Red Flags Are For Life, Not Just For Dating

I’m 70 years old. “71 at date of sailing” according to a recent cruise booking, which is somewhat irritating. Let me enjoy 70 first! It seems, though, that I have learned very little about human nature in the last 70 years.

We had lunch recently with a friend who had just been on a first date. “I asked, “Any red flags?” and she was amused that I knew what that was, being an old lady married for 40 years. And, yes, there was one for her. Red flags are something you hear about from people using dating apps, right? The meaning is kind of obvious but you don’t pay much attention to it unless you’re in the dating game.

Then one day you realise you need to pay attention to these in your everyday life or you will get hurt by a narcissist. Get hurt at 70? Oh yes, it can still get you. And the one who hurts you is your dearest friend. And you could have avoided all the pain…

So this is my story designed to save others from pain. The one who caused the pain will never read it. Far too arrogant for that. I should have been journalling regularly during my months of pain but that was too hard, other than ranting to long suffering friends on Facebook. Now my story is coloured by what I learned about narcissism and my sessions with a wonderful therapist. Yes, this person made me need a therapist after managing for 70 years without one!

What is Narcissism?

It’s actually a psychological disorder, one that is rarely diagnosed and rarely treatable and sufferers are on a spectrum to add to the confusion. You can see the official definitions and criteria for diagnosis here.

I’m not going to get into the amateur psycho babble, I’m just going to tell you about my experiences then you can do your own research. In practice this is what narcissists do:

-     1) They reel you in with “love bombing” and mirror you. They seem to like the things you like etc etc It’s all fake.

-     2) They think only of themselves and you are expected to provide validation and serve their every need.

-     3) They have no empathy and do not care what is happening to you, whether it’s problems in the relationship or your personal problems or illness.

-     4) They exploit you and use your time and skills or even exploit you financially.

-     5) They cannot take criticism or accept your boundaries. They will declare that you’re “attacking” them if you try to do this.

-     6) They take no accountability for anything even if it is clearly their fault and will blame-shift, flip the script and gaslight you until YOU take the blame or have no idea which way is up.

So why would you tolerate this obnoxious behaviour in a friend? The answer is because they are master manipulators and you can’t see it. Unfortunately in romantic relationships you don’t get to see it until it’s too late and you’re married with children.

The Family Narcissist

I had experience of narcissism for over 30 years as unfortunately one of my family is a narcissist. He will make himself look good by putting other people down, he has no accountability for his words or actions and he’ll make you look bad to family and friends. This is the “overt” or grandiose narcissist who is basically so obnoxious you can spot it at 500 yards. Sadly, you can’t do anything about it other than remove yourselves from their orbit entirely. When my dear mother died I regarded it as her gift that I would no longer have to deal with this person. It was too late to save things with my family who had heard me being blamed for everything for over 30 years but they’re mostly dead or being avoided anyway so all is good.

Losing your family due to another person’s lies is not very nice but I was well on the way to getting over that when I discovered the next narcissist.

Me and the Narcissist Friend: Early Days

Several lifetimes ago I was in my 20s living and working in London. Living in a horrible civil service hostel in Knightsbridge (now a very expensive boutique hotel). I was working in the Inland Revenue, as it was then. I went to a church that’s now very famous – basically I was there in the room when the Alpha course was invented, that’s how long ago it was. I met a lot of people. One day someone sat down next to me and introduced himself. I’m now going to call him Harry. Not his name, although close in part, and not the name of anyone I know.

Harry and I got on immediately and were joined at the hip for months. He was in show business. I understood that as I had a background in theatre since my teens. He was gay and I understood that too which was quite something for the 1970s. Sadly the church did not understand or respect it. I was his “girlfriend” at a time when no-one even blinked at the thought of such a thing. He was my GBF long before that became a derisory term. We had some great times together without a care in the world. We loved each other - but I do remember he was a little bit cruel, even then.

We lost touch around 1980. Too many house moves, not enough phones, email, Google (well, none of that, obviously). Although watch this space, there could be another reason.

The Reconnection

On a whim, I googled him back in 2022 and found his Facebook page (he’s a professional singer). I sent a message, no response for a while, then a “let’s exchange numbers”. I gave him mine and heard nothing. [Retrospective red flag there… this person can’t really be bothered to connect] Then I saw a video where he had his phone number on a poster and I called him and left a message. He was about to go to Australia for two months so we couldn’t meet but started chatting on WhatsApp, swapping little bits of news.

While he was away my mother passed away and he was very kind, taking time out of his holiday to send me thoughtful messages while I was up in the middle of the night. My helpful therapist has since pointed out this made him feel good about himself and it wasn’t entirely for my benefit. Sad but true – and now very annoying because it was that perceived kindness that tied me emotionally to this guy from the moment we reconnected. Harry is the kind of narcissist who appears to the world to be a caring, lovely, truly wonderful person and I fell for it.

No Time for Me

Mum’s funeral was not until March 2023 so we arranged to meet during that week. We had rented a house in Warwick - near where Harry lives - for the week of the funeral. Now here comes what we know now is a big red flag. We have two rules in life:

1) Never watch more than two series of a TV drama. We all know it will descend into drivel in series 3.

2) Never bother with “busy” people. They’re rude. If they’re too busy to see us that’s fine, just go and be busy over there.  We’re both retired accountants used to managing our time and we find people who can’t or won’t manage their time objectionable. Even worse are the people who aren’t actually busy. They just don’t want to see you. Avoid at all costs.

After weeks of no sleep we arranged to get to Warwick early after a dreadful motorway journey in order to meet Harry. He, in the meantime, had arranged to be miles away at a meeting and hadn’t warned us of that. So we started off with an argument. I was tempted to tell him not to bother coming to meet us. It would have saved me a lot of pain.

Narcissists are worse than the “busy people”. They deliberately invite and spread chaos. It’s part of their need to control others. Normally this stupid behaviour would make me run away but I was swayed by memories of the lovely time we’d had together many years before.

Once we finally got together Harry was very supportive and we had a lovely time with him that week, including an evening on my birthday. But there was another red flag I missed. Before I even got in touch with him I’d told myself I wouldn’t bother becoming friends with him again if he had a husband/wife/significant other. It would be too messy and complicated to be one from the past who suddenly reappeared.

The Lies

That evening he told me about a long term boyfriend, except he gave me the impression they hadn’t been seeing each other that long. He didn’t seem that enamoured of the boyfriend and he obviously didn’t live there so I let that one pass. I asked, jokingly, “Did you have other girlfriends like me?” He looked straight at me and said, “No, only you.” I fell for that one. RED FLAG. I don’t think there was another girl like me because I was the “almost” but there was a “replacement” for me acquired just after we lost touch and she is a big commitment. He runs when she calls. That, and the “busy” thing caused a lot of arguments. There were more lies as time went on and I was able to spot them but I was out of practice that day.

Looking back – did we lose touch or was I discarded and replaced? Harry was very cagey when we did the maths and it turned out the replacement came along just after we “lost touch”.

We had a fine time with phone calls, messages, photos back and forth (always with the “busy busy” though). He said he’d had some sad and difficult times in his life and I thought I was there to help him. I believed God had brought us together so we could help each other. But had he had sad times or was that more lies and manipulation?

The Big Row and Chance to Escape

Next RED FLAG and it was a real doozie. I have no idea how to spell that word… One day when we were with him I’d suggested he come and stay with us for a few days. A date was mentioned. Fairly specific, something like “second week of August”. When we discussed it later there was a massive row. I was accused of taking up too much of his time (“busy” red flag), he said hadn’t discussed anything about coming to stay (gaslighting red flag). Big row. He yelled. I cried. I told him I was worried he would hurt me and he completely lost it. “How dare you say that to me? If you think I would ever hurt you this is over” in a deep booming, hectoring voice that triggered me due to a previous horrible time with a business colleague. I felt I was about to be physically attacked even though he was 100 miles away and it was very distressing. 

Red flag: “I would never hurt you”. Who says that? Ever? To anyone? Most people would never need to say that unless they were rescuing an animal that had fallen down a well.

There was much hanging up and a kind of reconciliation but then came the snitty formal messages that I was required to get used to. It was the beginning of the trauma bond and I should have got out but couldn’t. I missed him, or rather I missed the friend I thought I’d reconnected with. I called him two weeks later (stupid, stupid…) and he seemed thrilled to hear from me. Trapped! Reg flag missed. He'd shown his true colours and I was still there.

Caring for me?

I was seriously ill with long Covid and associated problems a couple of weeks later. One of my many doctors blamed the trauma of that row.

I was ill for months and Harry was supportive but enough red flags to make a string of bunting were fluttering in the breeze. He was always keen to tell me about how he supported his friends. He had so many friends with cancer I very meanly suggested he trawled the oncology wards in search of them. I didn’t want to be a “project” so I was glad of his concern but resisted telling him too much. His “busyness” was often tales of his sick friends or the charity work he was doing.

Massive red flag: This is how the covert narcissist works. Always very concerned about caring for their friends – anyone except the “supply”, that is. Always telling you about their good works. I thought this was odd – and not very classy - but glossed over it.

As you can imagine, losing Mum, being ill and moving house brought their share of problems but Harry was never interested. He would shut me down by telling me I was causing him anxiety. I thought I was dying but God forbid it should cause him anxiety! He was a great purveyor of toxic positivity even towards one of his friends who was in fact dying. Saying “Stop being negative” or “you should be positive” in the face of someone’s troubles is really obnoxious. From the narcissist’s point of view it’s a great way of shutting you down. They don’t care about you, why should they listen to your problems?

There was a very odd moment the first time we got back together. He was telling me of a financial issue that – as a retired accountant – I could see was of his own making but I tried to be supportive and offer advice. When the conversation changed to discussing some problem I’d had he kind of switched off and looked around the room. It wasn’t about him so he wasn’t interested. It was odd. I didn’t think I could be boring him as I’d only got about three sentences out. This is a common red flag to watch out for when you first meet a narcissist.

There was a row when I called him out on the replacement girlfriend. He turned that around and told me I was the most stressed out person he’d ever met and “you’ve been stressy ever since we got back together”. Well, I lost my mother, I had a serious illness and I moved house two weeks ago but thanks for noticing!

Narcissists will always bat it back and blame you, whatever the issue under discussion. I was exhausted from the move so didn’t engage with him that time.

“I love you and would never hurt you”

Harry came to stay with us for a few days last summer. I was thrilled to have him as our first guest but the visit didn’t start very well. On our first morning he took himself off for a walk to revisit the places he goes to with the other girlfriend. Where we live is their favourite place to come on holiday. Cue awkwardness in future years… it was downright weird.

We had a couple of full and frank discussions while he was with us with me threatening a two word somewhat unladylike response to his frequent “take me as I am”. Big red flag. Why would someone be so intransigent? Surely we should all do better?

During this weekend Harry seemed very concerned that I might “walk away” and kept telling me he loved me over and over. When I gave in and said it back he seemed thrilled – but again with the “I would never hurt you” red flag. Of course he was thrilled, he had control back.

The Devaluation

From that point I could see I was being “devalued” – the guy is a textbook narcissist after all - and he wanted to end it. He treated me more and more like a nuisance. I also wanted to end it but couldn’t do it. I was stuck in the trauma bond. Something else I’ve had to learn about.

We had fewer and fewer conversations and when I tried to arrange some time together during a week in Warwick – dates chosen by him and the week including a meeting he wanted with one of my friends – he declared he couldn’t give us more than a couple of hours. If my husband hadn’t been ill and the landlords kindly agreed to move the dates we would have wasted £800. We clearly didn’t matter at all to Harry. As it was we had a great time in Warwick a couple of months later when he was away.

The Discard

I did the thing a narcissist will never allow. I stood up for myself, set a few boundaries and dared to ask for some of his time on my big birthday. There was a very abusive phone call. He got into a complete rage, a temper tantrum worthy of a three year old and all but congratulated himself on being able to make me cry. Vile. Just vile.

Being a complete idiot I tried to put things right by apologizing for my part. He told me I had been unpleasant and he was taking a break until the New Year. His snidey texts included “I’m protecting my peace” and “I must protect my mental health” Translation: “I will never take accountability”. This weaponised therapy-speak made me wonder if Harry is the type of narcissist who goes to therapy to learn how to be a better narcissist.

Harry swanned off on his annual two month holiday (really – what self employed person does that?) and other than nasty texts where he projected everything onto me that he was doing I never heard from him again. Narcissists often “hoover” you back but apparently this doesn’t happen when you’ve called them out on their narcissistic behaviour and have thereby become their mortal enemy. And at this point, after hours of therapy, I can say, “Thank God for that”.

The Pain

At the time, though, I’d lost my dearest friend. There was no “closure”, no phone call – kind or otherwise – just the abusive call and a few messages to keep me hanging on when he had no intention of ever talking to me again. I’d been discarded, just thrown out with the rubbish. And then blamed for all of it.

It’s the lack of accountability that destroys the relationship in the end. It doesn’t make logical sense and why should the other person take the blame?

Was the whole relationship an elaborate charade on his part? When we “lost touch” back in 1980 was that my first discard? Did he ever care about me when I was ill? Does he care about anyone when they’re ill?

The Aftermath

I'm mad that I was manipulated, obviously. I'm mad that there were no consequences for him. I was distraught and he just went on holiday and had a good time, no doubt manipulating people the other side of the world. I'm mad that he wasted two years of my life although they weren't my best years so that's something.  I'm mad that he left me with no good memories, indeed he had a habit of stomping on them to make sure he ruined them. Weird and cruel...

I'm very sad that I lost my friend-that-never-was because I thought we would be friends forever. I'm still amazed that someone could be so cruel and continually hurt people and yet have everyone think he's this wonderful all-round good guy. 

Do I hate him? No, because there's nothing there to hate. It's like he's one of those blank bodies in science fiction waiting for the alien to take over. There's no real personality there. It's all fake. What I feel is disgust rather than hate.

Would I want him back? Not in a million years and he had better hope he doesn't run into me during his jolly holidays with the girlfriend in "my manor"! No problem, he's a coward and he'll run the other way.

Is there Karma?

Is there karma for Harry? Who knows? It does seem that narcissists get away with it. He's supposedly a Christian and it bothers me a great deal that a fellow Christian can treat me that badly plus his behaviour is a terrible witness, a big No-No for Christians. A kind church minister who helped me through this was appalled at the witness element.

Harry is almost 70. His imaginary and Tinder age is at least 20 years less. He’s good looking for his age  but he won’t be able to maintain that lie.  I doubt he will ever have a long-term relationship apart from with his two trained sycophants. Maybe that’s the karma. Plus that eventual conversation with God, of course. I like to imagine that Harry gets into Heaven but there’s an appraisal first which will include the question, “Why did you treat another child of mine so badly and then have the gall to pray for her and lie to me?”

Was it real? How did I allow it to happen? 

I grieved for this “friend” for months but what was I grieving for? Some imaginary friend? Was none of it real? How had I allowed this situation to go on for so long?

Obviously I’ve thought a lot about that:

1) The first problem was the love I had for him from years ago. I thought he wanted that friend back. Turns out there just happened to be a vacancy for a new “supply”. He had a new person to supply validation. He certainly got some use out of me helping him with his business and financial affairs.

2) I somehow missed the lack of accountability although I kind of realised it in the background. We used to joke about all his drama and disasters over 40 years ago. Everything seemed to be against him. Clearly a lack of accountability but I couldn’t see it. He came to a family wedding with me back in 1980 (very confusing for the elderly aunts who thought we were next up the aisle…) and told my Dad a tale of woe about everything going wrong. Dad later said “He’s a lovely chap but there’s something wrong with him. He makes poor decisions then blames other people even if he was the only one in the room.”

I also realised he didn’t often apologise or there would be a British Rail apology – we’re sorry IF our trains are running late. That, too, was muddled. He’d sent me a vile audio message on the morning I was due to have eye surgery. Apparently I was daring to waste his time. Who does that to a friend about to leave for the hospital? I was mad and determined to get rid of him that very day but he called me with what appeared to be a sincere apology. It wasn’t, of course, it just reeled me back in.

The lack of accountability is all pervasive. When I called him out on this in a sort of joking way during the good times Harry said, “I don’t know why people keep telling me I lack accountability” Well, duh.

3) I’m usually a tough cookie but I was vulnerable due to everything I was going through and needed a friend

4) I was brought up to believe “you mustn’t be bad friends” and you were supposed to put things right. That meant I didn’t have the benefit of immediate no contact and the end got dragged out. From my point of view that is, from his I was simply discarded.

5) I could tell he had mental health problems but still thought, as a friend, indeed as an empath, I should help him. You’d help a friend who was depressed or grieving just as you’d help a friend with a bad back. The problem is narcissists are so delusional you can’t help them. They want to blame you and will end up destroying you.

6) I didn’t know about narcissism and red flags. Why would I? I should, however, have been able to spot a thoroughly nasty piece of work but nos 1-5 above got in the way.

This brings me to the point of this very long post which is: Educate yourself, teach your children basic psychology, get it taught in schools! Spot the red flags and save yourself a shedload of pain. Save yourself from believing everything is your fault.

If you’re suffering abuse from a narcissist please make sure you get the right help. Not all therapists are well versed in it so find one who is. My therapist is Lorna Dougan from Mind Positive and I can recommend her without hesitation.

We Moved!

 As it says at the top, I wasn't born at the beach but I got here as fast as I could. Imagine spending your childhood in Birmingham as far from the beach as you can get! And then spending another 50 years trying to live by the sea. Well, we made it. A few years later than planned due to pesky Covid - and 50lbs less of me moved thanks to 15 months of long Covid. I'm just beginning to recover now.

We sold our lovely 1930s house in Southampton to the first couple who looked at it. Thankfully they loved the original features and didn't plan to turn it into a building site. Neighbours turning the road into a building site is one of the reasons we moved. There's not much people are allowed to do in a flat and we're the ones making the most noise at the moment.

I couldn't resist making a scrapbook page with the For Sale sign. You can click on any photo to see a larger version on Smugmug.

 

All was well and we started clearing out 38 years' of possessions ready to downsize. We looked at several flats in Bournemouth that weren't going to work, a couple of them because the owners had no intention of moving and were just wasting our time.

Anyone who has ever moved house will know the horror stories but just about everyone we paid a shedload of money to - agents, removeals company, solicitors -  conspired to cause maximum stress, most of it completely unnecessary. Why do we put up with this?

Moving Day was one of the rare very hot days this summer and we'd had very little sleep for days so forgive the exhausted look - and note the journalling about being homeless!

It finally felt worth it when we got there:

It's been months of work and plumbers and electricians coming and going (basically we had one single socket per room...) but new neighbours are lovely, we're 20 minutes walk from the best beach and there's a large outdoor pool which is a real joy. I'm sure swimming nearly every day helped with my health problems. Oh, and John has a man cave. In the first few weeks after we moved he'd go to the garage to get something and disappear for hours as his new chums wanted to talk to him.

Here's the pool (and my Dad snuck in there...)

On the balcony and at the beach catching the last rays of summer (such as it was...)

And the paddling continues well into the autumn!

Drop me an email if you'd like to see more photos! Credit: Many of the scrapbook pages on here were created with templates designed by Katie Pertiet.

Web Domains Nightmare

That fixed your insomnia problem right there...

So cunning plan this year:

1) Move house

2) Only tell some people the new address

3) Do most of 2) via Facebook, Whatsapp and other newfangled things.

The good folk encompassed by 3) already know joys and horor stories of our move and people - and my printer - moan about letters in Christmas cards so let's tell them about it on the blog!

First problem was that the blog proudly declared that we live in Southampton, in fact it helpfully points to the docks. Like this:

Well that won't do at all!

Much messing about followed and there is now a - sort - of- beach pic which will be replaced but some fancy schmancy header when I have time.

Next problem was my websites going nowhere. 123-Reg said there was no problem forwarding my domains, and the sites could be seen on all devices. Not according to my devices and those of the many friends I bugged to have a look. You have to love the kind of customer service where they're trained to tell the customer there is no problem rather than dealing with the problem. I've cancelled some of my lesser used domains so that's profit gone for them.

I spent an hour practising on one of my sites no-one looks at and tinkered with the DNS to get things to work. Do not try this at home. DNS is like the tension on your embroidery machine. Never touch it. So another support ticket asking them to fix that ... 

If you can see this blog now either I fixed it, or the web forwarding from Go Daddy (more money spent...with someone else, 123-Reg please note) works or you received a letter with some address like http://sharonhorswill.blogspot.com which looks really naff in print. But here you are, at least. Now scroll back up and read about our exciting move!

Funeral Dress Code

My lovely Mum passed away on 6 February. The funeral is not for a few weeks yet. It amazes me that hospitals and funeral directors are taken by surprise every year at the number of people who die in winter. We have been doing that for centuries, folks. 

You end up distracting yourself with things and "what to wear for the funeral?" is one of them. It seems trivial but it would have amused Mum. She was the most elegant, well-dressed woman I knew. That apple fell a long way from the tree. Since I stopped wearing the snazzy business suits my wardrobe has become 1) Slob, and 2) Cruise. I did keep a smart black suit for funerals but I've inexplicably grown out of it.

I worked mostly from home in pre-Zoom days where it didn't matter what I wore but on the days when I turned up as the consultant at other accountancy firms I wore sharp suits and heels - medium 'cos not an idiot - even when the office was down a dirt track. Well, especially when the office was down a dirt track... I had to look the part of One Who Knows Stuff and you can fool some of the people some of the time.

What do women wear at work now? I mourn deeply the loss of Windsmoor, Eastex, Dash, Jacques Vert etc. Old lady clothes, certainly, but then I'm an old lady and a grumpy one at that. Search "work wear" in any of the Wouldn't Be Seen Dead In That dot com online stores and it will come up with the type of leggings that make you wonder if someone forgot to put their skirt on. Really? You're going to work in that? Always dress for the job you want even if it means dressing as Wonder Woman.

I tried on some vaguely suitable clothes. Due to a combination of grief at the loss of a friend, gall bladder problems, walking A LOT over Southampton Common and Asda failing to deliver the right cakes I lost a lot of weight last year. It turns out exercise and eating less makes you lose weight. Who knew? They should promote that. I'm still a bit of a l*rd*rse - and no doubt on some insulting part of the chart in NHS terms -  but a smaller one.

So this is great. Stuff fits except it's too long. What? How does that work? Ah, excess fabric not being taken up by huge hips. I'll sew a lot of things but NOT trouser hems. Heels it is then. Cries from the bedroom to uninterested hubby along the lines of "My gold shoes are the only ones that work with these trousers!"

Smart jacket, gold shoes, bit of bling... that will do nicely. Here's some I wore earlier, along with my Mum.

RIP Paul Easton

I was so very sad to hear of Paul Easton's death recently. I've been struggling with the death of my mother and losing a friend strangely sent me down a horrible spiral. Paul and I used to talk about our mothers, who were born on exactly the same day.

Paul taught me a lot about radio in the days when I'd turn up as the alleged tax expert (or dressed as a rabbit, depending on the occasion...) who was sometimes allowed to press the buttons. He was that very rare expert on everything who never came over as the "know-it-all". He was kind and modest and took the trouble to make sure you understood what he was teaching you. An all round good bloke.

We'd planned to visit Paul in the next few months. He seemed so happy in his new house with his new friend Charlie the cat. Best laid plans and all that...

The Queue

 .. for it shall be forever known as just that.

There is something soothing and yet very sad in watching the live feed of Her Majesty the Queen lying in state. ("Lying-in-state" ? I'm not entirely convinced about that one.) Several journalists facing the "we've run out of things to write" problem have touched upon it. Here are a few thoughts from me. I've had the feed running since it started and I've been watching it on and off while crocheting, knitting etc. I need the big screen to see the pattern now and the office is the warmest place in the house when no-one dares put the heating on.

The most striking thing is the looks on the mourners' faces as they reach the top of the steps and look down into the hall. The coffin seems small, as do all coffins, and for those who have lost a parent it brings back memories of that coffin in a horribly sudden way. Just looking at a crowd of faces I could tell you exactly who has attended a parent's funeral. You're chatting to friends and family you haven't seen for a while, you're trying to be cheerful as your Dad - in my case - would have wanted and then you see the coffin and the sense of loss is unbearable.

Once down the stairs "all life is here". No-one is told what to do. You can just walk by, bow your head, curtsey, blow kisses, clasp hands in prayer, make the sign of the cross, do whatever you feel moved to do and those behind you will wait respectfully while you do it. Try as they might to move the queue along in a gentle manner  the stewards will let you pay your respects as you choose.

As I watched there were children who had practised bowing for hours and were either determined to get it right or were too shy to try, families who all lined up together for a group bow, (mostly) young men who actually got down on one knee, groups of lads there for a laugh who weren't going to bow until one broke away and decided to do it.

Many arrived in national dress and other uniforms and costumes. There were off-duty police, firefighters, paramedics, Brownies, Guides, Scouts, druids and several "I wonder what those people do every Wednesday" outfits I hadn't seen before. There were priests and leaders of all faiths. Then there was the moving sight of members of the royal family performing their vigil. How hard it must be to grieve while the world is watching.

All this punctuated every twenty minutes with the tap, tap tap of the officer's sword to usher in the new guard.

A few people will stick in my mind for a long time

- the old soldiers in berets and regimental blazers sporting many, many medals who gave their best ever salute, bowed their head and walked away in tears, cruel camera operator staying with them as they left the hall.

- the Native American chief in full headdress, an elderly and very dignified gentleman.

- the lady who, from her deportment, was obviously a dancer and gave the most graceful, elegant curtsey ever then walked away as if her feet weren't touching the floor.

Speaking of curtseys - and believe me I will every time I get the chance - ladies, please learn to do it and teach your daughters. You never know when you might need the skill, as teachers at my school told me. They were right. The bodyguard said he was impressed with mine when I met Prince Charles, as he then was. It's not difficult but if you get it wrong it looks downright weird and you might fall over. You don't want that! Learn about centre of gravity first then practise a bit. I learned at such an early age from my grandmother, reinforced by learning it at school and in drama classes, that even being an old lady I can do it without thinking about it. It's the thinking about it that messes it up.

I feel sad that I couldn't join in The Queue but dodgy knees would not allow me to stand for hours and walk six miles - and if I'd made it I would be faced with steps I couldn't get down because there are no railings. You would have thought some kind of railing could be set up. There are plenty of people not needing the accessible route who would still have trouble negotiating a long run of stairs. I saw a couple stumble and fall while I was watching. Stewards and others rushed to their aid, of course, but those were unnecessary falls.

Queuing is a great British skill and we did it well (there's an interesting article here about the science of queuing).

We have lost a wonderful Queen. God bless you, Your Majesty. 

"Be thou faithful unto death and I will give thee a crown of life." [Revelation 2:10]

God save the King.

This Retirement Gig. Making All The Things.

I retired from my accountancy practice in late 2019. HMRC apparently didn't get the memo and still send me letters threatening to strike me off their anti-money laundering register. I respond in suitably snitty vein when I can be bothered. I'm not sure many people noticed this retirement as I'd been reducing the workload after too many stupidly stressful Januaries. I discovered that reducing the workload meant all the stress and half the money each time so the exciting "Be An Accountant" project was consigned to the "Sod This For A Lark" drawer.

"I know. Let's do fun things and cruise lecturing and go out a lot and travel and do some entertaining and...Covid."

Luckily we have a nice home and a ready made office for John to work from. One with no "Wow, they really should tidy up" background, just a cupboard door showing. We occasionally put a witty poster up there.

I bought an embroidery machine with cancelled cruise money and turned the dining room into my craft room. Well, no-one was coming round to dinner... I also learned to cut hair. Luckily again I have the same hairstyle I had when I was six and Monsieur John colours it so that was easy.

Two years later we're still watching in amazement as silly people abandon social distancing and going to the pub is more important than staying alive. "You've got to live your life," they say. "I'd prefer not to live my life as a widow," says I. Anyway, that's a whole other rant...

I'm reluctant to give up my blogs and websites, being fanatically proprietorial about my name, and the Coastal Scrapbooks and family sites might be useful when, respectively, we attract P & O's attention again and my family deign to look at their own history. So, I'm going to bore everyone with photos and intricate details of Stuff I Have Made. 

I've always made stuff since Mum taught me to sew and knit when I was about four. I probably give people a very blank look when they say, "I can't sew". What do you mean, you can't sew? Mum and I made clothes for the whole family. Then we made dolls' clothes and a truly horrible quilt with the leftovers. It had crimplene fabric in it. Ew.

Watch this space if you suffer from insomnia. I'll cure that for you. You're welcome.

Here's a suitable, albeit a bit late, embroidery project. Sweet Pea, an Australian company, make little flag designs that you can - maybe - make in a day so we have several of those about the place. I literally finished this at 30 minutes to midnight (what with having no party to go to...)