So she prescribed co-codamol instead and that served everyone’s need. I wouldn’t be an addict, nor arrested for narcotic importation and she had demonstrated the level of care we thought was lost in the NHS.

Feeling pretty organised I had also pre-booked some time ago mobility assistance through British Airways. There is a standard that is automatically associated with this brand so it was, I hoped, going to be well coordinated and seamlessly supportive in each part of the journey. In fairness to BA, they rely on the ground staff to deliver the service and ground staff are employed by the Airport, hence leadership and staff management are critical to how well the service might be delivered. Edinburgh were brilliant; excellent service, prompt, friendly staff, helpful, just the right level of intrusive questions and timely arrival at the gate. It was a scoosh at security and my husband was able to get me, albeit reluctantly to the duty free so I didn’t miss out.

Gatwick bit of a debacle; timely helpful disembarcation there and a very smart and competent coordinator who redeemed them somewhat. Guess what we had a quick turnaround between flights. (I know). While getting us off the plane (there were 3 of us needing this assistance) was easy, it seems getting back into the terminal then onto the next flight was not so straightforward. Our anticipated pre-booked connection wasn’t there, nor when this was queried was it planning to appear anytime soon. The coordinator despite her best efforts wasn’t able to assure us of anyone arriving in time to make our transfer.

I started to become a little stressed after 20 minutes when we were still airside and it was 30mins till our flight departed. It was another Florida moment. The coordinator advised the group that the connecting team were more likely to be transporting people already in the terminal, random requests brought tips and this was far more lucrative for them than fulfilling the pre-booked arrangements. Finally with 20 minutes to go we had a driver, but we still had to get to security. And of course you need to get out and walk through that or wait till they bring you a wheel chair.

It’s worth mentioning that we had a companion on the buggy, an older lady with heart failure travelling to Tampa but thankfully much later than our flight. She was unwittingly drawn into our little drama as we drew up at the security and there were no wheelchairs in sight………………….