Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Take Me Home, Country Roads

My blog wasn’t funny yesterday – apparently. I’m not sure it was supposed to be. Just to relieve the pressure of trying to be funny I’ve decided to write a sad blog. This is about leaving England. I cannot describe the emotions I felt the day the container left with all of our furniture. I felt so gutted I wrote a Haiku! A prelude to blogging. A warm up exercise. It read:

The removals came that day.
Behind, in the rain
I left something of myself.

I was pleased with myself until I realised I had got the numbers of Syllables muddled (7,5,7 instead of 5,7,5) Can you imagine my embarrassment? No – Probably not. Those of you who are worried by my lack of humorous blogging would have been more than concerned by a technically incorrect haiku!
I remembered when Hubby left England at 6am, 6 months earlier – the pioneer setting up our new life – only it didn’t feel quite so romantic - more like the nutter who was wreaking our old life. It was just heartbreaking.
I hate to wake you up to say Good Bye.
But the dawn is breakin', It's early morn`,
The taxi's waiting, blowin' his horn.
Already I'm so lonesome I could die.
Leading up to me leaving I was in a perpetual state of anxiety or exhaustion. I had to sell our things – the TV I never had time to watch – sold for 10% of the original price to a fat man on eBay. (A description of the people who turned up from eBay could fill a book, let alone a blog!) I thought he was going to die from a heart attack carrying his prize away! (You ‘win’ on eBay!). I’m not sure how much of a winner the woman who bought Hubby’s full size pub pool table was. She was never going to get that up her stairs to her spare room.
I had to throw things away I had kept forever. In a hat box I found the sort of bits and pieces you shove in hat boxes in the absence of anywhere appropriate to put them (except for hatboxes!). There was an almost empty bottle of ‘Jules’ by Christian Dior, circa 1987. I told people I wore it because I preferred aftershave to perfume. Truth was, I was obsessed with the hottie who lived round the corner who wore it. He used to turn up – visiting from Uni every so often and smelling of Jules, woo me (that’s a polite way of putting it) and, when he had had his wicked way, bugger off. I couldn’t help myself. Even now – sniffing the bottle and inhaling deeply, like I did then, I remembered him, and the state of excited anxiety I felt when I saw him. Waiting for something to happen… Like I did the day in the rain watching my belongings go.  Bottom line is – in both cases I expected I would be f**ked and there was nothing I could do about it!
When I finally sat on the tarmac at Heathrow ready to take off, I could do nothing to stop the flow of hot tears as we taxied down the runway. The song of John Denver still ringing in my ears:

‘Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane,
Don’t know when I'll be back again,

Oh Babe I hate to go.

As it happens I do know when I’ll be back home to visit. Only, as it has already been pointed out to me, I’ll feel like an outsider there too! An outsider supping Ribena, eating sausage sandwiches, staying out after 10pm and swearing a lot and no one will think it strange!


  1. Hehehehe.......... :-))

    Its just the way it is........ dump the stuff and fly..........

    Embrace your new found slightly no longer fitting anywhere......

    It does not mean you are not loved and you do not love back home......

    I sing that song Leaving on a jet plane...... rather more like the version by those guys in Armagedon......... than John Denver though.....

    Embrace the roll there is no better way to blow away the cobwebs and the boxes of junk :-)))))


  2. You made me want to cry but mommy's do not call their daughters B....

  3. now I havent told Jo yet that you have taken a turn towards country - but she will be pleased that you are picking up some positives from being closer towards the deep south!
    try 'Courtyard Hounds - The Coast' for a different perspective!
    Looking forward to seeing you all in a couple of weeks

  4. you have to do an intensive in'dolly'trination before you can go

    where is the 'Grand ol Oprey' based