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)

I woke up this morning feeling very sorry for myself. Sometime in the last 24 hours or so I have managed to either scratch it or get a bit of grit in my left eye and Tony isn’t here to make it better. The memory of him sitting me down and peering into my opticals so closely that it usually ended up as a snog session got the tears going. Unfortunately the leakage didn’t solve the problem.

It’s been a funny old week and I apologise for the lateness in posting the musings. See above. The builders are doing the final touches to the extension which would have been finished except for the small omission in my forgetting to order the floor. However the open space has been very useful in the evenings as a canine gladiator arena. I think the terriers are winning. The crowd is a little noisy but at least they aren’t underfoot anymore. Hopefully they will have the back garden to express their feelings in the next couple of days which is quite important because we have a sort of new addition to chez Knollys. A few days ago I spotted a very well-dressed man eyeing up the garage conversion. To cut a long story short he wanted to buy it but I said it was in no condition to be sold and anyway I didn’t want to separate it from the rest of the property. so he’s going to rent it, renovate it and live in it for a little monthly discount. Don’t worry, I got the legal docs and he sent references before I had asked. And he’s a nice guy. And he likes dogs. And it’s one less thing for me to worry about.

I finish on the subject that all of you seem to want to know about. That dating thing. Well….. I went on a date! Correction, Yogi Bear and I went on a date as one doesn’t meet a stranger without an escort/protection detail. Bears can be quite scary and let’s face it, he is a very popular guest at the Great North Wood pub. Suffice to say both Yogi and I had a very nice evening and I surprised myself with my self-confidence, I wasn’t nervous at all. I think my growing independence gives me a sort of ‘take me as I am or leave it’ kind of attitude or it could be that we had spoken a lot on the phone beforehand so the conversation flowed. I feel quite proud of this old lady for taking a small step in perhaps the right direction. Just follow the Bear……

“Some of my best leading men have been dogs and horses.” (Elizabeth Taylor)

“

You know that old saying, “when one door closes, another door opens’? Well, I’m sort of standing in the hallway with a hand on the hatch handle ready to take that leap into the world of being single. Now that T’s estate has finally closed, I can make a few plans for the future.

This week, the BBC have run a series of programmes across the TV and radio about being single. What I managed to find time to listen to was quite uplifting, it never ceases to amaze me how we find the strength to roll with the punches. Whilst none of us choose to be a widow or widower unless you commit murder and if that’s the case I’m not including you in this conversation, the decisions we make on the road ahead are ours alone. Friends and family will put their two pennies worth in and support groups may offer advice but ultimately the direction you choose is up to you. And I’m feeling a teeny bit excited about what’s next. Don’t get me wrong, I would have preferred to continue life’s journey with Tony but that door’s closed. Just me, myself and I. Oh and Callum. And 10 dogs. And who knows, maybe I’ll find someone else to bring up the rear.

As for the dating progress, well I haven’t actually been on any dates yet but I have done plenty of chatting. In fact, I spent 3 hours the other evening talking to one chap who was a laugh a minute and an avid dog lover. Interestingly he asked me if I was put off by his photo (to be honest I only remembered that vaguely, it was his height that I noticed!) to which I answered no and why? As long as you are taller than me, not 20 years younger than me and someone who makes me laugh you will go a long way in my estimations. My mother once told me that you will know the man you fall in love with because you can imagine what you will look like together in your eighties. Considering I’m more than halfway there it’s easier to envision now. I’ve got the wobbly bits, the wisdom, the woofers and the wrinkles, deal with it.

“Old dogs, like old shoes, are comfortable. They might be a bit out of shape and a little worn around the edges, but they fit well.” (Bonnie Wilcox. Author)

Have you ever had one of those weeks were you start off-kilter and finish pretty much in the same position? Well, that’s how the last 7 days have seemed at chez Knollys; stifling, irritating, emotional see-sawing and downright grumpy. And that’s not just me. The dogs seems to be as affected by the week’s imbalance as their Mum. I know my temperamental conversations with the Tony and the universe (the “why me?” is back with a vengeance) could do with a volume control at times but it seems my quieter, mopey moods hit their sensitive spots. Every dog owner knows their pooch is an empathetic creature but it’s easy to forget that my brood haven’t exactly been spared the last year’s rollercoaster ride either.

Callum left for France in the middle of the week which put a downer on everyone. Yogi Bear as many of you know, takes departing of any sort to heart. Suffice to say that I have had to move him onto my bed and pillow to help with his emotional trauma. Whilst the others are less worried about when Callum will return, they are confused about my mental attitude towards feeding time. As far as they’re concerned, the fact that Mum has to trip over at least three of them to get their vital nutritional intake ready for consumption should not result in slanderous language. To help matters, Coco ‘George Clooney’ Loco has developed an uncanny imitation of a barking seal at mealtimes which he can maintain until the bowl appears in front of him.

However I think the biggest bug-bear of the week was the somewhat anti-climatic appearance of the extension floor, well part of it anyway. I was so excited to learn it was finally going down but the realisation that the builders are still way behind put me in a bit of a funk. It’s lovely to look at now the doorway between the hallway and extension is open but we can’t go in, sort of like looking at a swimming pool with no water. It doesn’t help that the long running battle with the solicitor of Tony’s estate rumbles on so budget is still the primary word in my daily mantra. And then there’s the heat. With the dogs and I only having the front garden to sit and roll on, time outside is limited because Mo and Neo see the front gate in the same way Trump sees the Mexican border. Frankly, it’s mortifying to watch innocents jump out of the skin when the two suddenly start their canine equivalent of machine gun noise from behind the fence. I don’t even want to mention the grass or lack of now. Luckily I keep the inside of the house, the bit we can lounge in, cool so the older dogs prefer the more meditative atmosphere of the front room. That is until Arry brings a pet rock in from the front garden and drops it on the newly washed wooden floor…………

“If a dog will not come to you after having looked you in the face, you should go home and examine your conscience.” (Woodrow Wilson 28th President of the United States)