The worst walk ever!

These boots are made for...

My husband belongs to a walking group that was started by his sister. Every Monday morning they explore paths around their part of Norfolk at, it is fair to say, a suitably gentle pace. It is also fair to say that the litheness of the group’s collective minds pretty much outstrips that of their bodies.

Given my ongoing knee problems, my usual Monday morning tennis games have been non-existent since the Spring, so Brain (as he is lovingly known by my children) suggested I go for a walk with his group. He promised me a gentle stroll, by the river, with coffee at the pub at the other end. After much persuasion, and in the spirit of saying ‘yes’ to more things, I agreed to give it a whirl.

There now follows an account of said walk. I have changed the names to protect the innocent…

We set off from Surlingham Church along the Wherryman’s Way. The sun was shining, the company was good and all was well with the World.

Incredible house!

We passed an incredible house with, ironically, a tennis court in the garden, and walked towards the river. Jean and Deirdre strode ahead, while others stopped to admire wild flowers, birds and the general vista. (I was still admiring the house with the tennis court...) We reached a small bridge, where the path forked. Jean and Deirdre crossed and continued their progress through, what looked to me like a reed bed. I waited for reassurance, not convinced that this was the way we had to go. But it was.

I ploughed on to find that Deirdre had stopped in front of me and seemed in some distress. She had stepped onto an unstable plank of wood and was quietly having a panic attack, trying to steady herself by holding onto the reeds at either side of her - reeds that were very thin and waving in the breeze! Jean and I tried to help, but she needed a man. Or Brain. He managed to take her shaking hands and help her across the plank, and she recovered enough to continue.

Not what we were promised!

We were all relieved to reach the river and looked forward to continuing our promised gentle stroll - through brambles, six foot high nettles and buzzy midges! By this time, Bea had become completely distracted by the ripening blackberries and, in the absence of a bag to put them in, was filling the removable hood of her buff coloured jacket!

Distracted by blackberries!

Our progress was ridiculously slow, and we were getting stung and poked and bitten. Not gentle, not gentle at all! Fortunately, my ever-prepared, never a boy scout, husband had his folding secateurs in his pocket, so he went ahead carving as bramble and nettle free path as he could. 

My hero!

Although this was an improvement, I was concentrating so hard on looking towards my feet to avoid twisting my knee that I missed a low hanging branch and cracked my head. To say that, at this point, I was quite unhappy is an understatement. We tried to laugh about it, joking about feeling like David Bellamy exploring the undergrowth, but it really wasn't that funny.

Here we are, in the undergrowth...©express.com

Bea’s hat was dripping blackberry juice and had been dyed an interesting shade of purple, Brain’s legs were ripped to shreds, everyone was stung to b*ggery and I had an egg on my head!

Eventually our band of intrepid explorers emerged and reached the pub. Sitting there was George, a perpetual latecomer to the group, fresh as a daisy. Asking him if he'd driven to the pub, he told us that he’d walked…how strange. Turns out there’s a quick way, through the trees - no nettles, no brambles, no midges. Aaaaaagh!

We did enjoy a coffee by the river - although some of our group complained about its quality, cost, size - and while everyone was inside ordering their drinks, I enjoyed a quiet moment and saw a kingfisher flying down the river. Not that anyone believed me…

Suitably refreshed, we walked back - the quick way - re-admiring the beautiful house on the way, and got back to our cars in about a quarter of the time, leaving a trail of blackberry juice as we passed.

Still amazing!

Then the shout went up, “Brain, Jean’s got a puncture!” Oh God, all I wanted to do was go home and find some antihistamine cream, but we had to faff about trying to find her spare wheel and then access it. This was a miserable failure, as it was underneath the car and the restraining bolt just refused to budge. Never mind, Jean was in a rescue service. She didn't have her card, or her debit card, and she’d never made a call on her clamshell mobile, but she was in a rescue service! 

Not one I'd ever heard of, but yay, a rescue service!

Eventually she got through and explained, with eight of us listening, that she was an elderly lady on her own in the middle of nowhere! We were satisfied that she would be okay and there were enough people to stay with her, so we took our leave, dropping Bea and her hood-full of blackberries off on the way. 

As we drove through the villages on the way back, we noticed what we managed to convince ourselves was a community speed camera…until a ticket dropped onto our doorstep on Saturday.

Meh - at least I wasn't driving...

It really was the worst walk ever. I’m writing this on a Monday morning - both of us decided we wouldn't go this week.

Important update: Bea washed her hood and it is back to its buff-coloured best!

I'm lovely, and I have the photos to prove it!

Satisfyingly blurry!

First things first, Martin J Patterson is a genius…not only did this unassuming man in his shorts and t-shirt persuade me, in the most professional way, of the efficacy of a boudoir shoot, he also managed to produce a portfolio of photos that I not only love, but have agreed to him sharing wherever he likes. 

I have now completed the final part of my boudoir journey. For me it’s been quite a trek, and you can read about how I arrived here in my first, second and third posts in this series. What started out as being, frankly, a bit of a cheeky joke has turned into so much more than that and I genuinely feel that I have travelled some distance in how I feel about myself and about how others see me.

I wasn’t sure how I would react to seeing the photos. It’s been quite a while since the shoot and at times it seems as if I’d dreamt it. I was a bit apprehensive, but nowhere near as much as I thought I would be, and that was coupled with a little bit of excitement. 

My biggest fear was that I would hate my pictures, but have to pretend that I liked them for the sake of the project.

I love them!

I needn’t have worried - somehow Martin had succeeded in taking photographs that were not only classy and tasteful, but that magically drew my eye to my best bits. No photoshopping involved (the stupid tan line on my wrist proves that!) and yet I could look at them and feel genuinely happy with how I appear. And that is something I never thought I would think, let alone write! My husband loved them too, and I happily showed my son, his girlfriend and my stepson. I also shared them with my friend The Salted Tail, my sister and my daughter. My friend and sister duly raved about them, but Beth just asked if I was pleased with them. My mind then went into overdrive - she doesn't like them, so maybe I don’t either. They must be tacky / cheesy / unattractive. Rats. How could I have got it so wrong? I really thought they were nice. 

Of course, she did like them, but was in the pub, and couldn't really look at them. Phew. I hadn't got it wrong after all.

Beth's favourite!

How ridiculous…I clearly worry so much about what other people think that I change my views to match theirs. That definitely needs to change.

So, apart from me not being confident in my own opinions, what else have I learnt from this exciting, yet strange and surreal experience?

Well, on a superficial level I found out how to do smokey eye make-up, I discovered how much more comfortable a properly fitting bra is and I know that making time to moisturise after a shower reaps many benefits! I also realised that I enjoy spending time on making the best of myself, and I still use my eyelash curler!

Smokey eyes and a hint of a smile - hubby's favourite ❤️

On a more profound level I have uncovered some truths about myself and even about my husband. I wasn’t expecting it to have such an effect on him and I suppose we have come to a realisation that we both have insecurities that impact on us and our relationship. But this experience has given us an opportunity to explore some of those issues and talk openly about them. 

More personally I have come to realise that I feel judged by people because I judge them - another thing I need to work on - and I wouldn’t have felt anywhere near as comfortable with a female photographer, because I often feel that woman are more critical of other woman than men are.

Daring, or foolhardy?

When I wrote my original posts people made comments about how brave I was. Personally I think that firemen and lifeboatmen are brave, and while I certainly found this personally challenging, I think daring is a more accurate description of what I am. That, and foolhardy!

Most importantly of all I feel far more at peace with myself than I have for many years. The fact that I blithely signed away sharing rights to the photos proves that. I am proud of how I look in my pictures, and am determined to no longer define myself by my age, my weight, my appearance. I am who I am, and Martin has skilfully reflected this in my boudoir portfolio!

Not defined by age or shape - just me, in sharp focus!

When we went to bed last night, my lovely husband turned to me and said, ‘So now do you believe me when I say you are lovely?’ It’s only taken eighteen years, but finally, yes I do.

One Year On...what am I now?

‘It’s always easy to look back and see what we were, yesterday, ten years ago. It is hard to see what we are. If you can master that trick, you’ll get along.’ 

Harper Lee (Go Set a Watchman)

Almost exactly one year ago I taught my last lesson, spent an emotional day saying goodbye to some dear friends and wonderful, special children and started a new chapter of my life.

It seems like a good time to reflect on what I have enjoyed, what I have railed against and what I have learned in the Land of the Blue Rinse.

It's marvellous - honest it is!

When I meet up with people that I haven't seen for a while, they always ask how I am enjoying my retirement. I feel as if I should say that it’s absolutely marvellous and I love every minute of it, but that would not be entirely true. I have struggled with the enormous change from being at the heart of a busy and challenging school to basically doing what I please. 

I don't regret my decision to retire when I did - I could have carried on for another six years, but recognised the toll working in such a high-pressured environment was having on both my physical and mental health - but I am still seeking a new niche. Strangely, it’s taken the best part of this year to begin thinking about what I could do next. I’ve rekindled my interest in some old hobbies - sewing, gardening, baking - and relished the time to read and listen to music, without feeling the pressure of more important things to do. I was playing tennis two or three times a week, but a stupid knee injury has put paid to that for the time being. I have also just started some voluntary work, for a brilliant charity called Remap.

Thirty miles away - I could cope with that!

Everybody expects newly retired people to travel endlessly, taking advantage of cheap flights and accommodation, and several of my fellow ‘blue rinsers’ seem to do just that. But I am not a happy traveller so we haven’t been very far. We did have a week in Cornwall and have another booked in Italy later this year, but that’s about it. 

At the moment Im feeling like a bit of a failure - ridiculous right? How can you fail at something when you haven't got to do anything? I’m letting the side down! I suppose it all boils down to my perception of myself - I was proud of what I did during my career, and feel like I achieved as much as I wanted to. 

Ironically, while I was actually working, if you’d asked me how I was doing, I would’ve said ‘OK, I suppose, but this went wrong, that was a disaster, should never have done that…’ I clearly find it difficult to accept myself in the here and now. I don't think I’m alone - lots of people spend their time thinking life will be better when they lose weight, they get married, they get divorced, they change job, they have children and on, and on…

Emotional and relieved

This time last year I was emotional and relieved, this time this year I feel as if I haven't made the most of things. I can’t change that - what I can do is find some new challenges (preferably that don’t all involve taking my clothes off!), seek out opportunities to do things I wouldn't normally do, get my knee fixed, stop feeling guilty about having the time to enjoy life and try to master the trick of seeing what I am, right now!

This is me - now. Enjoying life now!

I survived!

So I survived! More than survived, I enjoyed it! Of course, I am referring to my boudoir shoot.

I probably need to rewind to the very beginning. If you've read my previous blogs (here ...and here) on this topic, you’ll have guessed that ‘boudoir shoot’ wasn’t top of my bucket list. It had never even crossed my mind until a friend shared a post on Facebook.

Where it all started...

It was from a photographer, Martin J Patterson, asking for female bloggers, living locally, to take part in a boudoir project. I normally wouldn't have given it a second look, except that this friend (you know who you are!) had tagged my fellow blogger, dear friend and extremely beautiful The Salted Tail! Not me. Despite the fact that I am also female, also local and also a blogger. It is fair to say I got the proverbial hump.

Has Nanny got the hump, Granddad?

I thought about it for a bit, spoke to my blogger friend who screamed ‘DO IT!’, and messaged Martin. Then told my husband… The rest, as they say, is history.

I have already shared, in unblushingly honest terms, my feelings building up to the shoot, but nothing prepared me for how nervous I would feel when the day finally arrived. To say that I was like a bear with a sore head is an understatement - no one could talk to me without me snarling a reply, and the phrase ‘silk purse out of a sow’s ear’ kept playing in my head as I did my hair and make up. 

Of course my eyes looked like this...

At this point I should own up to having watched Youtube tutorials on ‘smokey eyes for the older woman’ and buying more make up in the last week than I have in the last five years! I took a selfie to send to my daughter but deleted it immediately, deeming it to be just too hideous. I sat, bra-less, watching Wimbledon, thinking, ‘What have I done?’ in an anguished internal voice…

Then Martin arrived, and slowly but surely my fears dissipated. He talked me through what to expect, how the session would work and gave me some tips on how to pose. My sister was acting as my chaperone, although at times she mistook ‘chaperone’ for ‘court jester’, pulling faces, provocatively sucking her finger or just being daft.

We have trouble taking each other seriously!

In the end I had to send her out of my line of vision because I couldn't keep a straight face, and I actually found I was taking posing quite seriously! 

I think poor Martin may have regretted his decision to shoot a more mature woman, as he realised that their joints don't move in quite the same way as a younger person’s! Pretty soon his instructions were prefaced with ‘If you can…’ We did laugh though, and I felt surprisingly relaxed with it all.

Exactly

Because Martin was the consummate professional, it didn't feel uncomfortable or awkward - all the things I was dreading, like laying on a bed wearing not very much, looking into a camera, being the focus of attention for over an hour, just weren’t a problem. Me, being me, overcatered (just ask anyone whose been to one of my BBQs!) - I only wore one lot of the underwear I bought and an old shirt - but in the end none of it mattered, and, if I’m completely honest, I was quite disappointed when the shoot finished.

Looking back it all seems quite surreal. I know my husband felt really uncomfortable about it, and admitted to feeling sick the whole time the shoot was happening. This has led me to question what made me pursue it. I love my husband very much and regret having unsettled him to such an extent. The truth is, since I retired I’ve felt increasingly invisible. When you have nowhere specific to go you make less of an effort with your appearance. I’m lucky enough to be married to a man who adores me regardless, but equally who fails to notice when I do put on some slap or a new top. So for a while it was nice to be the focus of attention, to feel that my appearance mattered - to buy new things, to bother to moisturise, to learn new make up techniques. It reminded me of how I felt just before my wedding when, despite insisting otherwise, I really wanted to look like a princess. 

I really felt like a princess!

Some people may think that makes me shallow, but surely you can be attractive, make the best of yourself and still be a worthy person. I’m going to try, anyhow.

As to whether I felt empowered by the experience…well, I face-timed my daughter and felt a bit more comfortable with how I looked in the corner of the screen, I am seriously thinking about buying a new swimsuit and I woke up this morning feeling just a little bit happier in my own skin. 

All this, and I haven't seen the photos yet…of course they could make a difference to how I feel, but somehow I don't think so. And I do promise to share - some of them, anyway!

As a footnote, I must be feeling more youthful. Last night I dreamt I was 41 and pregnant! 😯 

So I'm doing this...

So this happened…

I met with Martin Patterson, the photographer for my boudoir shoot. He admitted on the phone that he’d never photographed a boudoir shoot with anyone in their sixties, but didn’t think that should be a barrier to me working with him.

© Martin J Patterson

I was so nervous about the ‘consultation’, but didn't really need to be. Martin soon put me at my ease and explained how he worked. He seemed to get on with my husband too, discussing focal length and types of camera and I think that helped quell some of his fears too!

While hubby showed him upstairs, I had to complete a questionnaire, so Martin could judge how the shoot would pan out.

*What part of you body are you proudest of? None of it!

*What part of your body would you like us to de-emphasise? All of it!

*What would you like to wear for your shoot? A burka…

In all seriousness, I did find it quite difficult to complete, finally deciding that my cleavage was the bit of me I was proudest of! After a long chat, and looking at some of Martin’s work, we decided we’d go ahead and agreed that he’d be back in touch before the end of the summer.

I really hope it does what it says on the tin...

At this point I felt quite excited and I started to google ‘matching lingerie’. Not only was that a real eye opener, it also meant that, every time I surfed the net I had adverts for knickers popping up all over the place. I duly cleared my cookies, and took myself off to good old Marks! M&S lingerie department in Norwich is HUUUGE and I soon found a couple of bras I liked and that, more importantly, fitted. It then took me and my sister about an hour to find suitable (for ‘suitable’ read ‘large’)matching knickers! I also bought a pretty ‘less is more’ gown and felt quite happy about my purchases. 

Not easy to find...

I sort of forgot about it for a while and then, when I was feeling at my most hideous because my knee injury continues to prevent me from exercising in any way at all, I had a message from Martin to say he’d had a postponement and would next week be okay for the shoot! 

‘Of course, why not?!’I replied…why not? Because you’re a silly old woman who will probably break the camera lens and who won’t even be able to bring yourself to look at the pictures! 

So, to prevent me bottling out, I posted the first part of my blog and was heartened by the encouragement (and gentle mockery) of my friends! I purchased a flagon of industrial strength Immac, had my eyebrows waxed and even bought some eyelash curlers! I have spent this weekend noticing every blemish and imperfection on my face and body to the point where I feel I need to either blindfold myself or cover the mirrors! I googled ‘Preparing for a Boudoir Shoot’ and discovered that everything I need to do I should have already done so, apart from putting sparkly white bed linen on and not wearing a bra while I watch Andy Murray play (not because I’m a hussy, but to avoid strap marks for the first part of the shoot), I’m done! 

Come on Andy - just don't expect me to jump up and down!

   

To Boudoir or not to Boudoir? That is the very scary question!

Challenging the perception that old people are serious!

When I started this blog, as well as giving me something to do, I wanted to challenge some perceptions, be they about autism, mental health and wellbeing, self confidence and old age. I’m not sure whether I have succeeded but I have found that I love writing and had the supreme compliment last month when someone said that I didn’t know her, but she felt that she knew me, because she had read my blog!

An opportunity has recently arisen for me to challenge people’s perceptions of old age in a new, and frankly scary way. I’ve agreed to take part in a ‘boudoir’ photo shoot. For those of you who don't know what that is (my husband needed it explained) boudoir photography is a style of photography consisting of intimate portraits of women, intended for limited viewing. So, I’m getting my kit off, in front of a camera. I’m hoping that it will give me some confidence in how I look, and be, in some way, empowering. At the moment, however, I couldn't be more terrified if was going wing-walking. It has to be said that my hubby is also a little anxious, although I have reassured him that I won’t be leaving home to follow a new career as a glamour model!

Not scary, not scary at all!
(©www.wingwalkdisplays.co.uk)

Since agreeing to this venture, I have questioned myself as to why I would even consider it - I have never been that happy with wandering around in any other state than fully covered. But maybe it is this that I am trying to overcome. I won’t go swimming because I feel judged by other women (always women, by the way, don't much care about the men), but if I can bring myself to pose in my undies and, more importantly, bear to look at the resulting photographs, I’m hoping it will help my self-confidence. Many women, I know, have boudoir shoots as a gift to their husbands or partners. In my case, it will be a very much more of a personal challenge.

Does my boudoir pass muster???

So, my anxieties…well, for one thing, its happening in my house - is it suitable? Do I need new bed linen? What if I’m judged for my decor?

I have a propensity to make inappropriate comments when I feel embarrassed or awkward - telling the nurse carrying out my mammogram that ‘boobs are a bit like playdough really’ was not a good idea! How will I manage to keep my mouth shut?

So much like play dough...

And don’t get me started on my body…lumps, bumps, muffin tops. How will I appear confident and relaxed? I have spoken to the photographer and he seemed very nice. He’s coming to do a consultation in a couple of weeks and I’m sure he’ll reassure me. 

My knicker drawer - its all grey, so it matches, right?

Then there's underwear. I’m a ‘grab what’s clean sort of woman’ so will definitely need something that at least matches. I’ve looked at various boudoir photos - on Pinterest! Who knew?! - and some women cover up with a shirt or gown, in a less is more kind of way. That’s quite appealing! I suppose if nothing else its an excuse to go shopping.

The next thing on my list of worries, which is probably silly because I’m planning to challenge people’s perceptions, is um, people’s perceptions.

Proud, independent, gin-drinking woman...

I’m a proud independent woman and wonder if people will think less of me for doing something that focusses, ostensibly, on my appearance. Is this what I went to Women’s Rights rallies for in the seventies? Well actually, I suppose it is, in the sense that it’s my body, to do with what I want. But what about my family? My children are fine with it, but my step sons? Their wives? My nephews? Aaagh, I’ve been telling them to read my blog, and now I maybe don't want them to! But I will have autonomy over which pictures I share, so the ‘less is more’ approach will probably, almost definitely, be employed!

As you can see, I’m talking myself in and out of it - I can pull out at any point if I want to. Will I go through with it? Watch this space…

Art makes us Human

Oh how I love this bear!

I love art. I don't mean that I love every piece of art that has ever been produced, but that I love how art can evoke feelings, provoke discussions and teach things that wouldn’t be learnt in any other way.

Last week I heard a radio interview with a retired farmer who had finally fulfilled his dream of opening an art gallery in his old cow sheds. He financed this dream by selling off most of his land and I suppose it was deemed newsworthy because farmers are very much perceived as being down to earth and uncultured. You can read Stephen Dale’s fascinating story here. He was inspired by a visit to the Tate Gallery to view a controversial work by Carl André, commonly known as Bricks. I remember this work being dismissed as rubbish at the time - how can a pile of bricks be art? Nevertheless, at a time in his life when Stephen Dale needed inspiration, this work provided it and prompted a lifetime’s passion. Surely that makes it worthy of the label ‘art’.

I don't get it...it's Barbara Hepworth,
just appreciate its beauty!

When I was attempting to deliver the art curriculum to my SEN / ASD students, I would often show them examples of works by well known artists - Warhol, Kandinsky, Hepworth, Moore - and would defend them to some of my staff team who persisted in saying ‘I don’t get it’. I don’t suppose many of my pupils ‘got it’ either, but they were able to use the images as a springboard to be creative themselves, and some of the work they produced was amazing. Art can be about the process as well as the outcome, and both should be of equal value. 

My friend and I recently stumbled upon an exhibition of art work by people who attend Headway, a charity that supports individuals who have an acquired brain injury. They use art both as physical therapy and also as a means of expression. It was clear from the work on show that some people were more skilled than others, but it was the emotional content that was so compelling - collages of words that express how they felt about themselves; pictures of fragmented brains; isolated figures - the images helped me to understand  far more about the impact of a brain injury than a leaflet would have done. Art - I love it.

Yorkshire Sculpture Park - glorious!

I have to admit that art in the outdoors appeals to me most of all - Yorkshire Sculpture Park is spectacular and standing beneath the Angel of the North was breathtaking - so I was thrilled to happen upon an artwork at Runnymede near Windsor when we were travelling down to Cornwall last year. We stopped for some lunch and saw some chairs in the middle of a field. Wanting to stretch our legs we decided to investigate and discovered an amazing installation called ‘The Jurors’ by Hew Locke.

The Jurors, Runnymede

It was commissioned to commemorate the 800th anniversary of the signing of the Magna Carta and taught me more about the fight for human rights than I had learned in the previous sixty years! The jury system has its origins in the Magna Carta (new information!), and each of the twelve bronze chairs had images and symbols depicting struggles for freedom and equal rights. 

I learnt so much

We spent ages exploring each of the chairs, marvelling at the craftsmanship but also finding out more about human history in the process. I’m terrible - I never read the ‘blurb’ in museums - but I found things out almost by osmosis. Art…so powerful.

In these times of enforced public austerity, there is an understandable resistance to publicly funded art, and it's undoubtedly difficult to make the case for spending money on a sculpture when much of social housing is unfit for habitation. But there has to be more to life than just existing - responding to art work is part of being human.

A cry-drop...heartbreaking

While I was thinking about this post I remembered walking through the grounds of the cathedral in Bury St Edmunds with our granddaughter. We came across a sculpture that was a memorial for the victims of the Holocaust, and she said, ‘Look Nanny, a cry-drop’. She was four, unaware of the Holocaust, unable to read the accompanying plaque, but her response to the artwork - a cry-drop. She instinctively knew it was sad. Art - I love it.

Whether you get it or not, art makes us human