David Haye - not just a nice bum...

Well I have to admit it - ‘I’m a Celebrity’ is my guilty pleasure. I’ve always liked it but this year was the best one ever.  It was great fun, we had nice contestants, the bush tucker trials were horrible, Ant and Dec were on top form and there was THAT shower scene. Everyone has gone on about Mylene Klass and the white bikini but David Haye, naked under the waterfall, ladies....well....all I can say is...pwooor! (Gentlemen...please go to the gym...go directly to the gym and do not pass go!)

I actually know another side of David Haye. Yes I know, what with Ross Kemp the other week and now this, I am positively almost an A lister myself! He bought a house in my neck of the woods, (David not Ross!); him and his gorgeous wife and baby son, and I once dropped an invite to a party through his letterbox.

It’s not as mad as you might think, well maybe it is, but I was a little short on the ground of Big Names to invite, (well actually his was the only address I knew), but there was a connection. The surprise party was for Ash coming back from Afghanistan and Ash and his brother are both great Haye fans, having driven to Manchester to watch him win his world title. So I thought it fitting.

Unfortunately the date I picked was not only David Hayes birthday, (although we could have arranged a joint do?), but also the day he retired from boxing.  So I guess he could be forgiven for not attending the knees up at The Swan in West Wickham, although Mick & Lisa are the best landlords ever. He did however contact me through his PA expressing his regret that he could not attend and sent Ash a personally signed book with a notation to him on it. It was a lovely thing to do and I will be forever grateful for that small act of kindness that made Ash’s eyes light up.

Ash had been on Operation Herrick 14 and away for 7 of the longest months of my life. But he was back now, safe and sound, and we wanted to throw a party for him and put the past 7 months Out There behind us.

In my diary I wrote:

My covert mission to ensure that Ash’s party remains a total secret is going very well. The Swan is on high alert and Gary has been in to decorate the room with balloons and bunting. Mick and Lisa have arranged a disco and I have put numerous photos from Out There onto a memory stick to be projected onto the TV screen during the evening. Lisa’s mum has baked a cake and Mick and a guy from the British Legion have supplied flags. Rosie and Sammie have contacted everyone they know and we are hoping for a good turnout. The local press will be there and Lisa has arranged for the Crystal Palace Cheerleaders to come in and give him a cheer, complete with pom-poms!

 

My mission is to get him there without spoiling the surprise. I decide to tell him that my friend Chris is over with her sons from Italy and that they want to say hi and see his medals. I tell him that they will be in the local Pizza Express at eight o’clock and perhaps we could just pop in to see them. Luckily Ash has no other plans for the evening: he informs me that all his mates are being ‘right wusses’ and don’t want to go out tonight. I smile. I make a furtive call to Italy to tell Chris that she mustn’t telephone me later as she is supposed to be here in the UK. She laughs and is delighted that her family is part of the deception.

With military precision I text Gary at 7.56 to let him know that we are leaving the house. At 7.59 we get to Pizza Express, the designated place to meet Chris and the boys, only to find, surprisingly, that they are not there.

‘Oh, Ash, I wonder where they can be?’ We stand outside, looking through the window of the restaurant.

‘Let me call her.’ I reach for my phone and dial Gary’s number. ‘We’re outside Pizza Express.’

‘We are all ready here, Mum,’ Gary says. I pause for further effect. ‘Caught in traffic?’ I respond. I look at Ash and raise my eyebrows. ‘You’ll be about ten minutes?’

‘He hasn’t got a clue, has he, Mum?’ Gary says.

‘Just a minute, Chris. They’re caught in traffic, Ash, what shall we do?’

‘Go to The Swan, for a quick drink?’ he says.

‘Good idea, Ash,’ I answer.

‘Result!’ Gary says.

‘We’ll go into The Swan for a drink then, Chris. Call me when you get here.’

‘See you in a minute, Mum.’ As Gary’s voice trails off, I hear him shouting, ‘Right, everyone, he’s on his way. Into positions!’ Ash and I chat as we cross the road and I notice Mick standing outside the pub smoking a cigarette. He gives me the smallest of nods.

‘Ash, my boy!’ Mick says as he embraces Ash. ‘Nice to see you!’

We follow Mick into the bar and I hang back. I notice that the door to the conservatory is shut as Ash heads towards the bar. ‘Drink, Mum?’ he asks.

‘Oh, Ash, let’s go into the conservatory. I prefer it in there.’ I catch Mick’s eye; he’s panicking ever so slightly. ‘Really?’ he replies, and for a split second I think it’s all about to go horribly wrong. But then Ash puts his wallet back into his pocket, and turns away from the bar.

‘Go on then.’ I gesture towards the door. ‘Afghan heroes first.’

As he opens the door all that can be heard it a massive cheer and the sound of scores of party poppers exploding, the flashing of cameras and the opening bars of ‘Ain’t No Stopping Us Now’ (David Haye music as he enters the ring!) Ash looks around at me and as I see his face I worry that he might hit the deck, believing that he is back Out There and under sniper fire. But then he smiles and walks into the room. He is immediately lost in a sea of people, surrounded by his friends, who are all laughing and slapping him on the back. Everyone is happy for him, pleased to be part of this, and so very proud.

The room looks fantastic, the place has been transformed into a magical wonderland filled with light and happiness and love, and I beam from ear to ear as I watch the scene in front of me. I go up to him and give him a hug. ‘Surprise!’

He looks at me and then frowns. ‘What about Chris and the boys?’

‘Oh, Ash… It was just a ploy to get you here. You were conned!’ I laugh.

‘Mother, I will never believe a word you say to me ever again!’

And the Cheer Leaders danced and people ate and drank and smiled...and if David Haye had been there last thing he would have said is “I’m a Celebrity - Get me out of here!”

Cathy x

Move over Grant Mitchell...I think the real Ross Kemp has just stood up...

Ross Kemp - not Grant - ed!

I went to lunch with Ross Kemp this week. Well I guess I should clarify that: me and fifty or so others went to lunch with RK. Check me out! Sarah, (who is my long suffering friend who does all the clever internet stuff, which I am totally incapable of doing), joined me and we met and listened to Ross wax lyrical about what he’s been up to, (see I am on first name terms now..)

I do have to say that I was a little terrified I would call him Grant, (Mitchell from East Enders fame), and so I started to repeat a Ross Ross Ross mantra in my head, hoping that the words would stick. Oh the shame if I called him Grant, or even worse Phil...

I don’t know what I expected. He is made out to be a bit of a hard man, perhaps he would lunge at us and shout “’Ave it, you scum!” whilst brandishing a sawn off shotgun, looking menacing with a fierce and slightly mad glint in his eye. Actually, dispelling all the myths, in reality, he is quite charming, shorter that I thought he would be, but dressed in the required dark suit shirt and tie combo. He appeared relaxed and conversed easily as he made his way around the tables.

On our table we had a young lady who had travelled all the way from Blackburn for this lunch, and then decided that she couldn’t eat anything as she was so star struck! She even had Ross Kemps’ initials tattooed on her arm. I have to say that I found this a bit disturbing, but felt her efforts should not go unnoticed and so as he reached our table I told him about her. After hearing this he whipped out his mobile phone and started to press buttons. I was a bit miffed and suggested that maybe this wasn’t the time to be texting or tweeting but he actually wanted to share a photo with me. It was a photo of a man’s leg with a tattoo of Ross Kemps face on it. I actually thought that it was quite a good likeness but in a creepy sort of way: 1. because who would have a tattoo of a total strangers face put on their body? & 2. Why has Ross Kemp kept it on his phone? and in that moment I realised that there was indeed, ‘Nowt as strange as folk!’

I frowned as I showed Sarah, “Ooh that’s a bit odd, don’t you think?”she said I nodded, I mean, come on - sorry Ross, because you seem a very nice man and all that, but, personally I wouldn’t want your face staring up at me from the back of my calf until the end of days, no offence of course...

I told him my about my Ash serving with the Army in Afghanistan last year, and he showed me a photo of his little boy, who is gorgeous. We were, in that moment, both extremely proud parents of boys, and it was nice and convivial. Ross Kemp was very... well... ordinary... normal, dare I say it...even soft...

After dinner he spoke about the horrors he has seen. He wasn’t dramatic, just very matter of fact, which I actually felt a little sad about...perhaps he has seen too much death, pain  destruction in Afghanistan, Chile, Pakistan, Mexico, Glasgow and all of the other places he had reported from; perhaps he is now desensitised? I recently watched his programme Invisible Wounds about troops with PTSD from the 1982 Falklands war and more recently Afghanistan - he clearly was moved, connected and concerned about the potential time bomb we have with this rarely talked about issue.  But it was when he talked about the devastation of the rain forests, about what he saw happening to the Amazon, the lungs of the world, he became animated, alive, his blue eyes shone. He claims that he is no environmentalist, but you know I think deep down he cares, really cares...

After the lunch was over I asked him if he would support our project called Herrick Wood. A project to create woodland, to support, protect and encourage the lungs of our country and in doing this support the troops returning from Afghanistan and their families who suffer the on- going and future psychological effects of war. And you know what? Ross Kemp gently put his hands on my shoulders and looked at me...

Move over Grant Mitchell...I think the real Ross Kemp has just stood up...

Cathy x

The Power of LOVE

Life isn’t defined by how old you are, or what you own, or how much you are worth. It is about the person you are and is defined by the actions you take. Life is about the selfless acts undertaken on a daily basis here, on this planet.

It is about making a difference, however small. It is often about unselfish acts performed without witnesses, without ceremony and often without reward. It is about reaching out and holding a hand in need, even though you may have nothing to give but your compassion.

It is about the whisper and not the shout.

Our troops, this special band of men and women define this. They show us qualities that we can only begin to dream of. They serve us with respect, dignity and pride.

Whilst remembering their courage, we should also acknowledge the parents and guardians who raised these fine people into adulthood in the right way, and supported them so that they could protect us. It is about being there for the people we love, always and unconditionally.

We remember today, our heroes, both sung and unsung.

We thank you for your courage, your inspiration and your humour. Our world is a brighter place because of you.

Today is a day for silence, for contemplation and for reflection. Today is a day where we say a special ‘Thank You’ wrapped up with deep and humbling gratitude to the Fallen and the injured from the current war in Afghanistan, who now stand shoulder to shoulder with those from all wars where our young men and women have given their lives, their limbs, their eyes and their minds to keep up safe.

It is a debt that can never be repaid.

I salute you.     Cathy x

Is 54 too old to jump in puddles?

It was a normal Saturday morning and, as usual the dogs and I were walking through the woods when I saw it. It was a puddle so big that I was stopped in my tracks. Ok so it’s not in league of what Hurricane Sandy left behind in New York, but never the less it was sizeable. The dogs had already waded through, stopping to have a drink half way across, (I wish they wouldn’t), but as I got to the outer edge I had a moment. I am actually quite prone to having moments, I’m not sure if it’s the menopause but this curious behaviour has been more noticeable since my youngest returned safely from Afghanistan a year ago, so there is definitely something afoot.

And without a thought I jumped in, two feet, kerbassh, straight into the middle of the puddle...and then I jumped again, kicking the water as I went and I started to laugh because it was silly and stupid and...well, fun. The dogs wagged their tails and started to bark and all was well within my little world.  Until I turned round to follow the line of their gaze... and there he was: a man holding onto the collar around his boxer dog’s neck, looking at me. Not in a creepy, stalkerish way, but more in a bemused, where is her Carer sort of a way.

I stopped jumping. I opened my mouth to say something witty and terribly clever and “The water’s lovely!” came out. He remained silent and then, without uttering a single sound, turned round, pulling at the lead, now firmly attached to the equally bemused boxer dog’s collar, and strode off , head down in a purposeful manner, in the opposite direction.

I looked down at my muddy green wellies and brushed down the front of the enormous Army issue green waterproof I was wearing over my sheepskin jacket.  On reflection I could see that my appearance bore vague similarities to an enormous green gherkin, which was probably quite a scary sight, even for those with a strong constitution. It was definitely not a scene you want to stumble across on a Saturday morning in November.

I sighed, and thrust my hands into the huge pockets of my waterproof and pulled out a refresher chew - well it had been Halloween and I had overdone the sweets thing - I actually only had one fairly pathetic fairy and a cowboy (?) knock on my door, so I am now on a diet of Refreshers, lollies and mini milky ways.

My kids use to love Halloween. Well if I am being honest I loved and still love Halloween. My children didn’t need much encouragement to go with the flow! At the time I saw nothing wrong in dressing them up, painting their faces and sending them off into the dark to knock on strangers houses and ask for money or sweets...ok...so I have had a few years to think about it...and Fagin does spring to mind...but they loved it, and it was different back then, wasn’t it? They would come back with their bags overflowing and tip their spoils out on the carpet. It was just a bit of fun.

Nowadays we do seem to be a bit devoid of fun sometimes.

I also have been known to whiz down a supermarket aisle whilst pushing a big trolley building it up so after a couple of good pushes I can lean forward and take my feet just off of the ground just enough so I speed along on trolley power alone. In my head I do make the ‘Wheeee’ sound, and I must admit that there was an incident last week when I said this out loud, forgetting myself for just a moment, and causing a small boy to turn to his mother and say, “She’s being naughty isn’t she Mummy?” and his Mother giving me one of those ‘for goodness sake act your age’ looks.

And I smile, because it is harmless and silly and the world is such a dull place at times, and it doesn’t hurt anyone. And I’m 54 and I can.

I can blame it all on the menopause, people either nod knowingly, (and perhaps a tad sympathetically), or shuffle away embarrassed. I don’t even have to say the words; I can mouth them in an exaggerated fashion, ala Les Dawson: “It’s the menopause you know.”

And even if that isn’t a valid excuse, then as a mother of a serving soldier who has done his stuff in Afghanistan I am allowed to be a bit crazy, ditsy and silly. I am allowed to let off steam and to be thankful that, for now, he is home and he is safe. Me, just like thousands of other mums who have, or have had, their children serve Out There spend so much time worrying and fretting that we need to have an escape. Menopause of not, puddle splashing and trolley riding should be compulsory.

And of course it is now firework time, so I need to go and find me a sparkler, so I can write my name in the air...

Cathy x