CHILDLESS REALITY AT CHRISTMAS (& beyond!).

One of our earlier shoots on a Christmas walk. Along one of our old hiking favourites, Somersby, near Horncastle, Lincolnshire.

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Being a realist I’m facing the last part of my life.  

Yeay! Welcome to Christmas folks! Justmeandlilley style… 🤓 🤓

It’s alright. I try to live each day but I’m not a modern version of a shaman.  Not being a paid up member of the ‘airy fairy’ gang I can only bumble on and take joy from wherever me and her shack up.  The beach, a country walk, our local town. Our home.  You make the most and thank your luckies don’t you? Just a regular Doris,  that’s me.  I leave the fey to her and her four chubby legs. 

However, Christmas is a comin’ and this year I do believe I have transgressed my own traditional boundaries. ‘Thoughts’, that is.  

I’ve gone and rummaged about in my mentals.  Normally it’s not somewhere I’d recommend going, but I’ve been triggered.  

By X (Twitter to some). Not in a bad way. And I realise many of you have hopped it over to BlueSky but not for me, I’m afraid.  Don’t matter though, do it?  See, I got stuck into some random, political discourse, loved it and then metaphorically woke up. As it were.  Back in the room and real life was waiting.  it was rather exciting - exhilarating, for a while. I did enjoy it.  It was a big subject, whatever it was. Then it sort of thinned out and ‘the crowd’ moved on.  I sat in my room feeling bereft. Like when your mates (who they?) have all gone home.  Alone again, naturally.  

We were gazing out over the Lincolnshire countryside on one of our longer, treks. A very convenient bench for us to take a breather on.

Lilley sat on as much of me as she could spread her little self and I went loco in my memory photo (s).  X lumbered on somewhere in the ether.  I fell into the often, psychedelic wonder world of my life (not LSD by the way. Well, there was the once…). 

When I came to I was smiling. Lilley was staring at me with her worried look so goodness knows where I’d been or transported myself to.  In my head. Beatific. Good word. Like it. Fits the bill. I wanted to stay in this place of mental gymnastics. It felt safe and smiley.  Memory can do that, of course - clean up the shitty bits and leave you with a rainbow of ‘wot you thought happened’.  

Anyway, to get to the point, which is, ME.  Moi, je suis and I am what I am.  Elderly,  bewildered,  all lived-out (in a good way) and just a bit scared. 

Turned out my Christmas decorations got left behind in the house move so I’ve bought bits online.  There’s now an illuminated, wooden, 5ft stag stood in the front garden plus a lit wreath (why?) a baby deer in the lounge and two pre lit Christmas trees inside.  Lilley reaches the stag’s knees but stands barking at it every time she arrives back from her walk.  Listen, it’s my nod to festivities.  

There’s a lot of entertainment going on in this town over the next few weeks but I’ve gone shy.  Unusual for me but my confidence seems to have flown its nest.  I will get it back, I guess.  The local Church looks best so I’ll make myself attend. I will.  Thing is, over my many years I have done socialising to the max. For decades plus I/we trod the ‘work hard, play hard’ highway. And loved it!  Then you hit somewhere mysterious in your sixties and welcome to the social desert.  Yes, yes there’s coffee mornings, coach trips and stuff.  And mostly women, all women.  I’m not looking for ‘a nother’ or anything but come on - women talk so often means grandkids and - eff the bed! No more, please.  

D’you know sometimes I do believe my ‘work hard/play even harder’ years has ruined me.  I’m just an empty shell.  Like the last crisp in the packet. Crumpled yet still a bit salty. 

If I sound bewildered and lost then I guess I p’raps am. 

Sometimes we have a row. It's almost always 'her' fault. This is her way of trying to say 'sorry'. 'Til her next time.🥰

So, here is my conversation updated. Online. And, to be fair, a very serious and important political debate - about Assisted Dying. (Do keep up at the back). Our (insert your own profanity) current UK Government debated this massively important subject for precisely the blink of an eye, across the House, took a swift vote whereby some MPs, refused to be Whipped into a Yes vote or of agreed submission, whilst others nervous of defying or Naying the Bill so consequently the Assisted Dying Bill passed into English law. ‘They’ can legally kill us off. Alright - maybe not quite as flippant but scary.  Mainly when we get old - like what I am.  For who will speak for me if I have need to go into hospital?  Who will oversee my care?  Friends will do their best, no doubt, but it’s not like family is it?  Some of the scary stories about the former Liverpool Pathway have proved true and factful. I could say more but not at present. It's a whole chapter on its own. One day....

(Let's not have tales of someone’s murderous, so called, nephew or child who upticked the 'do not resuscitate' box whilst stood in a NHS corridor. Things might be dodgy over here but surely not that bad?).  

Listen, it’s not to be taken lightly.  Canada a bit iffy on this subject matter. Apparently.  Look it up if not already done so. 

Anyway, going back to the start, I’m bothering. About getting proper old (I’m 75 OK?) and facing facts.  My Will, my POA my instructions for seeing to her.  Get a key safe, get a daily (paid for) phone call to check I’m still breathing.  Come on….get old by all means but back in the day you had neighbours who cared.  Now I’ve not met one who gave a wotsit for years. 

And, you see, that’s where I was in my head. Back there.  In the 70s’ and in glorious mental technicolour I see several of us clinging on to a neighbour’s tractor as it chugged us down to the local pub when we, the whole village, was snowed in. Then everyone round to the village copper’s (the local policeman for any foreigners on here) house for a late night party. Trudge drunkenly home.  Set the tone for several decades to be honest. Then times change. You get ‘old’.  Fun is the local book club.  And it is (she says quickly).  Fun. Of course it is. 

Although one can get bored with older women talk. (And I’m one of ‘em! ) Especially when one is Without the Kids et al.  We go all ‘naice’ and English.  One glass of Prosecco and we’re anybody’s. 

So - we ‘don’t drink’.  I’m worse - I don’t drink and I’m also vegan.  Could I be more boring? ( Don’t say it Jane Be  if you’re out there! Two words - Ferraro Rocher). 

In a lovely country park/walk space near Long Sutton, Lincolnshire. She loves it here. Lots of other doggie mates to go see. You many notice she's growing her hair - again. It's what girls do!

An aside: reading some of the pieces from our friends in the States - of a similar age - many of you sound like you’re still partying? Maybe with a tad more decorum than of days yore. Or not? We’ve gone…well…we’ve just gone tbh. Over here.  Half of us are in jail whilst the other half sit plotting like Guy Fawkes. Sometimes, out of desperation, wishing we were in jail. At least we’d be warm!  And fed…

I feel I can’t whittle and worry over such twallop.  But I can’t tell my son, daughter either. Can I? 

Like so many of you it builds up. It does.  In the afternoon, Lilley and I go out for a walk through the little park where the Nursery and Infant Schools are (or whatever they’re called nowadays).  Lilley runs and runs and, as some of the Mums and Dads waiting for tiny pupils know us by now, smile as little baby legs totter after the hairy, white, four legged, typhoon just blown through.  Lilley will allow up to three pats on the head from kids not much bigger than her and everyone goes home happy.  

Happy tears - honest - happy tears.  On our walk home.  

Aah - Christmas eh?  It does things to you that you didn’t know were possible. Every year it’s different.  If you’re younger, if you have a partner, if you have nearby nieces, nephews, siblings - you ain’t like what I (and others like me) are. You are childless but hopefully you’re not living the little orphan Annie life. 

So do forgive us, astride our bandwagon to yell our profanities from. 

 Every year, in December, we orphan Annies gird our loins and go forth into the dark night of our childlessness. 

Who will take us by the hand and lead us safely to the other side where warmth and welcome exist?  

Keep your answers clean…

Be kind …

(I’ve been looking for the opportunity to say that- I’ve said it Ma!) 

Have a great Christmas and, please God, a move towards a peaceful New Year. For all…

Thank you, my loves, for getting to the end and reading.  You keep me going…

Nice to be reminded of our summer sunshine and our beautiful countryside. I believe we where somewhere near the magnificent small town of Woodhall Spa. Very well known for its shopping, eateries, and its unique beauty.

I will leave you with a rather poignant piece of prose by Charles Bukowski:

'And when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want - what do you call it? Freedom or loneliness?'

Have a self indulgent, whatever makes you happy Christmas and we'll raise a glass to the New Year! And hope...