Finding someone

Like a number of other bloggers I've been thinking allot about whether to keep this online journal going.

It becomes tricky when you truly begin to know your audience, readers become true friends, and you realise that anything you vent out into the ether can actually have consequences.

But in the meantime I'm still here.

At least once of you was curious as to one of the subjects I touched upon in my last post, and I did promise a follow-up.

I came out of a two-year relationship last winter. Love and great times were shared but sadly we decided to part. I couldn't have wished for a more amicable split, and I feel blessed that I've gained a true friend who'll remain just that in the future.

It took me an awfully long time to venture back into the dating game, but as spring slowly turned into an early summer the time felt right to dip a toe into the water.

Still being of limited confidence after all these years, I decided to play to my strengths and joined uniformdating.com. Put basically, it's a dating site for those in the uniformed services (Police, Ambulance/NHS, Fire, Army, RAF, Navy) to meet other uniformed services, or 'civvies', and vice-versa.

The Yorkshireman in me managed to find an online promotional code giving me a month's free membership (which was a bonus). Joining the site was simple enough, however setting up a profile and choosing a suitable photo must have taken half an ice age. See, those who know me will know that one trait I despise in people is arrogance. I'm generally uncomfortable to crow about my own achievements and merits, so just how was I going to sell myself to any potential date?

Hours of staring at a blank cursor flashing on the monitor finally paid off and I put myself out there. Time to sit back, wait, an to be honest not expecting much interest to come trickling back.

But, lo and behold, women started to view my profile. Success! I hear you cry. However, not strictly not the case. Did they not read that I wasn't looking for women over 40? I mean, no offence. I've dated women a few years older but I would most certainly draw the line at a decade now. A few polite excuses were in order. The other problem was that the more interesting women quite literally lived at the other end of the country. I've done the long distance (read transcontinental) thing before and it ain't easy at all.

About a week later however I was messaged by someone a mere 20 miles away. For the purposes of anonymity in this journal I will refer to her as she.

She was attractive, fun, intelligent and bubbly. Even more surprisingly she wanted to meet me. I checked a few times. Yep, she was talking me.

Crikey.

We arranged to meet at a local chain-pub for our first date. Suffice to say you can tell things are going well that you're so deep in conversation that three hours pass in the blink of an eye. Indeed she was attractive, fun, intelligent and bubbly in person.

Wow.

Mentally checked again, oh my god it was me she had wanted to meet.

Date two would have been a lot sooner had I not contracted a pleasant case of conjunctivitis and a particularly chesty cough (I blame a stop search of a suspicious male I did who didn't quite have the best bodily hygiene shall we say). However she demonstrated great patience in waiting for me to get well again.

We arranged to meet again.

The rest you can say is history.

Some two months later and things are going very well indeed. We spend as much time together as work allows. We share similar passions in life, yet she's opening my eyes to new things.

One night she told me she loved me. I was blindsided. I never expected to hear someone look into my eyes and say that ever again. I too have fallen in love with her.

Quite simply she has been the most wonderful surprise. Without sounding cliched I feel like the luckiest man in the world. I expected a long trail of unsuccessful dates. She certainly sounded like she had experienced just that. But to strike lucky first time? I mean, really, what are the chances?

I don't have many exes to speak of, but at least a couple of them remain good close friends.

As I said to one of them recently "Each love is unique."

Treasure each love, mourn it's loss, but dare surrender yourself to the promise of something new.

Hopefully I am proof positive that it is possible.

Go together like a horse and carriage

Had one of those sweet 'family' moments in the last-hour-or-so where my brother rang me to say he'd asked he girlfriend to marry him.

Awww, bless.

Granted many of us thought it inevitable - considering they're well rather matched and have been 'going steady' for some time now. Still... A surprise. And a wonderful one at that.

Which reminds me that I have a cousins' wedding to attend in August, and some of girlfriends' close friends are getting married in June/July if my memory serves me right.

So I better brush the dust off my suit and sling it in the direction of the dry cleaners. Note to self.

Some say I scrub up alright, but more often that not I'm the one sat at the back of these 'do's fiddling with my tie and looking awkward.

Which is why, god-forbid should any lass be insane enough to want to do the big-M with me, I'd much prefer to have a small intimate ceremony, rather than a big expensive one.

The story of my life - I'm uncomfortable being the centre of attention and having parties in my honour; I much prefer being a guest.

Farewell

What follows is an article from the Peterborough Evening Telegraph. I can't bring myself to write about the funeral at any great length.

I'm exhausted mentally.

These last ten days have really worn me down on all levels, and trying to get back into the swing of things at work have been hard. Following my usual rest-days and compassionate leave my mind seems to have been all over the place. Though I have had much support from friends and family, at the end of the day going home to any empty house can give you way too much time to think.

But I shall not dwell, rather continue to celebrate the life of a quite wonderful lass.

On a clear, bright and crisp winter day, looking around the interior of a church packed to the rafters for one woman, you truly realise how many lives one person can touch.

* * * * *

Sad farewell to Peterborough police officer

The funeral was held of [Stacey] of Yaxley, who died in a car accident on January 15.
She was a vivacious young woman who had longed to pull on a police uniform since the age of 10.

Last August, [Stacey's] childhood dream became a reality when she was accepted onto the tough training course.But the sheer pride of the Pc's family turned to utter despair when the blonde 20-year-old was killed in a tragic road accident.

The Yaxley woman was on her way home after completing her first night shift, when her car collided with another vehicle and veered down a grass verge on the A15, near Market Deeping, on January 15.

On an icy winter's morning, almost 400 mourners travelled to St Peter's Church in the village to pay their respects to fun-loving Stacey. As sunlight bathed the building and silence fell on the churchyard, a guard of honour made up of her distraught colleagues lined the funeral procession. Just the strains of the church organ and birdsong could be heard as the hearse, escorted by three marked police motorcyclists, arrived at the entrance.

At the request of Stacey's heartbroken family, everyone wore a hint of pink in a bid to celebrate the life of the "bright star" who lit up all whose lives she touched. As well as scarves, hats, boots and ties of that shade, all the police offices pinned a pink ribbon – the symbol of a breast cancer charity and the Pyke's chosen cause – to their lapels.

Stacey's white coffin, which was topped with flowers, her police hat and a ribbon, was followed by a second hearse filled with a spectacular sea of pink bouquets.

Her family, including dad David (45), mum Sue (42) and sister Stephanie (16), from Broadway, Yaxley, and her boyfriend, Tom Young (20), wiped away tears as they made the short journey to the service. Due to the volume of people filing into the church, many huddled outside on the gravel path to hear the moving and uplifting tributes to Stacey.

The Chief Constable's words reduced many of the mourners to tears.

He said: "She was energetic, lively and someone with real presence. She was bursting with enthusiasm and showed real courage. Sue and David, Stephanie and Tom, we share your sense of enormous loss. I have every reason to believe she would have excelled as she went on in the same way she started. We, as a society, take for granted the work of the emergency services, but I would like to pay tribute to Stacey's commitment, and it is clear that people are touched by her loss. She was a youngster, but was already making her mark."

He went on to praise her ambitious nature, adding, with a smile:

"She had a tremendous determination to single-handedly sort out all the problems."

When the Chief Constable spoke to a primary school friend of Stacey's, she told him how, as a wide-eyed 10-year-old, she had set her heart on becoming a police officer. He also recalled how the chatty youngster would stop and talk to the public on her beat, reassuring them with her friendly patter.

He said: "Stacey loved people and loved being a police officer. To all of us, Stacey was and always will be, a very bright star."

Stacey's dad David remembered how the day when Stacey rushed to tell him she had got the letter to say she had been accepted into the police force was one of his proudest moments.

Stephanie Pyke's heart-wrenching poem, which she had written herself, drew sobs as she struggled to convey just how much she would miss her big sister.

Recalling how Stacey would dress her up for the school disco and help with her make-up, she said:

"You weren't just my big sister, but my best friend. With you, I shared my troubles, secrets and wildest dreams. I have so many memories, I could go on all day, but I will treasure them in my heart. You were so beautiful with blonde hair and blue eyes, but to me you were my big geeky sister."

At the end of the tribute, applause echoed around the church and quickly spread outside. A new trophy for promising police recruits is to be dedicated in Stacey's memory.

Investigations into her death are still ongoing.

Lost In America

Flicking through old newspapers to put in the recycling bin, I stopped in my tracks and read this article in full.

Nice day for a white wedding...

Departed here just gone 06:00 Saturday allowing me to get a good jump on the southbound traffic and allowed me to rather pleasantly discover a fabulously funky new radio show (because, why else would I be awake at stupid-o'clock on a Saturday morning?).

Whilst driving down the M5 past Bristol, hours later, I get a call from my friend Becky (yes, Bluetooth headset = legal, thankyouverymuch). Anyway, so it turns out she's on the same route but only about 15 miles behind. So, after having slowed to 50mph for a while (anyone who knows my driving will know what an excruciatingly painful experience that was for me), she catches up and we were able drive in convoy the rest of the way. Whilst I arrived in good spirits, she most certainly did not. As soon has her partner was out of earshot she muttered something about "being divorced in a year at this rate" (he was being quite the grumpy bugger), and we continue to have this conversation as we cross the car park to the site of our mutual friends' wedding...

The Wedding itself? Well, a fabulous, if rather expensive venue. Rumours abound of the jaw-dropping price the whole wedding shebang was costing (over 20k!!) - staggering seeing that they're both in in-between jobs and are living with her parents. A little birdie (mate of mine - the best man) even mentioned they'd taken out two loans to finance it all. One memorable day versus years of financial strain ahead?!

But she always did want the fairy tale wedding. And fabulous they did look too; they deserve it, bless 'em. Wonderful people, both mad as Badgers, and that's why they make such a good couple.

Great thing about a civil ceremony as well? They cut the crap. Less readings, no hymns, no dodgy singing. Just wham-bam-thank-you-bride, and hey presto y'married!


Nice reception afterwards; lovely food, good conversation and cute East European waitresses.

The evening 'do'? A 50's jazz band got things going, which was all well, classy and good. However the set went on for almost three hours with very little up tempo stuff. Shame really. So, Strictly Come Dancing on Valium it was then.

So the DJ sets up next, one would have thought to get the party started in a Pink sense. Ah, no. She proceeds to spin records one after the other which surely must have been picked from some Channel 4 'worst records of all time' list. Most of us sat staring into our drinks, aghast, and even the bride & groom looked a little embarrassed when the second Black Lace tune of the night was played. Cheesy? Well of course it's meant to be, it's a wedding for crying out loud. But no need to tip the scale into vintage Camembert...

A minor shame to end such a wonderful day in a bad Peter Kay sketch sort of way. However, this did allow plenty of time to chat (or at least try to chat with my still-hoarse voice), to friends old & new. Apparently many tip me the next in the circle of friends to get married, out of the three remaining bachelor candidates. I can't say I'd put a bet on myself though. I known Albatrosses with busier love-lives, I'm embarking on a career with incredibly unsociable hours and my all-round self-confidence plums new depths. So no, I don't see it myself.

Went to bed in the early hours as the storm front was hitting, the evidence of which was all around on the drive up. Gorgeous cooked breakfast this morning though in the plush surroundings before pointing the car north(ish) for the drive home. Uneventful, if a little slower journey home thanks to the usual god-awful merging etiquette on Britain's motorways. However this did allow for a longer more varied mix of CD's played in the car on the way home; from Madonna's Immaculate Collection through early Coldplay via the latest Faithless.

Tiring? Yes. Expensive? Bloody. Worth it? Of course. As stated previously; they're great friends and I'd do anything, or go anywhere for them. Even Plymouth.

Next up, Christmas.

It's looming worrying close already don't you think?

Tears

The night before the burial of her husband's body, Katherine Cathey refused to leave the casket, asking to sleep next to his body for the last time.

The Marines made a bed for her, tucking in the sheets below the flag. Before she fell asleep, she opened her laptop computer and played songs that reminded her of "Cat," and one of the Marines asked if she wanted them to continue standing watch as she slept.

"I think it would be kind of nice if you kept doing it," she said. "I think that's what he would have wanted."

* * * * *

Sat down in front of the news this evening, probably more unsettled than usual.

Crap day at work, see.

But then...

I began to cry.

(I don't care what image that potrays of a 29-year-old trainee Police Officer, I have a right to be human too)

On the news they showed a deperately sad interview with American war widow Katherine Cathey; she was the subject of a Pulitzer-Prize winning portfolio of photographs earlier this year. It had to be one of the most moving interviews, and some of the most impactful images I've ever seen.

Take a moment out from whatever you are doing and follow this link.

Flux

Briefly.

Things are picking up speed, the pieces are falling into place... Choose a metaphor.

But I got me a new place today.

I move August 1st, or thereabouts.

I start training August 7th.

From thereon in it's a blank slate.

Who knows where this is going? Finally I have the career that's eluded me, the income, the stability. I now have the chance to start afresh once more, in a new place, a new situation. As things evolve, as I evolve subtly in nature, I hope to retain the marginally endearing personality and humour many credit me for, for one.

I ponder if any of this will ever attract another into my orbit, but debating past form - this team is fucking hopeless.

I guess I never did play to win, maybe it was just the taking part after all.

But anyway. Shaking up the kaleidoscope is a good thing.

Back once again

Strange how I can write for pages in my travel journal, but when faced with a computer screen and a flashing cursor my mind goes blank. Perhaps it’s the lack of stimulation, that is to say back home in the mundane, far removed from the exotic.

Vienna, the city, was excellent. A sort-of refined older sister to the moody bohemian Czech capital up the road. The weather couldn’t have been better - four days straight of clear blue skies and warm winds, all the more enjoyable to walk the streets and alleyways soaking up the relaxed vibe, surrounded by astonishing architectural wealth.

Vienna, the experience, was never going to be straightforward. When you share it with a trans-global friend/ex-girlfriend there’s always going to be highs and lows; moments of passion tempered with moments of fracture.

However it’s always more reassuring to contemplate the circling of the flame along with a kindred spirit who’s instinctively drawn to do the same.

We certainly had fun once again.