Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


Back home. Rebubbling

Sorry guys, bit quiet here. A lot going on.

Will post when I get a minute, but my daughter is back, my little dog is back, I have so much work on, and a lot of familial crap going on. Thankful for my little snuggler, on my damn pillow last night, lol.

The damage done by Roger’s cheating and abandonment of me and to a certain extent, the kids, keeps reverberating. My youngest mentioned he has his real kids now to buy shit for to impress. Such a nice guy, right, obviously talking to Trinket’s daughter about how wonderful he is, how they love him because he’s so good to their mother, has hurt her really deeply. Although she says she thinks he’s a POS, she obviously hurts that he prefers them. Can’t change what he’s done, can only be there for her, and support her.

I’ve been talking to my mate today, whose husband buggered off to Schmoopie a few days ago. She’s in that awful space, where finances are still joined (I had that for months and months) and she can see what he is spending on Charlotte the Harlot. That just about kills you.

Anyway, I’m up and at ’em. Firewood splitting has occurred, I have lots more to do, and I’m stacking now. Just off to feed my horse, and get my sheep in for the shearer.

I am in anxiety mode, but counting my blessings.

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Last sleep in

Our covid alert level slides down a notch, from level 4, to level 3 as of midnight tonight.

That means I can go home and rebubble. I will pack my bag, get the dog stuff in the car today, and leave here at 6am to get to work by 8.30am tomorrow morning.

Then home afterwards. Our new bubble will be my younger daughter, my flatmate, me. Possibly my daughter’s friend and her Mum.

Then it will be another fortnight, at least, before we can move about a little more freely if it slides down to level 2. No one should come or go during that period either. So, time for the barman to work some stuff out a bit, and me to decide if he’s really worth it. He woke this morning after a big night of sleep talking and sleep apnoea – and me being up between 2am and 4.30am, which isn’t unusual for me post Leanne – he cuddled into me and moaned, “oh shit, I’m gonna miss you so much. How will I sleep without you in my bed? It’s coming right, I can feel it.” Referring of course to the mental thing he’s dealing with about relationships, sex, apparently-not-me 🤣

I will still be mostly working from home.

And I’m ready to get home now. I have so much to do. And I miss my daughter, who is sick and has really struggled, especially once level 4 was extended a few more days. I have a big renovation to plan and get done before winter hits. I have firewood to split and stack. I have sheep to shear and bolus and cattle to bolus and drench. I have to find a farrier who will be able to fit my horse in after lockdown! They haven’t been allowed to work for five weeks, so will be playing catch up, as they are overbooked at the best of times!

And it makes me realise – which I have known all along – that whilst I am very, very fond of the lovely barman – even feel some level of love for him – the level of passion is quite some notches down from what Rog and I had. I HATED to be away from him for even one night.

Even after thirty years.

Even after he had a year and a half long affair in our homes, with our ‘friend.’

I can’t wait to get home.

BG wants us to move in together. That isn’t on my agenda at present. There are some things that need to be worked through, and I have a plan for me that is a medium term one. To secure my financial future.

I mean, I know I miss BG when we are apart. He’s a lovely, loving, sweet, fun man. But, it’s not the deep yearning I felt when Rog and I slept apart. Unpopular as it is to say after being discarded and replaced by a “better” model, Roger is the love of my life.

And he changed that only insofar as we cannot be together, because he chose that for us, I had no say in the matter. Hasn’t stopped me loving him, the him he used to be. But I have enough self esteem and preservation to know that he is a selfish coward, who did whatever the fuck felt good. And fuck me. My use to him was gone.

The man he is now is not my Norm. My Snooks. My bear. My Hunk Lummox. My love monkey. Etc.

I used to think that this article applied, in our case. That one day, Rog would regret what he did to me. To us.

After all, he told me (bullshit) that the times he planned on leaving me for Leanne, he knew I would flourish, and he’d meet me one day, all glamorous, confident, glowing, and be pissed at himself for letting the best girl get away. For throwing her away.

The crap I bought! Jesus.

BG and I don’t really have stupid cutesy names for each other.

Or I don’t, for him. We have fallen into generic ‘babe, baby, sweets.’ I get the odd Josephine or Molly Whoppy.

He doesn’t know Roger’s various nicknames for our kids, our dogs.

For me. Those, and many others, were ours. Should have never been recycled to use for Trinket. I will never utter them to another man.

BG’s been so loving of Roger’s huntaway (working sheep dog) whom I ended up with, who has been our other bubble mate here. She goes to him for lovin’ always looking at me for permission. She’s very fiercely My Dog for sure. But he has taught her some new commands, and she follows them, looking at me every time she does. Very loyal.

We both miss my little dog, sequestered down the island at my elder daughter’s, to help keep my girls sane.

I don’t think you ever get another proper shot at The One.

That said, I’m not settling for “nice” and “companionable.” There is more to life than that. I would actually rather be alone than a convenience. Nice. Life is to be lived. Not settled for.

Without the passion, the deep connection, that wonderful, wonderful bond, you just have to find a different way forward, somehow. You do that being very gentle with your heart, very aware of your damage.

Time to go home.



This is a snapshot of the real me.

There is, of course, more to me, but this is the basic bones.

And I was squished with the pain of what my love chose for so long, I got lost.

I’m back. I have worked my arse off to be the girl I know I really am.

Having a tough time sorting some (mostly his) shit out, with the barman.

But, I haven’t lost me in the process.

I’m pretty fucking special. Pretty fucking awesome.

And I love. Hard.

But know where the stop the bus, I wanna get off button is.

And how to use it.

In the meantime, look at this very blurry picture of a John Dory, swimming on the shore, about 1.5m from me yesterday afternoon.

How cool is this???



I have struggled with love.

How the fuck do you still love someone who fucks you over, breaks you and leaves you suicidal, and honestly? Quite fucked up!

I love Roger.

Always have.

I have felt like a world class fucktard.

And today, I read this.

And for the first time, realised there are more fucktards than just me out there! Hurrah!

Jesus. I really thought I was some insane victim type.

I’m not. This happens to other people too. We just learn to value ourselves over the supposed love.

My bestie messaged me today. Her serial cheating husband announced today that he is leaving.


In full lockdown, which technically is not allowed.

To move in with his latest Schmoopie. Nearly 30 years together, over 25 married.

I’m so relieved. He’s been making her miserable for about 8 years.

And she – who has been so reluctant to make him leave – there was always some excuse – handled it like a BOSS!

He thought he could now come and go, to do projects on the house, hang with the young adult kids.

She told him no. You have to tell our (young adult) children. The truth and where you are going. He’s moving in with latest Schmoopie. Who is an employee. And apparently he will lose his senior management job if work finds out. It’s in his contract.

How could work not find out???

Anyway. I’m just so relieved for her. Her kids have been hinting that they know for ages. She’s ready. Told him he cannot come back. Unless to do home projects (is a renovation job) with appointment made, so they can be gone from the premises if he is there. Etc.

My brother who is divorcing, who attempted suicide, got very low today. He’s been amazing, but there’s been huge mindfuckery, and unfortunately, while with his kids, he found naked pictures and texts on the cloud, proving his STBX has been both fucking her female flatmate (which he’s realistic about) and also leaving the home bubble to fuck a guy. It did his zen in. I have just booked my Dad on the first flight we could get once level 4 lockdown ends on Tuesday, to go help him. He needs in person support as has kinda fucked up no contact, quite badly, and feeling bad about it. I had a great pep talk, letting him know that we all fuck up. To give himself a break.

My friend who is moving in, might not. She has a possible housesitting option. But called me today, and as an ex real estate agent, after visiting yesterday, said, “oh my God, Paula! Your place is AMAZING. I had no idea.”

My daughters have both had big mental health moments, and my youngest is dying to come stay with me. Tuesday. My sick girl can drive home.


I am worried.

I seem to have stacked up quite a few people with issues around me at present, lol.

The thing is, it happens. And I’m here. But holy moly! I am very cognizant of ensuring I am safe and okay.

There are big things going down here with the barman. We might not make it.

It’s complicated. He’s the sweetest guy. Totally lovely, kind, vulnerable. But he’s got some stuff he needs to sort out.

I’m okay.

And looking forward to home, and driving my Dad to the airport in our biggest city in a few days. The regional ones are all closed.


In all its forms.



My rapist now holds a position high up in an industry I am strongly connected to.

Tonight, on the national TV news, he was named as not wanting to make a comment or appear on camera when industry participants need an answer re: Covid-19 decimation of this industry.

Roger knew who he was. He would have held me, helping me with the shock of hearing his name. All that shared history. All the things he knows about me.

Of course, BG doesn’t, and never will. I haven’t shared that I was brutally raped as a 20 year old virgin, requiring internal and external stitching to repair my body. Every detail of what he did to me flashed through my mind in a still shot slideshow

Watching the item, my blood ran ice cold at the mention of his name. And I broke out in a cold sweat. I moved away from BG, busying myself.

That fucking raping coward. He hasn’t changed one bit.


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Heading into the weekend (what day is it anymore?) like

BG came to me tonight, after I’d cooked dinner – Fijian fish curry, yum!

(he made a beautiful dinner last night) and held me, stroking my face, asking me if I was okay.

We’d had hard, fast sex earlier, in his workplace on one of the pool tables.

A first for him.

And for me, of course 😄

I am.

Okay, that is.

I know what I am doing, what my boundaries and expectations are.

I let him know that I am okay, and kissed him, telling him I am.

He stared long and hard at me, and said, “where did you even come from? You are so understanding and patient, and I don’t deserve you. I don’t get it. Why me?

And what was Dog thinking walking away from you? You’re beautiful. And amazing. I’m so damn lucky!”

I just said that I am that person, and I love him, but because of the many, many chances I gave Dog, I won’t be that stupid again. If he wants to be with me, he will need to address things that come up, and cope with the hard talks. They’re not digs at him. I’m not talking because I love telling him my needs or boundaries, I hate it. But I know what they are, and what I want out of a relationship. I will give and give and give. But I need some back now.

He’s in bed, snoring loudly now. I’m on the couch with a massive headache.

And those words are swirling.”What was he thinking?”

I do know Dog ran. From what he did. And I also know that psychology research points to the fact that men who leave their long term partners and families for another woman, rarely reflect on this. They will never come and apologise, and many women – including myself, even knowing it is pointless to do so – long for that opportunity.

I know it will never happen. Men don’t tend to take the time to sit and reflect on their actions, and the consequences of them on other people, as much as women do.

Ha! I wonder why they find it so easy to cheat, right???

We are enculturated to “be nice” and look after others.

Waiting for regret and heartfelt, genuine apology, that is completely pointless.

They have new fabulousness, a new, fawning woman and her kids to impress with how kind, loving, fun – SPARKLY – they are.

From an article about men, cheating and regrets

How Long Before Men Regret Leaving?

From my own experience through talking with the women we help, it seems as if there is a lengthy “honeymoon” phase in the ex’s new life after he starts his affair or marries his new woman. He has done so much damage to himself, and to his first wife and family, that he usually tries extremely hard to make his new relationship work.

Men who break their promises and betray their families usually have no room or time to think about regret. Occasionally, they may have pangs of regret when milestones with the children are missed. Or when their family moves forward without them. But they seem to not allow themselves to go to that regret space very often. Instead, they blame us and our children for excluding them, and so regret doesn’t have a chance.

Men who leave relationships also don’t allow themselves to consider the fact that they may have made a mistake. Instead, they go full speed ahead to make everything in their new life seem perfect! Admitting that they may have made a mistake is very hard to do after the destruction and disappointment they have left in their wake everywhere.

For a man to regret leaving his wife and to admit that there is something to be sorry about, he would have to be vulnerable enough to be honest with himself and to have an active conscience. Most men are unlikely to share their regret with anyone. It would be too painful to admit.

And the women that choose to knowingly embark on affairs with partnered men, they can never admit that they did something unutterably devastating to a fellow mother, lover, sister. Their “happiness” is paramount, fuck that loyal, faithful bitch, what a (stupid) bitch she is, right?!”

I know it would ruin me to know I made someone else suffer such heartache, such agony. I guess there must be an incredible ability to compartmentalise.

In Trinket’s case, she would have compartmentalised her cheating husband’s….well, cheating…in order to function. So me and my children also get shoved in a box, never to open the lid, least she sees and smells the rot of the indescribable pain she contributed to.

My youngest has strep from her tonsillitis again. Because her surgery was cancelled due to Covid lockdown. It took her sister and myself two days to make her find a doctor (I assured her our practice – she shares mine, who helped deal with my cancer management and recovery – would do a video or phone consult.) She finally did and filled the prescription for antibiotics today. Phew!

She was also relieved to find out today that her surgery has been rescheduled for 12 May, as an urgent case, so is allowed straight out of lockdown.

Woohoo! I am so thrilled!

This poor kid has suffered so much these past two years.

And today, my son was very chatty. He’s moving flat again after lockdown lifts in about three weeks, and asked that he put my address on all official contact information – like for the share registry – as he does move about a bit.

It all got kicked off with a group discussion amongst the kids, that I am a part of, where my youngest pointed out that my (recovering alcoholic, still narcissistic) brother was publically bullying our youngest brother online.



I blocked middle brother years ago, and thankfully didn’t have to witness that shit show!

And my son, surprisingly, chimed in with this. I was silently watching this dialogue between them all, and my heart melted, because blocking my own brother tore me to shreds. I didn’t do it impulsively, or easily.

My pretty quiet son, said this to his sisters and me, explaining that he also was thankful he can’t see that crap online.

I had no idea. And am pretty touched he saw through his uncle’s crap, and had my back. Even nursing a giant hangover 🤣

So, here’s to the final four days of full on lockdown. We, as a nation, had only 3 new cases confirmed today. We are hopeful that some easing, and slow, sensible contactless contact (it’s a thing, okay?) means we can start over, reboot our economy, and I am hopeful we do this in a far kinder, more ecologically thoughtful way.

Kia kaha, my friends. Sending aroha from down here in Aotearoa.❤


My first baby

My first baby, was Roger’s nephew, N.

I was never particularly maternal. But I loved him and his little sister so, so much. I looked after them often, from birth.

He was a real character. Still is. Was his 32nd birthday yesterday, and I always check in with them.

He has never called me Aunty before. I was always Paula. I am also just Paula to my own nieces and nephew, too.

But I just loved this. Made my day.

BG and I visited him last August in Queensland. He was playing some pre-season polo after recovering from a smashed arm. First game back. Roger’s cousin and his wife (a couple I absolutely adore!) took us out to the polo. I hadn’t disclosed BG to anyone, and I was worried it might be a bit awkward.

BG took this pic of us…

It wasn’t weird. They were divine.

Love this ‘kid.’


Four weeks

Four weeks.

That is all.

It’s only been four weeks at the barman’s. In full lockdown. Nothing, except supermarkets, pharmacies, dairies (small food and supplies shops) and medical providers have been open this entire time.

I have learned at lot.

I know I like life a lot simpler than it used to be.

I know I eat and drink far too much when I am catering for other people. I have gained too much weight, even with extra running, morning online workouts and yoga, and long dog walks.

I know I am a very lucky person. And am hugely grateful for all my privileges.

And the barman shared something quite important, that affects us going forward.

I am insanely grateful and touched that he trusted me enough to tell me. He hasn’t trusted deeply, or often, in his past.

I have always said, there are reasons for him not being long term partnered.

Reasons, and that long term single man lifestyle has an effect.

He has also been in love, lied to, and had his heart broken. He’s genuinely the sweetest man.

For example, we watched 20/20 last night, about the American Jennair Gerardot murder-suicide case from 2018. The programme seemed quite geared towards sympathy for her ‘poor, grieving husband,’ who was having an affair with the much younger, Meredith Chapman, whom Jennair shot and killed, before turning the gun on herself, after a 24 year marriage.

BG just seethed throughout, almost yelling at the screen. “Why did she do it? You moron, because you broke her heart and mind fucked her, and she couldn’t fucking bear it.”

He gets how devastating infidelity is. How crazy it can make you. I love that about him. He looked at me, as they went over the parts about the married couple still living together having dinner together, etc, whilst Jennair knew about Meredith. Just as I did with Roger and Trinket. I haven’t talked about that time with him, other than to say it was the worst time of my life, I loved him so much, cooked, cleaned, made love with him, my darling of thirty years, my heart – and he kept going back to Trinket. He just shook his head and said, “sorry my baby. What a mindfuck. I’m so sorry….” That just melts me, that he has that level of empathy, without even knowing the half of it.

But, this thing that has reared up is a problem.

I haven’t shared much, as it is all very personal, and I’ve been ruminating, trying to make decisions, and communicate my position with him.

We have been seeing each other, in this iteration, at least, for 11 months now. It’s been so lovely. Quiet, fun weekends. Trips away – to Australia, to other cities and gorgeous coastal towns around NZ. We were scheduled to have a week in Queenstown and the lower South Island before Easter. Of course instead, we had a staycation here – while both still working! We had planned a month long holiday together to the US and Canada in May-June. Obviously not happening now. We have talked about taking leave later, after travel restrictions are lifted, to the top of the South Island. My dear friends down there want to rent a bach in Golden Bay and meet this man of mine, holidaying together, going fishing in G’s boat, doing the wine trails…

So, dating, seeing each other sporadically, it’s been so, so lovely. We made love every day we saw each other. But not really “real life” as such. I haven’t planned for more, because I need to capitalise on the property I bought, and make slow, steady future plans. I am trying to ensure I look after me properly.

BG has loved having me here. He’s a tidy, mostly thoughtful guy, but I have certainly done some laundry, dishwashing, and all the cooking, bar one night. I love to cook, but the supermarket has only been visited twice, and supplies are limited.

I did do a swish, romantic dinner, with dressing up and candles on Sunday. Old school. Beef Wellington, baked cheesecake, and feijoa, vodka and apple jellies.

I don’t have my fully equipped kitchen, so making do has been a fun challenge.

That was so much fun. He was really touched.

His ex, and good friend, Colleen, has been messaging me a lot lately. She’s locked down in her city alone, with her wee dog. I think she’s feeling a bit lonely and stir crazy. She’s all good value. An happy to chat with her to keep her spirits up.

So, the thing is. Deep breath.


We have had a pretty good sex life. There were lots of things to learn about each other. But mostly, I thought we were doing well. He was slightly vanilla. He likes a few more adventurous, fun things. But I put that vanilla-ness down to newness, trust building, his awareness that I find him quite large, worrying about hurting me, etc.

Staying here, he’s super affectionate, silly, happy, goofy, upbeat, appreciative.

But, the sex pretty much stopped. I have initiated most throughout the whole time we have been together. I have analysed that to death, of course. And think it is partly to do with fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of not having “regular supply.” Fear of looking like a sex pest. Fear of looking like he’s disrespectful to women (his Catholic boarding school education, his whole family are women, mother, two sisters, nieces, only one nephew…) He seems to be happy when I do, but I thought, hang on, it would be nice if he did a bit, right? Be nice to be pursued. (Sadly, I had a man who always wanted me, so am wary of that bullshit too!)

So, I stopped. And we went possibly nearly two weeks without! I was dying! And so, I finally talked PROPERLY with him about it. I mean, we’d talked. But it was very shallow.

We sat down, with a glass of wine, and I laid it on the table (pardon the pun!) We need to talk about sex. Expectations. Needs. Wants. I feel like you’re not sexually attracted to me. I know you like me, but I don’t feel wanted, and I am wanton. Like, you can’t get enough of me. I feel like that about you.

Is there anything I am doing, or am not doing that is a problem for you? Or is it just that there’s a lack of chemistry. You know, like, you like me, but don’t lust after me? That’s okay. You can’t help that if that’s the case.

He gets very sad when I talk about this. He apologised profusely, told me he wants to be with me, wants no one else, that I’m gorgeous, sexy, everything he wants, that he doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. I said you’re 54, on meds for hypertension, and you know we could both stand to be a bit fitter, be kind to yourself, I know the more pressure, the worse this can be. I just want to talk, not ignore things. Not make you feel small or not enough.

He’s mentioned before that this has happened in previous relationships. So blames himself. There’s no need for blame. But communication and trying to solve things together is key.

As we got further down the track during this awkward, but loving talk, he looked sadly at me, grabbed my hands and said, “there’s something else that’s been worrying me. That I need to tell you.” He took a huge breath. “I’ve been using porn. Not since you’ve been here though. I feel like shit. It’s not good, it doesn’t make me feel good. I’m fucking embarrassed, and it’s having a detrimental effect on me. I’m so sorry.”

I looked at him and said, “that’s okay. Totally understandable. You’re a man who’s been single a lot, you have to get your kicks somehow, if you weren’t getting it elsewhere. I can deal with porn, quite like some, sometimes, not a big thing for me that you watch. I am happy to join in sometimes if you want.” He replied, “no! I don’t want to use it, view it, view it with you, or alone. I feel disgusted.”

I asked, “is it kinda deviant porn? Something a bit out there?”

“Oh no! Pretty standard, mindless, bullshit fucking. Nothing weird or fucked up.”

He was super upset.

I gently asked if he has always been a consumer of said porn. He replied, “no. It’s only been about the last two years. And not any since you’ve been here.” So, even my non-maths brain could see that meant he was using porn to get off during the week, when I am not around. I have no problem with porn usage. I know some people become addicted and desensitised to real live women and their real, imperfect bodies. I know it’s an industry built on a bit of human misery, yes, some say they feel empowered, personal choice. But I am no prude about it. I like erotica, and occasionally porn is genuinely erotic if done well. I also know a lot is laughable. I said I have absolutely no problem if you feel porn gets you what you need, especially considering that I am not here usually. But I can see you feel it’s a problem, so I support you in whatever you need here.

So, emboldened, I finally broached a sexual need of mine. One that just hasn’t happened with him. And that seemed to go well, so I was quite pleased with myself.

Yay! Good, honest, open conversation.

Then nothing.

Since then, nothing. He hasn’t addressed any of it. And until yesterday morning, many, many days later, no sex, no approaches for sex…and then we had a wham, bam, thank you ma’am sesh. My stated need ignored completely.


I’m a pretty giving, caring person. I’ve given a huge amount sexually, too. I love everything about being naked with him. And I want to help. But, the reality is, I need to have a really good think about what I can deal with. I asked for something specific, for me (and I never bloody well do that!) And got ignored. Yes, it needs to be discussed further. Yes, I need to give it time, reiterate, restate my needs. His discussion about us moving in together, well, that won’t be happening. At least anytime soon.

We are in full lockdown until Tuesday. We are then down to Alert Level 3, which is basically same, except takeaway food options are going to be allowed to reopen, for at least another two weeks. We are not supposed to move.

However, I am going home. My youngest daughter needs to come home to me, she and her sister had a traumatic incident the other night, and she’s barely hanging in there. I need to go home, give myself time to think, to work out how to keep communicating with this man.

He is sad I’m going home. Sent me a message yesterday saying he’s so glad the lockdown was extended, as he needs time to wean himself off me being here.

I never had any problems communicating (from my side, at least) with my darling, before. I talked, we talked, it seemed so easy, so natural. Obviously, that was just me, as Rog never shared his secrets with me.

I had none.

Was a open book. When I had to start building a wall around me, I did such a damn good job, I’m finding it hard to break out of my fortress. And hey, I did. Poked my head above the parapet.

And was pretty much ignored. Go me. All my bravery there was SOOO worth it.

I’m a very supportive and understanding partner. I really am. But it’s not my job to fix a broken man. That said, it’s also not his job to be my everything. I know that. However, to be looked after when I ask for a tiny bit of help, would be an amazing goodwill gesture, huh?

So, there you go. All relationships require love, sacrifice, understanding. I’ve done that my whole life. But I am super aware that I don’t need another flatmate I don’t fuck. I want to be with this man. But I know I need more.

Trouble in paradise. Literally. I knew any problems would be exposed during lockdown. I’m a big girl. If this is not for me, I will walk away. But I need to ensure we both give this our best shot. He deserves someone like me, someone who is compatible with him, his friends, family, lifestyle. I think I can be that person. But I also deserve to feel desired, loved, ‘needed,’ – enough!

He’s asked me to come over to his office to work alongside him, and I just am processing a bit right now, so have stayed put for now.

Me. Who usually moves heaven and earth to be we with him (he’s pretty good at that too, coming over to my place midweek a few times, to surprise me.)

I’m not having another person let me feel like I’m not worthy. I don’t think it’s that. I think he’s dealing with a libido affected by age, overuse of artificial stimuli, and the sudden appearance of a woman with a high libido in his life after years of dampening down his own to survive. I get it, I had to do that when Roger left me to fuck his whore cunt.

I am happy to work with him, do more to help. Get professional help, if required. But ignoring my requests will not be tolerated for long.


Lockdown banter

I am not at home, as you regulars all know. Rather, I’m locked down nearly two hours away, at the barman’s house. He lives at a beautiful beach town. Oh, poor me, right?! 😜

I am working from home, and the freedom of being able to run my dog on the beach in the mornings, walk her any time of the day, is such a blessing.

I have land. A few acres with mature trees, animals, bees, gardens, etc. Here, it’s small, neat, contained.

I love both places.

I go over to my office once a week, as I work in the veterinary field, and we are permitted – like, literally, I have a permit – by our Ministry for Primary Industries, to travel to and from work. It always feels weird, commuting two hours across mostly quiet roads, to go to the office, which is locked down from any other staff. Yesterday, I did a ten hour stretch there, plus almost four hours’ worth of driving.

During the day, BG and I shared a bit of our usual banter. He has a fairly sharp haircut, that means he visits his barber every few weeks, and his fade and beard have got pretty shaggy.

I don’t mind shaggy.

Or neat. Both look good on him.

Anyway, he asked me if I would cut his hair.

I’ve cut hair before. I used to cut Roger’s – when he had some! Then I finally convinced him to go number 1 comb all over. I trimmed ear hair, eyebrows, etc.

So, BG only has narrow beard clippers. And I’m not sure what scissors! I used to have hairdressing ones, but not here. I thought, no prob, I can clipper over comb, and at least tidy up his fade.

So, I sent him some inspo pics yesterday…

He seems to have changed his mind.

Weird eh?

How tragic am I? This is how I flirt. I never really understood the art 😱🤪😳🤓

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Seeping sadness

Couple friends of ours have separated. Kenny and Sarah.

I feel utterly gutted.

The loveliest people. They’ve been through a bit. He has an inoperable brain tumour. Been living with it for a very long time. Otherwise very, very healthy and fit.

I recall going on a girls’ trip that included his gorgeous wife, Sarah. They had a place in the beach town I am currently locked down in. We stayed there.

This was long before I knew Rog was a cheater.

There was a conversation one night about cheating. Kind of in the context of one night stands versus hookers versus longer term affairs. Most of the women that night seemed to lean towards a ONS could possibly be forgivable, but I remember Sarah being absolutely vehement that no form of infidelity was ever in any way forgivable. You leave. It stuck in my mind so clearly. I realised I didn’t necessarily agree with either side of that argument. There were nuances.

When Roger’s affair with Leanne was being touted around town, on a pole, for all and sundry to poke and have an opinion about (generally, the opinion seemed to be he was such a nice guy, I must be an absolute bitch behind closed doors for that lovely Roger to cheat) for some reason, he confided in Kenny.

Now, to draw a picture. Small town, Kenny was a quietly spoken, good looking, intelligent sportsman.

Who had slept with Leanne back in the day, too. I mean, who hadn’t?

Kenny was pretty surprised, and disappointed in Rog. But he listened. Gave him the benefit of the doubt. He came to me and softly told me he thought we were a very special couple, and knowing what Roger did, that I was a very special woman, and he was so very lucky to still have me. I must be very much in love, to forgive him for his stupid choices. He told me if he ever did it again, not to hesitate to leave him. But he was sure he wouldn’t do it again.

Rog had told Kenny I was the love of his life, that he was gutted at what he had done, that I never deserved it.


Anyway, these people have been the kindest. I’m so sad they have separated. I haven’t really seen them much since our separation. I felt they were kinda Roger’s friends.

Apparently both are very, very sad. I have been invited by a friend for a nice dinner party with him when our lockdown lifts enough for small gatherings. I’d love to catch up with this gentle man.