James used to joke that I dressed our son like an extra from ‘O brother where art thou’ (one of our favourite films). He would call Flynn the fifth member of Mumford and Sons and ask whether I’d remembered to apply his Dapper Dan. I guess I knew what he meant as when it was world book day and I decided he’d go as Oliver Twist, I looked to his wardrobe for his costume and not the dressing-up box.
But really it was James who oversaw his musical influences. I worry that he’s already becoming more of a Major Lazer Lad than a Bastile boy. And that’s just music. I do so worry about how to inject a whole dollop of masculinity into his life. I’ve never been a girly girl but he is missing not just a Dad in his life but a man. He’s already asking me which football team is better Chelsea or Arsenal? All I know about Chelsea is that I used to live next to the pitch and they used to piss on our doorstep after a match. The fans that is not the players, but who knows. And that a Chelsea smile is not a good thing. So I say: Tottenham. But what if I’m wrong, it won’t be the first time, after all I used to want Bill Cosby as a dad. It’s a real worry.
For all my Soggy Bottom Boys who are trying to help me raise a boy and not a man of constant sorrow.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=meCZ5hWNRFU
A footnote entitled: Friends in High places.
Last night at about 9.30 came a knock on the door. I leapt to my feet like Mrs Lovett “Wait, a customer!” from Sweeney Todd. My friend Vicky arrived on my doorstep bearing these gifts. She had just read EAT SLEEP RAVE REPEAT, yesterday’s post.
me.after.you 
oh Swannie would be so pleased, he can educate Flynn all about Tottenham! xxx
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Testing Life
At half past seven on Sunday evening my wonderful younger daughter and her lovely boyfriend and I had a big hug at the front door and I waved them off with a smile I had been saving for them. I guess she’s about your age. She hadn’t left the house since the 4th of July when we came home from my husband’s experimental treatment in Germany for the last time. Except to see him in hospital for the week he was there, trying to buy more time. And then we brought him home and cared for him here, my two daughters and I, with the help of the wonderful nurses from Hospice At Home, until he died on the 29th of July.
And then I was alone for the first time in 47 years. My husband was an architect – I liked to tell people he had the only house on Grand Designs where nothing went wrong – and I’m a photographer, and we both worked from home. So with a few exceptions, we had truly spent the whole of the last 47 years together. A lot of our 47 years was wonderful; but ALL of it was worthwhile.
I trusted his balance and wisdom, and he trusted my instinct and intuition. We were like the two banks of a river: different and distinct one from the other. But the water of our life always flowed in the same direction.
We laughed and we cried together – like all couples.
We encouraged each other’s talents and tried to comfort each other in our failures, frustrations and disappointments.
We gave life to two wonderful and amazing young women who have sound and beautiful values.
We were close and supported each other, and we gave each other space to grow, which is the purpose of all living things.
He was so brave, and put up such a great and intelligent fight because he wasn’t ready to give up his life; but the cancer was simply un-stoppable.
My daughter’s best friend found your blog and hoped it might help me to unravel my feelings and to rebuild my life. I’ve never read a blog before, and it is helping – thank you . . . .
Ronnie
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Dear Ronnie. Your description of you and your husband’s relationship is utterly beautiful and heartbreaking. I’m so sorry that we have come into contact with each other through such dire means but I am also very pleased to see that the blog is doing what it is supposed to. Much love and courage to you. Orna x
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Dear Orna
Thank you for your kind and wonderfully generous reply.
Of course our whole lives have changed irrevocably forever: no birthday, anniversary, or Christmas celebration will ever be the same. I feel I am mourning not just for Tim, but for the loss of everything . . . .
It’s especially the little things that get me every time: like Proust’s Petites Madeleines, the emotional charge of the tiniest elements of my life can be overwhelming and ferocious . . . .
Tim’s presence is everywhere: in our girls, our home, my expectations and my creativity. We wrote on the cover of the photo we gave to all our family and friends who came to his service – Energy can neither be created nor destroyed: it transform from one form to another.
I have so much to be thankful for: I know somehow that will carry me through the pain.
Much love and courage to you, too.
XX Ronnie
Ronnie Bennett Publishing
ronnie@ronniebennett.com t. 01962 773140 f. 01962 773141 http://www.ronniebennett.com
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Dear Orna
Thank you for your kind and wonderfully generous reply.
Of course our whole lives have change irrevocably forever: no birthday, anniversary, or Christmas celebration will ever be the same. I feel I am mourning not just for Tim, but for the loss of everything . . . .
It’s especially the little things that get me every time: like Proust’s Petites Madeleines, the emotional charge of the tiniest elements of my life can be overwhelming and ferocious . . . .
Tim’s presence is everywhere: in our girls, our home, my expectations and my creativity. We wrote on the cover of the photo we gave to all our family and friends who came to his service – Energy can neither be created nor destroyed: it transform from one form to another.
I have so much to be thankful for: I know somehow that will carry me through the pain.
Much love and courage to you, too.
XX Ronnie
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I like Vicky’s gift: Tasty midnight snack? However, I don’t think Tottenham sounds like a good answer. Can’t you steer him towards darts or something. Love lx x
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Tottenham won’t piss on your doorstop. A sure winner every time.
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Oh I see – a team further away from your house. Not Sunderland… Maybe Real Madrid?
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Arsenal is the correct answer. Ask Colin.
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