If there was ever a week that could test my sobriety and self-esteem, it’s been this past one. From my Dad being put into an induced coma after a major op to Neo nipping my painter (who was very gracious about it, thank you Tom) , I’m frankly amazed with myself for not burying my angst in a bottle. Without Tony’s shoulder to lean on and his calm voice of reasoning, I have had to find another way to relieve myself of the worry worms so I have taken on a D.I.Y project. Stop laughing. I would like to note that part of my widow’s journey is learning that there is a word called budget in the dictionary and no-one likes a text that says you are about to be charged for daring to use your authorised overdraft.

I’m never one to back down from a challenge especially when persons tell you you can’t do it. The trouble is I don’t always think things through before getting submerged. Having taken advice (yes I know, very forward of me) from our Steven the expert, I have decided that I alone will turn Tony’s office into an ensuite bathroom and update the existing family one. Well apart from the plumbing obviously.

Ripping off a bit of wobbly plaster seemed like the perfect therapy at first but my enthusiasm has waned somewhat as a bit has become most of one wall. I felt so D.I.Y savvy as I confidently filled my trolley in the local Homebase but now realise the piddly bag of plaster I bought isn’t going to cover it. However I refuse to feel defeated by the endless snowstorm of dust and having to hoof bags of rubble downstairs, I’ve started so I’ll finish. Eventually.

Overcoming odds seems to be a family trait at the moment as most of the week has been spent on the phone or the family Whatsapp keeping tabs on our Dad. Despite a major operation and subsequently being put into an induced coma to heal, the news from the doctors is good and he is slowly recovering. For a man who had never really seen the inside of a hospital until his accident (another induced coma then) eight years ago, he has been spending rather a lot of time in them of late. In fact, my eldest nephew, Louis, suggested several units could be named after him. We’d also like to keep the arm restraints if the nurses don’t mind, that way someone else can control the TV remote…

“I’ve seen a look in dogs’ eyes, a quickly vanishing look of amazed contempt, and I am convinced that basically dogs think humans are nuts.” (John Steinbeck. Author)

I hit a wall this week. Not literally, although that does sound rather tempting but it in the emotional sense. I’m getting used to waves of mood that are part and parcel of the widowing process but every now and again, you get caught in a riptide. My life was turning into a sort of groundhog day scenario, each day morphing into the next one with nothing to break the monotony. It didn’t help that we had a big birthday to celebrate this week, Cal’s 21st, and neither he nor I were in the party spirit. Nope, this wave was a doozy and I came close to falling apart. This of course, was the week I gave up the booze.

I’ve talked before about the loneliness that comes and goes with the tides but perhaps I’m feeling it a little bit more at the moment. And giving up the wine has probably made me more aware of how much I used those couple of glasses to bury that issue. I read one or two recommended books on sobriety which frankly made me feel even worse and thoroughly depressed. I don’t think self-help books are really my thing. Funnily enough I don’t crave the alcohol at all, I crave the company that I share it with. I just miss the chat.

I know that I am surrounded by wet noses and adoring eyes (although the eyes are often focused on what is going in my mouth) but I am a people person. Those memes that announce how much nicer dogs are than people? I’m not one of them. I need human interaction and I think that’s why I find it so hard. I love my dogs dearly but I worry that my constant conversations with them will put me in a white suit one day. Waking up to a German Shepherd doing his morning stretches on the bed beside me is a heart-hugger but by the time I’ve got downstairs to let the dogs out (how many of you sang those words just now?), change Mo and Coco’s nappies, attached various harnesses and leads and got to the park, I haven’t spoken to a single human unless you count Alexa.

As with all pity parties I go through, I have made another decision. One of the things that the sober stories told me was the importance of visualisation. I’ve harboured quite a few ideas about future projects since starting this journey as a group of 1 plus 10 (and a half man half boy) but never felt I capable of actually doing them. After a long and therapeutic chin wag with the aforementioned man-child, I’m going to take that leap into the scary “I have no idea what I’m doing” world with his help of course. Who knows, perhaps my conversations with my canines might be useful after all?

If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog.” (Harry.S.Truman 33rd President of the United States)

I remember a checkout lady’s comment on sleeping baby Callum;

“ahhh, you spend the first half of their life trying to get them into bed and the second half trying to get them out of it”

Never a truer sentence spoken except that she followed it with;

“Children are angels whose wings grow shorter as they grow taller”

Not sure I agree with that one but the first, yes. I have to admit my thoughts are somewhat tinged with jealousy as a decent night’s sleep seems to be ever more fantastical. I literally fall asleep dreaming of a getting 8 hours only to wake up having had half of that. I can’t even blame the dogs this week as they find Kate’s bed so much more attractive than mine so I’ve had all the space a girl could want. But sweet dreams remain elusive.

I confess I haven’t been looking after myself recently and my body is beginning to tell me. Between the socialising and the stress of never-ending building works and the battle with the EDF electricity over the farcical price increase in my monthly bill, a few too many glasses of the grape have been consumed and the healthy diet has slipped a bit. Even the meditation has been thrown under the duvet. It’s time to kick myself up the back side and stop wallowing in worry before the beautiful September sunshine fades into mud and gloom.

Speaking of September, I almost forgot my wedding anniversary last Thursday. Well, I didn’t forget exactly, I just didn’t noticed the date. It wasn’t until my parents rang to check up on me that I looked at the calendar and saw September 12th. I felt a teeny bit guilty but then again I often forgot the date when Tony and I were married, he used to comfort me by saying every day we were together was a special one. Good one T. Of course there is one more special September date that a mum can’t forget and that’s the looming 21st birthday for the Stewart heir. Yes our 7.4 pound bundle of joy has grown into an almost 6 foot mass of lean muscle. I think he’s definitely getting enough sleep….

“When you feel dog tired at night, it may be because you’ve growled all day long” (Anon)

I might have mentioned in a blog or two my views of lateness. I can’t stand it. I must have been the only bride ever to arrive early for her wedding only to make the chauffeur drive around the block again because guests were still getting out of their cars. I would blame family genetics as my father is of the same mind but both my younger brother and my son aren’t so I can’t. I also have an issue with work not being finished on time, if I start something I have to finish it even if it literally kills me. These compulsions however don’t appear to apply to my builders and it’s driving me nuts.

I came across a conversation on the support group I follow online for people like me (widows not crazy OCD dog owners) about changing habits after a partners death. One common thread was becoming obsessively tidy. I have to admit as a former clutterer, I have been a neat freak for some years but it did get me wondering if my neuroses have got worse since Tony’s passing. Perhaps it is the need to have some semblance of control over my life? I’m still waiting for my extension which was supposed to be finished at the end of June but is still ‘almost done’ in September. I can’t get my head around someone not wanting to finish something and on time, you’d think the builders would want to be rid of me by now. Even the dogs are tutting although the lack of door handles has started a whole new game involving noses, dextrous paws and a lot of shouting from mum.

For those who have been asking about developments on the dating front, there hasn’t been. I don’t think the whole online dating thing is really for me right now to be honest. Between the ‘hoo’ , the ‘almost done’ extension and my own search for a more balanced life, I find myself less than enthusiastic about profiles on an app. I have to admit the constant “you must have a big house with all those dogs” and “do you have big kennel in your garden for all those dogs?” questions were beginning to bore me. The answer to the second is no and the answer to the first is compared to what? Either way, the lack of containment devices attached to portals would probably put most suitors off….

“If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you. It is the principal difference between a dog and a man.” (Mark Twain)

There is an invisible being in my house. Call me irrational but something is definitely messing with the lay lines at chez knollys. I keep misplacing items only to find them an hour later in plain sight. Obviously I could blame the reappearance of socks, flip flops and shoes on Alice’s odd maternal instincts but I drop things, I break things and I forget things as well. I know, perhaps a visit to the doctor might be a thought but my inner witch blames it on otherwordly miscreants. Despite the almost finished and frankly, ‘lush’ extension, the house doesn’t feel happy to me. Those of you who keep up to date with my blog journey will remember my attempt at Feng Shui ing my house some months ago. Well, that was a waste of time. But I am a naturally superstitious person, I wish any single magpie a good day and always cross my fingers when going under or over bridges so I decided I needed help with the pesky poltergeist if I’m going to have any hope of equilibrium back.

My first thought was to get a Buddhist monk to come over and bless the house. having spent part of my childhood in Thailand. Back then, an orange robed man chanting blessings for your new home was a common sight but apparently the Buddhist temples in London don’t go in for that sort of thing. So I called Tess. Our Tessa is one of my closest friends and a person who knows how to sort the spirits out for want of a better phrase. She also doesn’t think I’m losing the plot. So Tess advised me to start the cleansing before she comes next week by sprinkling sea salt in the corner of every room;

Me: “Does it have to be sea salt?”

Tess: “Yes, not the cheap table salt stuff”

Me: “Will Cornish Sea Salt do?”

Tess: “Ooo yes, I love Cornwall”

Me: “How much do I sprinkle?”

Tess: “However much your instinct tells you”

Me thinking: ” Just a sprinkle then because this stuff is expensive”

Anyway, under her instruction I made my way around the house and the wardrobes, fairy dusting the corners with minute amounts of Cornish salt. Callum found this incredibly amusing, his mum had finally gone off the deep end and I had to put the dogs away for fear they would hoover up any spirit squashing attempts. I am told faithfully by our Tess that she will be down in the next couple of weeks to finish off the phantom vamoosing but at least I’ve made a start. If the girls partying the other night until 1 a.m is anything to go by, we are on the right track. I do worry about the rapidly diminishing water levels in the dogs’ drinking fountains though…..

“ Did you ever walk into a room and forget why you walked in? I think that is how dogs spend their lives..” (Sue Murphy. Writer)

Picture the scene. The writer sips her morning coffee whilst looking out at the view provided by the retracted patio doors, a calm breeze ruffling the ends of her hair as she listens to the waves lapping gently at the white sand whilst a soaring eagle glides effortlessly across the cerulean sky….Sorry, got carried away for a minute there thinking about that house in the film ‘Sleeping with the Enemy’ . Yet there is something romantic about the end of the summer. In the next week or so, social media will be full of pictures of fading sunsets, white washed beaches with a footprint or two, bronzed bodies and selfies with sunglasses. The reality of endless English rain, bored kids and sunburnt pupils (hence the need for Ray bans) is forgotten as they reminisce about the wonderful summer of 2019. Except me. This summer has been financially and mentally exhausting looking after everyone’s dogs whist they have a holiday or three.

Tony used to call me a reptile, he meant it fondly I’d like to reassure you all. I am a Scorpio after all. He was remarking on my love of the sun and my ability to completely relax under the scorching rays, he couldn’t bear it and would be most likely to be found in a pool unlike his lounger loving wife. Give me a book, a glass of something cold and these days, a sun hat, and I’m happy. It will come as no surprise therefore, that I haven’t been all that upset at the English weather over the last month, who relaxes with 101 canines underfoot? Without sounding self-pitying, I would like to offer an invitation to stay to all those who send me Facebook memes of how wonderful life is when you are knee deep in dog. Still, mustn’t grumble. As the summer finally draws it’s last few breaths, the sun has decided it’s time to shine just as all the boarders start to go home. Maybe Tony has had a word with Him (or Her) up there.

On the plus side Callum is home and sorted for college and Kate is still here. I’m enjoying the company to be honest especially as I have finally finished the up cycling of our infamous dining table (Tony loved it, I hated it) so we can eat dinner together. I haven’t done much in the way of dating recently but to be honest, I’ve lost any enthusiasm for it. My mum, whose advice I always ask for but rarely follow, told me that it was far to early to think about another relationship anyway. Having humans to share the evening with is a novelty I’m happy to live with at the moment, especially if I can sit overlooking a sun-drenched garden with a chilled glass of wine and the gentle sounds of yapping canines…

” If you want the best seat in the house, move the dog” (Anon)

Birthday on Halloween. Star sign Scorpio. Chinese Year of the Fire Horse. Basically born in disaster mode. Yup, that about sums up my mood this week although the inhaling of furniture paint spray may have contributed to the mental state. Just as I was beginning to feel I was winning the war of independence, someone up there fires a couple of missiles. I sometimes wonder did I do something totally unforgivable in a previous life or is it just the luck of being a short-tempered, catastrophe prone witch.

One of my self-hates is my tendency to bury my head in the ground when dealing with anything financial. I have a maths phobia. As someone who married a spreadsheet nut, I didn’t think I would ever need to understand different types of mortgages or why the Bank of England’s regular fiddle with the interest rate would affect my ability to afford my favourite brand of coffee. Turns out, I should have. My fingers in the ears ‘la la la’ days are long over and now I’m even thinking of changing careers if it means less emotional stress. Money may not buy you happiness but the lack of it is hardly sunshine and puppies either.

If I didn’t enjoy training dogs and making them look beautiful in the grooming room, it would be easy to give something else a go but what? I’m useless with computers so I can’t really go back into the hotel/restaurant trade and to be honest I like to be in bed by 9.30. I could go back to personal fitness but is there still a market for that? I do my private yoga sessions with an online trainer which, let’s face it, is much cheaper and she doesn’t criticise me when I decide to skip a practice. The thing is, I’m reasonably good at what I do and I make my own schedule. I have to admit, looking after everyone else’s dogs whilst they have lovely holidays always makes my summer depressing but as this is the last year I’ll be boarding I’ve told myself to suck it up.

The week wasn’t a complete emotional fall out. My niece and fellow witch arrived to spend a month here whilst lending her genius studies to Queen Mary’s epigenetic labs and our Arry celebrated his 4th birthday. One could argue most German Shepherds would have reached maturity by now but judging by his excitement at a night out at The Great North Wood pub, he’s not ready for adulthood yet. And thanks to the wonderful bar staff , he even got to blow out a candle on a large dog biscuit. It’s funny how singing happy birthday to a dog (or more) can clear away the brain debris for a while and make you think sunshine and slightly too big puppies…..

“Happiness is a warm puppy.” (Charles M. Schulz. Peanuts cartoonist) 

If one was to set the syllabus for ‘Widow 101’ DipEd. BSc. PHD, the subject ‘How to put together bits of pre cut flat-packed wood’ should only be attempted once modules such as ‘How to sleep more than 4 hours’ and ‘How to remember where you put your glasses/car keys/phone’ are completed. And if you are anything like me, don’t ignore the instruction bit where it clearly states that the assembly requires two people.

Because I knew the extension floors were going to be laid at the end of the week, I had tasked myself with the above design challenge. I love the pictures IKEA put in their vague leaflets, especially the almost identical but used in completely different places nuts and bolts. This of course you don’t realise until you have deep welts in your hands and a serious case of boiling blood pressure. I could hear Tony tutting at my usual instruction booklet reading (scan through at rapid speed) which only increased my swearing to the heavens. It didn’t help that several pages were literally eaten by the dog(s), probably the ones with the correct screw sizes. But I won, ha IKEA! I won and I’m so impressed with myself. Not only do I have a great chest of drawers for the dog stuff, I also have two glass cabinets which look dead posh in the now floored extension. I have also moved a two seater sofa between rooms and heaved an armchair downstairs. Who says yoga doesn’t give you muscles?

I’m still getting my head around the fact that I can put stuff wherever I want, wear whatever I like and do things whenever I want without having to compromise or argue. It’s not easy. Tony and I bought this house together 22 years ago and every room design was discussed, disputed and mutely agreed upon. And we had very different tastes. Now it’s all up to me. Me and a whole lot of cupboard space……

“Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea.” (Robert A. Heinlein. Author)

I popped in to see an old friend in Moorfields Hospital last Friday. For Sophy (yes we thus named like to challenge autocorrect) this isn’t her first rodeo with a tumour in her left eye. However, the radiotherapy is. Unfortunately, I have an aversion to seeing eyes being poked about. The addition of this being my first visit to a hospital ward since Tony’s horrendous experience gave a new meaning to queasy. However, seeing our Sophy so positive even though under her own admission, the Tramadol was working and frankly she liked the taste of Morphine, it couldn’t help but enlighten the mood cells. Yes, she is going to lose the sight in that eye and yes, the pain without drugs is like having glass shards shoved in your pupil (her words) but her outlook on the future is filled with humour and overcoming anything that stands in her way. Obviously this effect transferred onto myself and Irene in our later unsuccessful attempt to find a Sushi restaurant in Farringdon with Google maps. You have to have a sense of humour when you pass the same pub three times and the ‘Guided Walks start here’ advertisement stuck to a tree outside said establishment. It was so nice to finish the day sitting outside a more familiar eatery in Herne Hill listening to the comforting noise of car stereos at full blast and ambulance sirens.

This widow’s journey has taught me that you can choose two paths when you pass the first year. You can stagnate in your memories or you can learn from those like Sophy. And my dogs. They wake up every morning and wow, it’s a new day! Not a ‘oh no it’s Monday again’ or ‘yay, Sunday lie in day’, just the start to one of new experiences. As I write, there are dogs snoring flat out in the new extension (new floor next week!) as the open doors let in a warm breeze. Yet I know as soon as I get off this barstool, they will arise with looks of expectation at what I am going to surprise them with next. Then they’ll sigh and go back to sleep as I struggle with an Ikea cabinet. Dogs don’t see that sort of thing as fun, can’t imagine why.

I went on another date this week. Nice looking, well- dressed but so dull that even Arry fell asleep. I’m beginning to think I expect too much from all this but as my friend Irene says, you have to kiss an awful lot of frogs before you either get sick of the taste or find the proverbial prince and mutual dog lover. I find myself being completely politically incorrect in my search however. Too old, too young, too short, too fat, too hairy, not hairy enough, too much ego, too clingy and just weird. I blame Tony, I blame him for most things but I especially blame him for being just a little too perfect for me. Except that he never taught me how to stay calm when you find you have put that final cupboard door on the wrong way……

“What counts is not necessarily the size of dog in the fight; it’s the size of fight in the dog” (Dwight D. Eisenhower)

A friend of mine gave me some widows ‘do’s and don’t’s’ not long after Tony died, one of which was not to move house in the first year. Well, it’s now a year and a bit and I’m finally moving. Yes, after four months and despite the flooring delay, I am moving all the cutlery, crockery and cooking stuff from the spare bedroom upstairs into the new extension’s completely designed by me kitchen. I can choose where the teaspoons go, how many dishes should be on each shelf and what order the glasses go in. From the colour of the units to the curtains versus blinds on the huge patio doors (curtains won), everything has been chosen by me. And I finally have a hanging chair looking out over the garden so I can sit and write my Pulitzer.

Those who know me well will tell you that when I decide something needs doing, I do it. Since today is Sunday and the one day in the week I try to spend at home, I decided that each trip upstairs should result in a handful of kitchen utensils being grabbed on the way back down. However, the amount of useless, broken and duplicate items that Tony and I amassed over the years found in the dark recesses of a bottom drawer or two makes the process much slower than I had envisioned. I challenge anyone to who has been married for more than a decade to say that they don’t have at least one plastic whatsit buried under several mismatched napkin rings of which you have no memory of ever buying. And yet there those precious bits of memories that you just can’t throw out. Wedding presents you never used or never got the full set. Our dinner service that was never completed and I think only four plates survived but Tony loved the colour so it stayed. What is it about Ikea wine glasses though? Tony would say we always bought glasses in bulk because I have a habit of breaking them but did we need so many?

Not only have I released the forks from their dusty chamber, for the first time in four months the dogs were allowed to run up the back garden once again. If anyone has ever watched those weepy social media videos where the animal is released into the wild after years in captivity, this would have been an equally emotional experience. The look of wonder as the huge patio doors drew back to reveal the vast plot, the tentative steps onto the new lawn, noses taking in the smell of fresh grass and the excited yaps of the terriers as they watched Arry tear up the pathway and the newly laid green stuff…….

“In times of joy, all of us wished we possessed a tail we could wag” (W.H. Auden)