I do....not!

With 2012 being a leap year I am predicting many women over the world will be using this opportunity to get down on one knee and propose to their beloved, however I find the idea of doing that quite odd! I’m all for making changes and doing things in order to get what you want in life, but when it comes to marriage, I am a traditionalist and would only ever expect my boyfriend to be the one who does the asking, providing he got permission from my Dad first!

That’s not to say I don’t admire those who do decide to pop the question. You only need to Google “leap year proposals” to see the huge number of suggestions, ideas and ways in which women have asked loved ones for their hand in marriage, but personally, I still can’t help but find it all a little strange. I would prefer if a man asked me because I think it’s more romantic. I want to be caught off guard with a nice diamond ring and swoon over it when I talk to my friends about how he proposed. How can that happen if I was the one who asked? It just wouldn’t be the same, and somehow I just can’t picture myself getting down on one knee and holding out a little box asking that all important question. Plus I couldn’t handle the rejection if he said no, especially after all the effort that I would put into choosing the ring and making sure the time was right to ask him. 

If you are one of the lovely ladies out there planning to propose this year, I salute your bravery. I’m sure the man in your life will lovingly accept your offering and I hope your lives together will be a happy one. For me however, I am still waiting to find my man and look forward to the day when I do because marriage and having children is something I want more than anything and I will happily accept when he asks me!

Five minute Fiction: The Escape

This story came to me at work today. I have no idea why or how, but I wrote it in my lunch hour. I hope you like it.

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She knew what she was doing to him was wrong but she couldn’t stop herself. She lifted her arms over her head one final time and embedded the knife straight through his heart. He was already dead but she needed to know he would never wake up and hurt her again the way he had for the last eight years. The room was still and she sat there next to him breathing heavily, slowly composing herself after that final scream of hatred was so loud it forced the neighbours to stop in their tracks to take in the noise.

A pool of dark blood swam towards her like an estuary finding its ocean but she didn’t move. She could already hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance and knew it would be only a matter of time before the police were arresting her. She looked around the room at the unmade bed where she had just spent one last unloved moment of passion with him. She felt sick knowing she had put herself through that again, but it was worth it because he was now dead. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. The sunlight was breaking through a gap in the curtains highlighting erratic dust particles trying desperately to escape the horror that had been bestowed. The brightness disturbed her mid thought causing her to squint and she suddenly noticed a photo of them both together on the wall in their happier days. She remembered the moment that was taken. They were at her parent’s house listening to her Dad re-telling one of his many stories about his boating holiday. They were both laughing at him as they were being entertained by tales of people he’d met and the local wine that got him drunk. His one arm was around her shoulders and the other was lying gently on her bump. Instinct made her touch her own stomach but all that remained was the thick red scar. If only she knew then what she knows now. Things could have been so different.

The door burst open and two officers pounded in aiming guns at her whilst screaming to drop the knife. She was calm. The calmest she had been in years. She looked at the man she had just killed then up at the two in front of her and placed the blood stained weapon on the floor. Her bruised face and cut arms made the officers realise there was more to this than meets the eye. Her face was black from the smudged makeup she had been wearing and her bright red lipstick was across her cheek from where he had forcefully kissed her and placed his hand over as she struggled to break free.

Paramedics rushed in behind the policemen attending to the dead body and passers by were gathering in the hallway whispering to each other as they tried to find out what the commotion was about. One officer knelt down and picked up the knife, putting it into an evidence bag whilst the other, putting his gun back into his holster, handcuffed her already folded arms behind her back. He noticed the dried blood on the back of her head which had matted her hair together and saw the black and blue on her frail shoulders. He looked around the room and saw two half empty glasses next to a fallen bottle of champagne. Scarves were still tied to the bed post where she had begun her plan to seduce him. A silk black dressing gown lay gently on the floor on top of a pair of heels. He thought how amazing that moment would have been had it not been for the blood bath that followed.

Another officer appeared ushering away the small crowd gathered outside quickly sealing off the room with tape. Amongst the rush of people now in the room, something rolled from under the bed distracting the thoughts of the officer with the girl. He bent down to pick it up and noticed a gun lying under the bed as though someone had kicked it there in an attempt to hide it. He signalled to his colleague to alert him as he surveyed the small empty bottle he picked off the floor. Rohypnol. He looked at her and saw the desperation in her eyes but she didn’t say a word. She just stared into the distance. He was slowly starting to piece the scene together but there was still so much to solve.

A female officer walked over to the girl and placed a coat over her because all she had on was the matching black negligee to the gown lying on the floor. It was time for her to go. She stood up and was escorted out of her apartment into the gasps of her neighbours. Walking down the stairs and into the afternoon air, she took a long, deep breath in and out again. The officer was saying something to her but she couldn’t hear the words. She got into the car and the doors were locked. She stared aimlessly out of the window as the car moved through the traffic. She had no idea what was going to happen to her now but she knew from that moment on she would be free of him. Even if it meant spending the rest of her life in prison, she felt relieved because he was no longer around to inflict pain on her or her family. She had sacrificed her freedom for her parent’s safety. For her friends safety. But most of all, for her baby. She knew the cruel act she had committed probably won’t make her life any easier than what it has been over the years, but it would be so much easier for everyone around her because they could now move on. He was gone, her baby could rest and the scars he had inflicted could finally begin to heal.

The cell door slammed shut and she stood there for a few minutes staring back at it. What was to follow over the next days or weeks she didn’t know, but as she sat down on the hard iron bed there was only one thing left for her to do. She looked at her blood stained hands, the cuts on her arms, the bruises on her legs, and could feel the pain all over her body from where she had been thrown around by him. She did it. She couldn’t believe it, but she did it. Finally. And at that moment tears began to well up in her eyes and she smiled; and that smile would continue to remain a part of her for the rest of her life.

Sport...you either like it or you don't?

I have never been a natural athlete and sport was never my strongest subject at school. I was the one who was always the last to be picked for teams and used to dread sports day because I knew I would be publically humiliating myself even more by proving just how bad I was. I was somehow chosen to be on the Netball team when I was in lower school, probably because until I reached my teenage years I was one of the tallest in my class, but I didn’t carry on with it through middle school because I was too intimidated by the girls who joined the team.

Growing up, my family were big fans of keeping fit. My Mum used to be part of a local squash team, my Dad was an avid golfer and my brother loved football, but it was my sister who was the biggest fanatic of us all. She loved everything about sport and was a complete natural to any she tried. I remember going to watch her play netball on Sunday’s at our local sports centre and admiring how good she was. Even now when I watch her on the treadmill in the gym, I do so in awe because she makes it look so easy. For some reason though, I never took to it. I was more about playing musical instruments and singing in the choir, although I did try and get into it. I remember signing up to play tennis during school activities week one year in the hope that I would gain some confidence in the area where it was so obviously lacking, but it didn’t help. I finished the week feeling even more of an idiot than when I started!

Over the years I have tried to appreciate sport. I’ve sat with my dad while he watches the golf and listened as he explains to me what a birdie is and how you establish your handicap. I’ve watched the cricket, rugby and even a bit of football, but I just can’t find any enjoyment for it other than ogling over the fit men playing said games! I want to like it, not just because of the benefits it brings, but also because of the way it unites people.

I did participate in my biggest sporting challenge to date last year after doing at 26.2 mile walk to raise money for Cancer Research which made me realise I’m a lot more head strong that I thought. It also made me realise because I was never good at sport at school, doesn’t mean to say I will never be good at it again. I go to the gym three or four times a week and yes, it’s a mental struggle to get there, but after an hour of working out, those endorphins do make me feel so much better and that is what drives me to carry on.

I have now pledged to do at least one challenge every year in the hope I can break out of this negative cycle I am in with sport. This year I will be entering the 10k Race for Life. I did the 5k last year but power walked it so have decided to take the plunge and run this year instead. The distance doesn’t faze me, but the running does because I’m terrible at it! Thankfully, I am entering with six other friends who are already very confident runners, but they are supporting my efforts and that is spurring me on to train. Not only that, we are raising money together for a good cause so it will mean double the achievement if I can do it.

You never know, by the end of this, I could be that engrossed and fanatical with all things sport that I’m called up to do commentary for the Olympics in July…then again, maybe not!

The heeling process

I’ve done some stupid things in my time, but doing an Aerobics class in heels has to be up there with daft and ridiculous, right? Wrong! Apparently it’s the way forward for us girl to help tone those calves, maintain a good posture and look sexy in the process! It appears the days of jogging bottoms, t-shirts and trainers are out and 6 inch stilettos, hot pants and cropped tops are in.

I thought my eyes were deceiving me after watching this weeks edition of “Fat Fighters” which showed a class of women looking more like they were about to appear on a music video for Eric Prydz than doing an intense cardio vascular workout. Don’t get me wrong; I’m all for finding a fun way to exercise, but seriously, heels? That’s an accident claims advert waiting to happen.

Dancing is great when you’re intoxicated with Vodka and in the middle of a club convinced you’re moving like Britney Spears but choosing to exercise in heels in a studio full of mirrors with nothing other than water as your dutch courage would just spell disaster for me. The fact I can barely walk in them as it is makes me think I’d more than likely end up in A&E with a broken ankle comforting myself with chocolate than shedding the pounds and earning the sleek body that programme promises.

I’m not sure I’ll be rushing to take part in one of these classes, but as I’m that person who is easily sucked in by such crazes, it looks like I’ll soon be digging out my heels and hoping for the best….perhaps I should stock up on the chocolate while I can!

I dreamed a dream

Last night I had a dream….no, I’m not trying to impersonate the great Martin Luther King….I genuinely did have a dream, and a weird one at that! I was driving down a narrow country road in a VW Beetle and all around me were tall bushy trees. It was late at night and I wasn’t sure where I was going, but all of a sudden a wave of road signs started floating past me. I don’t recollect all of them, but I distinctly remember seeing white arrows pointing in different directions. There were also town names passing by but I couldn’t read what they said. As I continued along my route, the road was getting narrower and more signs were appearing. I didn’t feel scared though, but I do remember thinking I have absolutely no idea where I was.

It’s quite easy for me to interpret what it means, especially as I’m trying to create changes for myself this year, but what struck me was how calm and happy I was and at one point I was even laughing. Change doesn’t scare me, infact I actually quite like it, but the last twelve months have been infuriating for me because the plans I made didn’t happen the way I wanted. I ended 2011 feeling as though I was fighting a losing battle with myself which had an impact on my ability to get things done as I had lost all focus and enthusiasm. However, this dream has been going round in my head all day, randomly accompanied by the lyrics to “The Sign” by Ace of Base which is a bonus because I actually forgot how much I love that song! The more I think about it all though, the more content I feel.

Whether anything comes from this remains to be seen, but I do think perhaps the powers that be are trying to tell me something about my choices and whatever challenges I face this year, I’ll be able to deal with them with ease. Either that or someone’s questioning my taste in music!

What's love got to do with it?

Nat King Cole once sang "When I fall in love it will be forever, or I'll never fall in love...." and that is a statement I strongly agree with. So imagine my shock after watching a recent documentary about a community of polygamists in the USA showing one man with three wives and a wife-to-be surviving in this mind blowing environment.

As I discovered what life is like as a polygamist I found myself confused and even angry that people live this way. To me, love is about giving your heart and soul completely to one person, opening up to share your thoughts and feelings, working through the good and bad, and creating memories for you both to cherish. Yet watching this programme forced me to question why, and how, a man would want to commit lifelong to more than one woman for any other reason than massaging his ego, and why a woman would want to share her husband. How can you create the intimacy and trust you find amongst two people in this situation?

Listening to the wives discuss their pain after learning their husband had found his fourth wife was almost comical and I couldn't help but think they were deluding themselves. This maybe a lifestyle they are accustomed to but neither of the women seemed fully comfortable with their husband bed hopping and splitting his week between them all. The first wife, whom he had been married to for 20 years sat quietly as the other ladies discussed, or in my book, justified, the reasoning behind this existence, yet her eyes told a bigger story. They looked dark and sad and when she did speak, she was timid. 

The wife-to-be discussed how she felt like an outsider to his wives because they were uncomfortable with her invading their home, yet she was still happy to discuss wedding plans and moving into the shared home with her two children from a previous marriage. I’ve always believed binding yourself in Holy Matrimony doesn't open doors to allowing your man to marry again, not unless you divorce him first! I want a man who will love me and only me, not spend his week split between numerous women. That fantasy can remain in his dreams!

Then of course there are children to consider. What does this teach them about love and creating stable relationships? Love is confusing enough as it is, let alone in this situation. Although the teenagers on this documentary accepted it (as one would growing up in such an environment), the eldest girl admitted she would only ever marry one man, proving that deep down she is uncomfortable with it, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

I am perplexed that this lifestyle really exists. It seems so alien to me and I felt uncomfortable watching the struggles these people were faced with and how they are working on accepting one another. It doesn’t seem real and part of me wishes it wasn’t because it felt awkward and wrong. I may not be an expert when it comes to love but I do know this, if my future husband thinks he can have his cake and eat it, he can think again!

Beauty at its best



Fish Hoek Beach, Cape Town, South Africa

There's something special about sitting on Fish Hoek beach on a perfect summer's day. Situated in False Bay, Cape Town, this small valley populates approximately 10,000 people, often noted as "God's waiting room" by the locals due to the high number of retired people living here. However, there is one treasure to this town and that is the beach. Approximately 1.5km long, the flat, curved sands boasts a beautiful cat walk, known as Jager's Walk, for those looking to take sanctury in a more sheltered area but still with a perfect sea view. The beach holds a thriving cafe and is protected by life guards with their tower found next to the local surf club.



View of the beach from the Cat Walk



When the "south easter" wind blows or "pumps', hold onto your hats because you soon know about it! This doesn't deter people from visiting though, yet on a day when there is no wind, everyone will be found at this picturesque haven.

  

Sitting on the golden sands watching the crystal blue waves gently washing to shore, as the morning sun glistens down parading what looks like thousands of speckled diamonds, I find myself transfixed on the beauty that surrounds me. The distant mountains are so clear you could almost mistake them for a backdrop to a movie set. Children scream in delight as they chase the waves on the sea edge realising the water is colder than anticipated. Parents help to build sand castles and passers by are found eating ice cream which is soon melting in the heat. Couples walk their dogs hand in hand, runners are keeping up with their fitness routines and a helicopter circles above watching over the swimmers.

Although this beach has been victim of a number of shark attacks, with two in the last year, it is difficult to imagine this calm and tranquil environment being intruded with such monstrosity. Shark warnings are displayed by two flags at either end of the beach, with a board indicating what they mean at the car park entrance. Today I see a green flag therefore spotting conditions are good and you can understand why because the ocean is so clear.



Houses on the mountainside over looking the beach are popular for both locals and holiday makers



Even the sky looks perfect. There isn't a cloud to be found which is uncommon here, especially with the surrounding mountains. The pure blue blossoms down amongst us comforted by the warm African sun reflecting it's beauty onto the sea. Boats pass by on the horizon whilst canoeists, wind surfers and boogie borders enjoy the water.

Taking this all in, I lie back on my beach towel, put my headphones in my ears and relax into the scene. This is a perfect moment and to me, is Cape Town at it's finest.