The Empty Nest – Fresher’s Flu Strikes

Week One

Family check:- So much easier to keep an eye on things these days. As number 5 of 6 children, how my mother kept her empty nest symptoms under control without the aid of the internet I don’t know.

Eldest – No crisis – thankfully (me not her, as she would be off again tomorrow if possible) returned from travels around the world and happily working in central London.

Middle – Mini crisis but containable – just started new job as cabin crew out of Heathrow. New job nerves.

Youngest – just started first semester at University at the other end of the country. Probably having multi crisis daily.

Other Half – usual mini crisis – too much work – not enough time.

Me – major crisis – working out how a creature this small



Cannot successfully get its arse over a litter tray this big.




One week down and Youngest is still alive! Just.

I know this because:-

  1. He’s asked for more money.
  2. Eldest confirmed it and…
  3. When we did eventually Skype (apparently freshers’ week is just too busy to find 10 minutes) he was sneezing into a tissue.

Fresher’s flu is apparently all it’s cracked up to be.

‘Use the paracetamol I packed for you,’ I offered. ‘And the antiseptic throat spray.’

‘Oh,’ came the reply. ‘I found the paracetamol. Where’s the throat spray?’

Now it’s beyond me how he can open the Tupperware medicine box I lovingly supplied to retrieve pills without seeing the small green bottle nestling beside it. But then Youngest’s thought processes are one of life’s mysteries to me. Apart from some plasters, antiseptic cream and cold relief powder there weren’t many other ailments I thought he would get in the first few minutes except his signature sore throat so the box was half empty. (I purposefully left out supplying the condoms – there are some things a boy must be responsible for himself.)

I’m still amazed we got him to Uni. Not because I didn’t think he’d make the grades but having had Eldest and Middle super organised needing little assistance navigating their way through the Ucas process – (but then, I may be biased, but that’s girls for you) I dipped my toe into the Ucas water, just to see if Youngest would be ok.   On touching the edge I was awash with confusion. Woah… So many forms, so much information. I couldn’t find a course entitled ‘How to navigate your way through Ucas’.  I think this would be an excellent addition followed by a Masters in ‘Student Finance’. Hats off to those of you who made it though and out the other side. Knowing to leave Youngest to his own devices would mean his staying at home for the next four years, I had to plunge in. Some might call this helicoptering mothering, I call it self-preservation.

Thankfully Youngest knew what course he wanted to take. I despair for those parents whose offspring have no idea.

We made our choices.

His father and I took Youngest to one Uni.

His father drove him to another.

Was it unfair to insist he got himself to his third? The last weekend before he had to make his final decision? Even if it meant flying up north? Alone?  If he’s ever going to be pushed out of the nest, a good way to start is to travel. Ok, I confess, he may have gone on his own but I did organise the journey for him – buy the tickets, print out city maps to plan how he would get from the airport to the Uni and supply my credit card ( for emergencies only, NOT a  cheeky Nandos). I know, I’m weak and can hear you tutting and shaking your heads. But to my dying day I will still ask how much should I do? I know in my day we packed the car and took ourselves off without a backward glance but he’s my baby

Anyway, even with the railways trying to thwart best laid plans by cancelling trains Youngest made it to Scotland and back with only an encounter with the Hare Krishnas to worry him. (Fair enough, he reasoned it was easier to give them a couple of pounds for their dodgy CD to get them to leave him alone than listen to them.)

So with firm and reserve choices of courses made, he then had to decide on accommodation. When I say he, you know I mean, I, had to prompt him before the deadline ran out. How difficult is it to choose 5? Well, it didn’t seem to matter as in the end he didn’t get any of his 5 wishes. After contacting the Uni he was offered 3 more, each had drawbacks.

But here he was. On the other side of the screen. Snotty, headachy and sniffing. Should I drop everything and rush to his side to nurse him? Get a grip woman, I could hear Eldest saying. He’ll be fine. He refused to show us his (untidy) room (nothing changed there then) and continued to lob tissues at the out-of-view waste paper basket while regaling how the offered food was either stodgy or watery and how he couldn’t abide Pot Noodles at the weekend like his flatmates. No worries I reply. You can make a wonderful roux sauce.

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The Empty Nest – and so it begins

It wasn’t meant to happen to me. The Empty Nest.  I’ve already shipped Eldest and Middle off to University… and beyond. I know how it feels to drive with coat hangers stuffed into the last available space down the side of seats; how they scratch your hand when trying to manoeuvre the seat back to accommodate the box of kitchen essentials. The ‘must have’ shoes squashed into cup holders and the duvet having a hissy refusing to squish down so you can see out of the back window. More importantly I’ve perfected my brave ‘goodbye’ face enabling me to wave happily until the car turns around the corner just far enough out of sight to allow my throat to constrict and a small tear to drop silently.

On D-day this time around, I was prepared.

Sunday 5.30 am. Only the birds should be awake. ETD 06.00.

06.10. Silly me. Of course, it’s possible to fit two speakers, a boom box AND a desk top computer into an already bulging car.

07.15. First stop. An hour in. Why not multi task and deliver the shared car to Middle who needs to borrow it to start work? Only 350 miles to go, what’s a few more along the way? Unexpected bonus; full English breakfast curtesy of my thoughtful sister.

08.15. Back on the road driving through London on our way ‘up North’ to deliver Youngest to his chosen University, I wasn’t going to let the fact three bedrooms now stood empty at home distract me. I would not turn around in my seat to picture rose tinted visions of a curly haired toddler riding his truck around the garden. Instead an 18yr old, mouth open and snoring, sandwiched between a holdall and a rucksack but still with headphones in place, was the reality.

12 00. We’re eating up the tarmac. Time to stop and eat up plastic motorway food.

‘Embrace the change.’ I’d been told. ‘It’s the natural order of things. It makes them grow up. This is a time to enjoy the silence.’

Not just the silence in the car but the new silence of my life. No more grime music blasting out until bedtime (mine not his). No more calls for clean underwear. No more banging the front door on his arrival.

All wise words but my mind kept wandering. Have I done enough to prepare him for this momentous change in his life?

Would he still eat?

Stupid question. I’ve taught him how to rustle up a roux sauce even Mary Berry would be proud of. Of course, he’d eat. Maybe pasta and mushrooms with every meal but if anything made Youngest muster himself, it was being hungry. Anyway, he’d ticked the half-catered accommodation option.

Could he do his washing?

He’s been on my ‘How To Ensure Your Son Is Ready For The World’ course since birth. Admittedly he’s had to repeat the foundation stage a few times but I feel progress is being made. He knows that you can only turn clothes inside out once before they need to hit the tub. And what was the worst that could happen? Multi-coloured tie dyed clothes? His t-shirts end up looking like they belong to a younger brother? Probably not the best fashion statement but that could add interest to the crumpled look from their storage place on the floor.

More importantly would he be happy and make friends?

Of course, he would. He’s made friends at primary school, secondary school and ever since. He’s even charmed the old ladies in the village who stop me on my dog walk to ask after his welfare. Why would that change now? I must rest assured he will not be sitting on his own night after night crying for his mummy.

This is a time to be positive. He’s not the only one who’s life is going to change. I must man up – I have things to look forward to:-

  1. Food will stay in the fridge for the meals I’d planned – just where I’d left it.
  2. I can slump on the sofa without fear of finding a half-eaten sandwich patterning my trousers or of knocking juice balanced on the arm.
  3. The house will stay tidy. No coat and shoes left on the floor where they’ve been taken off.

And that’s just for starters.

15.30 Arrive at destination to find campus awash with youngsters aimlessly leading their parents laden with bags, bed linen and hope to find matchbox sized rooms. And that’s not a Swan Vesta matchbox we’re talking. Three trips later of squeezing ourselves and our lovely student helpers into the lift (which thankfully was working) up to the 7th floor we dispatch Youngest into his cell. Making his bed up was my last nurturing duty. Dumping his clothes out of the bags onto his bed was his father’s. This was love. Tough love. He’s 18. He can unpack his clothes.

My goodbye face in place we left him to his fate.

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My Writing Day…

‘ My writing day reflects the way I like to cook –spontaneous and scrambled with never the same result twice. As no day is typical here’s a recipe to be adapted as needed.’


Fifty something woman with all the hormonal uncertainty that that age brings!

Employment – Admin/ordering for construction company/writer and owner of online home accessories company.

Children (1 flown the nest, 1 on the edge and 1 about to make the climb upwards but mouth still very wide open expecting to be fed).

Method: – Position of laptop is essential for a good result. Try and stay calm at all times.

  1. If laptop is situated in home office: – open post, order materials, complete spreadsheets and make coffee for boss (husband). This can continue all day or part-time depending on commitments required by HMRC /accountant/and / or said husband.
  2. If laptop is positioned at writing desk in conservatory: – Word is open with WIP = 3rd novel, bubbling away. Sticky notelets to be placed around the house – inspiration can strike at any time.
  3. If phone rings while doing either of 1 or 2 above and child needs attention or a lift from bus stop ( there’s only 3 a day to our village) then simmer task slowly especially if  2, using the chauffeuring time to kneed out any lumpy parts in plot. The daily dog walk is also a good time to marinade these issues.
  4. If at any time an order arrives for home accessories company while in office or conservatory, mix packing item and trip to the post office in smoothly. Be aware that marketing time must be tossed in at some point.
  5. Remember some situations can get out of control and the whole shebang may boil over rapidly – the WIP is always the first to be removed until the mixture is returned to its smooth consistency once again. WIP can then resume even if late at night or early morning as long as 1, 3 and 4 are completed.
  6. Resist every attempt to remove laptop from the conservatory short of nailing it down, ensuring that sentences can be modified at short notice, dialogue addressed and characters spoken to if consistently nagging.
  7. At no time lose your sense of humour – sometimes the mixture will turn out correctly other times it will be a disaster,but there will always be something to salvage, even if it is a little over cooked.


Kitley Renovation and Construction ( KRaC)  at
East is East is,

Find more from Teresa at , @THamiltonwriter,

Suzi Final cover jpg

Click to my latest book LOVE,SUZI x  –  Book trailer Pages of people watching …
Twitter: @THamiltonwriter

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Journey – Beneath the Surface

This is a my latest project and WIP.  Journey – Beneath the Surface is an adventure story for children aged 9 +.  Nathan and Erin, twelve-year-old twins are on the run, pursued by their Mother’s kidnappers. They need to find her – fast!

Chapter 1

A crash came from below.

Nathan dropped his book and torch. The thin beam of light disappeared as it bounced onto the sheet next to him. He wrenched the duvet from over his head and blinked. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness in his bedroom. He turned his head towards the door to hear the noises coming from the room beneath.

WHAT was going on?

Nathan threw the covers off and tiptoed across the room. He pulled the door slowly towards him. The light from the beaded lampshade cast a strange shadow making the spindles from the stairs look like the bars of a cell on the floor of the hall below.

His mother’s voice.

Not unusual, except it was joined by the deeper tones of a man’s as well. Ordinarily he would have been pleased to hear another man’s voice in the house. There was only his twin sister Erin, and Mum at home and Mum rarely had visitors.

Certainly not this late anyway.

He heard the familiar squeak as the living room door opened.


There was the sound of a slap followed by a muffled yelp. Nathan drew his head back slightly behind the door and clutched his fingers together. He glanced towards his bedside table for his phone. It wasn’t there. He remembered it was still sitting on the kitchen counter attached to the charger. What should he do? Maybe he could cause a diversion? But what? Something noisy. Enough to give Erin time to escape? If she could get away she could fetch help.

‘Where is it?’ He heard the man bark. ‘Upstairs?’

Through the narrow gap he saw Mum pushed towards the front door by a man dressed in a dark uniform, the light bouncing from the reflective strips across his chest. Mum’s hands were handcuffed. Strands from her normally tidy ponytail clung to her face. She turned her head. Her cheek was crimson and blood was running from her nose. Nathan put his hand over his mouth to shield a gasp.

‘No! Not upstairs!’ Mum replied. A little too quickly. ‘It’s not here.’ Nathan saw her glance up the stairs in his direction.

The man pushed past her, his foot on the first step. ‘What about the kids? They up there?’

‘No! Nobody’s up there! They’re at their grandmother’s.’ Mum pleaded, tears running down her cheeks. The man paused, his hand on the hand rail and turned to look at her. ‘It’s at the lab. I’ll take you.’

‘You know what we’ll do if you’re lying,’ he threatened. He turned back towards his accomplice. His next words caused Nathan’s heart to beat so fast he thought it would explode. ‘I’ll have a quick scout around up here. You get her in the car.’

Nathan shot across his bedroom and lifted up the padded top of the latticed window seat scattering the few books piled neatly on the top against the ledge. It had been a favourite place to hide when he and Erin were smaller, but now it was only used for storing games. He climbed in and closed the lid, wishing he’d cleared out more when Mum had asked. It was a tight squeeze. The corner of a box pressed into his ribs. His eyes scanned the dim room through the wooden slats. The light from his fish tank gave an eerie glow. He heard his mother’s bedroom door open. Nathan sunk lower and pushed his leg against the cardboard. His heart was beating rapidly and his throat felt as though he had a band wrapped tightly around it. A marble rattled against plastic and he placed his hand on his thigh to stop it shaking. He heard drawers being opened and shut. He wished he was invisible. If the man came and did the same in each room, he would quickly be discovered.

He heard footsteps. Erin’s door crashed against the wall. Nathan’s mouth was dry. He licked his lips trying to find something to wet it. His pyjama top was twisted and clinging to his sides.  He’d had no time to go and warn her. Had she been awake too, listening like him or was she sound asleep? What if she hadn’t had time to hide? What would the man do when he found her? If he was prepared to hit Mum, there was nothing to say he wouldn’t do the same to Erin. Or worse? He would be angry Mum had lied.

Nathan clenched his teeth to resist the urge to straighten his leg and clear the tingling in his toes. He took a deep breath. He would spring out of the seat and shout. Loud. Loud enough to be heard in the next village. He would. One…two…

Nathan heard footsteps approach along the landing. Three bedrooms. The next one was his.

His mind raced. How on earth had this man missed Erin asleep in her bed?  He fought for an explanation. He tried desperately not to move but the tingle of pins and needles had reached up his shin. He dug his nails into his palms.

His door flung open. Nathan held his breath. The image of a large man stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the landing light. He took two strides into the room. He paused outside the closed cupboard doors at the foot of the bed. With a force that left the wooden doorknob in his hand, the man jerked opened the cupboard door. Nathan’s cricket bat and three, hard, red balls fell from the top shelf, just missing the man’s foot.

‘Bloody hell! What the …’ the man swore as he hopped to avoid them.  He picked up the rubber handle of the bat and aimed a sweeping blow at the fish tank on top of a chest of drawers. Nathan heard a cracking sound as the glass splintered.

‘What the hell are you doing up there?’ A voice came bellowing from the hall. ‘Get a move on. We’ve got to get back.’

‘Okay, okay. Why have you left her alone? Get back to the car. I’ve finished up here anyway.’

Nathan held his breath and waited. The man bounded down the stairs, slammed the front door and crunched over the drive to get into the waiting car. The wheels spun firing gravel into the air. Nathan kicked open the window seat and clambered out. He stamped his foot to get rid of the numbness and looked around his room. The cricket bat was flung on to his bed, the balls had rolled under the chair. The glass fish tank had a long, jagged split across the corner. He rushed to the landing window just as the car tail lights disappeared around the corner of the lane.

Erin! Nathan open his sister’s door and scanned the room. The room was a tip. Erin was the untidiest person he’d ever known.  Clothes, books and make-up were strewn on every surface and all over the floor. He kicked a bag by his foot.

‘Erin, where are you?’ Nathan called as he rubbed the back of his neck. He opened the pine wardrobe door, brushing aside the dresses to rummage through the magazines and shoes that filled the bottom. There wasn’t room for a twelve-year-old girl. He scanned the room again. There was nowhere else that a body could disappear. If she was hiding she must have vanished into thin air.

‘Erin?’ He called louder. ‘Where the hell are you?’

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From London to Lewes – On Reflection…

As well as posting my adventures as long haul cabin crew in the form of Suzi, (Love, Suzi x) I’m going to update you with my recent adventures. This is an excerpt of a book I’m writing about how my family and I changed our lives.

This is our story:-

Kitley Lodge Pencil From London to Lewes 1

After a lifetime of London living, an urban family, used to the conveniences of the city try adapting to life in the country. Where on earth do we think of moving to and how insane are we to even consider it?

I’m thinking of asking the plumber to stay. Not because he’s cute but because he has another attribute – he vacuums up any mess he’s created when he’s finished. Shallow I may be, but any tradesman that clears up will always endear himself to me. Apparently, when I aksed him he doesn’t do much vacuuming at home, so my lips are sealed as to his exact identity, in case I get him into trouble.
The glazing has been installed into the new orangery and subsequent plastering done. This has made the whole building water-tight so that we can proceed with the next stage; the installation of the under floor heating. I’ve always felt it would be such a luxury to be able to enjoy the warmth under my feet on a dark, cold winter’s morning as I padded down into the kitchen to put the kettle on. I’ve had a single, warm, water pipe zig zagging across my old kitchen floor that fed the radiator, but that became a bit difficult to stay on whilst moving between the fridge and the larder without looking as though I was playing a version of Twister. There’s not much to induce me to get up in the winter but maybe the uniform heat of under floor heating would help to ease my start to the day.


Like a large sandwich, sheets of insulation were laid across the new concrete floor in the orangery. Plastic floor panels were then cut to shape, laid on the insulation and the heating pipes carefully laid in a spiral pattern in the moulds. Once the system had been pressure tested it was then covered up with the floor screed to produce a nice level surface ready for floor tiling after a suitable drying period. The whole process didn’t take long but seemed intricate as it was manoeuvred into place.

In the original kitchen area it was a different matter. As we didn’t want to remove the existing floor slab we had to approach things another way using an overlay system. This is still a “wet system” of water filled heating pipes laid in a pattern; however, in this area gypsum based interlocking panels were laid directly onto the concrete slab. The heating pipes were then laid in channels within the panels, the floor tiles are then laid directly on top. All these neat pipes, looking like railway tracks, snaked round into the utility room where they were connected into the manifold secured to the wall.
Unfortunately, I will have to wait until next winter to enjoy the full effect of my new heating system as it can’t be switched on straight away. We have to wait a few months for the screed to dry out thoroughly or risk it cracking. Whilst I would love to luxuriate in the warmth under my feet and be able to wander randomly all over the kitchen, the resulting damage caused if we are too impatient, is a mess I fear that even my domesticated plumber wouldn’t want to tackle.


With the prospect of cold, wet weather to keep you indoors next to the fire, a bit of self motivation can sometimes be somewhat lacking at this time of the year. With the optimism of spring still too far away to grasp, I use it as a time to reflect on what I have accomplished and dream about what I hope to achieve in the coming year.

When we moved to East Sussex, I proclaimed to all who would listen that we would have the house sorted within a year. It’s good to be made to eat humble pie now and again as here we are, well past my deadline and the house is still not finished, not even remotely.

The time has not been wasted though as much preparation has taken place. This is the part that I always find frustrating but know to be so essential. Not only do we now, after a slight blip, have planning permission, but we have had time to reconsider some fundamental issues that affect just how we use our living space, realising that our initial thoughts were not the best way forward. Rather like a recipe, all the ingredients are there, it’s just a matter of establishing in which order everything should go and whether we should spoon, stir or sprinkle, before the icing goes on the top. On such a large project it is important not to make decisions under pressure as these are often the ones that you wish to change at a later [and costly] date. Equally, it’s necessary to have realistic goals so that momentum keeps pace with your expectations and you don’t become disheartened with slow progress.
We had originally thought that a wall full of cupboards would be ideal in our bedroom. Although this would have meant drinking that necessary, wake-up-cup-of-tea staring at wardrobe doors, I felt it would be the ideal solution to our lack of storage space, giving a clean lined, uncluttered area. Now, on reflection, we have returned to our original spec and moved the position of the bed to take advantage of the views of the Downs we so dearly craved. Tragically, this has cut down the potential for hanging space and may cause a reduction in my clothes department, but how many garments, shoes and accessories does one woman need? Probably best not to go there.

So with all this in mind, the new year will require me to place my own skills into the mixing bowl to drive the renovation forward; a large tablespoon of patience and organisation from years of teaching and a teaspoon of diplomacy and team work from flying the skies as a trolley dolly which should all be stirred steadily, with a brimming cup of creativity to smooth out any lumps. The exciting part is waiting to see the results.
Who knows what next year will bring and whether I will be once again be eating the words of my proclamation washed down with a little humility? I’m ready for the challenge and anything else that comes my way.

I probably won’t get to post again before Christmas and the New Year so would just like to wish you all a happy and healthy one.

Teresa x

LOVE, SUZI x – letters from a long haul stewardess. My latest book is now available from Amazon as a paperback or ebook

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From London to Lewes – On days like these…

As well as posting my adventures as long haul cabin crew in the form of Suzi, (Love, Suzi x) I’m going to update you with my recent adventures. This is an excerpt of a book I’m writing about how my family and I changed our lives.

This is our story:-

Kitley Lodge Pencil From London to Lewes 1

After a lifetime of London living, an urban family, used to the conveniences of the city try adapting to life in the country. Where on earth do we think of moving to and how insane are we to even consider it?

There’s nothing like the sight of a builder scrabbling about on the scaffolding outside your bedroom window to make you spring out of bed in a second. It was while I was indulging in an extra cup of tea that my visitor appeared. Fortunately I had my new stripy PJ’s on but I’ve learnt my lesson, check for the all clear before making any move in the bedroom.

With surprising speed the foundations have been laid and subsequent walls to support the oak frame work for the orangery have been built. Like a mini Giant’s Causeway, the bricks stand ready in their columns to construct small retaining walls around the patio to hold the garden at bay and long channels have been dug out of the earth to enable the new drainage pipes to be put into place. There was only one tricky moment when the order not to use the bathroom for a while because the new manhole was being connected was disobeyed, but fortunately for those involved nothing untoward floated past them. I took to sticking posters, large enough to be read by sleepy children on the facilities that were out of action to ensure no wayward effluent escaped again.

Laying the concrete nearly didn’t happen as the mixer lorry was too large to negotiate our awkward driveway. Thankfully, our extremely tolerant neighbours kindly allowed the lorry to park on their drive whilst each load of concrete was put into a mini dumper truck. Sitting at my computer I could hear the driver coming, long before I saw the top of his head outside the window as he trundled back and forth, along the make-shift, boarded pathway around the house to the back garden, on his numerous trips to complete the job.
The kitchen window has to have a lintel installed above it to enable a wider opening to be made so that the new orangery can become part of the kitchen creating the kind of cosy living space where the family can gather. Being one of the youngest of many siblings, I could guarantee a place on top of the low boiler to sit and watch my mother at the stove. Although it was small, the kitchen was always a place of warmth and comfort where we would gather and get under my mother’s feet. This is the kind of atmosphere I wish to recreate for my children, but without the need for us to feel on top of one another. So one morning, Acrow props were put in place to hold my daughter’s bedroom up, whilst a large gap was made underneath so that the metal beam could be inserted.

On days such as these I’ve found it best to ensure that I have a long engagement away from the house or in desperation, a cup of tea and the sanctity of my bedroom– but with the curtains closed.

Teresa x

LOVE, SUZI x – letters from a long haul stewardess. My latest book is now available from Amazon as a paperback or ebook

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From London to Lewes – Surviving … just.

As well as posting my adventures as long haul cabin crew in the form of Suzi, (Love, Suzi x) I’m going to update you with my recent adventures. This is an excerpt of a book I’m writing called From London to Lewes about how my family and I relocated, renovated and changed our lives.

This is our story:-

Kitley Lodge Pencil From London to Lewes

After a lifetime of London living, an urban family, used to the conveniences of the city try adapting to life in the country. Where on earth do we think of moving to and how insane are we to even consider it?

Surviving …just

I thought I’d cracked it this morning. Even after a sleepless night I leapt out of bed, (well nearly, the intention was there) struggled outside to fetch the water for a cup of tea, let the dogs out to chase any trespassing rabbits, collecting the washing from the annexed utility, whilst juggling the filled, animal food bowls on the top. I know women are supposed to be good at multi -tasking and I do usually have a good go at trying to keep all my balls in the air but just recently there are definitely a few starting to slip. The whirlwind in our house is usually kept at a fairly low grade: lost sports kit, lack of food in the fridge, untidy bedrooms – the usual sort of thing, but just recently a hurricane has been brewing. I knew it because I may have to write myself a schedule on a post-it-note to stick on my forehead to make sure I don’t forget to pick up my daughter for her orthodontist appointment or leave my son at school. The strain of living with the builders is beginning to show. When I couldn’t even fill a glass of water, as we can’t walk on the floor of our shell of a kitchen, my calm façade cracked. I am not one to have tantrums but I could have thrown everything out of my pram and some. The list of things to do swirling in the wind, just gets longer every day with none seemingly being ticked off.


The kitchen WILL be here.

The lawn started to fill up with vans as I got dressed and with just an extra layer of slap to fill in the cracks and dark circles under my eyes I thought I could fool anyone I was sane. Not so, although complemented on my sophisticated style in the playground by another mum, it was pointed out to me that it was ruined by a pink lipstick mark on my trench coat collar. Really? Approaching my son to say goodbye I noticed he still had his PJ top on underneath his school fleece and I spat out an earwig found in my morning coffee.


Our makeshift kitchen in the lounge

Working from home can be a blessing in the family/home juggling game, but unless I get more work, it’s back to the classroom and teaching for me, something I’ve spent the last few years trying to avoid and goodness knows how I’ll juggle then. Still, whirlwinds come and go, my feet were bought back to earth when my son announced his goldfish wasn’t well because he was swimming on his side. A rescue plan was put in place and apart from mouth to mouth, everything possible was done to try and save it. Unfortunately, despite all our efforts, Steve ended up lifeless at the bottom of the tank. Luckily, his companion doesn’t seem to miss him, although in a whirlwind who can tell?

Teresa x

Kitchen 3

Look how it turned out in the end.

LOVE, SUZI x – letters from a long haul stewardess. My latest book is now available from Amazon as a paperback or ebook

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