I keep having to tell myself to take deep breaths to calm myself down at the moment as this whole 'new flat, where to live, what to do' milarky is really starting to take its toll on me.
Laying awake in bed last night I tried to put things into perspective, trying to calm myself down. Its easy to say in relation to the people out there with no clean water, no food, no money in the whole world my life is one massive golden ticket, but as I've always said, problems and difficulties in any persons life are always relative. Relative to the experiences you've had in the past, relative to your regular way of life and in that same respect something I wouldn't bat an eyelash at could crumble someone else. So in trying to put things into perspective last night in terms of my life I remembered on of the most difficult times we had when I was growing up... Marmite soup!
Those of you who have been reading the blog for a while now will know that I don't come from a privlidged background. I grew up on a council estate, not a high rise one, but not one of these fluffy small town, lots of greenery and a beach nearby ones either. No our estate was semi-detached red brick housing with lead windows, asbestos and a very high probablility that if you didn't come home before the street lights came on you wouldn't come home at all.
Anyway after my dad had a stroke and he and mum could no longer support us working in factories (they both used to shape steel for shelving and stank when they came home each day) we moved to a remote, super green, beach on your doorstep, small town place on a shoestring. We rented a cottage that was the only housing we could afford, it was barely nothing more than a pile of rubble six miles from the nearest shop. It hadn't been lived in for over 16yrs, had a tree growing into the side of the building, was cold allll the time (my bedroom walls were damp) and took every single penny we had.
After a year or so what little money we had saved from the sale of our council house had well and truly run out, with neither mum nor dad working (dad couldn't and mum has never really had a strong work ethic but at that time had to look after him) we were in serious trouble. Despite being over 6miles away from the nearest shop we had to sell our car, I think we got £300 for it. This meant mum and more often than not at weekends, I would have to cycle into town and back for the shopping.
Winter was harsh that year, it became too difficult to cycle into town so we had to walk twice a week. It was bitterly cold and so what little money we had went towards coal and firelighters leaving us very little other than the basics and the salvagable remains of our vegetable patch in the back garden to eat. Saying that, we never had a lot so we made it work, eating small portions once a day and drinking lots to stay feeling full. Unfortunately a freak blizard around the holidays left us completely isolated, unable to go anywhere and food had officially run out. Left we had two badly sprouting potatoes, a couple of blackened carrots, a bulb of garlic and marmite (something none of us liked). For almost three weeks we lived off one pot of exceptionally thin marmite soup... topped up every couple of days with water to stretch it out. It was awful.
I remember having days when we didn't eat growning up, I remember being fed dripping which we got free from the butchers on bread during the winter months to try and keep up our energy (dripping for those of you who don't know is the hardened fat that settles in the bottom of a pan after cooking meat), I remember feeling hungry and completely hollow inside several days but never as bad as we were that winter with the marmite soup.
So in my search for calm and perspective I found myself searching out photos of our very first house in that small town and to remember what it feels like when you really are in a hopless situation. I dug out some old photos this morning, the kind that don't make it to the 'trip down memory lane' sessions, the ones you're ashamed of for whatever reason and as always I was shocked to see glimpses of my body under the layers of clothing I would wear for warmth. A jutting bone here, a bruise there, sunken eyes, and a yellowish hue to my skin. Its strange to think that not once did anyone question how well we were doing as a family as I was always clean, polite and dressed in clean clothing despite them being 4th, 5th 6th hand and ill fitted.
It's strange to think how easily you can lose perspective, how someone can lose sight of the things that should make any one of us humble. I can't compare myself to the people without homes due to natural disasters, the people living in a poverty ridden country or the unfortunate souls closer to home that call a doorway with a blanket a home... but I shouldn't so easily lose sight of my own difficult days (however insignificant when looking at the bigger picture) when realising how lucky I am, even now in a time of stress and turmoil.
I didn't realise until I started writing this blog today but I've become really self-absorbed. Time for some fresh thinking I think.
