The Gritquoy Blog

It is almost two years since I tripped over Diet Chef. I think it was a TV advert in the days when I was still watching television by the old-fashioned method of sitting in front of it. That is instead of picking up the occasional programme from the catch-up facilities available online and sticking it in a corner of my laptop’s screen which is what I mostly do these days.

This has been my first ever diet in over 60 years. I once lost weight by cutting out chocolate for a few months but I fancied myself in love at the time so that was easy. Apart from that, I’ve never taken much notice.

But I now weigh over two stone less than I did two years ago – over 30 pounds less, in fact – and my BMI is now down to normal instead of obese. I would like to go further but there are distractions when one shares a home with people who have alternative foods in the fridge. I never did have much willpower!

I’m actually surprised to be considered “normal” because I weigh what I did the morning of the day I packed my bag and went off to hospital to have my second baby which can’t be right, can it? I still need to get rid of the remains of the belly and, of course, I also have to make an allowance for the lack of boobs ever since I surrendered those time bombs for the sake of peace of mind.

This diet has been ideal for me in my present situation. I’m not a domestic person and only cook (or clean) when it is absolutely necessary. And my daughter and her boyfriend make their own arrangements for the their meals and usually eat individual menus themselves, as it happens.

The procedure is that three boxes are delivered which contain meals for 35 days. Three meals a day plus a snack which you choose from a varied menu including vegetarian dishes. Stick to it and the calories have been counted and the pounds fall off, literally. No physical jerks are involved!

To be honest, I’m not really looking forward to the time when I have no more boxes of food in the house. It has been so easy to stop off long enough to grab the next meal, pop it on a plate, and eat it. I don’t even bother to heat anything but that’s my personal choice and it means that the only washing up is a plate and a fork.

As for physical jerks, I’m working on my pot belly but I do it in bed. Lie on your back, knees bent, and lift your head from the pillow. It tightens the abdominal muscles beautifully! No sit-ups to ruin one’s back, merely a head lift. I combine this with a tightening of the buttocks and that is all that is needed. I’m also hoping that it helps with my receding double chin but am not so sure about that one.

So what it comes down to is that this is definitely the lazy person’s diet and I therefore recommend Diet Chef to all!

The youngest of my three children will be 18 tomorrow. Since she is now happily settled into her first year at university I can safely say that that part of my job is now done. And, after over 38 years at the job, I think I’ve earned my retirement!

But it has been a very long haul. My first two were 11 and 4 when I became a single mother for the first time and my youngest was also 4 when I separated from her father.

So out of those 38 years I only managed 16 with backup. For 22 of them I have been in charge 24/7 and it has not been easy.

It is often assumed that single mums have no special needs and yes, some of them do indeed have larger family groups to help out but not all of us do. And I look with despair at the present attitude that these women (who already have a full-time job) should be out there working, “contributing to society” as if bringing up the next generation is a hobby to be fitted into one’s spare time.

We had no family support. My mother committed suicide 6 days after my first child was born and they never even met. She had secondary cancer and knew it (she was riddled with it, the autopsy proved) but waited for her first grandchild to be safely born before taking the brave way out.

My father and two brothers lived hundreds of miles away so they felt no obligation to me when I kicked my ex1 out 11 years later. I freed myself from him but I also lost his family as part of the deal. And friends, who didn’t understand the agoraphobia I suffered from at the time, drifted away. So we were on our own and my son had a few responsibilities which should never have been thrust upon his young shoulders because of the sorry state I was in after years of abuse.

When a husband has spent years telling you you are totally worthless, then what are a parent and siblings (and friends) telling you when it doesn’t occur to them that you need positive, constant declarations of love and encouragement? The rational part of me knows damn well that it isn’t true but I thought that, by only responding when I made direct requests for their help, they also considered me totally worthless.

So I cut them out of our lives and that made it so much easier for me but I am still pretty angry with them for not caring enough. Where were they? How dare they leave me to cope on my own! And, worse, how dare they do that to my children? Irrational, maybe, but…

I pulled myself up, went to college, and married again optimistic that this time it would work and that I’d have a companion for the rest of my life. But it didn’t work and will never work for me – a psychologist and I decided when I was 50 – because of the abuse I suffered when I was 10 which I had, until then, dismissed as unimportant.

This time, however, I have had the financial support and friendship of ex2 who is a kind man and although he has since met and married his second wife I have always felt included in their lives. Mind you, there was a brief hiccough when our daughter dropped out of her last year of primary school and I had to withdraw her from formal schooling but we weathered that OK. He has been a major contributor to her progress as she went from my home schooling first to college, at 15, and now to university.

The 38 years have taught me a few things and I’d like to impart these:

1. If you know someone who has been abused then please go overboard with the reassurances. They need that extra support because they need to believe they are worthy of your love. Spell it out, over and over, by action and deed because they have developed a short term memory to survive and might forget otherwise!

2. If you know a single parent then they could well be on call 24/7 and that is a lot to ask of anyone let alone someone who cannot get a cuddle from a partner at the end of a long weary day. Make that extra effort to be there for them!

My own job is not really over, of course, and although her older half-siblings are out in the world my youngest is, thankfully, still with me here, at home. I say thankfully because when she does leave home I face living alone for the first time in my life and, you know, I really do not relish that at all!

My ex2, Simon, and his wife live in Brussels and he told us a strange tale when he rang our daughter this evening. Almost unbelievable – had we heard it from someone else – but, as it happened to them, definitely true!

Last week he made one of his regular telephone calls to Devon and spoke with his stepmother. As usual, he telephoned her on his Belgacom landline from home.

This week his wife had a call to her mobile phone – on a Proximus line, part of the Belgacom group. She handed it to Simon and they are both witnesses to what was happening. It was a recording of part of his conversation with his stepmother playing in a loop. But only his voice could be heard.

She called the caller back and was connected to a Brussels shop where they knew nothing about it.

Simon has reported this to Belgacom and the police. The former tried to fob him off and the latter, although interested, said there was little they could do.

But it obviously cannot be left at that!

Was it a teenager hacking the phone company and having a laugh or was it something more sinister? Whatever it was, there are legal aspects which Simon is anxious to pursue, being a lawyer himself.

We await developments…

Preempting BBC Panorama’s revisit to the Scientologists next week, let me tell you about what happened when I dabbled in it and how it helped me.

And before anyone reaches for their keyboard in incredulity, let me explain. Because I am not, and I cannot emphasise this enough, I AM NOT recommending them and, in fact my advice to everyone is: KEEP WELL AWAY FROM THEM!

But it did help me and was just what I needed at that particular time and we’re talking about over twenty years ago when I was about 40. I sat in a semi-hypnotic state and talked through the shitty things that had gone on in my life with young Ed – he was sweet – and it put my life back into perspective.

And I came away from them much stronger, told my father and brothers to go to hell, changed my phone number, my name back to my maiden name and started afresh. But those are other stories which will emerge here eventually!

Just now, I want to concentrate on why one shouldn’t touch the Scientologists with the proverbial barge pole.

1. The comprehensive Personality Test which is completed at the outset ostensibly so that it can be compared with another at the end of the sessions.
Not good for anyone with secrets – I had none!

2. A short sample session of the relaxation technique with Ed was immediately followed by two other people extracting money for the foundation course.
In fact, I knew my father would be paying although it wasn’t quite the kind of therapy he had in mind. So it was not a problem for me but they would not let me go out for lunch to think about it and return later!

3. I paid for the whole foundation course and it finished before the money ran out.
A cunning move. They owe you time and they pester you to use it by signing up for the next level and paying yet more money.

But I had achieved what I had set out to do and didn’t need them any more.

It took me a while to shake them off. Two of them made the 60 mile round trip and dropped in on my home – they happened to be passing!

I had phone calls about the money they owed me.
“Keep it as a donation!”
“Can’t do that!”
“Then forget it!”
“Don’t you want to do the next level to know yourself. know your future?”
I’m quoting from a website now but I know that owning a Mercedes was mentioned – once one has achieved one’s full potential one can achieve absolutely anything, apparently. I asked the speaker why he wasn’t driving one and he couldn’t answer!

I ended up writing them a formal letter informing them that the balance due should be considered a donation and that they owed me nothing.

And, as it coincided with my changed phone number and my going ex directory – so that I’d feel better about my family never phoning me because they no longer could – they gave up trying to contact me.

So, there you have it: Scientology and me! A brief episode which left me unscathed and the better for it but others should definitely heed my warning!

I had a phone call from an ex lover today because he noticed the Lib Dem conference was on and that always reminds him of my existence. And we swapped pleasantries on what our families are up to, I asked him how his wife is – she’s fine – and he will have gone away pleased he’d spoken to me whilst I’m left bereft, yet again, not that I let on.

It’s not him I miss. It’s what he stands for – a public-school-educated tall, attractive, wealthy and eminently self-confident man. Being all of that, he was a perfect gentleman, someone who cosseted me, wined and dined me, took me places, someone who could perhaps now take the reins of life’s carriage from me from time to time or, at the very least, help me to hold them.

It was in 1985 that he advertised in the personal column of The Scotsman implying that his marriage had ended. I responded. I advertised a couple of times myself back then and met a few interesting people, including a baronet, and my ex1 met his present wife through their pages at around the same time.

It soon became clear that he had no intention of leaving his wife and I insisted he at least tell her about me which he immediately did. She and I then ganged up on him and we both told him not to be a silly bugger and our embryonic relationship ceased. Twenty-five years on he is still with his wife despite that lame excuse of staying for the children. They have children of their own now.

So he pops up every now and then and, I suppose, thinks he is being supportive. Today he solemnly insisted on giving me his mobile number in case I should need him and I took it down but have no intention of ever using it. He even offered to pay my fare to the US so that I can visit my older daughter but I declined. And he told me he still loves me and I was unmoved and didn’t reciprocate but thought: yeah, yeah, pull the other one!

I was cheerful and upbeat and didn’t tell him what I was thinking: that he is just the right person to deal with that Shetland solicitor who took money off me three years ago yet has done nothing regarding a field I own on Unst and the tenancy issue with the Crofters Commission. But I don’t think his wife would like it!

I shocked my younger daughter by saying that I always hope, when he calls, that he will at least tell me that his wife is dead, gone, off the scene. But I know I don’t mean that and I certainly don’t want him back. It is what he represents that I miss so much and, as I get older and less able to cope with stress on my own, need so much.

Over the years, I have set up the World Community Grid software on various PCs and laptops but my contribution lapsed when one or other failed to cope.

However, they emailed a reminder this morning and I’m trying again because it is, of course, a wonderful project and I should support it, if I can.

I’ll have to wait and see how this laptop copes because it overheats at the slightest excuse and has already almost electrocuted me when it melted through the main power cable and I hadn’t realised!

But I do recommend the scheme to others and hope some of you will take it on.

I mentioned a reliable and genuine survey company the other day and, by sheer coincidence, they are advertising at the moment.

I’ve been doing surveys for them for years, they pay promptly (into PayPal), and only contact me with genuine ones and never say, half way through, “Sorry, you don’t fit our profile!”

They seldom advertise but I was sent this today so do take a look at it: Pine Cone Research

And, by the way, there is nothing in it for me unlike most of the adverts I display on my site – although not all of them, in fact – but someone might be interested in earning a little money!

I love this – it’s from one of those places which sells things for people who already have everything – the Animi Causa Boutique.

How about candles which hover above your dinner table? It’s got them too and I bet you didn’t know you wanted them, did you?

What a self-indulgent exercise blogging is! Having written something every day this week, I am beginning to see why people do it. Who cares about readers when all the fun is in the writing!

Now I really must get back to some genealogy…

* Monty Python

I really didn’t think it would be like this! Paul McCartney released his song in 1967 and I got married that year. So, in 2010, I should have celebrated 42 years of marital bliss by now, shouldn’t I? It would have been 43 in a fortnight from now and that was what girls were brought up to expect, in those days.

And the reality? Childhood abuse caused two failed marriages so I won’t be attempting that again. Plus a few relationships which broke up so they’re best avoided because that’s upsetting, to say the least!

Family rifts. Children who don’t even know each other and two I never see. Brothers who didn’t realise that being a battered wife and single mum with young children needs positive active support from siblings not months on end of silence so long since dropped from my Xmas list.

And the gay friend who provided companionship for holidays and dining out, museums, theatre visits, etc – you know, someone to do things with where one isn’t just tagging along with others? He also gave me a male arm to pop a hand through and the occasional hug – how I miss that contact! But he went and bought himself a motorbike to recapture his youth, didn’t he? And then took his eye off the road for a second, missed a bend and drove into an oncoming car killing himself outright. That anniversary is on Saturday so doesn’t exactly lift my gloom.

Am I feeling sorry for myself – yes I jolly well am! So, Paul, I apologise but here is my version of your song:

Now I am older losing my wits
How the years have flown
No-one ever sending me a valentine
No-one shares a bottle of wine
If I’ve been out till quarter to three
I unlock the door
No-one to need me, no-one to feed me
Now I’m sixty-four

Send me an email, drop me a text
Phone me when you can
Tell me you still love me if you really do
Nothing changes my need for you
There is no answer this I accept
Lone for evermore
No-one to need me, no-one to feed me
Now I’m sixty-four

If you’ve read this far then I thank you for it! Talking helps – isn’t that what therapists live off? I talk all the time and it does help but when someone comes up with a time machine I’ll be first in the queue!

Meanwhile, my youngest, her boyfriend and I are off out to the city for lunch and I’m really looking forward to it! And my middle child is bringing her new boyfriend over from the US in December so I feel much better now…