A new day dawns, a new era beckons...

I guess it is an integral part of the little girl in me that continues to believe that magic does happen. Of late it has been in short supply admittedly, and when I have pointed it out to my nearest and dearest I have been told on occasion that I am being overly sentimental and "slushy".

Well, they may be right, but I want to believe. And I do believe, because last night we all saw what many would have thought impossible a few years ago.

Given the climate I suppose many of us are clinging to any piece of driftwood that masquerades as hope that happens to float by, but somehow I think Barack Obama will make the change he speaks of.

He appears to have the capability to unite, inspire and uplift; experience can be brought in, but those former three qualities are not so easily come by.

There are many aspects of America that make me very uncomfortable; indeed when my good friend Jo relocated there four years ago with her family I found myself of the opinion that it would never do for me.

But I have to say that a nation that sees first time voters queuing for up to six hours to vote, and when they do vote, they make the groundbreaking decision to ensure that their 44th president is African-American, I am full of admiration and, if I'm honest, more than a little dejected because I can't imagine that it could happen in Britain.

I woke at around 5.15am this morning to Obama making his acceptance speech live on the radio. As his words started to make sense and I became fully alert, I felt the history of the moment that people have talked of. Later as I took my boy to school I listened to a girl in New York tell of how she helped an African-American lady of a hundred and one years of age to the polling station so that she could vote for Obama.

I don't mind admitting this event has moved me to tears several times today, and I'm not even American. But today I wish I was.

The BBC; all that is British? Debate.....

No-one has been more defensive of the BBC over the years than me.

The odd slip made by a presenter you can forgive (except for when it is not edited out and subsequently is broadcast.....) and even the licence fee I could live with.

Admittedly certain episodes you can choose to overlook if you are of a humorous and light disposition; other times you really want to take far-reaching and explosive action to the point that people will hear the rumble of your ire approaching.

Take this morning. Weather is foggy and dismal. I am not in what I would describe a "positive" frame of mind for a number of persistent and niggling reasons, the details of which I will not bore you with. Needless to say it was not helped by driving my father to a market town some twenty-five miles away at 7.00am this morning to meet his retired chums for an "away day".

I turn on my CD player and it decides to jump all over the place; it is faulty and on my list of "things to replace/buy" when I have some of that rarest of commodities- disposable income.

So, for a change, I switch to Radio 2.

Radio 2. The Ken Bruce show.

I don't see myself as an avid fan, but I want relaxed, friendly banter and neutral music. It's foggy and cold outside, and I don't want anything taxing or controversial entering the vicinity of my ears.

There is no need to further explain what happened next, save for me to copy and paste in the complaint I have just sent to the BBC:

“I have just been listening to the Ken Bruce show in my car during which he made reference to the fact that "Lynne" was all "chav'ed up" and would "look at home in any branch of Lidl". This was broadcast at around 11.15am.

Let me explain to you while I find that comment so offensive.

I am a divorced single mother who is desperately trying to keep her business afloat in very difficult trading conditions. Coupled with these challenges I frequently lay awake at night and wonder how I will meet my mortgage payments and if I don't, will my house and my son's future inheritance be snatched from me without consultation. I am certain many people are in similar situations to me.

Given the financial pressures I find myself frequently shopping in Lidl.

I wonder, by Mr Bruce's rationale, does this make me a "chav" and a subject of ridicule?

Given the recent debacle your organisation has faced with the Jonathan Ross/ Russell Brand fiasco, I find it incredible that your presenters are making off-the-cuff comments like this with no regard to the difficulties so many people are facing.

Let me assure you of one thing, there is nothing "Council House And Violent" about me; I write a blog that receives much critical acclaim and I am confident I will see myself and my son out of our current situation. I should inform you, however, that I may still continue to shop from time to time in Lidl. How dreadful.

I can see a prompt below this text box asking me if I want a response; you can bet your licence fee I do.

Please e-mail me at ****@*****.com with an explanation of why you think the above is acceptable practice.”

Apparently the planets are aligned at the moment to signify huge changes on the horizon over the coming years, and today is a seismic day in being a catalyst for these changes.

Of course, everyone is pointing to the US election and the possibility of the first black president.

I for one am keeping everything crossed, because seismic or not, we need change and it can't come soon enough for me.

Quantum of Solace and other such spells...

I suppose I knew it wasn't going to be a great week when I decided to start my detox regime only to find that Walkers crisps were on offer (£1.99 for eighteen packets....) at my local supermarket. Given my penchant to "bag a bargain", they managed to find their way into my basket and, admittedly with some coaxing, into my kitchen cupboard (an eighteen-packet bag takes some manipulation, let me tell you)

When all is said and done they don't need to be eaten straight away, do they? And all other such ridiculously futile reasons and excuses like that.

Half-term week with my boy, and an hour into Monday morning and he is announcing he is bored, he wants to know what the Red Arrows are doing and if Girls Aloud love him (I should mention that the Red Arrows are based and practice locally....it's a chore but they have to do it somewhere).

Of course Girls Aloud love him, I announce. They phone me frequently to tell me.

I wonder how it must feel to have "blimey! which one of them do I marry?" as the biggest concern in life. Then I remember how I have sprinkled many notions into his little mind; that the Red Arrows turned out on the day he started school just for him, that Shrek lives in Market Rasen and that there are no ghosts around here (secretly, I'm hoping the last one is true).

As a relatively upbeat kind of girl I've never coped well with the darker moments in life. Nothing too drastic, just those "straw that broke the camels' back" moments blended with the right monthly hormonal levels and- bingo! I can self-deprecate with the best of them. Everything that was positive is now of no significance, because my life is such a load of it that it doesn't matter.

And it's better to let me rant when I'm like that because when this particular Duracell bunny gets going, she will screech that you know nothing if you dare to stop her in her tracks. That's if she can hear you amidst the beating of chest and wailing that ensues.

And this, my friends, is roughly approaching the state I found myself in yesterday afternoon.

Thankfully I had some sense gently prized into me by one who, despite knowing me a relatively short time, has mastered the art of switching my mood control from dim to lighter, and then to sparkling. His style is not to pander to my bottom-lip to any great extent; too much of that and I turn into Shirley Temple without the attitude.

So, today dawns and, though still wobbly, I feel brighter and closer to normal. I can hold my head above water to at least get a lung full of air which is a marked improvement on where I was twenty-four hours ago.

During a slight submersion this afternoon, there is a knock at my door. It is my very considerate and pleasant neighbour who has taken in a parcel from Amazon for me. I thank him and laugh as he remarks that I must read a lot; this, you understand, is not the first time he has done this favour for me. Then I recall that the last time the box was actually open (not, I am sure, the work of said neighbour) and that it contained books on tarot cards and the study thereof. This time the parcel was sealed firmly shut. It did not contain books about tarot but they were not of a nature that you would necessarily want to share with anyone that you were likely to bump into in Tescos.

I closed the door and sat down again at my desk. Pleasant neighbur walks back to his house; I wonder if he has any inkling of the various topics of my reading matter, tarot-related or otherwise. Suddenly I imagine my reputation on "The Close" may be developing as the raven haired, wild and wanton divorcee at number one.... Someone who casts spells to entice and hypnotise. A woman who is devoid of all inhibitions, who has bid farewell to conforming in order to re-engage with her inner sensual being....

Someone a bit like Kate Bush, but with more melody and sultry smiles.

Eyes open, and I'm back.

Escapism in the right dose is better than anything the doctor could prescribe.

My quantum of solace. And I didn't even need Daniel Craig to apply it.

Unfaithfulness, pt. 2...

A couple of people have suggested to me that this blog (and others of a similar ilk, I'm sure) really ignites with interest only when the topic of relationships is raised, and preferably in a manner that depicts some wrong-doing on the part of one who is involved. Given the barrage of comments to yesterday's posting, I'm convinced that they were entirely correct.

Maybe the comments are borne out of some unsavoury memory, or maybe we just like to defend and uphold the rights of the wronged party.

During the course of yesterday I also received a number of e-mails regarding the posting, one of which came from Sue. It's not good practice to reproduce such an e-mail in a posting like this, but I discussed it with Sue and she agreed to let me pass on some of her comments which you may agree make for interesting reading:

"As a couples counsellor and sex therapist I sadly see many couples and individuals who are facing the turmoil that infidelity brings in the same way that your friend Jen currently is.

Firstly, can I address the subject of “looking for signs” of infidelity?

In the early stages of a relationship there is invariably tremendous uncertainty; as your feelings start to grow for your partner the realisation sets in that they may be gaining the capacity to hurt you deeply. An obvious “check” that people make in this regard is “is she/he cheating on me?” It is completely normal to ask this question, but never forget that many “signs” of infidelity will not necessarily be all that they appear.

Take the champagne glasses, for example. There could be all sorts of reasons why they were in his dishwasher, and none of them connected to him having another woman to stay the night. They are circumstantial, not conclusive, evidence.

That said, the “intuition” you speak of is valid, but it is usually picking up on your partner’s behaviour and any very slight changes that will alert you to the fact that she/he may be cheating rather than suggestive signs such as champagne glasses in a dishwasher."

This is such a valid point. I know from experience that the desire to not get hurt within a new and untested relationship can drive you to the point of distraction. Sometimes you don't even need the "signs" Sue speaks of; you can invent them using your over-active and fertile imagination, i.e. "why hasn't he rung? I expect he's out for dinner with another woman. That has to be the reason, because he always rings me....."

It's like pulling at a loose thread. Once you start on that track, it is well nigh impossible to stop.

Of course, there is a world of difference between unreasonable conjecture, and knowing the signs are there and choosing to do nothing about them, both of which I have been guilty of so I speak from a position of experience.

I discussed with another friend yesterday Jen's point about him hiding his mobile phone. My friend commented that it was overly secretive and suspicious.

When I mentioned that I always have my phone on silent and keep it tucked away in my handbag when I see my man because I don't want us to be disturbed, he commented "that's just being courteous"

Where's the difference? You see my point?

Sue went on to comment:

"I completely understand why you reacted as you did given your friend’s predicament, and the three options are possibly valid where self-protection for the innocent party is paramount, save for option three which I believe would do none of the parties involved any favours in the long run (unless Jen terminates the relationship first)

I would, however, like to echo one of the comments left by Veronica; cheating is all about power.

Your friend appears to have an understanding of why her partner may be cheating on her. In this instance, she may want to consider perhaps helping him work towards the empowerment Veronica speaks of, i.e. feeling secure, comfortable and invigorated in the relationship, rather than embarking on a course of action that will possibly send him into more destructive behaviour. She should only do this, of course, if she believes the relationship is worth her further investment."

This, I suspect, will cause a huge intake of breath......!

But Sue is entirely right. If you love someone (and I mean not just "like them a lot") then you will want them to feel amazingly happy and safe with you. To me that is what love is; it's about giving with no regard for what you may or may not get back.

Almost certainly many will see this as acting like the proverbial doormat, others will think it shows strength, fortitude and character. I opt for the latter.

Thirteen years ago I found out my then boyfriend was cheating and it sent me to a place I never want to go back to; I was totally distraught for days. But at thirty-two I only saw the rejection, and I firmly believed it was my fault. Ignoring the "signs" gave me what I wanted; a few more days or weeks successfully kidding myself that we were "OK". At thirty-two you can afford to throw a few more logs of pointless hope onto the fire of your dreams.

At forty-five I see things very differently. I see that I should never have got involved with him in the first place for one, but secondly I see that knee-jerk responses to the subject of infidelity are inappropriate in certain cases, yet at the same time entirely understandable.

For the record, I still have my doubts about Ben, but I do now see this from both sides of the coin. If he makes my friend happy and he is prepared to embark on the long haul with her to reset the foundations of their relationship, then he may be not so bad after all.

The wrath of the coven isn't so hideous, is it? ;-)

Unfaithfulness, friendship and choices

The fabulous thing about having friends is their unswerving support at your hour of need, coupled with the fact that your friendship is never affected when you choose to completely ignore their well-meaning advice and head off in the direction they're telling you to avoid.

I have one particular friend (whom I won't name for fear of embarrassing her) who I am confident would weather any storm with me. She is also not afraid of imparting advice that cuts you to the bone, particularly in the area of relationships, but on my refusal to act on anything she says, she will simply respond with "as long as you're happy, I'm happy". Friends like that are rare; they shouldn't be, but they are.

The same friend recently accompanied me through a very worrying time during an illness which was rather spectacularly misdiagnosed by my GP. The supposed condition would have meant a lifetime of relapses, and the symptoms were quite miserable. She regularly called to support me and let me know about some more information she had uncovered on the internet. Unwittingly she is the best friend a girl could have; quick to rush to your side when you need her and just as quick to pick you up, clean your cuts and grazes and give you a hug even when you think you don't need her.

Of course, there comes a time when as a friend, you have to play this role yourself. And this happened five days ago in my case, not with the friend I've mentioned but for Jen who called me in a state of upset and confusion following some rather unpleasant discoveries at her boyfriends' house.

Jen has been seeing him for around six months now; it's been an up-and-down relationship but she is besotted with him. As her friends we all secretly despise him; he is guilty of the worst possible social crime, arrogant without a valid reason.

So, my phone rings at around 8pm and it's Jen.

"I stayed at Ben's last night and I know he had a woman there the night before"

Why?

"Telltale signs. Nothing obvious, just things like two champagne glasses in the dishwasher. He hates champagne."

I guess a logic-led person would say this was all conjecture, but I knew exactly what she meant because a similar thing happened to me around thirteen years ago and I chose to ignore it.

No matter how well men clear away the evidence, what they don't realise is that they cannot clear away the stench of the fact that it happened, and that is what gives them away.

"What do I do? I told him I thought someone had been there, but he says I'm wrong, it was a work colleague"

"OK, as I see it you have three choices here.

Firstly, you walk away. There will always be the doubt in your mind that, even if he admits it, and you patch it up, he could do it again. So walking will shield you from that"

"I don't want to walk away"

"I suspected you would say that. Secondly, you tell him you know (and add that his protestations are pathetic so he should just shut up). Ask him on what basis did he think it was OK to do this. He'll probably say he doesn't know why he did it (which he may not). Tell him to sort this out and get rid of her or else you are out of there."

"Hmmmm. OK..."

"Thirdly, accept the fact that he has now put your relationship onto a new footing. You start seeing other guys; sleep with them if you feel like it. You don't need to discuss it with him because he didn't consult you, did he?"

"What would you do if you were me?"

"If it happened to me in my current relationship, the second or the third, depending on if he approached me to discuss it. But you have to act, otherwise you will tell yourself you need firmer evidence so you'll start looking for it, driving past his house at midnight, for example. You will definitely find it and then your heart will be smashed to pieces. Act now"

Jen rang off shortly after and said she was going to consider the options. I have no idea yet what she's decided as she's not answering her phone.

It got me wondering why people do this to each other in relationships, especially relatively new ones? Why did he bother to start something with Jen when he knew she wanted commitment? There are plenty of women out there (according to the internet) who appear to want no-strings sex, so why bother going through the motions?

This type of episode makes my heart very heavy; I certainly feel like running a key down his car because I know Jen won't. She is so stoically defensive of him that it makes you want to cry.

It's one of life's ponderables that will never be fully answered, I have no doubt. One thing I am sure of is that he will feel much worse about this than Jen does in the final analysis.

Good. I hope he chokes on it. That's what friends are for.

City lights on country lanes...

Some weeks pass by relatively quietly, and yet others seem to teem with so many events and coincidences that even the most staunch believers in the lessons of life are left scratching their heads in disbelief.

A few years ago I remember watching the Oprah Winfrey show (in the days when I had the time to do that....) and she had a guest whose name escapes me, but I seem to think he was called Jim for some inexplicable reason (I'm pretty sure he has a surname too, but surnames have never been my forte). Jim talked about the lessons that life shows us on a daily basis, and he explained that there was a lesson in everything that happened in our lives, but it was up to us to decide whether we wanted to take notice of that lesson or not. In other words, seek, and ye shall find.

His words touched me to the point that they still echo around my head at times. At times like this last week.

It all started on Tuesday evening when I had a very pleasant evening recalling with my paramour our lost youths and the people we knew. I should point out this is not an over-populated county, so it was a bit of a surprise, but not a huge one, when we discovered that many of our "friends" had been mutual. He commented that it was amazing that we hadn't met in that previous existence, and if I had been sufficiently illuminated I'm sure I would have said that fate had determined that the time was not right and we had our respective spiritual paths to tread first, but I'm almost certain I didn't so I probably just nodded in agreement.

And I probably just nodded in agreement because I was recalling the rather uncomfortable feeling I had all those years ago, simply because I didn't quite fit into the "set" we were talking about. The "set" had the right surnames, the benefit of a private education and their families had land. I had none of those things but I had a reasonably pretty face which goes a long way in most circles, but never quite far enough in the one we were talking about.

My paramour, needless to say, was part of the "set".

Two rather large glasses of wine into the conversation and I'm feeling like I've been sent straight back to nineteen years of age, insecurity, wide eyes and all.

The morning breaks however, and I'm forty-five again, and I've recaptured the gloriously unyielding twenty-six years that took that wide-eyed nineteen year old and turned her into the woman I am today. Given the choice I would have preferred an easier ride, but I have no issue with who I've become, because today I see the outmoded class system we have in the UK as just that, outmoded.

Yesterday at precisely 9.37a.m. I skipped onto a train at Newark and skedaddled down to London for the day. I had a couple of meetings lined up; the first with a business contact I had been networking with and the second was an altogether glamorous affair, a photo shoot for a glossy women's monthly to accompany an interview I had already given.

As I alighted from the train (remembering to take all my belongings with me and minding the gap...) I wondered how the day was going to pan out. You see the last time I was in London in a work capacity was over five years ago, before my son was born, when I was working in a corporate sales job that I was quite good at but that I secretly hated. I earned lots of money, but the relentless commuting, the pressure and the perpetual inter-company politicking that went on was enough to dull the sparkle of the city for me.

I drove off in the taxi along the Marylebone Road and passed some of my familiar landmarks; the bust of JFK by Great Portland Street tube, the Globe pub opposite Madame Tussuad's where I and a colleague had celebrated a particularly good sales pitch, and the Landmark Hotel where I had met my much-missed colleague Jane Minnick a few times to discuss sales strategies.

Jane was a very loud, opinionated American who worked as an account manager for our chief supplier. She was outspoken to the point of occasionally being obnoxious, but when she laughed you could not help but laugh with her. She drove me nuts with her arrogance, but when you were in on her joke, it would make you cry with laughter. I recall one time when she called me bearly able to speak because she was laughing so hard at an e-mail I had sent her; I can't recall detail but I believe the e-mail was titled "Who is Jack Schitt" and Jane laughed like a drain. It was, in fairness, a pretty hilarious little ditty, but that is how I remember her, because two years later Jane was killed in a car crash. Yes, she was loud, but she was also larger than life, and sadly a life that is no longer with us.

So, I'm on the Marylebone Road heading out towards Ealing for my first meeting with Corinne. As I'm passing through the streets I'm realising that the heavy heart I had the last time I was here has gone; now it is all exciting, full of promise and allure.

I spend a fascinating hour with Corinne who, as a talented musician, producer and businesswoman, cannot fail to inspire. She tells me of the wealth dynamics profiling system that has enabled her to identify that she is a "creator", someone who is constantly bombarded with new ideas that sadly don't see implementation and fruition because the next set of ideas nudge them off the board. This sounds so strangely familiar. Corinne tels me that wealth dynamics profiling enables you to slay your demons in whichever quarter they may lurk.

This is something I need to do. And pronto....

On to meeting number two, said photo shoot which takes place at a very plush house (the residence of a highly respected actor). I know I am going to like it as I am shown through the house and there are hairstylists and makeup artists at work and lots of ladies shouting "fabulous, love!"

Sharon, the rather gorgeous picture editor of the mag, takes one look at me and says to her stylist "I'm thinking that little silver Ben di Lisi number for Deborah..."

I respond with "I'm liking the sound of that a lot.."

Two hours then commence of dressing, accessorising, hair being styled, makeup applied and the flash of the bulb as I'm asked to give it my all to the camera. In this respect, dear readers, I had no problem; treat me like I'm someone special and I am that person.

And that is who I was as I sat in the chauffeur-driven Mercedes back to Kings Cross; I was someone special. I realised that someone who maybe thought she wasn't quite good enough at nineteen was actually more than good enough now.

Now it's time to prove just how good.

The bright lights of the city continued to illuminate the road home from Newark station last night, all the way back to my front door. City lights on country lanes...I never thought I'd see it, but it is so very clear to me now.

My secret self by the other me...

One of my most annoying traits is that I can change my mind at the drop of a hat on an issue that I could have been one hundred per cent sold on five minutes beforehand. Some see this as inconsistent and unpredictable; I prefer the terms "flexible" and "accommodating".

If you speak to any of my inner circle they will happily list lots of other equally annoying traits, but the "switching horses mid-race" habit does secretly hack me off too. I can be happily plowing my way through a business project, and then WHAM! I have a new idea that is so over-poweringly brilliant that everything else fades away into an insignificant backdrop.

It gets particularly annoying when said new idea involves not only a new range of products, but also a new website and a new blog. I sometimes forget that I don't yet have a support team of ten fabulous and self-starting assistants that can help with the ensuing tasks; I live some way off in the future you see, which is also vexing for my accountant and bank manager. Some people have no vision.

Recently I decided to spice things up a bit with my event stationery business; years of working with ivory ribbon and dreamy themes leaves you wanting to break out the black satin and raunch it up a notch or two. I was so excited at the prospect that I neglected to sit and determine where the three extra days per week I would need were going to come from...

So far the website is established; it looks rather saucy and full of promise, but sadly it is only that- just saucy, no meat underneath (I hope that doesn't conjure up any inappropriate images- it isn't that kind of site)

I've always loved the term "work in progress" because it implies continued growth and improvement; unfortunately in this case it means what it means, "under construction".....

On a very light, airy and positive note, Lincolnshire life improves by the day. I'm starting to realise that the improvements I'm noticing are not recent, they were always there, but now my eyes are rested and I hope I've lost part of the Southern attitude that must have annoyed the heck out of everyone, so I can see more clearly.

Most recently on the drive back from taking my boy to school I noticed a wheelbarrow outside someones' house full of cooking apples (clearly from their orchard...). There was a sign by it that read "Free apples- help yourself".

A missed opportunity to make a few quid? Very possibly.

But this is Lincolnshire. Thank heavens.