All In Good Measure — A New Year Special

The kettle started to fizz slowly, the sound creeping up as it started to heat the water. A cup of tea was a good excuse to have some gingerbread men I had for Christmas and the biscuits were a good excuse for a cuppa. The kettle was soon rumbling violently, it was like thoughts coming to fruition.

New Years Eve is a strange feeling. It’s not like Christmas Eve full of thoughts of snowy pine forests, dazzling razor sharp white fairly lights and misty eyes. It’s more fresh. The cold light of day. A bit like New Year’s Day but without the hang over — or less of a hang over at the least. The eve is the last throws of the year. Every last thing we want to finish that is part of our routine but knowing we can’t really fit it in all one day. It’s silly when we think so much of the change of the year as if it’s one huge event but it’s just another day and the world turned one more time, just about, but we just do and why not. It gives us something to look forward to and reflect and decide on changes. That’s the big event.

Like I’ve said before I like to think of my resolutions as adjustments. I do it though out the year and when it comes to New Years resolutions I look at what has made me happy through the year and decide what I will keep and what I will adjust rather than make a set on huge goals that might just get on top of me and I’ll just fail at them. If I just made one huge resolution, right now, to go and sort the whole gender thing fully and whole heartedly then I would probably fail. It’s too big and not thought out. I certainly couldn’t make big decisions based on five minutes of thought.

That said, it can be a time to push a little further. Think of how I might go one step further and make myself more content and happy. Throughout this year I have achieved in my running more than I ever thought I would. My running time had fallen dramatically and I’d never felt so proud of myself as much as I felt so proud to be wearing the type of running things in front of other people, friends — even family! The knock on effect, from a superficial clothing perspective, means I’m now looking for new running clothes like a new set of running tights to add to my others because I want to and not just buying cheap because I worry I’ll not wear them or I’m not worth it. I’m looking at slight more expensive ones with a design I like, a shape I like and of better quality that will last. All this rather than lots of cheap and shoddy running tights. It’s about self worth and buying female things that are worth more make me feel worth more. Worthy and validated. That’s what it’s all about. There is nothing worse than buying cheap and realising I’ve just bought it for the sake of it.

I’m quite happy with what I’ve achieved this year and my experiences. It was the one year I was short of money, while taking a year out, and in that time I’ve done things that were new to me. I spent time working in the music industry for a few months and seeing things I’d never thought I’d see. I took long bike ride adventures along the valley seeing small old villages and stunning views of rugged landscapes and more oxygen in my lungs than I ever have had. Watching the sun set and forgetting time. I continued my piano journey and moved my playing on a quantifiable amount and enjoyed it. And the gender thing — oh so subtly moved on a little here and there. Feeling more comfortable in myself and just being rather than thinking quite so much.

I want more of that next year. I want to run in more amazing places. Travel and find other sunset finishing spots and just feel at one with the world for those twenty or thirty minutes or so as the sun fades over a silhouette of trees breaking up the horizon. Just talking about it to you I can feel that warmth on my face fading and a cool evening setting in. Zipping up my jacket to stop the frost catching my skin. Breathing in every ounce of pine filled air before having to leave.

I want to spend time with these things rather than waste time in front of the tv or social media but at the same time all in good measure. I want to cook new foods to refresh my pallet and rejuvenate meal times once again so they’re not an after work chore but and experience full of colour, flavour and scent.

While I feel like my New Years Resoladjustment should be full of turning up the saturation just a little on the good things I already do I also want a certain amount of surprise and spur of the moment thinking. Nothing feels more planned than having a plan and may be part of my gender identity journey will be just like that. Moving on a little when the moment takes me. I know it will happen just, when it happens.

The new year for me is more about freedom, enjoying me, enjoying the female side whether it be clothes or inner personality, the stronger side of being female with achievement and self belief that would have once been associated with being masculine. Building on what happiness I found this year and improving how I spend that time. Finding adventure from time to time and not letting life just slip by in a typical British way.

The sun almost set, only visible because of the single colour blanket of grey that’s been covering our skies, is slowly dimming and the Christmas tree lights slowly and barely perceivable becoming the glow in the room. Family members falling asleep from the late nights of Christmas week. Today isn’t one of those adventure days. It’s a slow day of spending time with loved ones but from tomorrow the adventure, freedom, the standing on top of a mountain and letting the breeze blow over my face and flutter my hair. Sitting on a hill side and watch the world turn from the sun. Walking bare foot on the sand and letting the shallow cold sea wash over them. Feeling comfortable in my clothes as well as my own skin. Feeling that rush of endorphins after an energetic run and feeling like I could just do anything I wanted at that very moment.

Whatever you want for the new year I hope you find it; because it is out there.

Until next year.

Hannah x

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Throwing Silver Stars of Confidence

It darted about seemingly random in the ever increasing dusk and just as my eyes could focus, like a shooting star, it was over before I could think about it. The bat flew like it was on the edge of being able to remain airborne fluttering it’s wings in a way that was between moth and bird. I sat their quietly in the garden. A small drop of wine in an oversized wine glass sat on the ice white table cloth. With rising moisture from the fields in the distance and the dusk falling heavily the warm dusty grey-orange along the horizon of hills changed to greys like an incoming fog but of darkness with dotted sheep and lamb clearing their ground returning home.

The tea light candle with a flame that had been barely noticeable was now bright across the linen feeding steadily from the wax and fluttering when the gentlest of breeze would wander across the table. Peace and quiet, stillness and calm. It kind of summed up how I had felt this week and the weekend. I had attended the running event again but with a family member. It didn’t cross my mind whether I should or shouldn’t use my female running clothes that I had grown accustomed to wearing. It was just natural and innate and I’d be wearing them with someone who mattered and who hadn’t seen them before. I checked with myself, ‘should I be worried? Should I be making some self-informed decision?’

Comfort had overwhelmed any question, in fact I didn’t even carry out that self check. The thought went along the lines of ‘put those three quarter lengths on and go and enjoy your run as normal.’ In fact when it came to getting out of the car for that split second moment when there was no going back, and it didn’t even feel like a no-going-back moment, the only thing it came to was a brief glance at my legs – and that was that. No conversation, no foul sour looks, nothing. Just an enjoyable day and while it seems like such a small insignificant moment it was a big telltale non-reversable pin in the life and journey board.

It was beyond questioning and introspection and, while there was still such a huge journey ahead, if I continue with this ticket, I felt something I’d not really felt quite so vibrant before and that was a confidence with how I decide to present myself for myself. Happiness in the form of comfort. Less about other people and what they would think. A pace of change that seems to be just at the right speed to feel right about it even if, like many, I want it all tomorrow.

It is also not just about no longer being able to imagine going back to a fully male life of shirts and hairy legs it’s also not going back to those early days of odd special nights out to be me only to return early hours of a Saturday night and Sunday morning only to put that part of me away again, not just clothes in the cupboard but pushed to that hidden locked away part in my head.

I cherish some of those early days of being able to get out and about, as I think I would, with friends who were in a similar dual life role of secrets and street light nights. Pounding hearts moving between bars or from the car to the door of and even more public pub. It was an exciting and self discovery time but as much as the actual moment felt right at the time it was far from real. An extension-closet as one of my friends had once said and that I have mentioned before. Those times are now solidified in my history and I genuinely feel I have moved on from that time; as relevant and needed as they were. Real life and real times, real people who really matter. Occupation of my time in the way I want to be.

It crossed my mind today while I was on another run and now my running clothes were normal to me that would this be as good as it gets? Would this be where it settles rather than the journey continuing; after all they do say that happiness is in the journey and not always the goal. Did it really matter if I did settle at this point and there were no further inroads to make? It would certainly have a lot of positives, no distressing getting used to Hannah for more friends and family or painful operation if it went that far.

I think the answer is that the time my conflict ends will be when my inner mental self image aligns with my outer shine. When all the simple things I wish I could do that have some connection to my outward gender have been fore-filled and that I can do regularly and not just do those things but do them without questioning and not even be self aware about it. It’s about self consciousness or self confidence in fact. What more could I really want other than being and being it confidently without fear. That fear has diminished so much in recent times so much that sometimes I feel like someone is watching over me waving a little shiny wand throwing silver stars of confidence at me just when I need them but not so much I become spoilt and lazy with it.

I woke early automatically on the bank holiday expecting the thumping on the stair of the noisy early rising kid next door but it was silent. I pulled the curtains and opened the window to gauge the six am temperature. A gentle honk of a lone goose call echo’d in the morning air as it flew over the houses with it’s neck out far in front guaranteed to arrive long before the rest of it’s body.

Running was a big part of my mental health right now and the crazy idea of running early through the forest just felt right. I pulled on my most comfortable running tights and wriggled into a loose white crisp t-shirt and headed for the trees and medicinal morning pine air. The carpark was empty and I was too soon at the peak overlooking the country side through the cutting where the forestry had been hard at work turning trees into logs. It felt like a moment of change, partly through the outward hints to family but also just that oneness that had been so together recently. I placed the mobile phone on the floor taking time to patiently balance it against my water bottle and set the camera to record that moment of a natural high in nature.

Until next time.

Hannah x

I am Somewhere

The living room hadn’t changed size but it felt like the walls had slowly closed in at an imperceptive rate like the moon across a black sky. Shining bright but too blinded to see the change. It was the return of nostalgia that did it. I don’t know what started it off. May be I was just in that place, you know, when the stars align or in my case emotion plus situation plus time to think, et al.

I had been mucking around on the piano and played a tune from the nineties and later on, while making my dinner, I played that tune on Youtube and Youtube decided to playlist me everything else from the nineties. The Aloof, Oasis, The Verve, Manics; they came one after another. I thought I’d buried the medicinal hit to my sadness of missing the past – for good the last time I’d written about nostalgia. I thought it had gone but it was back for a brief visit.

It’s idiotic when I think about it. In the nineties and noughties I wasn’t free to express my femininity restricted by my own guilt and now I’m free to express it I’m haunted by the times I seem to miss.

I think this time though the music was the carrier rather than the trigger; the trigger would have been my circumstances. Months on and still no change of career or even a job. While the music carried on it brought back memories of when I worked and lived in Bristol city. Security, confidence and ‘happiness?’ I thought for a moment whether I should forget the idea of some utopian job, where I’m quick to rise in the morning looking forward to work and even quicker to get to bed the night before, and may be return to somewhere like Bristol in a well-paid new media job and end up in modern apartment living on one of the quay sides.

It was solidly rose-tinted though. How can I build a new life in an old place surrounded by empty ghosts. It makes me eternally sad for something that probably wasn’t that good. When I think back hard about specific days back then, sometimes it was more dystopian and boredom. I’ve been hear before but I’d put it to bed some time ago. I suppose I’m looking for the easy way. Returning to places that I know and experienced in. Walking through that same park at lunch time for a coffee and an unhealthy lunch from a fast-food cart full of butter and salt. Stuffing my face full of sugar energy rich flapjacks through the day to burn fast and bright. Churn out work and down tools and hit the bars with work colleagues, return to some post-modern apartment only to start the next day all over again.

The thing is I’m fast approaching twenty years since Bristol and those nights would be returning to an empty flat, living alone in cold quarters. The people I knew back then were no longer there. Christ, even the company was long gone – destroyed quickly by the dot com crash. It would be a different place, a different time and I wouldn’t have the zing of optimistic youth on my side. It would just be the same old shit.

It was clear to me as the weekend approached that this was all being driven by a little depression setting in as the days had passed and it was just something I had to shake. The nostalgia was passing, it was like it had been the flu vaccine – it had the same structure but didn’t have the potency to keep me stuck in that sadness of the past, but it had left behind some damage. Running had fixed this type of thing before and it was pretty much all I had right now to put things right.

–– ❤ ––

I woke as early as I possibly could for a Saturday so I could at least eat a little and get to the running event. I checked the alarm clock and by some miracle it was early enough that I’d beaten the alarm. I pulled the curtains and looked along the roof lines of the other houses, through the gap that revealed the country field and trees up to the clouds that hung like sodden sponges on edge of letting go delivering the rain that had been forecast. May be I would be lucky and wouldn’t get soaked through.

I had doubts whether the morning run would be the prescription I would need to shake these blues that were trying ever so hard to let the black dog in. I chose the running leggings that were the most comfortable – a Ben and Jerry’s tub of ice cream in the form of sports clothing. I pulled the sock basket out looking for my ankle socks and noticed the various sets of everyday black socks. You know the ones. A multipack bought for Christmas each with a little splash of different colours so you know which ones pair up. Blue, Green, Pink, Yellow. When I’m picking a pair of those socks I don’t just grab a pair and wear them. I look at that little colour logo and decide which colour represents how I feel that day.

It’s not a thought process that is at the forefront it’s just instinctual but I’m aware of it. If I’m in a logical business-like mood, may be thinking about my finances that day, blue. If I’m feeling more feminine than usual, pink. St. Patrick’s Day, green. No other socks to choose from, yellow. It’s a bit mad but at the same time, looking at it from a gender view, I don’t think it’s the colour that is important here to indicate a female perspective but the fact that I do this is probably more telling. I think if I had more choices of my running ankle socks the dictation of choice would apply there too – in fact it does I just can’t quite connect why I pick the aqua blue and green socks some days over the black white and purple. I just do and I like that I do.

I got to the run earlier than I thought. Those Easter Saturday morning roads to the city were quiet but at the start people gathered with energy and happiness oozing from groups of people socialising before the stop watches were clicked to go and people with optimism of a personal best. Already I could feel those blues lifting just from being around other people all with the same idea to run and feel good. The rain had held off though the cold had clung on enough to keep my gloves and wooly hat on.

By the end I was happy again. I felt sociable which I hadn’t most of the week. I felt worth something. I felt it was worth putting in some effort to find me again and shake off the past because the future had something worth living for. I think as I find those little bits of me I haven’t been able to express in the past that it’s much more comfortable than I thought it might be and while I still have so much to sort out, at least for now, I am fixed, I am somewhere.

Until next time.

Hannah x.

Eggs Benedict

I opened the kitchen cupboard and a waft of all the herbs and spices came out in an invisible cloud. Nothing distinct just everything in one big mix. I pulled up the little jars one by one from the second row back. The row of herbs and spices that were used sometimes. Found it – Coriander seeds. I only needed six which I dropped in the mortar bowl and crushed them releasing the fragrance with the pestle. There may have been just a few special ingredients for such a simple meal but I couldn’t work it out – why didn’t I make Eggs Benedict more often?

At least I was going to start one new year’s resolution. I cracked another egg to start the Hollandaise sauce while juggling with grilling a slice of Bacon and trying to work out when to drop the other egg in the pan of hot vinegar-water to poach. It was then I realised it was all such a faff. It seemed to be taking forever and the recipe from the well-known chef said the Hollandaise doesn’t keep so can’t be made in advance and I had to keep it warm and disturb it if the top forms a skin. May be this is why I haven’t done it for so long. I persevered though with positivity that it would be worth while; and it was just that.

The yoke burst just as the photo on the recipe showed with the Hollandaise coating over the top, down the sides of the egg, the bacon, the English muffin and spilling into a seasoned-yellow pool on the plate. The taste combined with all layers, which when you think about it should be just an egg and bacon sandwich with fancy sauce, was out of this world, or at least out of my kitchen. A zing from the acidity of the lemon and vinegar in the sauce against the savoury. It just worked. It was a lesson in one bite. All good things come to those who wait.

I suddenly realised how rushing some things just didn’t achieve what I might be setting out to do. I had taken my time and it might have just been for lunch but the outcome was worth the effort. They say that happiness is not necessarily in the goal but the journey, but in this case it was kind of both. The goal had justified the journey and made that journey more happy than it should have been. I thought for a moment about my journey. My gender journey.

I have an appointment in February at the gender clinic but with my finances now dwindled to just the most important things to survive, like food, bills, rent – taxes, but not all of those particularly important to me, I would have to cancel my appointment. A three hundred mile round trip for an hour with a clinician would just have to wait.

But I really wasn’t that bothered by the thought. I didn’t feel ready. There were so many things that hadn’t happened, at least yet, that we expected to happen by this next appointment that there didn’t seem much point in going into debt for chat in the west of London. Besides, all good things come to those who wait.

All good things – my destination to be happy with my gender; whatever point it might land at. To those who wait – why not wait? I know where I am in that journey and I know I don’t want to be on hold anymore but what is ‘being on hold?’ It’s not progressing and everyday I am progressing. If not in obvious outward ways at least internally and every ounce of internal progression shows externally eventually like water leaking from a sponge. Growing who I am and the unbelievable comfort in who I am that I couldn’t have dreamt that, several years ago, I would feel this way now. How many demons have gone and are locked out forever. A simple meal had made me reflect so profoundly and feel at ease at what I needed to do, just take my time.

– ❤ –

I rolled out the pink and blue mat on the grubby-seasoned oak flooring in the dining room along the patio doors. I moved the plants and table from the window. Shifted the book case. The sun had already set and left the sky destined for midnight blues down to a burnt orange glow behind the sharp silhouette of trees, fencing and the roofs of the other houses.

I was still unable to run due to my injury but things were looking up. I had finished the medication and I didn’t feel too much pain. Things were improving but I needed something to fill that void where I was once de-stressing and finding some mild spiritual thinking time that running had given me; there is only some much you can get out of Eggs Benedict.

I propped the tablet screen against the wall above the skirting at the end of the pink-side of the mat and typed ‘Yoga’ into Youtube. The first result just seemed to be the right one. A pleasant location and basic Yoga, just like I had done at the complimentary class back in the days when I could afford the membership of a gym some years ago. I remembered how it gave me time to myself. It was kind of like switching your mobile phone off and not being able to switch it back on for an hour – all while making my body more supple and staying just a little bit fitter.

Having that time to myself and not being distracted cleared my head. The location in my house with a view of the sky at that time of day just seemed to add more to it. Clearing the space so that I wouldn’t be bumping into things, like I might have in the living room, just made sense. Clearing spaces, clearing the mind. I quickly plaited my hair down my back and tied it off with my beige stretchy ribbon hair tie. The gentle introduction back into Yoga was a gentle reminder of my body and how it felt. Stretching and finding soft limits and what felt right. I surprised myself on how much I could do – it felt good. It felt good to be able to do these things. It felt easier than when I had done it those years ago. There is nothing like staring at dark purple painted toe nails and managing to get my hands flat on the floor. May be all that running last year had paid off. Even my injury felt okay.

The next day I rearranged the dining room so that it would be more easy to set up for another Yoga session by the doors. A vista just seemed like a requirement. May be in the summer I would have both the weather and courage to do it on the decking in the garden. All I had to do now was slide a plant out of the way and roll my mat out. It was cloudy and it was cold out. It was one of those days that just looked still and frozen in grey as if the weather had clamped down and was about to stop time. It might have normally become a negative day for me but it didn’t because I knew I could have time to myself in this part of the house where I would feel clear minded and at one with my body. The weather outside, that frozen grey blanket in the sky, was like watching nature pass by. The yoga felt like it could move that sky. I felt like everything was just how it should be – may be with just one or two minor physical things that just didn’t matter right now. The new year had started and I had three new resolutions to continue, Egg Benedict, Yoga and oneness.

Until next time.

Hannah x

Cotton In The Breeze – A New Year’s Eve Special

The cafe was a mess. Used takeaway cups on tables. Opened sandwich wrappers left unattended for others to clean up. I scrubbed at the cold steel kitchen work surface until it was clean enough to operate on and getting into all the edges and corners. I was detailed in my detailing. I loaded the dish washer to the brim and set it off while I moved onto cleaning the commercial-grade cappuccino machine ensuring every part of this instrument was pristine and free of bacteria.

It was my first day but I was going to remain in the kitchen until it was clean. There is no way this cafe was going to operate before it was thoroughly cleaned and there was no way I would go out onto the shop floor to serve until that was the case. I sprayed at everything and rubbed hard with the cloth. Endless surfaces. Sink, worktop, more brushed-steel machines, a large heavy door fridge. You name it, I cleaned it. It must have been early because the few staff that should be there were not to be seen. Probably wondering why the new person was stuck in the back of the cafe cleaning there rather than clearing the shop floor or opening up.

Eventually I wandered out onto the shop floor and looked at the mess on the tables. ‘Lets get this lot sorted.’ I thought to myself. I wandered in and stacked cardboard cups with brown milky dregs at the bottom, why people had cardboard cups when they drink-in I really didn’t know. May be the price was cheaper. Wrappers cleared and crumbs on every table satisfactorily wiped clear in a circular motion. It was inspiriting.

I wiped another table, I paused for a moment, looked down and noticed. I stood up again and looked to double check. I was a waitress. It was the black skirt that gave it away. Short enough that I knew it was something that would be noticed by others, workers, customers, may be even a friend that might just come in for a latte. I wasn’t going to be able to hide this away. It was pretty obvious who I was presenting myself as and that’s how I would be working. My heart beat increased a little, just for a moment, and then for some reason it was alright again. There was no need to worry. I questioned it for a second, as always, ‘what would people think’ but this time it was answered by something like ‘this is who I am, let’s carry on. Just another day’ and that is what I did.

It was some kind of branded coffee shop I think, Costa may be, but just as messy as a Starbucks, unusually set somewhere in a small town or village in the countryside. The Cotswolds may be. It could have been Surrey. Quiet – no city noise. I had woken but it had stuck like few dreams do. It was vivid and saturated in bright clear colours. It had felt so real and honest.

I had felt so at ease working at a job that had satisfaction and it felt stress free and then like adding a dash of salt to finish the seasoning of a cooking meal the dream threw in a little gender thing. It’s so rare I have a dream that addresses the feminine side so vividly but when it does happen it doesn’t ever seem to argue against or challenge my gender choice internally, it’s just sort of honest and clear of problems. Besides, was it really a choice or just a self-acceptance? No judgment, sometimes nervousness followed by it’s all okay, carry on.

“Go get it then, Madam.” my Mum said before a cognitive pause, “Sir.” she said correcting herself as I got up to get something or other from the living room. I don’t even remember what it was I was doing, it was the madam bit I’d remembered from a day over the Christmas week – and then on New Year’s Eve, standing in the kitchen while my Mum was talking to my Dad, something along the lines of “oh she was just… he was just saying…” Mum said stumbling over the he bit. A brain freeze, genuine mistake, a slip of the tongue because she knows a little already about the gender thing, but not a testing-the-water thing.

They’re silly little things and I don’t grab onto them anymore like little trinkets of validation but when they happen it is a little insight into what things could be like. I imagine the reality would be a mix of pronouns bouncing between the masculine and feminine much like how parents mix the names their children in conversation. Any use of he, him, man wouldn’t be nonvalidation, it would just be years of habitual use, but every her would be worth ten of him.

The morning started dark as I woke at something-past-seven. The sky slowly turning grey as the hidden sun rose and every now and then a crackle of rain hitting the window hard in gusts of the breeze. Only blessed with a hint of sun early afternoon when a break of blue sped above my parents home on New Year’s Eve. It was like the world was saying, you’re going to have to be patient for a clear and spiritual new year and, while a lovely blue crisp day would make me feel better from the start about the coming year, all I needed were words to know what should happen next. Those new year resolutions.

I don’t like to put big hard resolutions with unrealistic expectations where a black ballpoint pens the words so hard they can be read by indentations on several pages of that brand new diary. A soft blue pen with curves on the rounded letters is just so much more appropriate and a produce of my feminine side. May be I should write something down in my new diary I had for Christmas. I have ideas. Some obvious like finding a new job that doesn’t just pay to keep expensive me but something I enjoy and really care about; whether that’s a new career or fore-filling my literal dream of working in a cafe in a Rachel Green countenance, without thinking about it, is another matter.

Progressing myself as a pianist, a word I use loosely, is an obvious one that goes without saying just as getting my injury sorted and getting back to running for fitness and the community spirit that goes with it. All good for mental health. Eggs Benedict. For some reason I want to make that again, important enough to put it down on a new year resolution.

I want change. I want changes that benefit my mental health and my spiritual health. I want to clear parts of my house with things in storage that will lift weight off my shoulders and hoard less deferring memories to photos rather than silly little receipts or flyers. Rid of those things kept because I might need them one day. Clean kitchen, a clean mind.

I should go to the beach more in the winter when it’s devoid of tourists, rich in ozone, sea salt air and optimism rather than just a few times here and there. Miles of dark golden sands and a long tide that reveals wide open spaces and closes to dramatic crashing waves on the rocks. I sometimes forget how lucky I am.

Continue a progression towards bringing everything gender to a centre ground and feel that freeness and freshness when I’m who I want to be, inside and out. Plus, in typical NYE fashion, loose a little weight I’ve gained since not being able to run and stuffing ones face with mince pies; my clothes do not like this.

I want to be more read. I still have a little passion for learning and expanding my knowledge in so many ways. I want to be awake and I want every minute count without feeling anxious about the minutes that aren’t counting. I wish for a clouds to disperse, in their own time, and continue my journey.

Until next year.

Happy New Year.

Hannah x

A Thank You

I started this blog in March 2014 and with a comparatively small but loyal following, I would like to thank you the reader for taking your time to read what I have to write and to all those who took the trouble to write a few lines to me either personally or through the comments and more so on other websites; without this I would not be coming up to four years of writing. Thank you!

Also a thank you to the following websites, Angels Forum, Nutty Cats and last but certainly not least T-Central for both listing my blog but also on more than a few occasions making my blog entries the feature article with such kind words. It means a lot.

t-central.blogspot.co.uk
nuttycats.com