Billy

Its been a while since I last wrote. I suppose a lot of it is because I’ve been having some down time to heal from the miscarriage alongside dealing with ANOTHER lockdown with my daughter at home as somebody in her year at school caught Covid.

But this post is in full devotion to a special boy in my life who I met in 2008.

At the time, had been having a bit of a tough part in my life with my moods out of control whilst living at my mums and the newest solution for me to “get over it” was to move to a whole new location to try a new start. As my dad had moved to Scarborough quite some time earlier, he had kindly offered to take me in. I was really grateful however I barely had any kind of a relationship with my dad only seeing him on the odd weekend since being a child. I remember it was quite an awkward time for a while, we awkwardly shuffled around each other not really knowing much about each others routine around the house. I think we both subconsciously were praying for a bit of a distraction.. que Billy.

I remember the first time I ever set eyes on Billy. My dad and I had visited a rescue home out in the sticks near to Whitby, I can never remember the name of the place I just remember it was somewhere near to where the ITV drama “Heartbeat” was once filmed! The noise in the kennels was deafening but one bark sounded more desperate than the others, more scared and I was drawn into it. There he was, a little shadow in the corner barking his head of, he had the head of an German Shepherd and body of a corgi! But even though he wasn’t the most attractive dog in there that day I instantly felt a bond and we took him home as the best distraction tool ever known.

To cut a long story short, alot of stuff happened in between then and now with billy being with me through thick and thin, various house moves and alot of emotional trauma but also some great times too. After a few years, I had to move into a one bed flat meaning Billy couldnt come so he ended up getting adopted by my mum! He lived with my mum up until yesterday when his old age finally got the better of him.

Its strange as Billy was around for such a long time that I almost put him to the back of my mind. He was like a part of the furniture at my mums. But he always came up with his wagging tail to greet you no matter how stiff his joints were or if he could even see you through his cataracts. Towards the end, I think we all were expecting Billy to go but he outlived everyone’s expectations to a grand old age of almost 20! but for some reason it still seems to be hitting me harder than I expected. I think it got me thinking of all those years ago when we rescued him and it actually made me think that at the time, he rescued me.

Dogs are emotional creatures and I think the bond you create with them can be unbreakable. I get really annoyed when people use the phrase “Its just a pet” because they aren’t just a pet. They are possibly the most loving part of our family.

Rest in Peace my Billy boy.

Adopted April 2008- Died November 2020 xx

One lump or two?

If you’d have asked me six months ago whether I would ever consider another child, the horrified look on my face wouldn’t even need me to give a verbal answer. Me? with two children when I can barely manage one?!

No way.

Fast forward a few months and I found myself answering slightly differently than the answer I gave to the last person who asked. Whether the main change has been just simply having more time on my hands to ponder or its whether I’m watching all my friends who have two, three and even four kids just absolutely boss it.


This would be a good time to talk about one of my dearest friends who I completely admire and wish I was more like. Having her most recent little cherub at the end of last year she now has three children 5 and under! This girl can breastfeed, read a bedtime story, change a nappy whilst simultaneously putting a wash load in..all whilst baking a fricking cake! Serious mum goals there. Some people just have the knack, don’t they?


Then there’s me, who almost goes into cardiac arrest if my daughter gets more than one toy out at a time. I mean, I’m trying to get better but I have a major control issue in the house.
If the house is chaotic, so is my brain.


One of the main things my therapist and I worked on was to try and let go and relax. Apparently, it stems back to keeping my bedroom such a tip when I was growing up, almost mentally scarring me of all the bad times and struggles I had when I locked myself in there for days at a time! Sounds dramatic but makes sense as I can’t relax if there are things out everywhere and I lose my temper unnecessarily.

Mess triggers me. But weirdly only at home. In my own little bubble.


So anyway, the thought of another, although still slightly scary, is enticing me more and more. Sometimes I watch my daughter talking to rocks in the garden and it breaks my heart. She asks all the time for a little brother or sister as all her friends have them and it stumps me… I’m full of um’s and er’s as I have no real excuse other than reminding her she would have to share everything and sometimes mummy wouldn’t be able to give her ALL the attention. She usually pipes down a little bit then. But still. I am wondering.

But my questions are –

Am I mentally strong enough to do this all again when I struggled so much first time around?

Am I letting childhood memories of having an extra three step-siblings pretty much torpedoed into myself and my brothers little broken home overnight affect my judgement?

Am I letting the collective family opinion of ” I think ones enough for you Jaz” shape me more than it should?


Answers on a postcard boys and girls.

Rita wants a bong.

I’m trying to work out whether my newest obsession with wanting to become a cannabis smoking hippy is just a phase or the start of a mid-life crisis? Hear me out.

For the past year, whilst mostly being in a happy, stable place I have a little naughty voice in the back of my head who is bored out of her mind and getting little to no stimulation. We’ll call her Rita. Rita Rush.

Poor little Rita lives in my brain riding the wave of life quietly satisfied by my regular poor decision making and erratic or risky behaviour but I’ve really backhanded her down lately. Sensible money decisions, not wanting to run off from my whole family and start a new life with the random man that winked at me in his van and even refraining from putting my newest business idea of starting “SHAMPOODLES” mobile dog groomers, to one side.

I just feel like I want to get high. Not like smacked off my tits high or ruin my life high but high enough to relax and think a little bit more freely.
You know the kind of high I mean right?

Back in my teenage years I probably gave myself a bit of brain damage from the number of bongs I’d puffed away on at such a young age. It all started when one of my more rowdy school friends asked me for a sleepover at hers and of course, being the attention-seeking, rebellious kid that I was, I had my bag packed before she even finished the sentence. Anyway, the long story short is that i puffed away on a buddha shaped bong in the family living room with my friend, her mum and brother like it was as normal as passing a Toblerone around. That was the start for me at the tender age of 13.
I continued smoking weed until I was about 17 and haven’t touched anything since. I never did any other drugs other than the one time in a bar when I dropped an “E” but in hindsight, I’m voting it was an out of date smint as all it did was make me drool and fall over a lot.

I was around drugs a lot growing up but never tempted, which is quite a feat considering my personality traits. I can only imagine my self-control in this area was because I was mainly too pissed to feel any need to add on to it. But my teenage drinking is a whole other post.
So Rita’s getting a little agitated, she needs some adrenaline-fuelled action and I can tell I’ve been keeping it from her too long.

So my question is.

Do I let her have a mini victory by getting a little pot to quieten Rita down (totally illegal in the UK by the way. BOOO) or do I ignore her in the hope she doesn’t make me regret it?
This is possibly the longest space of time I’ve been without having some sort of dramatic meltdown crescendo after a slowly built-up shower of shit. The longest I’ve not had the suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe with my “escape clothes” in and also the longest I’ve not gambled for. Its almost as if Rita knows I’m doing well and she can’t handle it.

That Bitch.

Grandma’s House

Something is soothing about Grandma’s house, especially in these times of uncertainty; you can always rely on grandmas house to give you that loving comfort it always did. Everything sits in the same place; the spider plant, which will outlive us all, sat in the sunny spot of the hallway next to the wooden paneled staircase. The pencil pot and the miniature framed watercolor neatly placed alongside Nik naks that one day could just come in handy. If the smell of Grandma’s house could be bottled, I would certainly buy it. It is an indescribable scent perhaps of washed bedding and leather with a sprinkle of talc. A smell I know I will never smell anywhere else.

When I was young, I would pretend that the swirls in the patterned carpet were a racetrack and push my cars all over the house. The carpet that somehow managed to live in pristine condition for such a long time was never a mark? Never a tear? Even now, I can’t understand this witchcraft! We live in such a disposable way of life now. Everything in Grandma’s house had a function or a reason for being there aside, of course for the cabinet of trinkets. Some valuable, some more for sentimental value. I remember staring in awe at the collection of bird ornaments on display and wishing I could hold one. This, of course, never happened. The items in the beautiful mahogany cabinet were for viewing only. The most crucial area is, of course, the kitchen or “The Hub,” where warm cheese scones and lemon drizzle cake were prepared for our arrival. As soon as we put our bags down after receiving the friendliest, most comforting hug from grandma, we would be offered warm Ribena in posh glass mugs. my brother and I only drank warm Ribena at Grandmas; it didn’t quite taste the same at homeā€¦ Grandma taught me how to measure out ingredients and had so much patience watching me attempt to cut out scones from the dough. As the mother of a heavy-handed 4-year-old, I now cannot for the life of me understand how Grandma remained so calm and patient watching me butchering a Victoria sponge cake. But this was Grandma. Calm. Kind. Patient.

Grandmas like mine don’t seem to be around anymore, almost like a dying breed. She was from a different age. An age where the Housewives role was an important one. Nearly as important as the man of the house’s job to earn income. I used to talk to Grandma about modern life trials and tribulations, and I imagine in her mind she must have been thinking how trivial it all sounds. Nothing in comparison to the hardship of living through two world wars, but yet she still sat patiently, listening and advising.

Three years Grandma has been gone now. Her house and the warmth brought all now a faded memory, or a quick lookup on righmove.com, which I wish I never did as seeing it so bare and empty brought on a full-on meltdown, and I mean ugly tears. I never managed to grieve as the process was shielded. Protected by family members that thought that perhaps they were helping by not letting anybody go to the house for one last time when in truth. It’s all I wanted. One final touch of the velvet cushions neatly placed on the comfy sofa, one last sit on the fold-up bed I used to sleep on the night before Christmas as a child, the bedding still the same and still as neat as a pin. I think I wrote this post to help me grieve, in all honesty. Even now, I still can’t bare to talk about grandma for more than a few minutes. She was everything I aspire to be in my later years. She just made everything seem alright. And I know you can all relate to this somehow, big or small. We all have that one person that gives us this comfort. Whether it be an aunt, a grandparent, or even a friend. Maybe one day I will be this person for somebody. I sure hope so.