Bonjourno.....

 Welcome back to my little part of the world. Today, I am going to take you on a little flight. I hope you remembered your passports, sunblock, flipflops and a knotted hankie. Here is your boarding card, enjoy the ride, and the view.

I have not travelled as widely as I would have liked in my life. But I love airports, the build up to a flight, the packing. I don't get stressed or worried about it. I feel travelling is in my blood. There is a rumour there is Romany in my family which could explain a lot. More about my heritage in another blog.
I do have this side to my character which means if I could, I would catch a plane at the drop of a hat and blow the consequences. In truth I want someone special to travel with me.
I do get a little grumpy and overheated in blistering heat, so certain places appeal more.

Since I was as young as I can remember I always loved Lake Garda. I have no idea where this originally came from, it may have been a book/programme, but I used to make my mum laugh by saying it was somewhere I had to go, like an obsession. I am prone to an occasional obsession, so be warned, if I have one deep enough, it never ever stops!

I had been to other parts of Italy, Sicily, etc, but when it came to my 40th birthday, I felt this was the right time. This was in November, so the climate was cooler.
If you remember I had met back up with my Dad after 25 years, and by this time I had investigated a little family history. A few surprises, but later! Stop pressing the air hostess button, all in good time!

As the plane touched down, I thought well isn't this nice, the flight had shown some impressive mountain and lake views, but still a bit misty, so not crystal clear.
The flight arrived at some ridiculous O'Clock and I think it was a couple of hours journey by coach to the hotel. Cheap flight so airport nowhere near the hotel, you get the idea, bucket seats cheap as chips.

Anyways, its pitch black as the coach sets off. It went through tunnels, so long and so deep it was strange, another world. I took in the scenery, stunning houses, the most beautiful flowers I had ever seen. I have always had a connection with Italy, it gives me goosebumps, I never knew why. I have inherited a 6th sense, this is another of my traits. No you can't get up to see that blog, sit down and buckle up!

The light started to come through, a beautiful sunset across a the first view of the lake. I was stunned by how big it was. I had imagined it smaller, but that was as a younger small person!

The coach continued and I happened to look up, It was like enlightenment, a strange feeling, I realised the tunnel was actually going through the mountain, and the awesomeness of it hit me. I felt so in touch with something. My eyes filled with tears and I sobbed my heart out. You know me by now, the numpty who cries at the drop of a hat. This was different, like my heart depended on it. The tears just ran and ran and ran. It was a very deep intense connection.

The destination was Torbole. Beautiful hotel, on the lakeside, welcomed by the family staff who prepared food as if we were family, the most kindest people you could imagine. Cooking for us travellers, at a ridiculous hour still, I have never known that in other resorts.
An exhausted sleep and dreams ensued.

Something woke me a little later, a duck outside on a bit of the lake. It was a noisy little bleeder and never stopped quacking the whole holiday. No alarm clock needed for Miss Jones. But it was as if it was saying, "Come on get out your lazy bed and look"

I tumbled out of bed (please don't imagine it, seriously, I look like the Wreck of Esperance
after a spring clean!) pulled back the curtain and I stopped breathing for a minute I am sure. I felt as if heaven was in front of me. The lake, the sun, the foliage. But it was the mountains, The most stunning range I had ever seen. I had been to Corfu, I love the Greek islands with a passion, so know what floats my boat.
This range absolutely blew me away for a different reason. I had connections here, I just knew it.

I just stood on the balcony with shivers down my spine. The sad thing that struck me, however, was that the person with me, was not the one to share this with me. It suddenly seemed poignant that he was snoring through the tunnels, and was now.
The tears rolled again, because I really hadn't learned my lesson. The numpty had not been her true self. Here I was again, somewhere beautiful, the most special part of my life, and I felt lonelier than I had ever been. I knew I was 40, and things had to change. Somehow, I had to find the right path and make it to the other side, without looking back this time.

The holiday remained beautiful because of the scenery, the people who I found to be awesome, the air which was refreshing, the food which was out of this world. Although I have to admit I am not keen on the real Italian pizza. Maybe because I made the mistake of ordering one and it was delivered, it was the size of the table. I nearly fell off the chair. I looked around and giggled, as I caught sight of people laughing looking as if to say. "we did that, but only once!"
My personal favourites are lemon risotto, and spaghetti/pasta dishes. Seafood doesn't really float my boat (apart from prawns, sardines Greek style etc) - sorry fishermen, for that reason, I'm (mostly) out, (but not fishing).

Another strange passion of mine is a little opera. I'm a bit fussy, Carmen, Nutcracker Suite, anything with a real passion within it (like me).
My main love is Bocelli. I adore his music and am actually listening as I write.
On a day trip to Venice (sorry this did not float my boat. I have a phobia of rats and the sight of them at high tide put me off for life. I felt trapped in the alleys and although I  am open to try something new, it was not for me). Another comical thing is that the person with me adored it and always has (you get me?!)
Anyway the gorgeous Italian guide Maria (they are all called Maria) said on the way back, lets have some music and put on her favourite CD. On came the dulcit tones of Bocelli. The mountains at twilight, the voice I loved, and snoring next to me. For that reason on came the tears again. But again realisation of where I needed to go in my life.

Well that is a little flight of discovery.
Hold tight we are preparing for landing my lovelies. Please put your seat upright madam,and gently, do not upset the mans coffee in the seat behind you, Joan Collins style. Miss Jones ensures you are all sitting comfortably and buckled up and takes her own seat.
The landing is a little bumpy, with the memories of realisation, but hope for a better future.

A little later, my Dad came to visit me. I shared the holiday photos with him and he absorbed it all, he has a love of similar things. He had brought me some family documents for my family history research. I explained my feelings whilst I was there. He smiled and said "Its not surprising" Confused, I asked why. He then said you can search all you like but there is one bit you won't find in the documents. He went on to explain that apparently my Great Nan had met an Italian man, who lived in Garda, had an affair, and that is how my paternal side had continued! The family spent many happy times in Garda, and it was always "their" place.
I asked him why he hadn't told me before I left for the trip. He just laughed. I knew he wanted me to feel it for myself.
Perhaps that explains my dark hair, my love of mountains, plus water, as that is where I am truly happy. Maybe it explains my love of a bit of opera, the language, the people. It could be why people tell me my eyes are my main feature. Who knows.
But I found myself there, and I will never forget that experience.

Its not all sad. Recently I am beginning to see a new path. There are mountains ahead. But I am looking through the trees, I can see the lake. And this time, however rough the terrain, however steep the climb, I will not give up.
The sun is always shining through the trees. Look hard enough, its there.
This time I will not look back

(your only homework, Miss Jones is not that strict - translate to find the ending....and if you have never listened to opera, indulge..

 

#  Ogni volta che si raggiunge per me, che farò tutto quello che posso

Stiamo andando per qualcosa, da qualche parte non sono mai stato

A volte sono guidata ma io sono pronto a imparare per il potere dell'amore

 

Anche se ci possono essere periodi, sembra che io sono lontano

Ma non chiedo mai dove sono io, perché io sono sempre al tuo fianco    #

 

 

 

From me to you

Much love, eternally

 

BJ

xx

These are a few of my favourite things......and pet hates

# When I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favourite things.......

Firstly welcome back. Well I say back, I never really left if I'm honest. More like sat back on my heels to watch the dust settle, John Wayne style.
Secondly, thankyou for inspiring me to write more of my numpty thoughts. And so I'm back for a second series, by popular demand which makes me smile.
For this blog, I thought I would share with you some of my favourite things. They aren't highfalutin or high class, you know me by now, simples.com. Also some of the things that don't float my boat...

Social Networking
I admit, hands up, I am addicted. Firstly in the good old days it was chat rooms (don't say you didn't do it, you lot!!) A right mixed bunch of funny characters. More funny peculiar than funny haha.
Then came Friends Reunited, where you caught up with school friends, many of whom you couldn't remember, or hated, or who bullied you. I did get a shock to see a bully who bullied me, who didn't even remember it when I told her. She was horrified.
You chat, exchange pleasantries, discuss the weather, old school stories and teacher memories, and then what? It then becomes a tad strange, you are totally different people now, you no longer share no the same fears/aspirations. There are long stony embarrassing silences and then it stops, you have no more to say.
Next was Facebook, I was so excited by this, and would spend hours on Farmville, the Zoo thingymajig and Mafia Wars. I loved the power for a while, then the strain of being a gangster by night with a huge ranch and a safari to tend during the day finally brought me to my knees. So there my account lies, abandoned, like a ghost town, my crops withered, my zoo animals running wild, my enemies will have "iced" me a thousand times over by now.
Then Twitter arrived. This passed me by for many years. I never really got it. At first I joined to follow an old friend, added a few celebrities, who never tweeted back or acknowledged anything I asked them. I went on it momentarily, but it was nothing special. But now WOW its like a major part of my life. The penny just dropped. A few interesting people arrived and the rest is history. I love its diversity of people, the humour from people who don't even realise they are funny, whose tweets get me through a day when its difficult or I am down. I have made what I consider to be true friends there. I feel warm in its company, supported, loved and surrounded by happiness. There are times when I think I am too sensitive for it, but I know I can never leave! Its under my skin.
I can be who I am, a numpty flirt! There are people going through such awful life crises there that it makes me count my blessings and thats no bad thing. So Twitter I adore you and long may you reign

Suits
I'm sorry I just don't "do" suits. Its generalising, I know, but i make no apologies for it. They just do not float Miss Jones boat. I don't care how smart or well pressed or shiny they are, they're just all wrong. As soon as I see one, my hackles go up, they irritate me. What are they all about anyway? I don't understand this power dressing malarkey. I tend not to trust a rep at work dressed to the nines any more than someone in a polo shirt and slacks. Its the person I am interested in and what they have to say. I always want to unloosen the tie, unbutton the shirt, they look so impracticable and uncomfortable!
Many of the "suits" I have encountered are during periods of commuting to work. They barge into the seat next to you, elbows out, non-tabloid newspaper halfway across your seat as well as their own. Or they cover spare seats with briefcases and other paraphernalia, and look as if you have asked for their wallet, if you say excuse me.
After a few months, I got fed up with these bad manners and I now stick my elbows out back, smile sweetly and remove their baggage to the table if they refuse, plomp down in the seat with a wry smile to myself.
Manners cost nothing and you do not have to wear a suit to have them.

Jeans and T-shirts
Now you're talking, this floats my boat. A guy in jeans and a T-shirt or polo shirt. Gorgeous, simples. I cannot emphasize how much I adore these. I will gaze at these all the time I am afraid, admiring the casualness of them. Not the baggy hip slung ones though (shiver) I'm sorry I just want to hoik them up so I don't have to admire their Calvin Klein label or more!! Any other jeans are fine. I love any shape/size as it is about a person within, in my eyes. I also have a thing for a guy who is in workmen apparel/uniform especially firemen (swoon). I do not go for smooth, a little rough around the edges is just fine.
To go with these, I adore aftershave. You can never put too much on for Miss Jones. I have been known to follow a guy just to inhale the aroma! My all time favourite is Acqua di Parma (inhales deeply and imagines.... mmmm)

Heat
"I'm just not cut out for this heat"
Miss Jones does not do blazing sunshine or blistering heat. It makes me very grumpy and discombobulated. I remember getting off a plane in Corfu, my first trip abroad, down the steps onto the ground. I thought to myself, why have they left the heaters from the Jet on, as I felt this furnace hit my face, to realise this was actually just Corfu in July, 35 degrees, I felt very daft. That holiday I loved the scenery, the people but hated the intense heat and burning sand. I get all hot and bothered, and my very pale skin burns if I am not careful. Strange, as I am very dark haired but pale skinned, a sensitive soul.
I panic if there is no shade, or a breeze and can never withstand those temperatures for long. I would love to go to Africa, as I would love to see the beautiful scenery and animals in the wild/Australia but I think I may swoon and have attacks of the vapours! Someone would have to scoop me up (that could be a bonus?!?!)

Old films and programmes
These I adore, I like nothing better than to curl up and ogle Cary Grant or admire Marilyn Monroe or Audrey Hepburn. I have been told by friends that I look a little like Audrey Hepburn. I dont see this myself, I do have almond shaped eyes though. I would love to have her beauty and vavavoom, I really admire her features and gracefullness and real attractiveness.
As a child I was brought up on Norman Wisdom and musicals. I would put my Mums swing coat on and dance around the room pretending to be a film star. I also believed if I climbed into the old wardrobe I would reach Narnia. I used to push the back of that wardrobe so hard that one day the back fell out! Alas I didn't find Aslan, but just a wall of woodchip behind.
I also loved Little House on the Prarie. I read all the books and connected with Laura, a bit of a numpty in pigtails. I follow the actress on Twitter and she is very vivacious. For those of you who read my diary, you will know why I loved Michael Landon, what a beautiful man inside and out.
I also loved Tony Hancock and Carry on Films. Numpty fun but an escape from the mad reality at times.

Well there you have it, a few of my favourite things.
Tune in next time when we will discover why Miss Jones has an Italian connection as well as other nationalities

# And then I don't feel so bad........#

Is this the beginning? Or is this the end?

# I just wanna feel real love...........

And so dear reader, my story is told. This is numpty me. To update you my daughter remains unstable, is in and out of relationships, lives up north still near her father, and is now 19.
She still blames me for what happened. My Mum remains up North also and this is a difficult relationship, although I will always love her.
My Dad remains in my life, although we will never recapture those missing years.
And what about Miss Jones? You want the truth don't you?
I will always remain an enigma, to protect myself. I hope you unnderstand why.
But I will tell you that I am still not truly happy. Is anyone? Can anyone ever be? I really don't know. All I do know is that....

# Theres a hole in my soul, you can see it in my face, its a real big place #

P.s Thankyou for letting me share my story with you. Thankyou for travelling this road with me. It has taken a long time to put this into context and share it. I would like to thank Twitter friends especially @richnank and @jarrowlad2012 who inspired me to write this. Without them this story would never have been told.
All I will say is do not judge anyone, until you know the colour of their eyes.

Twitter friends I love you all and you are my inspiration. I may continue to write a blog of sorts. I will let you guide me.
Your numpty of Twitterville
Miss B Jones
xxx

The return of blue eyes

# Hold me now, it's hard for me to say I'm sorry.....

It was several years later, and I had come across a name I recognised. The one name that mean't anything to me, the one person I had always loved and would never forget.
The memory of those blue eyes had been imprinted on my heart for ever.
It doesn't matter how, but we had got in touch, by chance. We poured out our lives thus far, for different reasons we had unhappiness in our lives. He was very surprised to find that I had never forgotten him, and bemused as to why. I knew he didn't feel the same but both of us knew we had to meet and solve the mystery of 25 years ago.
The first meeting, was like a film, a brief encounter, but warm, no real awkwardness. I explained what had happened with my Mum 25 years before, and why I had stood him up. He laughed and said I had always been a mystery and he had always wondered what had happened to me.
I swallowed hard, looked down at his hand, and in a moment of snap decision I took his hand and held it tight. The tears rolled down my face as I told him I was sorry for what I did. Not looking up for a minute, I felt his hand squeeze mine back. This act caused me to cry out 25 years of pent up pain, love and emotion. No holding back, Miss Jones was wearing her heart on her sleeve, saying what she felt, what she had always felt.
I looked up into those azure blue eyes, and saw he was crying too, I have never felt such a moment as that ever in my life. I asked him why and he didn't know. For a mad moment, I thought he really loves me too and always has. This is the Catherine Cookson moment, this is it, off into the sunset, happy days. I have had very few men cry near me, but I know it is something that they do not do lightly.
We did meet a few times afterwards. I have never met anyone else like him. We do however come from totally different worlds, and he has a social standing. Like my favourite Patrick Swayze song, he's out of my league, he's like the wind. I can never listen to that song without crying my heart out every time, and yet it is one of my favourite songs. He connects with me like he doesn't with anyone else, he has admitted that. But equally does not feel the same for me, cannot feel the same for me. And so on this earth, this relationship will never be.
Despite all of this, I knew in my heart he was the one for me, but equally the one who got away and will never be mine.

# I just want you to know, I could never let you go.....#

The teenage years - again

# And she'll take what you give her, as long as its free.....

Mad panic, why wasn't she in school? The first thing that sprung to mind was that he had carried out his threat. They were gone, I would never see her again. I had been in contact with Relate years ago, just in case, registered her details, a lock of hair, fingerprints, if needed on file.
The police were called, the long stony questions, why, who, what. If I knew the answers none of us would be sitting here. It eventually came to light that another girl was missing with her. She was 11, very disturbing in West London, which is a very large place to say the least. I was streetwise, had grown up on some of the worst Yorkshire estates, and have never forgotten my roots. Unfortunately because of her naiivety and behavioural issues she had no sense of right and wrong, and was vulnerable and far younger than her 11 years.
It got to ten o'clock at night, when the phone rang. My nurse hat went on, don't panic, stay calm, even though inside I was enraged, boiling mad. She had stayed out with a friend in a derelict house. On her return, she told me lurid stories of the inhabitants of this place, addicts, alcoholics, where they had spent the day. I could not quite believe my ears, but then this is all she had ever known. This is how she felt safe. Amongst the mad world of her father. No amount of advice, or conversation, filtered through. I recognised this blank wall, nothing filtrates it, it never had with my Mum, with her father. Could this really be happening again?
I was by now in another relationship, stable, happy. She, however was intent on being unstable, permanently had her finger on the self destruct button.
The long stream of psychologists, behavioural experts, who could find nothing wrong. The CT scans and endless medical tests which were all negative. Once again I was at fault, it was because she wanted to see her father, it was my fault, I needed to be taught how to be a mother. What did I see in my childhood they asked that had led to me being a dysfunctional mother. All I wanted was for her to be happy, which she never was.
She started drinking alcohol, smoking. Yes we have all done it, me included. But at the age of 11? Every single day? No.
She would do anything to get her fix. Steal, lie, from her own home and shops. I fought to get her help, social workers. Every single one blamed me and refused to help.
In desperation, I gave up my job, uprooted my life and moved to the coast. Surely this would help? Sadly no. She went missing so often that even the police refused to go and look for her in the end. Who can blame them, they had real fish to fry. I would take her back to the shops and make her take back what she had stolen, asked them to ban her. She just found other shops. I would take her to school, she would walk out of the exit at the other side. School was fantastic and tried so hard with her, but nothing was working. One day she got a friend so drunk that he had his stomach pumped. She rang me so desperate and said she no longer wanted to live. How do you answer that question from a 12 year old when it doesn't sink in. Yet I continued to battle on. She would scream, damage property, and many a time threatened me with a knife. However social workers were not interested.
The 1st night she never came home, I thought she was in the gutter. She had been put into temporary foster care, had refused to say who she was or where she lived. More parenting "reconciliation" lessons ensued. The next week she went missing every single night.
I made a decision, enough was enough. I took her to Social Services and refused to  leave until we were seen. Surprising how you get seen when you push hard enough. I sat in the room and through tears said please take her, and keep her safe, make her well, get her the help she needs. Some of you may have been through that? If so you have my sympathy, and I never judge anyone ever in life. However if you have not had this situation just consider for a moment what it feels like. So what happened? They threatened me with prosecution if I walked out of there. Before I could answer she bolted. Laughable, she was even in control then. They continued to refuse to help, saying I had the problem, that all kids did this. Did they?!
One summer she wanted to go and stay with her Dad back up north. So I paid her fare, took her up there, after having had Social Services check he was stable.
Then came the phone call that she wanted to stay there and was not coming home.
It was once again rejection in my life, but as I said to her, my job has never been to make you unhappy in life...

But she'll bring out the best and the worse you can be......#

If you don't know me by now

#Just get yourself together, or we might as well say goodbye......

I don't think I expected things with my Dad to be easy. Once we reached Kent, it was a strange feeling. I suddenly realised the world was a big scary place. My Dad is certainly not a sentimental man. What you see is definitely what you get with him. No artificial colours of flavourings! He did however continue to spin this web of lies regarding his relationship with my Mum. If he had just admitted what he did, told me openly that he never once seeked contact, had just picked up another ready made family and moved on, I could have respected him. The fact that ne never did, merely deepened the long standing scars.
His wife, my stepmum was a staunch character. she openly admitted that she came first with my Dad, and that she had told him he would never choose me above her. I can understand her concern. However I can never quite grasp this hard heart in a person. I am so soft natured, I cry at the slightest thing, someone can usually get around me by tugging at my heart strings. She was however quite instrumental in my finally leaving Yorkshire. She had made me realise I was worth better. Although ours was a difficult relationship, I will always be grateful to her for breaking down my barrier, god rest her soul.
Dad and I just kind of get on, nothing deep, nothing special. Just get on. I can never remake those years, I don't want to. I just accept him for who he is and what he did.
My Mum didn't speak to me for several years. I tried, but she would have none of it. As far as she was concerned I should have stayed near her, never left her, and I was no daughter of hers. My Mum as always the victim, never anyone else. No leeway here, no understanding of what drove me to it. When I really felt she of all  people should understand.
I never stopped my ex seeing my daughter. I did however want her to be safe. A 2 year court case ensued. Painful, my private life exposed for all to see, ridiculed by people who had no idea, lies, twisted stories, solicitors scoring points. A 4 year old child caught up in the midst of it all. My ex pushed for contact once a month. Not a problem, except that he came down, threatened me with taking my daughter and disappearing to Ireland. Threatened me with violence, and I knew he was capable of it. This was someone I no longer recognised, even though we had been together for 9 years. He was determined I would have no life and would never be free. There was never any violence to my daughter, which is why I never stopped contact, this was at first via a contact centre, eventually for a few hours in London, where I had moved to. Once I filed for divorce he eventually got the message. But then the emotional abuse switched to my daughter. He would cancel plans, put the phone down on her, reduce her to tears. However he remained on a pedestal in her eyes, and I was the bad cop. This I took on broad shoulders, as I was an expert in this by now.
I secured a good job in London, got my daughter in school. All seemed a little more settled. Until the day when the school rang and said my daughter was missing....

# You will never never know me...........#

#