Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum



21 years without my bubbly Mum.

I was so lucky to have her.

And to lose her in adulthood, we became friend-like. I saw her as a woman.

A sexual being.

A loving person.

A gorgeous soul.

A load of fun.

And never have to deal with the challenges of aging.

RBF forever. Baby bro, who lives with me now, and the matriarch who made us enjoy life 💕

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It’s unanimous

Being cheated on sucks.

It’s the worst.

We are not allowed to compare to losing someone when they die.

But, I hear it a lot within the betrayed community. Couldn’t agree more. Death is easier.

This, posted yesterday on a support board.

See, it’s not just me…I read because I relate, and feel that I’m not alone. This is as bad as I feel it. I’m not making things up. Etc.

“Yep… death of a loved one is so much less painful than this! At least when a loved one dies you know they loved you and want the best for you. This is INTENTIONAL pain betrayal abandonment and so much more on THEIR part! No one brings flowers cards or casseroles when we get shit on!”

I had a wonderful weekend, catching up with my former very best friend (who has never “got it”) and some of her seven siblings, 5 girls, 3 boys all together. A family I grew up with. Some of whom have experienced this, and do get it. So very lovely. I’m an honorary 6th daughter…

BG drove over to the beach house of the eldest’s, and I introduced him. He slotted right on in, and had links. This is a large, Irish Catholic family. BG went to our largest catholic boarding school with friends who are interwoven/shared. I love this. My life, interlocking with his.

I hadn’t seen the family for a long time. Thanks infidelity (I hid after Roger’s cheating was exposed, the shame was too much for me, so I retreated.) And Covid.

I wasn’t invited by my friend, but her little brother. It was a chili themed night. We made smoked chilis. Chutney. Masala paste. Sambal. Ate Mexican food with slow cooked meat.

And of course, chili margaritas!

Hence BG. He was my sober driver. Sweet man. He rescued me really! We were home, tucked up in bed by about 11pm. They kicked on until 4am! When we went back to collect my car the next day, the hangovers were immense!

Back at BG’s he was excited over something really stupid. I brought him some of my ham and barley soup. “Yum! I love pearl barley!” But cautiously asked, “no peas in here, right? Not pea and ham soup?”

“I’ll never trick you into eating peas, darling. Not even by hiding them in soup. I promise, lol.”


It’s soup. Not a Michelin starred dinner!

Last night, back after having a wine with his bestie and his wife, I heated soup for our dinner, adding fresh spinach, heating sourdough, making herby butter, we talked. Addressed my concern. He knew he’d messed up. And I felt awful. Not because I was wrong. But because I struggle with asking for what I need, and holding boundaries. I told him this. That I HATE asking for anything. And that forcing myself to do it, then that request not really being heard, well, that is devastating. I am really low maintenance, but damned if I will be used and abused because of that, again!

He held me, apologised. Said he didn’t realise he’d hurt me. But would do better. Agreed that we both had “stuff” clashing here. He’d been directed to do so much, did it, still got shat on. I’d made my needs small, asking for the bare basics is hard, we came at this with our baggage swinging!

Let’s see.

I’ve been promised better before…

It was a good talk though. I have been worried about his stress levels. And identified that I may have inadvertently added to them.

Without me, he was going through the motions. Decent job. Nice location. Close friends and family.

Now he wants to come and live with me, combine our lives. But he is scared. He needs a similar income. They aren’t always easy to find. I know he is worried. I have the economic power. What if we split up, and he’s moved his life, for nothing.

I get it. So, we talked. He eventually admitted he is struggling with change. He wants it, but is fearful that this dream might crumble, and he’ll have gone backwards. Backwards at a time in life where he needs to solidify and ensure he can live on what he has earned. There’s not a huge nest egg, for retirement. There’s some. But not really enough. He worries he’ll be a burden.

I just said it’s okay. I’m in no hurry. We can keep doing this for longer. The distance. The commute. As I have said before, there is some upside. Sure, you miss them. But that can be exciting. And I have my life. Not wrapped up in someone else.

I slept the best I have in a very long time last night. Curled up in his arms. He got up when I woke, at 5.30pm, for more cuddles, to help me pack my car. Held me tightly, smothering me in tiny kisses. “I miss you already. Don’t want to go back to bed without you.”

He’s not usually like this. I know he is letting some very carefully constructed and fortified walls down lately. Taking big risks with me.

I’m very flattered. And love him for trusting me enough to do so.



My day started early yesterday. My cricket mad son sent me a link about the sudden death of Australian cricket ‘legend,’ Shane Warne.

And yeah. I get it. He was an exceptional cricket player. A game changer.

But all day, all over social media, and mainstream media, we got what a legend, what a celebrated “larrikan,” he was.

I just felt sick.

Because my memories and impressions of Warnie are of his scandalous affairs, his party boy antics, and “romps,” with women. Especially those that ended his marriage to his childhood sweetheart, and mother of his three children. Imagine being a young mum, missing your husband, packing up the three kids to go to England for several months (sorting their schooling, what happens to the house and pets, etc) and arriving after a day long flight with tired kids, to headlines about his group sex exploits.

Legend alright.

Loads of articles. Loads of brushing it off as Warnie being a real character.

Bet his family, his humiliated ex-wife think he’s a legend alright.

Then, finally, an article exploring his dickness.


So, he was self described as “lonely” at 50.

Funny that.

Wonder how that could happen? Ugh



This says such a lot. I read it, my throat closed up, my chest tightened, and I fought tears.

Thirty and even forty year friendships, ones I felt very deeply about, were ended with Roger’s cheating on me.

And of course, him. And his family. My people. They were gone. And I loved them. It’s beyond heartbreak. It’s death.

He just cut me out, threw me away, and pasted a stranger into my place.

It will never not hurt. I will never understand it. How you can work, sacrifice everything you are for someone you love very deeply, and they throw you away, to put someone they’ve known three weeks into your spot.

Total mindfuck.



I watched a friend’s funeral service during the week. A very determined and bright 48 year old single mother.



A 19 year old daughter.

A grieving set of older siblings and their families, who quite recently also lost their mum. Following their dad, who died a few years ago. A close-knit family.

There were quite a few tears shed by me as I watched. So, so moving.

And just now, I watched a widower dealing with his loss. His kids had made a quilt out of their deceased mother’s clothing.

I lost it.


There is no way of describing this loss.

If my darling boy had died, I would be mourning the loss of my most beloved, most treasured person. The love of my life. And I would have thirty years of wonderful, uplifting memories. I absolutely adored him. He was my reason for being.

Instead, I struggle with where to put him. This man I loved so very, very deeply. So very, very faithfully. This man never really existed. He had OW several times over those three decades.

It still doesn’t make any sense.

I know that man, the one I loved so fiercely, never really existed. I made him up.

I don’t get to grieve legitimately.

I have to pretend I’m happy, healed, moved on.

Because that’s what you are supposed to do when someone cheats, and chooses other people.

When someone chooses another over you.



Just leaving this here.

Mavora Lakes. The southern lake

We’re campervanning around the south of the South Island. Catching up with friends who moved down here a few decades ago, and the Catlins, tomorrow. A cruise through beautiful Doubtful Sound on Saturday, and a trip to Stewart Island.

Can’t wait for Doubtful Sound, as I took a snap on a very old phone, years ago, from the top of Wilmot Pass (on our one and only long, adventurous family holiday, a couple of years post DDay#1) and always meant to come back.

With my bear.

Whose photo came up as I was scrolling, looking for that pic.


God, I loved that man. This one…

Thirty-one years ago. My love. We’d been loving and living together for over three years when this photo was taken. I thought he was so wonderful, just totally adored him.

Not the person he is today. That is a very different man.

So, instead, here I am. Making new memories with this entirely different, quite nice man I met. A couple of years after my love, Rog dumped me after thirty years of love, hard work, and total loyalty.

Let me tell you, sex in a campervan, with neighbours in close proximity (Andy and Ingrid are with us in another camper, for the first few days) is hilarious!

I feel happier and more relaxed than I have in ages.

But my body is stiff as a board. So much tension and stress to work through.

Think a few more of these experiences in the pics will help.

Infidelity. The gift that keeps on giving.


In the thick of it

Work has cranked up eleventy-thirteen notches. Breeding season is underway, and with the new tech added in, I’m a one armed paper hanger…

Too much to organise, let alone do my usual duties.

My blog gets a bit neglected at this time. I come home around 8pm, rush around sorting animals. Exercise is a distant memory. Ugh.

Add to this, my builders finally showed up.

And started ripping my house apart.

Now, slight panic that some of my plumbing fittings are still not here, and I haven’t finalised tiles…

This afternoon, I had this exchange with my favourite barman…

My eldest daughter says I have a hell of a memory for dates

…she doesn’t know it, but this is one of the PTSD effects. I have a catalogue of dates in my brain. Dday. Dates when dodgy things happened that didn’t add up. Days and nights Roger must have not been where he said he was, instead had his face buried between another woman’s legs…those were the marriage police years. Detective work. Piecing together the truth from the pile of lies.

So yeah. BG was grateful I remembered. His Mum (also a betrayed spouse, who never really recovered from his serial cheating asshole Dad leaving her at nearly 70 for his 30 year long AP) phoned him today. Me reminding him of his father’s birthday made her call make sense.

A whiskey on Dad. Literally

Cheating fathers are an awful legacy


My children’s.

My partner’s.

I’ll raise a drink to Fuck Them All.


Oh. FFS!



Such cretins.

So, I post some memories of my Mum online, twenty years today after she so suddenly died.

It was a really difficult day, three little toddlers and children, a couple of dozen cows calved, and Roger didn’t want me to go to the hospital when I got the call. She’d been medivaced off her island home, and he thought she’d be okay.

She wasn’t. In fact, I didn’t get to the hospital in time, she died about 30 minutes before I got to the HDU.

Anyway, my Dad, who was a gay serial cheater, posted underneath my photos, that he misses and loves her every day.

I mean, come on. He used her as his beard for at least a decade. When she left him after a year of shock and wreckonciliation after he was outed, her whole life changed. I went to uni, but my baby brother says she cried every day, for at least a year.

The man who sired me took off, for around ten years! Mum remarried some years later, and was really happy. Dad and her were not together for 17 years when she died!

And Dad sends me this shit.

Yeah, WTAF???

Today is not about him! Today!!! Come on you fuckwit.

I was PISSED!!!

I ignored. But you know what? Boundaries. You don’t get to dictate what I POST ABOUT my relationship with my mother, whose life you endangered by fucking men and then fucking her, in the mid 80s AIDS era!

Ian made my mother happy. They had love, fun and a great life together. Dad made her the most unhappy she ever was, so he doesn’t get to tell me I can’t post a gorgeous picture of her smiling radiantly, on her wedding day.

Thankfully, I have a couple of GREAT friends who called it like it is, and got me laughing at his dickness.

Basically, yeah sure, glad she was useful to you as your beard. Don’t worry that you totally effed her up for a long time. Using other people’s emotions to furnish your story.

And this, my friends, is why my father is not top of my list of cool people I love. 🤦‍♀️



It’s been twenty years since my Mum suddenly died, at just 55.

I have needed her so much since Roger turned out to be the serial cheater I so desperately guarded against. After witnessing Mum recover from my cheating father, who she also tried reconciliation with, but eventually kicked him out, I was careful not to be lied to. I vetted men carefully. I communicated clearly what my boundaries are.

She was strong. Positive. Fun. Kind. Loving. She didn’t let him ruin her.


Well, there goes that plan…


I’m on the immuno-compromised list, for an early Covid vaccine.

We have been very slow rolling this out in New Zealand.

I guess, with no community transmission for a very, very long time (NZ has basically been Covid-free, except for cases locked down in mandatory MIQ for two weeks on arrival into the country,) we are a long way down the list of the supply chain!

Then, there was a massive Ransomware hit on the local District Health Board (DHB) computer system a few weeks ago. This was chaotic, surgeries and clinics cancelled, no one knew what the hell was going on! I’m so glad I wasn’t in radiotherapy now, as that was also cancelled for a few weeks. So concerning.

I am now just over three years since completing my surgery and radiation treatment for cervical cancer. I am in remission, but not considered “safe” for another two years. My bloods do still tend to go up and down a bit more than is perfect, but I am generally in good health.

But it has meant that the roll out of the vaccination program in my region has been further delayed, ugh.

Anyway, I don’t mind that I am not yet vaccinated, I’d rather they got to the aged population faster! My Dad is 77, and not yet had his first jab, as not yet available to him. He had a rough year last year, with renal problems, and pneumonia, with four long hospital stays, culminating on the removal of a kidney, finally. He’s done really well since, bounced right back, he’s generally a fairly youthful, healthy and active 77 year old.

I had planned to fly to Brisbane, see my son for a few days, then up to my uncle and aunt near the Whitsundays, and up to Cairns, and out, for a week to ten days in August, before our breeding season got underway, and work got crazy again, but I have now been advised to just sit patiently. To not travel. Damn!

New Zealand and Australia opened a quarantine-free travel bubble recently, and it seemed an ideal plan. However, New South Wales has had an outbreak, and a traveller wandered around Wellington last weekend, before realising they were Covid positive. Welly has just gone into a Level 2 lockdown. This is Lockdown Lite, with restrictions and guidelines, but no stay in place mandate other than that you are not to leave the region during this perioid. Just for 72 hours, to see how much damage was done, and to try to contain any outbreak.

BG’s sister, the one I haven’t met in person, just group chats and Zoom calls, because she lives in Sydney, is due to fly in on the 8th. To surprise their mother for her 87th birthday, on the 12th. That is now looking sticky. There is a no quarantine-free travel status for people from NSW for at least 72 hours. They are having a pretty big flare up of the Delta strain over there. Bugger!

It’s kinda weird. His other sister rang me this morning, to firm up plans. It’s quite funny how this always falls to women! I have only been a part of this family for a short period, but she is already using me to prompt him – he hasn’t responded to her email (it is the club’s AGM tonight, and he’s frantic.) She was insisting I come, and stay with her and her partner, we have the large bedroom earmarked apparently, with middle sister relegated to the smaller room – if she can even come now – what a laugh! I was under the impression that they wanted sibling and Mum time, as there are some personal things to be discussed, about her care. Robyn laughed, and said, “bugger that, you’re part of the family!” Um, that is really nice, but it really isn’t my place to say anything, just support and back them up in the decisions they make together regarding my sweet, new mother-in-law’s wellbeing.

I sometimes look at my new life, and think, wow!

How did I get here?

Who are these really loving, funny people?

None of the conflict that was in the previous family I came to via a relationship. The two sisters made our life very difficult in the last eleven years Roger and I were together. It was honestly the saddest thing, losing those people. Those nieces and nephew. I was so heartbroken. I loved them, but had to be very loyal to Rog when there was a huge family conflict. It was horrific.

These three genuinely like each other, and will fight you if you hurt one or the other of them. It’s interesting that there is a nine year spread of ages, and they are still great mates. And are easily in agreement about their mother’s care. They bonded hard over the disgust in their father’s long, three decade long secret affair, and eventual discard of their by then aged mother. And then her health challenges and how to help her have a good quality of life. Selling their family home and ploughing the funds into her retirement village serviced apartment and ongoing care. They work together to help her, financially, taking her to health appointments, etc. I just love this so much! Kindest people, but really real, down to earth, with great senses of humour. They are the epitome of the close “Westie” family, lol.

So, damn. Still won’t get to catch up with my Mum’s only sibling.

Oh, and how weird is this? BG’s mother’s birthday is the same date my mother died. It will be twenty years in a few weeks! Her name is my middle name, and BG’s family name is very similar to Roger, and my children’s family name! He remarked on it the other day. I already knew, and was a bit creeped out, but BG’s surname contains Roger’s surname, with letters in the same order! BG said, eww, that is pretty weird, you’d think you would have avoided me!

I laughed, and said, hey, I didn’t even know your surname when we first started out! I was (and still am, lol) saved as Paula (my town’s name) in his phone!

Which is lucky. Be awful to be talking to the other Paula by mistake, right?

The Other Girl. It’s not a great joke anymore. The kids and I thought it was hilarious when we (stupidly, without a damn clue) referred to Leanne, as “Dad’s girlfriend.” That still makes my skin crawl, and everything in my body cringe and tighten. How stupid were we???