The skin she’s in.

R is scarred from her forehead down to her toes.

Some scars are barely noticeable, a flash of red or white against her skin tone. Some are raised and pink, with the hope that they will flatten and fade over time. Then there are the deeper scars. The burn scars like thick purple rope, curling round her legs. The bumpy scars that change colour, purple to red to white according to how much exercise she does. The ortho scars, violent marks across her skin caused by drills and hammers and pins. Massive dents that are now stuck to the bone and no amount of massage will free them.

Scarred skin looks hard and sturdy but it’s not and the fragility of it terrifies me. Every infection is an invitation for the skin to break down and disappear. The skin grafts and the skin graft donor sites are equally susceptible. She’s had so many infections. So many graft breakdowns and skin failures due to infections. Loads of infections that end in -monas. A few -coccusses. Some ending in -sis.

And because we have to look for the positive we celebrate that at least the infection leads to the best possible bed on a ward – isolation room. Ah, the joys of quiet and solitude.

Every rash that appears is examined closely. Is it a heat rash? Allergy? Eczema? Infection? Every eczema flare up has to be managed and monitored. What would normally be dismissed as a bit of dry skin is instead monitored and then moisturised until it’s under control. Anti-histamines are taken even day. She has flucloxicillin ready to take in case an infection flares up over the weekend or at night.

We have drawers full of creams and ointments, all called Latin and Greek compound words that mean sod all to me. One cream for her scalp. One for her face but not her eyes. One cream for her eyes. One for her neck. One for her body and limbs. And these also terrify me. She’s covered in paraffin creams and ointments and then sent out into the world. She knows not to go near anyone smoking, to stay away from the Bunsen burners in the school labs due to the fire risk, but you can’t guard against everyone.

Be aware. Stop, drop, and roll.

I throw away clothes after a month because of the paraffin build up. I change the bedding four times a week and boil wash it all.

Then there’s the reason for the creams. We decided early on to stay away from Doctor Google. She has access to the experts in their field. Her consultants answer emails and return phone calls and explain things to us as many times as we need until it sticks. Why use Doctor Google when we can talk to the best doctors in their field?

And yet …

When she wakes up crying in pain, unable to move because her skin opened in the night and then scabbed over again, that’s when I wonder. Whether the hour I spent last night creaming her and massaging her did any good. Whether all the blood tests and allergy tests were worth it. Whether the creams are the right ones. Whether the steroid creams are damaging her skin more than helping.

If there’s a better cream out there for her.

And that’s where all my resolve to heed the experts falls down. What if, what if. What if there’s a cream that will clear up her eczema, even out her skin tone, smooth out her scars, take away the pain. I want it for her.

Got any snake oil? I’m desperate, I’ll buy it. I’ll snatch your hand off.

The papers are full of miracle skin cures. Who am I kidding, it’s the Daily bastard Mail that’s full of miracle skin cures. The day they sang the praises of some baby moisturiser, I was straight down the chemist. I could have cried when I got there and saw a huddle of others round the shelf, all of us easy marks for these PR puffs disguised as news.

But what if it works and I didn’t try it?

Today I was at the Farmer’s Market. I had a tenner. I was going to buy some meat when I saw an olive oil stall. Front and centre was their cream. Natural olive oil, beeswax, rosemary. 7 quid for a tiny tub. Of course I bought it.

Because what if it worked and I didn’t try it?

Getting through the day pain-free is hard enough for R on a good day; but when her skin flares up she can’t even get out of bed. Between my desperation buys and the prescriptions, something has to work. All natural, organic, paraffin free, paraben free. Steroids, chemicals, perfected in the lab. I don’t care. Every square inch of pain-free skin is a victory.

When Rs skin is inflamed it’s not only the pain that keeps her in bed. She hates people seeing her when her facial scars are inflamed and wants to hide away. She does go out, but she sticks to the background and that is so hard to see. Being a teenager is hard enough, and this just adds another layer of hurt and awkwardness to it.

Rs skin will never be perfect. It will struggle to even be classed as good. The real battle, the battle she fights every day, is to love and accept the skin she’s in.

Mother’s Day is different this year.

This past year has been some year.

This past year marked me becoming older than my Mum ever was, and living longer without her than I ever did with her. This time is all time that she never had.

I’m a different mother this Mother’s Day than I was last year. Everything is different this year.

Everything pre-accident seems unreal. Facebook memories keeps  showing me old pictures that I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to recreate. R standing on my shoulders in the garden. R lying flat on her stomach, face pressed against the floor on the first day of school, joking that she wasn’t going. But they’re only pictures, I concentrate on the fact that we still have R here. She’s so tall now that there’s no way she could stand on my shoulders anyway – I’d buckle. Nostalgia has to be tempered with reality, or I’d waste my day with sadness and what ifs.

I’ve spent a lot of time with R since the accident. Six weeks in hospital and six months at home. I like me and I couldn’t even spend that much time with me. She’s just cracking on, putting up with the physio, the 14 operations, the skin debridement, the whole works – and putting up with me.

We’re actually happier this year than we were last. We’re a bloody cliché but I don’t care. We appreciate more, want less, and don’t take anything for granted. It’s not Pollyannaland though. It’s been a shite seven months, and it’s not over yet. We have no option but to keep battling through.

Today we’ve drank tea, sat on the couch watching Old Hollywood films and just been lazy.  What a great day.

I’m a different mother this year and it’s because of my daughter. I feel very, very fortunate.

Being positive about not dying is going to kill me.

I have many unattractive qualities. I like eating Maltesers in bed. I have a tendency to gross untidiness. My foul language would lead to a docker high-fiving me with pride. The one unattractive quality I hate, and that has crippled me at times, is excessive worrying.

I’ve managed to mask it and build up little coping mechanisms. One is – don’t bloody tell anyone. Some of the worries are so ridiculous I don’t even give them voice. Instead they fester in my head until logic finally kicks in and I realise how stupid they are.

Another way is just get rid of them with sense. My friends are used to me disappearing for ten minutes whenever we go to a new pub or club – scoping out the toilets, the fire escapes, how busy it is. Once that’s done, I can relax a bit.

Japan was a fucking laugh and a half for worries. Number one was Earthquakes. That was numbers one through ten actually.

All my worries disappeared three months ago. Out of nowhere something I had never worried about, had never even given a second thought, malfunctioned and nearly killed us all.

I had no time for worry or panic in the immediate aftermath. All I could think about was getting to R. Once I was with R I just wanted to be calm so as not to worry her. I knew how close I had come to dying – I remember a thought in my head saying, “Get up; if you stay down, you die” – and seeing R I knew she wasn’t completely safe yet. So we sat and I kept her awake and joked about my burnt hair and to all the people watching we must have looked insane as we smiled and laughed as if this was how we spent a normal day.

And I’m thinking, Stop shaking darlin please stop shaking R that’s shock and shock’s bad. You can be shocked but don’t be in shock. Look at me darlin, look at me talk to me.

I had no time for worry and panic when the emergency services turned up. I knew for a fact that freaky screamy me would not be allowed to stay with R, and the only thing I wanted at that moment was to stay with R, so I was calm. And because I was calm I knew I had to get out of the cramped space we were in to let the paramedics in to treat her. And I knew if I went to the hospital with her it meant I was bumping a very highly trained medic. So I had to let her go to the hospital without me.

And I’m smiling and I’m promising her I’ll see her soon and she just waves and says, OK, bye mum! and the pain relief has her off her head and I’m so happy because she isn’t in pain but fucking devastated so just do as I’m told and get on the heart monitor and put on the oxygen mask and get in the ambulance and wonder when the hell they wrapped my legs in clingfilm because I can’t remember it.

I had no time for worry or panic at the hospital because I just wanted to get checked out and to get to R. So I let them do their X rays and their scans. They kept finding other things to bandage and scan and scope. A nurse said to me, “Oh dear, you’ve had a bad day, haven’t you?” and all I could say was,” No, this is the best day of our lives. We all lived.” I even surprised myself; worrier, negative, moany, me believed it with all my heart. I still do.

C came to the hospital with me but he went straight to R when we arrived at the hospital. We all met up at Xray. What a crew we must have looked. R and I covered in black soot. Our hair singed off. Both of us with our burns covered in clingfilm. C and R both on trolleys because neither could walk. All of our clothes burned, fallen, or cut off. But we were all still here.

I still haven’t had time to be anything but positive. Keep positive when R nearly lost her foot. Keep positive when they saved the foot but then thought she’d lose her leg. Relax when they saved both. Keep positive when the skin grafts failed. Keep positive when her wounds went chronic. Relax when there was a slight improvement.

To worry and panic now seems almost rude. To worry and panic keeps me away from sitting with R playing scrabble. It stops me enjoying the time spent coorying in together as she draws. It fogs my brain as I try and write down all the questions for her team of doctors (She has 8 consultants. They are all lovely and brilliant but Christ even remembering their names stretches me. And that’s the least I can do seeing as these are the people we’re relying upon to get her walking and burns manageable. Oh, and saving her life as well.)

Worry and panic would stop me remembering all her physio and pharmacological regime, and that’s what I need to remember because they won’t let me keep her at home without it. It would stop me sitting beside her, marvelling as she screams with laughter at Parks & Recreation, or the two of us lying in her hospital bed and waving our arms in the air at our midnight raves to Taylor Swift and Fall Out Boy.

The nurses complement us on how calm we all are and how we keep our heads and our sense of humour but ffs I feel like a big old fake because how do you deal with this. I’m one piece of bad news away from unravelling but maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m one of those people that’s good in a crisis but shite at normal life.

We’re still here. We’re smiling and happy and looking to the future.

R laughs at me when I push the rocking chair up against the bed as a makeshift barrier when I say goodnight to her.

“Really mum, really? You’re worried about me falling out of bed?”

I’m allowed one little worry.

A scar and a message.

(I just found this in drafts. It was supposed to be posted at the beginning of August )

R didn’t have the easiest of entrances into the world. When she finally arrived after a lot of intervention her head and face was cut and bruised and swollen.

The bruises faded, the swelling went down, and the cuts healed. The worst cut left a scar, a huge frown shape carved into the top of her head.

Our family only makes bald babies and then bald children. Our shelves are full of pictures of kids starting school with not a hair on their heads. Until R was five this scar was seen every day, but then her hair grew and covered it, and everyone forgot.

She’s 13 next week. The bald baby has long hair to her waist. For her birthday she asked me to make her a bag to carry her drawing equipment.

So I made her the bag. Underneath one of the seams I wrote a message for her. No one will ever see it but it’s there. No one knows where it is.

A scar and a message. Both only known and remembered by me.

Five things I know to be true.

1. If it is raining, I will stand on the wonky paving stone which will then shoot a jet of water right up my dress. Every damn time.

2. When my hair looks fantastic and my outfit doesn’t look like something out of the bottom of the ragbag then I will not see a soul all day.

3. Conversely, when my hair looks like a Take A Break makeover before picture I will meet everyone and their granny.

4. I do not look good in yoga pants. I do not even know why I own these things. I had one yoga class 10 years ago and it made me cry. The lessons went but the pants live on.

5. The reasons why my big black boots are in the spare room is because the zip is broken. The zip goes up but doesn’t come down. I find the boots, go, “oooh, I love those boots”, wear them, then struggle for half an hour to get the bloody things off. I need to throw them out, not throw them in the spare room.

1981 Playlist

Hat tip, as always, to @wkidstepmother

Right. I cannot believe that I was scratching around for songs in 1980 when this monster of a song was left off. When I had the “oh FFS” moment and saw that it was released in 1980 and I missed my chance, I groaned. Then I realised that it was still in the charts in 1981 so with some jiggery pokey, it qualified. Go nuts, and don’t forget the Joker.

Ace of Spades – Motörhead

Swords Of A Thousand Men – Tenpole Tudor

Not punk, not New Romantic, not Adam Ant, but with tinges of them all. I quite like shouty chants in a song, so this is ideal. I even shout along to the “there was hope in our English hearts” bit.

Hitsville UK – The Clash

Clash purists are going to hate this, but bear with me. I love songs that have a story. Oblique lyrics are great too, but give me a song with a beginning, middle and an end and I’m happy. I’m a simple soul. I also love male/female voices singing together; the male voice low in the mix and the female one slightly higher. This song has both of these things. And for anyone shouting I should have waited a few years and used The Clash 80s card for “Should I Stay Or Should I Go” that was supposedly written about the female vocalist on Hitsville UK, so it all ties together.

Shut Up – Madness
Picking one Madness song out of everything they released caused hours of discussion between me and Husband. We don’t even have the same Top 3. But then again, he had sod all to do with this endeavour so his arguments were invalid. I finally whittled it down to Our House, Embarrassment and this one. Then memories of the gospel choir on Wings of a Dove kicked in. Too much choice! Shut Up won the hallowed spot by the very scientific method of “it was first up in shuffle”.

Labelled With Love -Squeeze
One of the experts of the story song.

Hazel O’Connor – Will You

Breaking Glass should be shown as part of the Friday night music strand in BBC4.

Reward – Teardrop Explodes

Can’t talk, bouncing around the room.

The Specials – Ghost Town

Thank goodness for Terry Hall and his many aliases, because if I had to pick just one song of his over the years I would be tearing my hair out.

Christmas Wrapping – The Waitresses

Even if I compiled this playlist in the height of summer, I would put this song in. This was another of my mum’s charity shop finds for me, and it was on white vinyl. She later binned it when I moved out, not knowing it was in my pile of treasures that I kept at hers so I wouldn’t lose them as I bounced around between Glasgow, Brighton and Burnham. It could have been worse though. When my pal Dougie moved to Burnham, his mum threw out his complete collection of 2000 AD comics. But Gordon took the biscuit. He went home one weekend from Brighton to find that his dad had turned his bed frame into a garden gate. Poor Bedless Gordon.

How ‘Bout Us – Champaign

This could be filler. This could be great. I am undecided. Depends on the mood that I am in. The emoting in the video makes it worth its inclusion.

Four From Toyah EP – Toyah

This is meant to be an EP, but I only remember ever hearing It’s A Mystery. I’m going to have to dig out the rest for a listen.

Lately – Stevie Wonder

Because I can’t have Superstition. Superstition should be in every playlist, ever.

Wordy Rappinghood – Tom Tom Club

I bought this years later, on a cassette, with my own money. I was so proud.

I Go To Sleep – Pretenders

I love Chrissie Hynde’s voice and attitude. Even singing Smelly Cat.

I’m In Love With A German Film Star – The Passions

This confused the hell out of me when I was younger. It sounded so different from everything else and I had no idea what the lyrics were about.

The Southern Freeez – Freeez

Another one where I just love the singer’s voice.

Is Vic There – Department S

Best letter ever in Smash Hits two weeks after this left the charts. “Hi. Vic here. Any messages?”

Under Pressure – Queen and David Bowie

The phrasing, the voices, the tune, the lyrics. Love love love.

Love Action – Human League

One of Sheffield’s finest.

Fade To Grey – Visage

When I decided that the New Romantic stuff looked quite fun.

Next up, 1982. With The Associates, Heaven 17 and Soft Cell.

1980 Playlist

I came to most of these a lot later, mainly years later when I worked in Brighton and heard lots of different music in the house and office, so the songs jump around all over the shop.

Echo Beach – Martha and the Muffins

A great “I just need to get through this working week and then I can cut loose and do whatever the hell I want, and if I’m lucky I’ll get to go somewhere I really like” song. In Brighton, Bony worked in the docs library, hidden away in the stacks of files, and every so often his voice would boom out singing, “my job is very boring I’m an office clerk”. I still think of him when I hear this.

if You’re Looking For A Way Out – Odyssey

I love this singer’s voice. She’s very melancholic, in every song there is a line or phrasing that gets to me – even in the happier songs. Not what you expect from disco. I think I love this and “Native New Yorker” equally, but Native New Yorker is just too damned sad. Mind you, the subject of this one isn’t all “life is sparkly and wonderful” either.

Call Me – Blondie

My mum was a great one for a bargain. She found it impossible to walk past a charity shop and we loved the grand unveiling of what was in her Bags Of Magical Treasures when she came home. One of the best days was when she arrived with an ancient Dansette record player and a bag of LPs. In amongst the Mac and Katie Kissoon and other beauties there was a copy of Blondie’s Parallel Lines. I loved that album. The Dansette mysteriously found itself in my room (much to my brother’s disgust) and I would swing the arm of the record player over so that the record would repeat and fall asleep listening to the LP. That started my love affair with Blondie.

Kitchen At Parties – Jona Lewie

Kirsty MacColl! Trying not to laugh.

Three Minute Hero – The Selecter

Pauline Black was such an excellent front woman.

Start – The Jam

Anonymity, anger and connections.

Love Will Tear Us Apart Again – Joy Division

I can’t write anything about this song without sounding like an idiot, so I’ll not write about the song.

The boys in Brighton Introduced me to this song; I still remember the first time I properly heard it. Sitting round an old tinny tape recorder on Brighton Beach, each of the boys saying that the song meant something different and each loving the song for a different reason.

Burn Rubber On Me – The Gap Band

Take yer crappy Oops Upside Your Head dance and stick it. Then go absolutely nuts and dance however the hell you want to this piece of delirious funk.

Geno – Dexy’s Midnight Runners

So angry, such a fantastic voice and storyteller

Antmusic – Adam and the Ants

I love it when Adam Ant turns up on a programme, talking about… Anything really. He’s got such a great way of looking at things and explaining them that you cant help but listen. Plus of course he’s perfect at pop.

Green Onions – Booker T and the MGs

Any excuse to stick a song with a link to Northern Soul in here and I’m going to take it, re-release or not.

Christine – Siouxsie and the Banshees

If you love this song, every time you meet someone called Christine you can’t help but add “The Strawberry Girl” after it. It must get very wearing if you’re called Christine.

Dancing With Myself – Billy Idol

I might have cheated with the version of this. Don’t care. It’s good so I’m allowed.

My Perfect Cousin – The Undertones

My granny had ten kids. That’s a helluva lot of aunties and uncles and therefore cousins. One of them is such a goodie two shoes that this is her nickname. At her mum’s birthday party she was going to be late and phoned me. All of the cousins were sitting at one table, my phone went off and I had set this as her ringtone. We all went for our phones as we had all set her with this as the ringtone. Poor Heth.

Searchin – Change

God, I’m struggling with 1980. I picked this just for the “stop, stop” bit.

Love Is The Drug -Grace Jones
.
Whip It – Devo

Now this is more like it. Another song that I discovered years later via the boys in Brighton.

Is It Love You’re After – Rose Royce

Tail end of disco, tail end of the playlist. Is it 1981 yet?

Redemption Song – Bob Marley

The Legend album in our school was as ubiquitous as the school uniform.

Hungry Heart – Bruce Springsteen

Since this was all @wkidstepmother’s idea, and it is rumoured that she likes Bruce Springsteen just a little bit, this is for her.

Next up 1981. Tenpole Tudor, Tom Tom Club and The Specials.

1983 Playlist

The other day on twitter, @wkidstepmother tweeted that she was making a 20 song playlist for every year from 1979. Songs featured had to be singles, and an act could only feature in one year. Because I haven’t had an original thought in a while, I jumped on that.

The one year thing makes it hard! Picking one Smiths song, or Cure, or Wonder Stuff is a struggle. I’ve been arguing with C about choices and digging out songs that I haven’t listened to in years.

I started on 1983 (I’ll go back to 1980-1982 later). This is what the first Now That’s What I Call Music album would have looked like if I was in charge.

Yeah, I’ll pretend that’s why I picked 1983 to start on. It wasn’t. It was so I could start with this.

Calling Your Name – Marilyn

Joyous pop. Fun and stupid, great tune and best of all, the delightful Miss Claudia Fontaine on backing vocals.

This Charming Man – The Smiths

Trying to pick a favourite Smiths song is bloody impossible. It all depends what kind of mood I’m in. So I just went for the first Smiths song that I fell in love with.

The Story Of The Blues – Wah

Bloody hell I loved Pete Wylie. I remember buying this song with my pocket money and feeling like a political firebrand.

Our Lips Are Sealed – Fun Boy Three

I heard the Go-Gos version of this first, and for years I thought it was called All This I Feel. I need to stop making shit up if I don’t know the real words.

Oblivious – Aztec Camera

This was another struggle picking just one Aztec Camera song. Somewhere In My Heart should be in here. I’m not happy I left it out.

Double Dutch – Malcolm McLaren

Hey ebo-ebo-Ebonettes! I was living in a small town in the East Midlands when this came out. I was entranced by the video and New York – it looked so glamorous and big city and exciting. I can do the Double Dutch movements, but stick two ropes in there and I come unstuck big time. Something else that I am better off watching and dreaming about than actually doing. The song is another one that makes me feel happy just by listening to it.

Gold – Spandau Ballet

I have no shame. I starfish like a good ‘un at the “Gold” parts, and at SingStar I can take on all comers and win. And still question what the importance of the chairs in the lyrics are.

In A Big Country – Big Country

I’m as surprised as anyone at this being included. I listened to it and sang along like a demon, so here it is. And who can argue with tartan shirts? Unfortunately not visible in this video.

Never Never – The Assembly

Cannae beat a bit of angst.

The Cutter – Echo And The Bunnymen

Another struggle to pick just one song. This is one of my favourite bands, and I saw them live at Hard Rock a few years ago and nearly wept with happiness. It was either this or Silver and this just won out. But all of their songs have a special place for me.

This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody) – Talking Heads

Oh my word, what a song. If it catches me in the right mood I’ll be soaring; the wrong mood and I’ll be a sobbing wreck.

Don’t Talk To Me About Love – Altered Images

I think I wanted to be Clare Grogan. For a while I dressed like her.

Victims – Culture Club

Picked solely because I was asked to dance to this with a boy. The first time I was ever asked to dance by a boy. Then he bought me one of those juices in a cup with a foil top and put the straw in it for me. Smoooooooth.

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This – The Eurythmics

I had a crappy old radio in my room. I used to lie in bed listening to Laser 558, a pirate station that was on long wave. Whenever I hear this song it reminds me of frantically waving the radio around trying to get and keep a signal, and this song sounding scratchy and echoey and ethereal coming through the night.

Hold Me Now – The Thompson Twins

I was such a Thompson Twins fan. I used to cut the lyrics to their songs out from Smash Hits and stick them to my wall. Made me feel ever so grown up. Made my mum livid as it pulled the woodchip wallpaper off the wall.

Everyday I Write The Book – Elvis Costello

Not my favourite Elvis Costello song, but the only one that fits in the dateline of the playlists, so here it is. Still a great song. And Miss Claudia is there again.

Love Is A Wonderful Colour – The Icicle Works

I cannot sing along to this to save myself. I still try. It’s not pretty.

Relax – Frankie Goes To Hollywood

The video made for The Tube was a shocker to my wee innocent eyes. First time I’d seen anything like it, and with this song it was an absolute game changer. My lovely auntie sent me a “Frankie Says…” t shirt from Glasgow which I though made me the coolest kid in the town.

Let The Music Play – Shannon

My mum used to sing along to this song. She had a fantastic voice, when she was younger she was in an award-winning Glasgow choir. The fact that someone so old could know such a modern song amazed me.

She was in her thirties.

Rip It Up – Orange Juice

This could possibly be my favourite song ever. My favourite song changes, but this never drops out of the Top 5. Postcard West of Scotland Jangly Pop 4 Evah

(I know some of the videos aren’t the best, but they’re the only ones that are viewable on mobile. Why people make their videos unviewable by mobile is beyond me.)

Next up – 1980.

Things That Piss Me Off When I Am In The Bath

1. When I leave the hot water running that bit too long and it runs cold, thus ruining the optimal temperature. Turmoil.

2. When I don’t put enough bubble bath in it, and get a pathetic thin layer of bubbles, rather than the “Iceberg dead ahead!”-like mounds of bubbles I wished for. Trauma.

3. When I spend ages tying my hair up because I can’t be bothered washing it then slip down getting in the bath so that hair is then sodden. Rage.

4. When I just get comfortable but realise that I have left my book and drink on the other side of the bathroom and have to get out of the bath to retrieve them. Ire.

5. When I have retrieved errant items, just got comfortable AGAIN and then there’s a knock on the door because someone needs to use the facilities. Annoyance.

6. When I realise that I have left the super fluffy lovely towel and my super fluffy cosy dressing gown on my bed. Then realising that I have also left my curtains open and the lights on in the bedroom, meaning that I have to do a commando crawl in to get them. I frickin love that. Love it.

Nice relaxing bath MY EYE!

Things I Am Thankful For – No 1 – SatNav

If I have to write every day for a month I’m going to struggle and start writing about the contents of my Kitchen Junk Drawer. So, since this is Thanksgiving month in the US I am going to cling to that and post the things that I am thankful for. One a day. And I’m behind already.

——————

I am so shit at directions and finding my way around. Not just a wee bit shit, but so shit that whenever I get back to the house I feel like I’ve won a great victory.

This is awkward, since I hate public transport and faffing about waiting for taxis so drive everywhere. Waiting about in London does my nut in especially, so I definitely drive up there. I love driving in cities; they don’t bother me, but the tendency to shut a road or turn a lane into right turn only can be a bit frantic.

Getting out of London is easy in the evening – I’m going west so I just look for the sun and aim in that general direction and then Hello Hammersmith Flyover! The flaw in this plan is, of course, coming out of London in the dark or when it rains. Then I’m screwed.

Driving in Tokyo was a frickin’ nightmare. The streets aren’t straight (damn those Romans and not carrying on East for a bit) and have a tendency to zig off on abrupt turns just for the hell of it. There’s no street names either for most of the roads, which is…interesting. Everything is numbered on the lamposts with the area that you are in but it’s in Japanese (fancy that) so if you don’t know how to read the kanji for the area you are in you’re pretty much lost.  I used to try and get round this by looking for the Tokyo Tower above the buildings, aiming for it, then working my way home from that. The flaw in this plan was if I was nowhere near the Tokyo Tower, or if there were buildings in the way. Then I was screwed.

Glasgow City Centre is easy – it’s a block and grid system. Unless you take the wrong street then you are in one-way hell. I would drive about catching tantalising glimpses of my target but couldn’t see how to get to it. Normally I just dump the car in the nearest parking spot. And then can’t find my way back to it. Yep, screwed.

I can drive from here to Glasgow no problem. It’s a straight road nearly – I’m five minutes from the motorway at my end and Aunties live 10 minutes from the motorway their end. The issue is the motorway comes off in the East End. I am a South Side girl, and have no knowledge of the East End at all. That 10 minutes can stretch to 20 or 30, until I stumble across Celtic Park or the Templeton Carpet Factory and cry with relief at finally knowing where I am.

Lovely lovely free SatNav programs for mobile phones have changed my life. Or they will, once I learn how to use them. What I didn’t realise was that mine had a button which anchored the orientation, and didn’t turn the map when the car turned. WHAT THE HELL IS THE POINT OF THAT!?! Bloody nearly killed myself going up to London, then got me and @UnsuitableCrush well and truly lost trying to get across London to Hoxton. The map would be showing left, but would be upside down to the direction of travel and I should have been going right. Many abrupt stops, U turns and a nearly perfectly-executed handbrake turn later we finally got there. Sorry Crush.

Oh and they don’t help with roundabouts either. I usually do one lap and then one for luck to check I’m coming off at the right exit. Sorry Jen. Sorry Lucy. Sorry Michelle. Sorry anyone who has ever been in a car with me.

It’s sorted now, and I love my SatNav. Now I just have to sort out charging my phone so I can actually use the thing and I’m golden.

This is a catch up for NaBloPoMo