Month: November 2017

D-Day – Otherwise Known as Tuesday 21st November 2017

Aka….Departure Day

It was never going to be a conventional departure.  As in get up, get dressed and just go.  That would have been far too normal. 

We’d known for the past couple of months that My Gorgeous Man’s mother needed to attend a dermatological appointment with her consultant (nothing life threatening) on the morning of the Tuesday 21st November… so we’d always geared our departure around being able to take her to that. She’s in the early stages of dementia and what might seem like a simple appointment to Joe Bloggs brings on huge proportions of anxiety and confusion.  We knew what to expect, and it was important that she knew that we were there for her.

We were also having to factor in that our friends in France who we were pit stopping with, were going away on 25th and not having seen them since their wedding a couple of years ago… we wanted at least a couple of wild nights with them.   And we absolutely HAD to be back in Spain by Sunday 26th as our rent is due to be paid on the morning of the 27th in the agency office. So all in all, it was a bit of a logistical, organising dream come true for MGM.

So, on the morning of Tuesday 21st November, we were up at 6am (but again, awake long before that) to totally empty our flat, do a last hoover round and dispose of Sir Maxelot’s ripped up and destuffed duvets that definitely weren’t coming with us.  And of course, pack the last remaining bags into the car… which had mysteriously multiplied into making it very full car indeed.

We said a final thank you to the flat that had become our haven during our unplanned 2 year stay in Scotland, and pulled the door closed on that chapter of our lives.

This was it!

We were off to a new life in Spain… or more immediately… off to MGM’s mother in Musselburgh.

What we didn’t anticipate was a drama and confusion over the central heating when we arrived.  But MGM being the knight in shining armour that he is, checked, clarified, double checked, triple checked back with his brother, wrote out instructions… and then drove his mother into the Edinburgh hospital,  along with the whole of our life in the back of the car.

Sir Maxelot and I stayed in the comforts of her living room and had bit of a power nap and love in…. with lots of Reiki, which he loves.  It helps him with his anxiety.  Let’s face it.  His normal routine had already been blown to bits and he is an emotionally sensitive, grumpy old bugger who likes his structure, home comforts and… alone time.  Lots of patience, love and strong space would need to be held for him throughout the week’s journey and transition to Spain.

MGM and his mother ended up being away for a good couple of hours and had been told that a day surgery procedure would go ahead in December.  It made our ‘Adios’ a bit easier and more difficult at the same time as it was already looking like MGM would have to come back to the UK after just 3 weeks.

Hugs and ‘Adios’s’ all round… and we finally hit the road… again.

And went straight to the nearby Asda to get in some unhealthy but very welcome chocolate, crisps and fizzy drink for Driver Number One ie. MGM… (he’d gone waaaay past the healthy wheatgrass smoothies by this point)…  and I wanted to get some last minute fluffy pjs for my friend J who was still down in Spain waiting for us at our new home.  Apparently the temperature had dropped quite a bit since I left after running the first two Channelling Love retreats.

QUICK PLUG! 

 

So… it wasn’t until after midday that we finally left Edinburgh… and to be honest we were both a bit shellshocked and numb.  We had booked the 0123 Eurotunnel because it was the cheapest time, but it also gave us a massive 12 hours for the 9 hours drive, and with the hope that we could try and blag an earlier shuttle if needed.

The next few hours were spent, funnily enough, driving down the A1. 

My friend J had Whatsapped us some ‘you’re doing great and keep going’ motivational photos from our awaiting Spanish garden… with the morning sun rising above the mountains, and it most definitely helped spur us on. 

The weather for our first day’s driving was dark grey,  rainy and particularly shite.

One thing became very apparent during the first 5 hours of our drive.  It’s not until you spend 5 hours continually cooped up in the car with your beloved dog that you realise how much gas he actually expels…  it was acrid.  Sir Maxelot was totally oblivious to our streaming eyes, distress and rapid window opening…he was laid out in the palatial boot on his specially purchased memory foam mattress and favourite fleece rugs.  Our boy knows how to travel.  And we know how to spoil him.

But it felt like frikking FOR-EVAAAAH to even get down to Leeds. 

We were feeling totally fried and  we were only just half way.  You may remember that I’m not the best of passengers … so I spent a lot of time with my head in my brand new phone. 

The day before, after having had lunch with my mother and moved though another emotionally charged “Adios” …. (she had put on a very brave front but I could feel what she was feeling and it was tough on both of us,) MGM and I followed our guts and made a mad dash to upgrade and up level my phone tech. 

It had been very obvious while I’d been in Spain that my phone and network weren’t going to cut it.  My livestreams had massively pixelated and my much anticipated LIVE interview with the inspirational cancer warrior Fi Munro had fallen flat as my phone didn’t have the capacity to hold the connection.  Gutted.  And embarrassed.  Not going to happen again.  Nope.

Seeing as our new life in Spain is based upon my work as a channel… it was a no brainer to invest in the foundations for our future.  It had to be done.  So we did it.  I’m now the proud owner of a snazzy powerful iPhone that does things I‘d never even dreamed of and have no idea how to work. 

But the eyestrain became too much as the greyness turned into blackness.  It was now just a long drive in the dark.  And in the rain. Yuk.

We made pitstops every couple of hours to clear our heads and to give Sir Maxelot a stretch.  He was way more chilled out than us.  And he peed and poo’d according to his usual structure and routine… and we gave him his first outdoor dinner in a services carpark somewhere in the midlands… I think.  And he ate it… which meant he was doing a-ok. 

MGM, not so much.

 He needed to power nap… not even lucozade was helping.  So I went into the services and blanched at the price of a latte while he instantly fell asleep.  I came back after about 20 minutes to find him totally sparko, leaning at an awkward angle with his mouth wide open and looking absolutely gorgeous.  I do love My Hunky Handsome Hero.  So I went back into the services and loitered around the M&S food store.  The only thing that grabbed my attention was the prossecco… and nope, I didn’t.  In hindsight, I wish I had.

Things became a bit blurry after about 8pm.  We were on autopilot.  The Google Be-atch took us on a detour off the motorway which perplexed us and drastically lowered our stress tolerance, but after about 30 minutes of “For F*cks saking” we were reunited with the M20.  The last hour felt like it would never end.  One last pitstop for Max to release (in accordance with his night time schedule of 10.30pm) and then we realised that we were practically right next to the Channel Tunnel after all. 

We had to pull over for a bit of rapid, tense “Where the F*ck is it??!” delving in a bag on the back seat to dig out passports… and just before we got to the kiosk, we were strangely asked to reverse back out of the queue and up between the concrete bollards to pull in to the neighbouring kiosk which looked deserted. 

All passports glanced at… including Max’s and we were sent on to the French border kiosk, which was as similarly disinterested in any of us.

It turned out that our hope of hitching an earlier ride to France was impossible.  We’d not long missed boarding for the 2320 shuttle… and the next one wasn’t till our booked one at 0123.  All we could do was park up and wait.  And I went into the terminal to get a bit of space.  MGM and I were frazzled and trying not to snap… although he did a better job at holding it together than me.  So I left ‘ma boyz’ alone for a bit and went for a cuppa and watched the shenanigans of 5 grown men up ladders trying to put up the central ceiling Christmas lights and decorations.  I quickly got bored and went back to the car to try and show my appreciation and gratitude for all MGM’s driving.

I was actually so discombobulated that I couldn’t even be arsed to start panicking about the Eurotunnel. 

I’m claustrophobic, so going underground, let alone underwater was something that I would avidly avoid in normal circumstances.  But I’d had to pull on my big, brave pants because even worse than being underground, was the thought of leaving Sir Maxelot alone in the car on a ferry’s lower decks.  So when we were finally waved into the shuttle train and the sides began to close in on me, I listened intently to the safety announcement like a good girl and thought happy thoughts that didn’t include leaks or sea water. 

It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be.

I chose to ignore my changing ear pressure that marked our descent under the sea… but Max was loving his ride… he had the car behind him to check out… and we could see the guys taking photos of his handsomeness peeking out of the back window at them.

We arrived in France at 2am… except it was now 3am with the time change.  The Google Be-atch thankfully led us straight to our budget Ibis 10 minutes away and we finally pulled into the carpark at 0333… another master number!   

For a while during the journey we’d had the double master number of 22.22 as our predicted arrival time at the Eurotunnel… so we’d felt very Universally supported and protected!  I do love the Divine signs of the Universe.

We pulled out our overnight bags… woke Sir Maxelot from his comfy bed… and headed to the automated check in machine and thankfully all that worked too. A slip of paper was printed out with our room number and a code to get in the door.

It was like walking into a plastic prison cell and Sir Maxelot was not best pleased… hardly any room to turn his longness around and he stood steadfastly looking at the door.  So much so, that MGM thought he might be asking to go out… so he took him out again.  But all he did was go mental at a giant rabbit that appeared from nowhere.  His old training and instinct as a hunting breed and ex-racer was still very much alive.  Back in the room, I took the top single bunk… and the boys happily took the double bed below.  There was no space to bring his mattress in at all.  And we all said goodnight.

Max slept well.  We both heard him excitedly chasing that rabbit while we tried to count sheep.  And at about 8 am we surfaced from a half uncomfy sleep into semi conscious action.  It was time to just hit the road again.  Sir Maxelot had breakfast served in the car park and then he happily jumped back into this fleecy palace.  We took deep breaths, set up google Be-atch and headed into the unknown.

 

 

An hour in and we stopped for french pain au chocolate… and 2 hours in, we hit Paris.

As I’ve been writing,  and you’ve been reading, My Gorgeous Hero of a Man has masterfully navigated the jammed packed roads filled with pushy, Parisian tailgating drivers who know very well where they are going. He managed to drive us through all the turn offs, verge lefts, rights and whatever else was needed to keep us going south. 

It was extremely intense. 

 He’s a much, much happier A1 Driver when I don’t ‘help’… and I’m a much, much happier passenger when I don’t see red brake lights lighting up in front of me.  We make a fab team.  I heard the call from the Universe to write this blog post now, with my laptop on my lap and my head and my heart in the blogging world of Namaste This… and it meant that MGM and I could remain friends and in lurv after all.

So there you have it… we’re a day and a half into our transition into a new life.  We’ve another 6 hours or so to go until we’re in the Mid Pyrenees where we’re staying for 3 nights with one of my dearest friends.  We met way back in the early 1990’s flying for BA and oh boy… we had some great times in the good ole days… which was affectionally known as Beach Fleet… i.e.. Gatwick Base in the 1990’s.   Despite the distance and the passing  years… we’ve always been there for each other.  It’s a true friendship… we just pick up where we left off. 

The only blip on this French horizon is that they have an excitable Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy… and as gorgeous as she is… we’re praying and asking Sir Maxelot to love her too.  As with some ex-racing greyhounds, he’s not that keen on other breeds of dogs… but combined with his preference for sleeping and alone time, it’s going to be an interesting couple of days for sure.

I’ll keep you very much posted.

Love,

 

PS.  The Benefits of Breathing Deeply

One of the easiest and quickest ways to reduce increasing stress and anxiety (either in the moment or longterm)  is to take some long, slow deep breaths.  Generally, we don’t use the full capacity of our lungs when we breathe…  and this means that there isn’t the maximum amount of oxygen in our blood cells to fuel our body.

The Benefits of:

• Lowers stress
• Lowers anxiety
• Lowers blood pressure
• Promotes blood flow
• Promotes clear thinking
• Releases toxins from the body
• Strengthens abdominal and intestinal muscles
• Natural pain relief
• Increased energy
• Increased self awareness

Try it and see!

For a count of 5 – Breathe in through your nose, and down into your belly
Hold for a count of 2
For a count of 5 – Breathe out through your mouth
Repeat 5 times
Build up the repetitions!

Start bringing this very simple and basic exercise into your daily practise and whenever you feel any anxiety building up.

So here I am sitting on our terrace in the Spanish Alpujarras with the late afternoon sun on my face, and I’m just so filled with gratitude.  Mad dashes to hospitals and crazy life challenges already feel like a lifetime away… but I thought you might enjoy what went down when I landed into Spain to claim our new home… just over 2 weeks ago!

Due to our flat not selling as we’d hoped… and My Gorgeous Man’s emergency surgery,  I was having to leave MGM and Sir Maxelot behind in Scotland.  It was a lot harder than I thought it was going be.  Through all the rough and tumble of the last few months, we were both in need of ‘me’ space… we had even been joking about what a relief it would be. 

For two and a half weeks, MGM would have our great big, comfy sofa, complete control of the remote control, super fast, strong internet and the company of our beloved, unsociable greyhound… and have the space to tie up many of the loose ends needed to close up our Scottish life.  And I would move into our new Spanish home, get everything established and have the joy of the mountains and the company of my dear friend Jo Beth Young as I ran my first two Channelling Love Retreats.  

I would be setting up Spanish base camp.

But when MGM dropped me off at Edinburgh airport… I got all girly and teary and had a great big lump in my throat.   What made it worse was that we’d not had a good morning as we’d packed up the next stage of our life and flat.  We were supposed to have been moving to Spain, happy and together.  Not like this at all.  Nope. Nope. Nope.

On the other hand… and ever the optimist…

I was still very excited to be going!

Inside the terminal I dropped off my bag that was within a whisper of the maximum limit, and then I got completely and utterly scanned, x-rayed, undressed, searched, unpacked, questioned and swabbed at security.  I blame it on the mix of my big pouch of crystals, recording equipment, vitamins and all the contents of my Goddess Office that I’d been able to miraculously stuff into my wheelie bag. 

Freed and re-assembled, I headed straight for the bar.  But the bar was absolutely chocka and I just didn’t have the energy to push through and stand there alone like ‘billy no mates’ with a large glass of vino blanco.

So, I got a meal deal from Superdrug, scrounged some space on a bench and speed read through a very trashy newspaper instead.

By the time I landed at Gatwick, all my emotional and physical knackeredness was kicking off and in. I felt like I’d been pulled through a hedge backwards, forwards, and sideways.  I felt sick, excited, terrified, upset, wiped out and just about everything that wasn’t peace and love.  It turned out that my friend, J, had had a similarly tumultuous day, so we headed straight to M&S in the terminal to get some supplies in for our room at the budget Airport Inn. 

It shows you how knackered we were, when we only got a quarter bottle each.

Tired of dragging our suitcases (which felt like the dead weight of our entire life’s possessions) around the terminal we said “F*ck it,” to finding the elusive courtesy hotel bus stop and treated ourselves to a taxi.  And within a few minutes we had a plastic keycard in our hands… then we were marvelling at the towel swans on our beds… making Wonder Woman changes into PJs… emptying our quarter bottles of bubbles into the mugs and taking turns to spew out our day’s traumas.

And everything began to feel so much better. 

Because that’s what true friends and soul sisters are for.

The alarm went off at an ungodly hour the next morning, not that long after our verbal diarrhoea had actually calmed down…  and we dragged our bags and asses downstairs and dragged our bags and asses onto the bus… dragged our bags and asses along escalators and dragged our bags and asses to the check-in that’s no longer called check-in.  It’s all drop off… except not… because my friend had a guitar with her… and that had to make it’s own sacred journey through outsized baggage.  Now you wouldn’t think that any of this would be difficult.  But what made it all very interesting was that my friend was completely and utterly, legally drugged up to her eyeballs with super duper tranquillisers in order for her to even step on to our waiting plane.  So, for all intents and purposes, her body was there, but she most definitely was not.  She was zombieville on legs. 

Amazingly when I’d done the online check the day before, our separate, independent  bookings had been seated together. 

I mean, c’mon, that is sheer magical Universal support, if ever there was!

So I did feel that everything was going to flow with ease… and hey presto it did.  J managed to get on the plane without freaking out, she got a bit tangled up and confused with her seat belt… but travelling with an ex-HotHostie with 23 years flying experience, has its advantages.  I even remembered where the exits were and I very much enjoyed rebelling and not watching the pre-flight briefing.

The flight was full… but fine. 

The woman on the aisle opposite was a constant source of entertainment as she shifted through image changes, clothing options, beany on and beany off.  We had our sandwiches and crisps and as J had requested nonstop distraction and chats… that’s what we did.  For two and a half hours.  I kind of felt sorry for anyone around us.  Our random chats ranged from “You’ll never believe what happened” to full on ‘spookywuwu’ and “I wonder what it’s going to be like when we get there.”

J was blessed.  She was on drugs. 

And I didn’t really want to admit that I was nervous about the car rental and finding our way out of Malaga.  But we had our best friend Google all lined up on my mobile… so what could possibly go wrong?

For a start, at the car hire desk everything was going great until the subject of insurance came up.  I was under strict instructions from My Gorgeous Man NOT to be frightened into taking out the fully comprehensive option. 

“It’s not necessary” he told me.  “You don’t need it… it’s a scam!” 

Funnily enough J’s Dad had said exactly the same thing when she left for the airport too.  But when that very nice lady behind the desk, who looked so honest, helpful and trusting, said that I wouldn’t be covered for any damage and I wouldn’t have any roadside assistance… my resolve broke and another couple of hundred quid was added to my credit card. 

I felt sheepish and done over.  J was kind of coming out of zombieville and did her best to make me feel better.  I felt sick to my stomach.  Anyway… we dragged our asses and bags around the terminal… down the ramp… along the lower level garage with row upon row of rental cars and could we frigging find parking place number 77 where our dinky car was waiting for us?  Nope.  It should have been so easy. 

But it wasn’t. 

And then we found it. 

It was a doh moment that neither of us want to mention again. 

Spookily, the number 77 is a very positive and significant number for me, so all things considered, we were off to a good start.  Turns out it’s J’s lucky number too.  And MGM is also a 7 man, so the Universe really was stacking up the good stuff for us.

We took our time packing up our dinky, minuscule car, which took some figuring out with a large, awkward shaped guitar case along with solid suitcases, wheelies, bags et all… but eventually I got in behind the wheel.  I took some more time to figure out left from right, indicators, wipers, lights and all the usual essentials… and then there was no putting it off.  I was going to have to drive.

Put the “Google Be-atch on,” … and… “Wagons roll!” 

I should just add that calling Google Maps the ‘Google Be-atch’ is a term of endearment.  When we were in France she took us down many a tiny road that no car should ever go down… and which had us swearing our heads off… at her… but at the end of the day, she always got us to where we wanted to go.  We love her, really.

So, driving out of the car park, the Google Be-atch roared into action, took us around a couple of roundabouts and onto a very busy and fast dual carriage way. 

And then the Be-atch froze. 

J’s state of zombieville was prevailing and I could see her struggling to compute.  There was nothing for it but to keep on driving and hope that the Google Be-atch caught up with us. 

But she didn’t.

J did an amazing job of forcing her brain into full action and fired up her own Google Be-atch… and we both sighed a sigh of relief as she told us to keep going in the direction we’d found ourselves going in.  But when we weren’t commanded to turn off towards Granada, we knew there was something very wrong. 

What also felt ‘wrong’ was the fact that Spanish drivers just don’t give way and they drive right up your frikking ass.  My enforced zen, was very forced.  I would guess that J was secretly very relieved that her horse strength tranquillisers hadn’t fully worn off.

It turned out that J’s Google Be-atch was programmed to avoid motorways and before we knew it, we were heading into the frenzy of Torremolinos.  And I heart stoppingly discovered that our minuscule car’s brakes, were very, very soft and very, very slow indeed. 

Much more zen was needed than anticipated.

There was nothing for it, but to take control. I defied J’s Google B and went fully round the next roundabout and headed back towards the airport.  J managed to reboot my Google B and we warmly welcomed her back into our lives… especially when she told us where to go… and it made sense.

The motorway was extremely busy and within our first half hour, we drove past 2 crashes that had blocked off lanes.  J and I were consciously breathing very deeply and saying “Everything’s fine!” in very high pitched voices.

Thankfully, as we left the city behind, the traffic eased and I made friends with our minuscule car and we settled in for the drive up into The Alpujarras.  Turning off the motorway about an hour later towards Orgiva was very exciting… and I then had a momentous wave of hugest appreciation for MGM’s driving back in June.   Windy mountain roads.  It was very different to city driving… and the number of cars up my ass was proof of it.

We rocked into Orgiva in third gear at around 4pm.

We had about an hour before meeting our Angel Agent to take possession of the keys to our new home.  I had no idea if I would be asked for more rent, cash, bank details, or have to pay for October that we had had to cancel.  I had no idea if I would even be able to understand him.  Perhaps it had all been a fluke back in June.  Or perhaps he wouldn’t even show up.  So J and I went for one of those iced lattes to die for and hit the sugar boost, hard.  And at 5pm almost on the dot… there he was, opening the door to his office that we were keeping an eye on from our overloaded sugar station. 

OMG, how I loved and thanked the Universe in those next moments. 

He smiled, shook our hands, asked after our flight and said he would take us straight to the house.  Rent could be sorted out tomorrow morning!  Wow!

“Let’s go!”  he said… “Follow me and I’ll take you there!”  So we did!

We managed to find each other in our respective cars on the other side of the town square and off we went.

Around the back of Orgiva, along a windy, single track, with the mountains lit up by the lowering sun and orange trees lining the way.  We pulled in through the gates, up past more orange trees, rose bushes and morning glory flowers adorning the fences… and then, there she was. The owner Rosa was outside the house with a great big welcoming smile… and a basket of fruit from the gardens, milk, water… and bottle of red wine in the fridge.  We were overwhelmed. 

“See you tomorrow!” the Angel Agent waved as he left and then Rosa happily handed over the keys and headed back down to her house below.

And that was it. 

Job done. 

I had moved us to Spain.

The house was ours. 

No problems.  No complications.  No fuss. 

Just trust, ease and flow.

I couldn’t quite believe it.

As soon as they left, J and I cracked open our celebratory bottle of bubbles and proceeded to happily glug it back as the sun went down.  And then we cracked open another bottle as the stars shone out from the clear night sky.  And we finished that one too.  What a day.

Oh how I wished MGM and Sir Maxelot were with us… I already missed them.  And as I glanced up into the heavens a massive shooting star glittered its way across the sky.

Wow.  Thank you Universe!  

Once again you’ve given us a sign, that moving to the Alpujarras is absolutely, without a doubt… the right move for us… and the place for us to call home.

In my next instalment I’ll be sharing what went down during my first 2 weeks here… it’s not what you’d expect!  

Love,

 

 

 

 

PS.  And this is why I’m now sooooo glad I was railroaded into the hire car fully comp insurance with roadside assistance.  A totally flat tyre… with a bestie who knows how to change one… and a brand new replacement car on the way.

Once again, the Universe knew best.

More on this story next time!