As Good as New

Today

The truth is, I feel really worn out. Over the past 30 months I have experienced turmoil as never before. The events of that time (some of which, although a matter of public record, are still painful to dwell on) created a number of cracks in my perception of myself, in how others perceive me and in how best to be supported and offer support to others. And I had no idea just how emotional turmoil wipes you out.

I have had to retrieve memories that I had sworn would remain buried until the death of those involved. Not only that, I've had to do it fairly publicly. I've given as much support to the family as I can - but I probably can't heal the fracture. I've had to forgive myself my many failings and learn to allow myself to lean on others. And I've learnt that I don't have sole responsibility and how to let go

After many weeks in which bizarre and horrible dreams and nightmares have haunted my sleep I am finally beginning to feel as though I can rebuild myself.

"I'm a bit like the Brighton Pavilion" I said to Paul today

In My Day

When we used to go to Brighton when I was a child I just loved the Pavilion. I loved the weird onion domes and the fancy chandeliers and wallpaper. My father used to make me laugh by telling me that, despite appearances, there's not a stick of real bamboo in the place.

When Paul and I lived in Brighton in the early '70s, my love affair didn't end. An added spice was given with Paul's' tales as a chauffeur to corporate events in the great ballroom with its lotus blossom chandeliers. His tales of the secret consumption of the Mayor's brandy below stairs, made my hair curl.

How sad we were to hear, back in 1973, of a fire that destroyed much of the beautiful ballroom. Work started immediately to restore the building. After some years the complete work was about to be revealed when some maddened art student got into the place and smashed chandeliers and scrawled graffiti.

Without fuss, the restoration started again. Good progress was made, but these things take time.

In the Autumn of 1987, gales swept across the south of England (Mr Michael Fish's finest hour, some would say) and the windows to the great ballroom were smashed.

Up went the scaffolding again and once more the restorers got on with the job.

We took my Canadian great niece to see the Pavilion last year and it looked as good as new.

I have great hopes that soon I too, despite not having a stick of real bamboo about me, will be as good as new.