Living, or existing

         Where you live is so important isn't it. That's because it's not only where you live, but how you live. How you react to it, in general. Is it in a nice area, are the surroundings good, safe, and are you happy to walk up to your front door. Do you feel happy to be there, or do you dread reaching the place. No, not your family, or your circumstances inside, nothing to do with how your relationships are effecting you. I am talking about how you cope with the space, the physical conditions you live in.

         Or, perhaps that's just me. Perhaps it's trite of me to care about such niceties. If I were really poor, and struggling, I would have more important things to consider. Except, I am quite hard up, and I think that makes it more important, not less. More important, to me at least, that the sight of the front door, and what lies beyond 'cheers,' it is important to me. Although surely I cannot be the only person who knows it effects them. Every thinking, feeling person must care about their home space, of course they do. Unless, they do not know who they are, thrie inner self, perhaps. It's their bit of defensible space, their haven. Perhaps it's the artist in me, liking beauty, and balance. Or, perhaps it's a result of a childhood situation, where nothing was tidy, or secure maybe...but I don't think that's it.

         It's quite hard to find out, although I have thought about it. In between moving home. It may be purely something to do with pride, in yourself, or your accomplishments. Your home, and where it's located as a reflection of how well you've done. Or, something to do with the peace, and tranquility that we all need on a spiritual level, whether we know it, or not.

         Whatever the reasons behind it, in my case, I know where, and how I live is vitally important. When I round the corner, and see my place, even though it's only the building that holds my flat, I love to see the building. It gives me a kick of satisfaction, to be able to go inside. The architecture, is unusual, and outstanding, of course. Mainly because it's an old building, Victorian gothic. Which, I think, has to make an impression on most people. Of course, that brings it's own problems too. As the insulation is never good, almost non existent in fact. Which, in a cold climate like ours, in England, can leave you less than comfy through the cold spells. We often laugh, that the cold can penetrate the heavy brick, and stone walls, yet the sun does not. It's often far colder inside the building, than it is outside. As you walk out the main door, the temperature is several degrees warmer. It's akin to living in a dungeon in that way. Although that does not spoil it for me. If the sight of the building was not right, I would not go live there in the first place. There is always some choice, of some kind. I would become depressed, to know I must constantly approach a dingy area, and building. Although, again I have had too, at one point in the past. At that time, it was the history of the old building round me that saved the situation. It was the tree outside the window, the flowers I planted in tubs, and the plants nurtured inside the house.

         Yes, I see I am perhaps coming over as privileged here. In that I have some choice in where I live. That I don't have to live where ever I can get, or am put. Bear in mind, I have had to live in such circumstances in the past, when my family were young, and money was very tight. I had similar feelings even then. At that time, I could not change the building, or the walkways, and lifts leading to it, except to clean it. I did, however, put tubs, and flowers outside the door, and on the window sills. I even, quite illegally painted the door a nice colour, and the outside walls, I whitewashed. No one in authority ever caught up with me, to bring me to task, much as I expected really. Large authorities, like the local councils, rarely care about the little person who they are supposed to represent, and care for. Not unless you fail to pay the rent on time, of course. I therefore, felt reasonable safe in letting my artistic side loose. Anything to improve my living conditions, to make it a place I enjoyed seeing.

         So, now I feel even stronger about it, I suppose. Of course, the interior is just as, perhaps even more important. At present, because I live in a small place, it's space that restricts me. I became accustomed to the 'very small' British dimensions before I went abroad. Now, after several months in a country where every room, every place, has more space. I could not adjust..indeed I am still struggling.

          How to cope? I think I will have to have a major purge, of furniture, and of possessions. Charity shops here I come. Perhaps if I can make it feel more spacious, then I can settle in again. Otherwise, I will have to move. Something. I don't want to do, as it's expensive. The moving, even the packing does not bother me. Living in a new place does not bother me, I have lived in dozens of places. Every place has it's own attractions, and possibilities. I love working out how best to make the most of each space. If I had plenty of money, I would be off...immediately.

           Guess, we will all have to watch this space.

           As I, am as much in the dark, about the immediate future, and my living conditions, as you guys out there.

            See you all anon....when I know what must be done.

Filthy lucre...it's how you think that counts

          Yeah, money nowadays is a joke, isn't it. Of course it may have always been the same, probably was. No, make that inevitably was. Yet here I am, not exactly worrying about money, but aware of it being in short supply. I don't worry about it, because I have been around long enough to know it all sorts its self out again. Just as long as you are not going on some crazy spending spree. Frugal, that's it, make it stretch, do what you can, don't worry about the rest. Anything to do with money can be overcome. As long as your loved ones are safe, and healthy. The rest can go stew!  

          I am sure any accountant might be nonplussed by that attitude, but honestly, it's no good ranting  around making everyone's life a misery, as some do. A worry passed on, with anger, does not make it any less,  it only upsets those you are supposed to love, and care for. Yeah, yeah, it know, money is a worry. But don't stew. What you worry about is what you get. Just think of the energy going into that constant worry, and anger. That's no good at all , is it. Not good for your equilibrium, not good for your day.

          My approach, although some may laugh.....all won't. Is to begin seeing lots of money coming in, to visualise, the bills paid, the purse full, the bank account in the black, the savings stacked up. I will probably buy a lottery ticket too,  to show the universe I am open to windfalls. Don't worry about where it could come from, only assume it will. When visualising, you don't have to be 'realisticic' as some call it. You don't have to worry about how it can find its way to you. The Universe can take care of all that. It has infinite money. Do not, at any point start worrying about the bad things that could happen as, or if, the financial situation worsens. (It definitely will, if you keep focussing on it)

           Don't speak hardship either. Don't say, I can't afford, this, or that. Say, and visualise, going out for nice meals in smart places, a swanky car, all yours. A wardrobe of new clothes, a holiday in the  sun. Helping out the family. Ultimately. First though, you gather it in! 

           Even collect some pictures, make a board, a book, a page...with your ideal life before you. Look at it all the time. Most importantly, vitally, don't think about what dire straits you think you are in, don't write it, don't say it. All of that will pile more of the same on your head. You don't even have to believe what you expect to come to you, although if you can, it would help.

           Visualise...only plenty, say, only security, and happiness. Think, only relief, expansion, replenishing all the good things in your life. Visualise, speak, think, write, a wonderful life. The ideal position, and situation, the best you can imagine. Even push it. Imagine even more than you can imagine getting, even more than you internally think you need, or want. Anything, everything is yours! Only say,and think it is. Absolutely anything. Sooooo, be careful what you wish for, especially careful what you dread.

         You....we....I....create our own reality. The life we live, is the one we thought...believed we could have. If its turning into crap, into custard, then turn it around, do a bit of hocus pocus. A bit of personal magic. Why can't it work, why can't it be true? It can! It really can.

          So, repeat after me...

          My life, is good

          My life is full with all good things, and joy 

          I have everything I need, and more

          I have an abundance of riches

          My life is perfect, wonderful in every way

          My bank account is overflowing with riches, As is my life.

          Thank you god, (the gods) for my abundance of all good things.

         

           Of course you may do better than me with your list. Just say no negative words, include no needy words. Everything in your life is positive, everything around you, is abundance.

           I am surrounded by the best of everything, my loved ones, and I am happy.

           Have a good day out there, it all up to you...

          Take charge of your life, and don't be a victim. NEVEVVVEEEERRRR.

           SPREAD, LOVE, AND JOY

A working life...for me (or you)

           The subject of work keep coming up, one way, or the other. When you fill in customs declarations, or embarkation cards, on the airplane. There seem to be so many forms, as in modern life in general.  Everything is forms, forms, forms. I may have named it incorrectly, but you know what I mean, there is always a new one being bought around. Where have you lived for the last six months, where will you live for the next, blah, blah, blah. One of the questions always asked is 'what is your occupation'. Now, no spring chicken anymore, I have had a few different jobs. Far too many to list here! As I did all kinds of part time ones, when the children were small, before getting qualifications. 

           At present I write, but as yet it makes me little money. Is that a bone fide job? It is a question which, puzzled me when it came to giving answers on the forms. How accurate do you have to be, is someone going to say.....'come off it, you do not do that for a real job!'. Or, will no one care how much of a 'Walter Mitty' answer I give. There is no accompanying rule book with the forms, are the flight attendants supposed to know? Does anyone ever do anything with the filled forms?

            Or, do they mean the sort of jobs, or careers we all do at some point in our lives, those we have to do to earn money, to make a living. Now, at last, after many long years of promising myself, 'one day......I will follow my dream. I do what I I love, and hope for an income eventually. Although for many years, I worked primarilly to make money. Not always at jobs I enjoyed, but one must work, yeah, for sure. Or, one will starve ha ha. Certainly not an aim I had in mind. Personally, as I bought up my children single handedly, I had little choice in the matter. I had no income from the government, as many do today, nor maintainance from their Father. I was obliged to find a job that paid enough money to live on, and fitted in with school holidays. So, a teacher I became. To me, it seemed the obvious choice.

            It is said, that teachers are frustrated actors. That may be true, as certainly you are on a stage, before an audience. Although I never felt I was putting on a performance. I felt, we were working together, in order that they learnt, what I had to teach. In the process, I hoped to give them a thirst for knowledge, or at least, a love of books, and an ability to express themselves.

            The other problem, with jobs, especially if you really do not like what you do. Is, what happened to a friend of mine recently, she got the sack, dismissed, laid off. Whatever you like to call it. She was honest in that she did not like the job, but stupid enough to tell it to those in charge. Of course, it was not clever, not smart, and definitely not playing the game. As an employee, you must play the game. You do not have equal rights to speak your mind, nor to decide what your itinerary is. There is an unspoken hierarchy, a pecking order. The trouble is, she pecked out of turn. Now she is left with no, business to go to at all. Virtually penniless, at Christmas. Poor girl, learnt the lesson the hard way. 

            No one likes to be a yes man, but if that is what is expected of you, then that is what you must do. Or, go off and do your own thing. Which, like it or not, she now has the opportunity to do. As do I, thank goodness. However, she is more likely to take another job, and this time play it smart. Keep her opinions to herself, and say'yes, sir. No sir, three bags full sir. 

            I suppose the incident took me back to my years of playing the game. Doing what was expected, whilst trying also to do what I thought best. Attempting to make my jobs bearable, enjoyable. It's a cat, and mouse game. Independent thought, and action not always being appreciated.

            It made me think about what I do now, and how I love it. Also, how I should have done it years ago. Perhaps by now, the money would already be flowing.

            Regardless, I was pleased I could, with honesty, put down 'writer', when asked 'what work do you do?' I don't really care what anyone else thinks about it. 

            I am a writer, I am a writer, I am a writer....and I don't care how often I must repeat it.

            Success starts, with but one single step.

            My assertion of my status, is that step.

            What was, or will be, yours?

Sick to my stomach

         Why is it, whenever you feel ill, it's at its worst at night? Usually for long periods, through the night. You know, I have recently crossed the world, my day has become night, wouldn't you think that enough to fool the body into being ill during the day, thinking its night. Except no! Night time, going to bed, lying down ready to rest, feeling OK, and off it goes. I gradually begin to feel really ill. It begins the moment my head touches the pillow. You know the sort of ill I mean. The sort where you could easily sink into the mattress, and never rise, except for the groans wrenched from you as you experience, the chills, the nausea and the shivers. All wracking the poor flesh we expect to support us,as we live our lives. Inexorably it spreads through your system, seeming to reach every tender part of you, despite the fact you brian, your will, is trying to forcibly quell every unwelcome pulse of discomfort. Except no, like the tide, it sweeps through every pore, until you no longer know how to lie still, or how to move. Then the have a dilemma, you have the full blown attack.

         With suffering from M.E. or, exhaustion syndrome, as I do, I get these 'flu like' symptoms regularly. Made worse, or precipitated by tiredness, which, without warning, tips over into exhaustion. Of course, having jet lag right now, it's only too easy to do too much, and bring on an attact. Then with hardly sleeping last night, and having to get through the day, here we go again. You realise, tonights the night, no matter how you deplore, or resist it. It is a very unpleasant way to spend the night. A cross between the full blown flu, and a dose of food poisoning, if you can imagine that. 

         Suffice it to say it is very hard on the system, and feels as if you will die from it before you see daylight again. Of course, you don't. I believe you can so weaken your heart that eventually it can cause problems from that direction, but what's the good of dwelling on something so out of your control.you are far to focused on surviving the trembling of your body, and taking care of coping with the resulting vomiting, loose bowels, or both, that follows. Like with migraine, once you can actually vomit, you are through the worst, and can crawl onto the bed, to hopefully sleep a little. The next day, of course, you feel as if you have taken a major beating. Which, you have of course, you feel as delicate as someone with the D.Ts.

          With the title, sick to my stomach, it does not only describe my physical illness, it describes how tired of being unwell you become. I think sometimes, am I a hypochondriac? Always aware of how you are feeling, trying to gauge if you feel up to doing something, or if it's time to slow down, or stop. In addition, as with any illness, you must make an effort to improve your fitness level too. You can't become a mass of overweight, or quivering jelly, instead of muscle. My doctor once said, 'do as much excercise as you can, without exhausting yourself.' Now, thats a clever balancing act.

          So, to that end, even when I feel unwell, or tired, I try to walk. Even if it's only down the long stairs of the flats of my apartment building. Often, I walk to town instead of driving. This works if I am able to have a good sit down between trips back, and forth. It forces you to become a sitter on park benches, or anything else about the right hight. Or, in extremes of heat, to head into cafes. Of course I'm lucky, I take my phone, and my iPad with me. This means. I am never without something to do. I can tweet, Facebook, email, blog, surf the net, write, working on a book, or just read. What did we do before these innovations. Yeah, in know, find someone to talk to. Which, isn't always so easy to do, is it, people tend to be wrapped up in their own lives.

         The other thing I do to improve my fitness levels, is to swim. Now, I learnt to swim late in life, I was nearly thirty, so am not an ace swimmer. I plod along though, and I can do quite a few lengths, with resting in between. It's hard, as with any excercise, to actually get there, flogging yourself down to the pool, when you could be taking it easy. Once there though, and in the water, it feels good to move, to warm up, and get the blood flowing. To set yourself some goals, and to beat your owner record, to keep pushing. By the time you get out, you feel how much good it's done you. You feel like you can run a mile, or leap tall buildings. The adrenalin rush, I suppose, that buzz which most athletes find so addictive. Or, is that only me?

           OK, I suppose this topic can just be 'too much information' or it may help to know you are not the only one who has health problems. Not the only one who must make a real effort to get to the gym, or the pool, to keep fit. For whatever reason, we all need to make an effort with that, not become couch potatoes,e specially with all the more sedentary stuff available to us nowadays. It's important to get children swimming, running, and walking too. It's doubly important as you age. The older you become, the less you feel like doing anything physical, the more effort you should make. You know the saying, 'use it, or lose it', it's very true. I have seen my mother, who has an incredibly strong constitution give up moving. Unwilling to make the effort needed, to maintain some muscle tone. Now, ten, fifteen years later, she cannot walk more than a few faltering steps. I know she's old, but you don't also have to become infirm through inactivity. There are people of the same age, around her, still mobile, still strong. The only difference is, they kept using it!

          I hope it strikes a chord with some of you. I surely can't be the only creaking writer in the world. So remember, your health may be fickle, it may make life difficult, but don't let it rule you. There will days when you think its beaten you, but fight back. Every day is a new start, so begin it as if you  are the healthiest person in the world. Who knows, before many more years have gone, you may be. Or, if not, then at least alive, mobile, and enjoying life.

          Keep the brian active, the body mobile, and the attitypude positive.

          Bonne Chance!

          

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Christmas jollies?

           Or, does that mean something else? So many things have changed meanings today. I hope it's not something rude. Ha ha . So, here I am then home just before Christmas. On a weekend, jet lagged, and nothing done for the big day. Will I even bother? Not even completely unpacked yet. Still little piles of stuff to find a home for, if I can remember where things live. Which is proving somewhat harder than I remember. I have stayed in so many different places over the last few months, that home seems, OK, still home, but very small. I don't see how I used to live here comfortably. Why does England have such tiny rooms?

             In New Zealand, and Australia, the houses are so much larger, in every way. Overall sizes, room dimensions, even storage is more generous there. It's proving quite hard to get my head around how full the cupboards are here, and all the crazy, inventive ways I have things stacked, in order to fit more in. From glasses, to furniture, and clothes. How the furniture dominates the rooms, squeezed in every available space, so that I must walk sideways around it all. Was this really my home before, was I happy here. Helppppp, I'm just so squashed, and I don't like it at all.  I want to run away, but where to?

            What's the solution? Do I move, and if so, how? I've already looked, and can't see anything in my price bracket, to rent. Not even in neighbourhoods much worse than this one, or miles away. Or, do I try to buy, and all that entails. Not even if I bite the bullet,  and up what I pay, can I find anything substantially larger. European homes, em, English homes, are small.....small.....small, end of story. Too many people on a small island perhaps. Someone said, not long ago,,,,,"if they let any more people come to live in England ( the UK) its going to SINK. I think I already have...

           O Gawd, I don't know. I feel Silly season coming on. I could take a Car, and ferry to France, and stay where I end up. At least it would be warmer, the food is better too. My muse could be waiting..

           Or, I could rent a beach hut somewhere...warm again. Just to write, and drink...alcohol, lots of lovely, tasty alcohol, leave all my stuff behind. Now there's a thought!

          Maybe a hotel somewhere. Minimal packing, then sit back and let the universe provide sustenance  of all kinds...that could work.

           Am I brave enough. Well, I guess I just answered that one, by asking the question. For the minute, guess  I'm not !

           Perhaps I will get a few sacks, and throw everything away I didn't need during the past few months. Keeping the things I missed...very little!

            Oh..out of ideas now. All I can do, is put up the thought for a bigger, more comfortable place t live.  At the right price, in the right location, very simple, and easy. Then wait for the opportunity to show itself. Or, is it the opportunities to show themselves...

           Still, tomorrow is another day. I did forget to do the lotto though. Although I DONT  NEED IT! I have an abundance of all good things.

           Lots of good stuff coming my way. Watch this space...

              

Customs & excise USA

      Having to travel via Los angles in America, is an ordeal one could well live without...or is it? How did it go? I will tell you all, but I did dread the whole taste, and officisness of it. You know, stony faced officials, and strict routine....suspicion rules.

      We all know the reason for the massive increase in security within the states. We remember 9-11 very well, and it's aftermath.  I think there was hardly a country that had no oneinjured, or killed, in that atrocity. We all feel for them, for everyone. It is something, which must never be allowed to happen again. Although the massive world wide effects must be deplored. How on earth does each country keep up with checking for further plans? I expect, just as we are. The police, and security forces, do the best they can, and hope for a bit of luck. We, as the public, must be vigilant, but as they did in the war in England, and plenty of other countries when under attack, must carry on as normal.

       Except  that, as I say, when you discover you must change planes there, or be refuelled in the USA. Something, anything that commits  you to getting off the plane, you groan. Knowing you will be obliged to be caught up in all the craziness that still exists there. Caught up in the checks, dealng with the suspicions, and the hard faced security agents who man the barriers. Along with machines, probably dogs, and whatever else they now employ to clear people through the country. Which I believe now includes a retina scan, and fingerprints.

         Oh joy, more stuff about me logged on the net. Isn't it bad enough that every site demands your details, and your age. Where has privacy gone, I hate it. It's getting to be so that I feel like a criminal myself. When in fact all of my life, I have been a law abiding citizen. Why must we all be treated as if guilty? I know, I know, its all selfishness, on my part. That's human nature though isn't it, to bemoan the delays, and  rage.. these things cause hassle we can do without.

         Even leaving Australia the other week, my bracelets, as they always do, set off the alarms on the body scan doorway. Even though I explained they would, I was treated with some hostility.  Unusually, I might add. There was a man there, who was in a foul mood, glaring a me, and scowling. Telegraphing a move towards my wrists, and the bracelets more aggressively than necessary. Saying "won't they come off?". 'No' I thought, 'they don't, or WONT!  and don't you touch them' they were given to me by someone special, they have never been off since. "No" I said. Will they want your wedding, and engagement rings off next? The woman working with him, obviously taking the lead from him, her superior presumedly, continued. Making me stand arms out, as she ran the wand all around me. Me, as usual, trying to make contact, joke a bit, keep it light. Got no response, instead, she suggested I might like to go into the private room, to be checked. What! Like you see on those Customs programs, am I up for a body search? "No, I will stay here" I responded."do what you want, there is nothing else to find". Thinking back, I was still responding as an innocent, but they were border line, treating me as a criminal. Of course, unable to find any other indications, they took my shoes briefly, but let me continue. It was unpleasant though. Especially in Australia, normally, so famously relaxed, and polite with the public.

        The USA then, loomed rather large. I still wore my bracelets! Why shouldn't I? On exiting the plane in Los Angeles, we were directed though the floor lower, and into the security check. It was the usual, check, faces with passport photo, then though, I was instructed to look up (I was in a wheelchair, due to my health ) that was the retina scan, then obliged to put finger tips together, left hand on the plate, for fingerprints. Me, being me, said " fingerprints?" As I made a mess of putting up the right number of fingers, on the correct hand, as instructed. I do get confused easily sometimes. It think some of it is dyslexia, my mind turns things around, and I have to try to turn it back into something understandable, quickly, without being deemed stupid. Unable to shut up, even in the face of the rather serious man behind the desk. " I have to have my fingerprints taken?" He looked more intently at me, obviously ready for anything "All my life, I have been law abiding, now I have my fingerprints on file?" I said it with a laugh, so he actually responded, with a smile. Yes! I thought jubilantly, I got a smile. As I thought, a very nice looking man, handsome even, wasted on looking serious, and harsh. He continued, holding back my passport, and asking 'have you been here before, out of an airport I mean?' I must have given the right answer, because he let me go on. 

          As I went into the usual next step. Bag, iPad, and makeup in the trays, shoes off, had to stand, which I could do today. Asked to move through a different sort of door, arms, as in the diagram, a certain shape above my head. Alarms did not go off as usual, I tried to explain about the bracelets, but with a smile, the very 'tooled up' woman, said 'it's OK, don't worry' as if she already knew exactly what I wore, perhaps even what my bones looked like. Who knows? It was then, as a I stepped away from there, or in my case, was wheeled away, I had a sudden panic. There was a banana in my bag, and I could see the dogs circling ahead. Argg I thought, is this a big instant fine coming up. I had forgotten to take the fruit out, to leave on the plane.

         Grabbing it out of the bag, I handed it to the airport man, pushing my chair, " can you get rid of this in the bins" I said. He took it, and walked off, but no bins. Soon, it was back with me, like a hot cake in my hand, the dogs getting closer. I panicked now, just when I thought I was safe. Was i to be fined hundreds of pounds, I don't have? " Let me ask that woman" I said. Wishing I could bound out of   the chair, and sort this out. Waving the banana, we approached a uniformed woman, me babbling. "I forgot to leave this on the plane" I said. "Where can I leave it". Smiling, she said,"well, not here, or you will be in trouble, go through with it to the customs". 

          Around the corner, sat a man at a desk, with another man near a conveyer belt. I waved the banana, speaking before I got close enough,  trying to explain. The man took it, wrapped it in a paper napkin, telling me to take to the man near the conveyer. "is this the dog catch ?" The conveyor man said. "No" both the man, and I said together. "No, I forgot to leave it on the plane" I said again. Becoming anxious, as I saw an crisp apple sitting on another napkin, near him. That must be he dog catch! The apple looking fresh, and nice, unlike my now, quite black, and soft banana. "OK" he said, looking hard at me. "Just go on...."

         Whew, lucky or what... I can go. No fine, no further anything. Good, we can go......."GO"  I told the man pushing me, rather harshly. So, off we went. Back up to the upper floor, and the new check in for the next part of the flight. The departure lounges were all busy, the usual outlets you expect to see. Starbucks, a pizza place, and some sort of country kitchen. Everyone I spoke to was friendly, laid back, and nice. , just as I remember when last there, in Tennessee.

         Yep, America is good. I had a nice smile, and helpful people all around. The only thing I worried about was that the man who pushed me around in the wheelchair, was about half as big as he should have been. I must say, I felt very sorry for him. I am, as they say, a well built girl. ha ha

          VIVA the USA......let's have mor handsome men on duty, and someone, for goodness sake, tell them to smile.....

           They might run into me, and no one knows what I might say next...

        

Jumpy everything

       Ahhh, I am on a flight to nowhere. OK, actually it's America, Los Angeles, just passing through. Except it might as well be nowhere! You pack all you can, or all you are allowed, most of us, hope to squeeze a little more in there too. I did, and it was put on board, no hassles. Things are definitely relaxing, even if only in small ways, with flying. Then you have your 'in flight' luggage. Just another way of getting more stuff with you really. Except. If you happen to actually be staying over, which I am not. Only a refuel, that's why I say I am on to trip to nowhere.

         Apparently, we will have to go through the whole crazy Amaercican security system. It's rumoured, they do an iris, scan, and fingerprints too. As well as all the other annoyances, like the metal detector, gate, and the wand run all over your body, and the hand search over your clothes. Everything electrical out of your bags, your make up, and personal stuff kept under 100ml, and put on show, in a security bag. It's as if I became a criminal overnight, on the flight somewhere. Why should my fingerprints, or retina scan be put on record,? why would I have to give up my shoes, and walk barefoot along beside the escalator with my bags on it? I, who have been law abiding all my life.

        Its not as if I look suspicious. I am the nearest thing the to the stereotype little old lady you are likely to find. Not a terrorist, although, I can see that the might be the way they are made! Especially, if they get as aggravated at I do. The general frustration of travel, and inflexible rules. Despite me looking even less threatening, innocent, especially after twenty four hours without sleep. I cannot sleep, and I can feel myself becoming crazier by the hour. As soon as my body knew it was supposed to sleep sitting up, it started. I desperately need to lie down, except I am not one of the lucky ones who can afford the expensive seats to do so. It didn't help, that on the way in, they walked us through first class, and business class, so we could see just what we didn't have. As we reached cattle class, I looked with dismay at the rows of close seating. Noting at least one extra seat was squashed in where it did not fit. There were not even corresponding gaps for feet, at each seat. It did not compute, under the ones in front. OK, so it's sitting on each other's hips again. Great!

         The tension built quickly in my hips, spreading to my thighs, and even my hands now want to clutch, and flex. Bend in ways they are not supposed to. I have a full blown case of restless leg syndrome. I cannot still them. It's as if there are electric shocks running through my nerve endings. For those of you who have no idea what I am talking about. All I can say is, enjoy it. You do not want to know, for there lies madness. Argggggg. What to do with myself? It is so uncomfortable, soooo very 'crazed making' uncomfortable. To sit like a twitching fool, with everything on the move.

           I dozed briefly once, but it did not last. Now, in desperation, I am writing this. Thinking, hoping, the activity may stop the jumps shredding my arms, and legs.... and my fingers bent, and moving, crab like, like a witches. Sleeping figures each side of me. I can't even walk. No matter how I sit on this silly, hard, too small seat. I cannot get comfortable. For gods sake, let me lie down somethwere. No, the plane is almost full, no chance of that. There are hundreds of the poor buggers, all pretending they have enough room.

           After about four hours of this, I escape from the seat, for the umpteenth time. Suddenly, standing up, I feel ill, sick, and dizzy. A nice hostess, gets me water, and shows me a handle to hang on to, if it gets rough. Well, it's true most of the flight has been bumpy. Ooh good, at least I can grip that, and not end up on the floor, completely. I resist going back to the seat. Hang around the drinks section, walk the corridors, find a magazines, anything.

            I have taken pain killers, massaged, and manipulated my joints, exercised my legs, nothing improves it. I may be crazy through pure frustration, by the end of this flight. No, the USA is only the half way mark. Going back all the way to London, ooh, make it stopppppp.

            At the drinks section again, the other end of the corridor this time, I find a magazine, and ask for a cup of tea, with whiskey. Anything to relax my nerves, and muscles. With my drink in hand, the whole cabin dark except for tv's, most people asleep with still another five hours to go. I find a 'crew' chair, with one opposite. God. I can actually get my feet up, and my legs straight, ahhh it is bliss. Sitting there drinking my hot tea, is the best I have felt since embarking. My cup is empty, the plane lurches around with even more abandon. I don't care, the crews elsewhere, I am staying here, where I can get my legs straight. My legs are already swollen, my ankles gone...attractive.

            The next thing I know! I am asleep with my mouth open, and a crew member is telling me it's crew seats, and I can't sit there. Of course, I was well aware of that fact. But I say "OK, I know", and am having to return to my seat, for more turbulence. Wonderful....did he really have to wake me, could he not have left me. The whole crew by now, know my problems. Could he not have taken pity on me, and let me sleep.

            No, I and the dreaded seat, are together again. What now? The struggle for rest continues, I feel like a zombie by now. As well as jiffling, and fidgeting I must have driven my neighbours mad too. Neither take any notice of me, not even the one I am travelling with. I could die here, why don't you dooo something for me? I guess restlessness, isolates you. Or perhaps we really have slipped into a different reality. We have crossed the time line, the aquator, and are slowly travelling backwards to yesterday. It's an interesting concept, is it not? We arrive at lunch time, of the same day, we departed just before midnight. Clever hey!

          I must have dozed, breakfast is here. Oho ohhhh, none for me thank you! A cup of tea, is all I can manage after such a night. Only another hour, and a half to go.

          Then I can stretch my legs, maybe grab a shower? I wonder..... The heat might stop it happening again. I notice my little nap has stopped it anyway. So, perhaps it's just about getting a complete relax.

           Fingers crossed......for the next half of the journey.