It’s now less than 24 hours to go. I am being industrious, keeping busy, busy, busy. The house is in uproar.
Cutlery trays are cleaned and repacked, the cutlery lying within is gleaming with polish, glinting even in the grey drizzle of the day. The shoe store is cleaned out – the 12 pairs of Roscoe’s various sports and school shoes (he has grown one and a half sizes this summer..ouch!) are ready to accompany the two black bin bags of his now too small clothes. Craig’s clothes are tidily arranged into colour, shape and form, ready for him to muck up the new order within 48 hours. Soft linen drawers stuffed full of napkins and table cloths are sorted and rearranged, towels lie askew in the bathroom floor waiting to be folded and reorganised in the empty cupboards.
Grocery shopping has been done, menus planned for the week. Shoes have been re-heeled, dry cleaning dropped off. Roscoe is now with a friend, the constant requirement for him to pack and re-pack is not bothering him. He is full of excitement that fresh from the fun he had with his buddy Ned in Ibiza,
a rapid turnaround to visit Cupar, Fife, so to be with his Aunties, he is now having fun with James, another wee mate from school. He is worrying about South Africa and the mosquitoes, sharks and potentially scary locals who have little to lose in their daily chore of survival. I am worrying about South Africa for different reasons but I don’t tell him this, only mentioning that his Dad and I wonder if we should wait until it’s warm again. Truth is, this is all on hold. We have not organised Rand, accommodation, car hire, internal flights, packing. I have not looked out our travel insurance, avoiding any jinx of fortunes. We have booked no more, done nothing else. Not until we know tomorrow’s news.
These past three weeks have been tricky. There have been moments of blissful forgetfulness in the joy of digging toes into warm sand as the sea pulls me forward, of talking future plans with Julia,
of sharing sunsets and gin, of yelling at the moon
and doing yoga while watching Es Vedra.
There has been curiousity particularly in the tour of St Leonard’s in St Andrews by the delightful outgoing Head of History. This curiousity is heightened when we stand in the (haunted) bed chamber of 
Mary Queen of Scots as the dog lies whimpering at our feet. As the new Head of History, Auntie Jan’s classroom comes with its own balcony and turret and is complete with spectacular views over the sands of St Andrews. I imagine Roscoe learning there, history wound in history as the chalk marks and scratches on the turret walls attest. 
It’s not the place for a child of faint heart but a warrior child will progress beyond the stone grey walls and into the world to make their mark. It’s a place of boy-men and female heroines. A place which has all the potential to shape my child into the man he will become. A place over 450 miles away…
Friday, I’m picked up by some lovely girlfriends and driven to a local spa where we spend the day sorting out the world and its woes, gossiping, having treatments and then hanging out at the bar. I wasn’t thinking about tomorrow, much, and only when asked. I don’t ponder, its okay to make some remark or comment which allows the conversation to move onto more jocund topics.
Saturday arrives and with no child and no football pitch requiring a consenting adult to stand on the sidelines, biting tongue and shivering in the wind, we can make our plans unfettered. We have a true middle-aged moment and decide to have a National Trust day out at Kingston Lacy. We forget about tomorrow as we stroll around the house, gazing at the vast collection of sculpture, fine art, architecture and paintings on display. I stand transfixed at the most 
exquisite Rubens of Marchesa Maria Serra Pallavincino. I can almost touch the silk of her dress brought to life by the skill of his brush. So much to see and hear, so much to take in and understand, by the time we reached the Egyptian room I am done in and need the respite of the garden 
to allow my mind to slowly absorb the visual feast of art.
The Bankes family, who previously owned Kingston Lacey, originated from Corfe Castle further into Dorset, so we head down and I play memory games of happier BG times as we used to be sent here to learn about the rocks and geology of the Jurassic coast. Replete with fabulous seafood we gaze at the blush pink of the sun as it set over the castle ruins. 
On Sunday we reunite with the boy and to celebrate drive from Southampton to Portsmouth to have lunch by the water and watch the boats. But all this driving allows the mind to roam free and the stress bubbles underneath, catching us all by surprise as we yell about where to park. We are thinking about tomorrow while trying to stay in the day.
Now it’s today. And tomorrow is tomorrow. The big day. The day of answers to questions. When uncertainty is removed and replaced by who knows what. I wonder if I will long for the ignorance of this moment or will I sigh relief.
In the meantime I have a towel cupboard to sort, an outfit to plan and a gin to drink!
I can see the shore but have no clue how to get there and even if I do will a ‘Skorrie’ come to peck me to pieces, or a large boot squash me into a blubbery wet mess? Is it safer in the wild sea than on the sea shore? I just need to wait and see where the elements decide to take me.
I talk to Mr Moon and Es Vedra in the wee small hours of the morning. Connecting to their power, channelling strength and resolve.
What’s been done cannot be undone – much as though we may wish it to be so. All of the reports and media articles of people saying I didn’t realise what it would mean, do not change the outcome. Change is upon us. Our choice is, now what do we do to make this work?
I have never claimed to understand this. I have been irritated beyond belief that this is how he is built.
I went back into work this week. Scheduled to meet a Shell senior executive, first, I found myself standing shoulder to shoulder with all my other colleagues in our canteen turned conference room, listening to the news that the decision has been made to close down our HQ campus and move all activity to London by the end of 2016. And that the voluntary redundancy process starts in May with the compulsory process to follow thereafter. None of this comes as a surprise to any of us in the room. Like other companies, operating in low dollar priced oil, Shell need to trim their costs. In addition, they also have the additional pressure of recouping some of the £45bn they have spent acquiring BG Group. And more broadly, the energy industry is undergoing another seismic shift, an urgent need for a lower and more productive cost base and more innovative thinking to secure cleaner and more easily replicable energy sources for all. Our Townhall meeting explained context and rationale, the leaders were open, engaged and responsive. The respect and care they demonstrated goes a long way to softening such difficult news. I feel proud to have belonged, to still belong. And my loyalty is shifting, away from the old and embracing the new.
Sometimes loyalty is not earned – “My parents always voted this way”. “My friends always go to this venue”. “We always go to the supermarket closest to home” etc. These are cases where loyalty is the default position, leading to complacency and sometimes malpractice.
Demonstrated by the extent that leaders will blindly and categorically refute wrong doing within their command structure and will actively seek to apportion blame elsewhere. A situation where right and wrong and the personal values which bind the 23 pages of
I don’t believe that all of these police officers blindly follow their leaders when untrue stories are being concocted and shared. I don’t believe that they all lack integrity and commitment. So what happens to force their silence, to bind them to their senior officers? How do you break the ingrained systemic behaviour and belief that if “I look out for you, you will look out for me”, no matter what it takes and the consequences it brings?
I’m playing one of my sing-a-long playlists, everything from Joni Mitchell, Nick Drake, Gram Parsons, Emmylou Harris, Carly Simon, James, Taylor, Fleetwood Mac through to John Legend, Bruno Mars, Phil Phillips, Coldplay and even Johnny Cash singing the Old Rugged Cross – my Nana used to sing this as a soloist in church and I still remember sitting in a hard wooden pew listening to her voice soar while silently
as the pubs had closed, we would stand importantly at the front of the pulpit
and trill 
And without the ability to hold the notes, my ability to let go in the music is diminishing. It’s fine being the funny guy – Craig and Roscoe roll around laughing as I try to get the tune out- but inside it hurts.
Founded in 1974 as a response to violent conflict in Irish society, Glencree was where all of the political parties from Ireland, North and South, and the main parties from Britain, participated in inclusive and multilateral dialogue workshops to bring about the Irish peace process. This learning and talking, which took patience, time and perseverance, was then built on and shared with the likes of Archbishop Desmond Tutu and the South African peace and reconciliation team, survivors of Rwandan genocide and many others from all over the world who are involved in, or victims of, acts of religiously motivated or political violence.
We would wrap ourselves in the knitted patchwork blankets, created by survivors of these many atrocities and share our stories, tell our tales, practice our learning and be reminded of our amazing lives and opportunities. And the love, fear, memories and hope bound into every stitch, enveloping me in every moment, turned out to be more powerful and transformative than any facilitation certificate. Although I did receive the certificate too!!
not at all like the chaotically colourful, soft, patchwork yarns of Glencree! Wrapped inside, I look like a larvae who has enjoyed his fill of plant life. My half head protruding from its layers, I lie quietly trying to empty my mind and not fall asleep.
The research being conducted into the potential damage to the brain by holding a mobile phone near the head is a great cause of concern to the execs of the mobile phone companies. And, increasingly, Doctors like Dr Erica Mallery-Blythe are publishing their 
we are re-learning to connect without the constant glancing at phones, electronics and gadgets.
There is much to be said for the routine of habit.
I own my behaviour or as Roscoe often says “you only own your own self”.
The need, the habit of attaching self-worth to the work, has shifted.
Click 
Living in Africa, you breathe differently. Its a hunger for breath, a joyous grasp for every drop of air, it makes you feel so ALIVE! Every day, every night, every trip could be your last, particularly if outside of Kampala, driving in the dark, when locals believed that using headlights was burning fuel, so did without! 
Once, driving out of Kampala in the musky light of pre-dawn, on my way to a 6am flight out of Entebbe, I followed a large lorry and a couple of cars, over an unexpected hump in the road. I recoiled when I saw a man’s head roll into the side of the reservation. It was too dangerous for a single Muzungu woman to stop, so I had to carry on, badly shaken and with a heavier heart.
My dearest friend, Jill, sold her cottage in Wales and emigrated to a new life in Vancouver Island in her late 70’s. She is one of my role models. This is how I intend to be! Watch the best Exotic Marigold Hotel 1 and 2 movies and let me know if you’re interested in joining me…
So saying this, I know I need to consider growing older with an attitude of positivity, health and well-being. There is an interesting article in 
I’ve watched people letting go what they once belonged to and take new, tentative steps into the un-known.
Well, all the visualisation, tapping, swallowing tablets, drinking green juice and attempts to walk 10,000 steps a day, have not paid attention to my mind’s bidding. I have to let go of my desire to be better 
Yet these patterns are now being broken and in the letting go of the matriarch there is letting go of the family machinations.
Our energy, creativity, innovation and passion don’t exist in walls, places, stock prices, shareholder opinions or the BG employee brand, these attributes exist in us.
