I had already experienced a holiday on my own when I went to Hong Kong in February. But I had also gone away a couple of times on my own when I was with Gail – a World Cup trip to Germany and a visit to Krakow to go to Auschwitz – so I wasn’t too daunted by the prospect of travelling alone. It was odd certainly, but I can’t rightly say I had no experience whatsoever.

In June though came a different thing altogether. A holiday in Italy with my daughter Natalie and new Son-in-Law Steve. (N.B. Gail is not Natalie’s Mother). This had come about as principally a Christmas present for them both, but also as a thank you for the support I’d received the previous July. This visit to the Amalfi Coast was an attempt to do some of those things that had long been on the list but had faded from view during the years of Gail’s poor health. There had been a time we could have done them, but we had other things to do – other things to spend our limited resources on – and fitting them in became more unlikely as the days progressed.

But now, without Gail and the difficult to acknowledge, but basic fact that, it’s cheaper for one to travel rather than two, I’d decided to start seeing those things I wanted to see. There had to be some point to being on my own and this had to be it. I know Gail would have approved.

Also, though it was barely acknowledged, it was still a basic truth. Gail and I would never have gone away with anyone else – even my Son and Daughter-in-Law and Daughter and Son-in-Law – not for any particular reason either. It’s just not who we were. Gail and I worked together on our own and anyone coming in from outside – even close family – would have seemed odd.

So it was, 2019 would be a chance to see some things I’d almost certainly not had seen but for the events of July 2018, but it was also a chance to do something else I’d not have done, and that is go on holiday with my kids and their respective partners. I booked a hotel in Sorrento so I could ‘do’ Pompeii, Herculaneum, Capri and the Amalfi Coast. In terms of the Bucket List – I hate the term but it will have to do – and also trying to realign my new life, it really did tick all the boxes.

It was the first night in Sorrento though when I realised I had some explaining to do. Not that I knew I did at first; it just crept up unawares.

You see Sorrento would have been a place Gail loved; the restaurants, bars, atmosphere but most of all the shops. As I wandered with my daughter and SIL I actually found myself stopping on occasion, so used to knowing what shops Gail would want to go in. I found myself looking at clothes thinking ‘She’d look great in this’ and, as happened in London at Christmas, had to physically hold myself back from going in and finding the price of a couple of pieces of jewellery. It was like walking a tightrope, but one where you’d suddenly woken up and found you’d been placed on the rope without your knowledge.

I wanted to reach for Gail’s hand – something I miss more than anything – and I did find myself looking enviously at my daughter and her husband as they were able to do that easiest and most magical of things.

Before I’d even contemplated that though, my daughter drew my attention to something I hadn’t even realised. “Dad, you OK? You’re quiet?”. Was I? How did I know? I’d spent a good deal of time on my own since the previous July and I just lived within that; not in a depressing, lonely way but simply as someone going about things without the person they normally spoke to not being around to converse with.

I realised quickly I was quiet but for a reason. You see, I was speaking to Gail in my head. “Look at that Pet, that’s nice isn’t it”, “Would you like that?”, “Oh, You’re getting that then are you?”, “Oh yea, that really suits you” etc. etc. All that and even “Not another bloody shoe shop, Pet. Give me a break eh?” . It was our life together for so many years, so many holidays and now I was living it for her because she couldn’t.

But all my daughter saw, of course, was me being quiet, not conversing, deep in thought. It was a hard lesson because I’d not had anyone around to see me and question anything before. Now I could see how I was.

Even so, it took me two days to summon up the strength to tell my daughter why I was like I was. It’s hard because, if you have to talk, you want to say things like ‘Gail would have loved this’ but you have to respect who you are travelling with. Also, with Gail not being her Mother, there simply wasn’t the emotional crush for my daughter as there was for me. I had to explain something in words that actually only existed in my head before then and that is ‘This hasn’t ended – in fact, it’s not even started. Gail is here in my head every second of every day and I take her with me everywhere and see things that we should see together on my own. I see Sorrento, these clothes, this jewellery, this bar, this food, because she can’t’. That’s hard. Really hard. And I struggled to get the words out.

I had similar emotions in Capri a few days after – another place Gail would have loved – and there was even the Monte Solaro chairlift that I would have insisted on going on and which would have had Gail swearing profusely at me for making her ride. I was able to do it myself, of course, but I actually found I missed the verbal abuse and the associated joy in hearing her… so I simply inserted it into my head as I went up and down.

Again, not being a travel blog, I’ll say no more about Sorrento than that. It was a wonderful holiday and one I would never have experienced had Gail still been with me but, in much the same way that I can never see a lemon again without thinking of Sorrento, the holiday was still Gail-tinged and there are things I saw did and experienced – too many to recount here – that will always seem in my memory to have had Gail associated with them.

Perhaps, one day, with my aged brain far-away and never to return, I will actually believe I went there with her. In my way, I did.

Another hurdle, a big one; Gail’s birthday. There’s no getting round this, it’s hard. You can’t celebrate – there’s nothing to celebrate or anyone to celebrate it with – but you can’t ignore it either. The day was made more difficult by the fact that we always went away for both our birthdays. For Gail’s this was a trip to her favourite place, Marmaris in Turkey. There she would we stock up on designer goods for her impending Ascot Day later in the month and, often, even get Christmas presents in. In between, we’d visit restaurants, go to bars, chat and laugh. We loved it, it was always one of our favourite weeks of the year.

One thing I couldn’t do is go to Marmaris. It would have been like cheating on her. In fact, I can’t even return to Turkey let alone Marmaris. But I had to do something to mark the day; something that just involved me and somehow being with her. I decided eventually that I had to do something I wanted to do that she would understand, so I decided to go the restaurant of a top chef in London I’d always liked, have a meal there and then see where the day took me.

My posts for the day reflected on my memories of the last birthday she was to have.

For the first time in a good many years there’s no holiday in the first week of June. So what to do with the day? On what should be a happy occasion, it’s now sadly a day I will probably dread for the rest of my life.

Last year, on this day, we took the cliff walk from Marmaris – where we went every year at this time – to Ichmeler, to dine in the gorgeous Karem Restaurant. I hadn’t realised how lovely Ichmeler was. It was a beautiful day and we were chatting and laughing like we usually did, I took the photo below from the table (I have one of Gail but it’s too painful to post) and I said we needed to return and stay in Ichmeler next year and Gail agreed. I’m still not sure if either of us thought we would be coming back, but we made our plans and I’m glad we did.

I’ve just checked out the window and this isn’t Ichmeler though and it never will be. I can never go back in this life. I’ve planned to return one last time however. When I go, the kids have instructions to mix our ashes and take us both to Marmaris, take the walk to Ichmeler and scatter us along the shoreline.

Until then, I have to find us something else to do, Pet.

I started off at Phil Howard’s Elystan Street restaurant, having three delicious courses and leaving before suddenly realising I’d had – completely out of character – lamb’s LIVER. The dark humour cloud was hovering over me that day. Trying to work off a bit off excess, I took some back-doubles around the Chelsea / Kensington area before surprisingly finding myself outside of Gail’s favourite hotel.

See, I love it when stuff like this happens. I came out of the restaurant and decided to walk off a bit of dinner – you know how fat I am 🤣 – and I walked with just a vague idea of the direction I was going in, I cut down back streets, double backed a bit and suddenly I found myself outside of Gail’s favourite hotel. Eh? We came here for some memorable teas over the years and she bought her friends here as well. So.. go in? I don’t think I’ve been led here for no reason so why not! A glass of Laurent Perrier? Be rude not to.

A walk from the Berkeley along Piccadilly bought me to my favourite church. St James’s Piccadilly. I go there every Christmas and try to drop in any time I pass. I was there for a purpose as I knew Gail always liked to light a candle if she was in a church so I wanted to light one for her. It became apparent though that I’d stumbled into something being assembled and I discovered I’m wandered into an evening concert of sacred chants, mantras and songs by a duo known as Illumina.

Seeing my difficulty, I was kindly asked to stay – admittance free – and, though I wasn’t sure I would be able to handle more than a few minutes of it, I took up the kind offer. I was so glad I did. I ended up staying for all bar the last few minutes, finding the whole thing relaxing and rewarding in a way I wouldn’t have been able to envisage if it had been suggested beforehand.

Then it was on to Covent Garden. Our first ‘date’ as such was in Rumours, London’s first cocktail bar (yep it was THAT long ago). It’s sadly long gone and isn’t even anything now – all boarded up – but ‘Be At One’, a smaller cocktail bar, is next door to where Rumours used to be and it’s cocktails till close now.

And that was it. At the end of the day I realised I’d walked from Chelsea to Covent Garden. Once again a day I’d been dreading had opened up into something else. By the time I got home it was five minutes past midnight and Gail’s first birthday ‘elsewhere’ had passed. Another day I’d rather not have had, but one that had its surprising aspects.

A number of you have enquired about Puffy – the Ghost Cat who appeared mysteriously two days after Gail died. She is back. Not sure why. Perhaps I’m struggling? So I fed her and took this picture. If all you can see is a cat bowl and some decking please let me know and I will contact that nice man in the white coat again.

As anyone who is grieving will tell you, the first year is a series of milestones as each ‘First  without’ is ticked off the list.

There is no easy way around these days, so for the major birthdays and anniversaries, I tried to do something life-affirming and slightly different. This tended to veer towards a place I’d always wanted to go too; a restaurant I’d always wanted to visit or something, placing myself in a situation I might otherwise have not found myself in. I found by doing this that small, unexpected pleasures often opened up, sometimes making the day memorable for another reason. I also found this meant I somehow took Gail with me and I could  ‘share the occasion’ with her.

Some firsts just blindside you though and Easter was one that shocked me. I thought after and decided that Easter is strongly associated with spring and re-birth and, although it wasn’t something I’d considered much before, it has its own unique atmosphere. I discovered this to my cost as, not having steeled myself for the occasion, Easter became an awful time. Again, like Christmas, some of the problems associated with the season aren’t ones you can really talk about without them sounding trite and pathetic. Nevertheless, the fact I had no-one to surprise me with an egg was a horrible realisation of loss; that token gesture of chocolate becoming a focal point for thought, generosity and lost love.

It also makes you shudder with regret and pine for lost opportunity, because the selection and giving of an egg is normally just another one of the year’s events. You’re grateful and happy for the gift, the fact that someone took the time to select it and give it to you, of course, but what you suddenly realise is – however much you appreciated the gesture – you’ll still on some level had taken that gift for granted, something you just ‘do’ every year. Without it, the yawning chasm it leaves just wipes you out.

I can see the pain etched in my throwaway social media post.

Times You Have Got It Wrong # 354
“Easter isn’t as emotional as Christmas I’ll be ok”

‘Nuff said

Gail was beautiful. This isn’t a husband just speaking fondly of his dead wife or something now up for debate, she just was and everybody knew it. I told her frequently and, if she was feeling a certain way, she’d do the self-deprecating thing or, if she was feeling good enough herself, just thank me. The basic fact remains though I’d had years of people – men and women – quite literally stopping us in the street and telling her she looked fabulous.

I joked about it in her eulogy but Gail had always had to fend off attention from both sexes throughout the time we’d been together (and it was certainly the case before we met too). This didn’t bother me – rather I actually enjoyed it – but her attraction didn’t just come from her own looks and personality. Gail had a style of her own; she could co-ordinate clothes and make them look more than they were. I can’t recount the number of times Gail was stopped and asked where she’d got a specific item of clothing and had to convince an astonished person when she simply answered ‘Primark’. Gail made good clothes look good, of course, but her trick was in making cheaper clothes look great too.

On our last holiday together in Marmaris just weeks before she went into hospital for the last time, I was approached by a woman in the hotel we were staying in. “Can I just say how much my friends and I keep commenting on how glamorous your wife is? We can see she’s extremely ill but she has so much poise and style. We’re all saying if only we could look like her…” I thanked the woman profusely – I knew it would mean a lot to Gail (although I knew how ill she was when she could barely take the compliment) – but, seeing how painfully gaunt Gail was, I could only wonder at what they would have said had they seen her just a year previously.

The woman was right though; feeling terrible and in pain, Gail would dress for dinner as if she was going out to the Ritz (I won’t bore you with how stunning she looked when we did go the Ritz!). She had difficulty wearing the clothes she wanted as they hung on her rather than fitted her as they had previously, but that didn’t stop her from mixing and matching to look her best.

Gail always looked as if she had her own personal spotlight. She had her issues – and I wouldn’t want to pretend otherwise to anyone coming at this site who didn’t know her – but none of those precluded her from the way she presented herself; always looking fantastic and dressing with style, grace and panache. She was pretty good at raunchy and slutty too 😉

Now, with her gone, the question of what to do with her wardrobes – and there’s a lot of stuff – raised its stylish head. My immediate thought post-July 2018 was I needed to move from the house we shared. A three-bedroom town house is too big for one man and four cats but also we lived where we did because we were together; alone I had no reason to be where I was and, in fact, with elderly parents and a daughter living 50-60 odd miles away, it made sense to move closer to them. But a quick look at some properties in an area I’d want to move to made me realise I’d have to downsize the wardrobe space drastically to even think about moving.

At least, that’s what I tell myself. The fact is though I never had any issues about Gail’s clothes. Following a blog online about coping with grief , I was vaguely astonished to find someone getting his in-laws round to help sort his wife’s clothes out a year after she passed away. A year? Getting help?

I started listing things on eBay within a couple of weeks of Gail’s passing. I didn’t need help; wouldn’t have appreciated help. Not only didn’t I find this odd or hard I actually found it cathartic. Gail’s gorgeous clothes that she loved and looked great in could be enjoyed by others. That was important to me; that someone saw something, wanted it and would enjoy it for themselves. It was as if her life would be continuing elsewhere.

A cynic could say the same would be true if I’d just bundled the lot up and taken them to a nearby charity shop – and there have been charitable donations made too – and my altruistic reasons actually meant I made a good deal of money from some items I hadn’t originally paid for myself (although a lot I had actually bought).

There’s not a great deal I can say in defence to that other than I really don’t care. I’m comfortable with it, I’m the one left and I’ll do what I want. In fact, I love seeing the comments on eBay from people who’ve bought something, love it and say it looks fabulous on them because I adore the fact that Gail’s clothes have a life with someone who appreciates them.

The ‘everyone handles grief differently’ mantra will crop up here regularly – you may already have seen it – and all I can say the clothes issue simply wasn’t a problem for me. The photography, listing, selling, packaging and posting gave me a purpose that helped me a lot during the first year and, with barely half the stuff sold, I think it may serve me well into old age.

Am I overstating things about Gail’s clothes though? Were they that special? Well, how many people do you know could design and then carry off this hat? Then tell me I’m going over the top. So spectacular, so ‘Gail’ was this, I placed It was on her coffin at her funeral and it sits proudly – as an ornament no less – in my lounge.

Having said all this, I still have about 70 pairs of glasses and 50 bags available…

Religious, atheist or spiritual: It makes not a jot of difference. In grief, you find yourself searching for signs. Little things that make a difference to your day, things that can lift your heart and make you think there might just be  a purpose to it after all. If you’re religious or spiritual these signs will cement your faith or beliefs; if you’re any type of  non-believer – and I fall into that category – then you at least feel a raising of your spirits.

I found solace in mixing the past with the present, in both a literal and figurative sense. On evenings I would otherwise have spent with Gail, I tried to do something constructive and transfer a number of mix tapes that I had stored in the loft onto Spotify.

Spurred on by the Celebration of Life compilation I had used at her after-funeral (Gail had insisted it be a Celebration of Life and I’ve never called it anything else), which I had compiled on Spotify and passed to many people who requested it, I decided to use the medium to update my musical catalogue. I’d never bothered about online music much before Gail’s passing but, once created on Spotify, the only way I could retain the Celebration of Life list was to subscribe monthly, and if I needed to do that then I may as well use the the fee constructively.

This meant buying – years after I got rid of them all! – a cassette deck (Look how hip I am buying a boombox in 2018!) on which I’d play the tape, note the track and add it to a similarly named library on Spotify.

Most of these tapes were given to me by Gail or, on occasion, some I had given to her (She had several moves since 1988 when I’d first given her a magical mixtape and they hadn’t all survived unlike mine). Occasionally, so overwhelming was the emotion on playing these, I’d have to add the track to a Facebook or Twitter with some comment as to what meaning it had for me or some story it invoked. This turned into an occasional series I called ‘MixTape88’ which ran online from late 2018 to the end of 2019.

The following is a MixTape’88 post I felt I wanted to post here as it demonstrates one of those coincidences that you make your own mind up about.

Well, here’s another one of ‘those’ moments where you wonder if greater forces aren’t at work.

Released in ’87, the Christians first album flew under my radar until Gail introduced me to it in Jan ’88. “Heard this?” she asked, before putting it on and – you may want to avert your gaze here – dancing to this very track in front of me. And my God, that woman could dance… *Nurse! Can we have the screens and one of Mr Blagg’s tablets please? He’s having a turn*

The album became a staple in the spring of that year and I’ve played it every year since at this time because it just reminds me of those months. I bought tickets to see them for me and her but, sadly, by the time the gig came around in May ’88, that part of our life had collapsed and she (at my insistence) went with her best friend Rose. It was a desperately sad time.

Despite a couple of other hits the Christians were really about that one album. So as I played this the other day I wondered what they were doing now. I googled and … what’s left of the band (essentially the lead singer Garry Christian) are still touring and are.. wait for it…. playing in Chelmsford on Friday night this week – just 20 miles up the A12 from where i write this.

So I have a ticket and looking forward to making up for what I missed in the spring of ’88. I desperately wish we could do this re-visitation together but I’ll be thinking about THAT dance and the lyrics to this.

Born Again – The Christians

I loved that gig. The hall itself was not much more than a social club hall – and Gary could see the humour in that and mentioned that ‘we used to fill out big venues, you know?’ (To which I thought ‘I know Gary I famously wasn’t at one of them!’) but The Christians were as wonderful as they were on that first album.

I’m not ashamed to admit – fanboy like – I hung around after the gig hoping to be able to tell Gary that, while for him it might be another night on another road, for me the evening had magical qualities that helped me a lot. Sadly, he didn’t come out as quickly as I’d hoped and, aware I probably looked like a sad old git trying to get an autograph, I left.

It was a good night though and a beautiful memory that didn’t ease the pain of not being able to go with her to that first gig but did, in some other way, mean I could take her in other circumstances. Not ‘Born Again’ perhaps. But as close as I could get to it. 

The trip to Hong Kong did me a power of good but don’t think that the answer to grief is just to get away for a week. It doesn’t work like that.

I immediately got back to post a regular track to my MixTape’88 list; sometimes commenting and posting a story to go along with it, sometimes not. They were comforting though, even though they were also sometimes painful. And then on March 5th, the pit opened up again.

I sometimes wonder how some of you view these posts; many of you people I only ‘know’ through WestHamOnline, ‘Nightmare’ or ESPN. How would I see these posts if I saw them three years ago? Would I despair at someone laying out his life on social media? I expect so. A few years ago it was witty banter about football. Yet here I am. One of the problems of being an only child, I guess. No-one to vent to. But it was one of those days today, one of those where the pit opens and you tumble into a meaningless void of black treacle where nothing makes sense and you can’t pull yourself free. I’ve not done this much since last July but one of those where I had to buy a bottle of JD Tennessee Fire as I left ASDA. I sat in a restaurant in a hotel tonight, tears streaming down my face, wanting desperately to scream, barely comprehending what I’m doing here – and by here I could mean Folkestone or the planet. I’m not suggesting you give it as a present, but grief really is a gift that keeps on giving. It was a day where the pain of loss just tears at your soul; her laughter, voice, smell, touch, feel, intelligence, humour, beauty – all gone. And why? And where? A day where you desperately want to believe in some God or Afterlife so it all makes sense; yet you want to grab that God by the throat and ask why? Really? There was no-one more suitable to take early? Seriously God, here’s a list with a few names you may have missed….

I need to find a better outlet than this, I know. I will do it eventually. I don’t even know if I will post this. If you’re reading it you know Mr Daniels won.

That was written during a business away trip and I realised I found those most difficult to deal with. In better days, Gail would often accompany me on those trips certainly, but what I realised was I felt more in touch with things if I was at home where Gail was. Seeing parts of England I wouldn’t have otherwise seen wasn’t of any comfort and I’ve tried to curtail those now as much as possible. Ultimately though, when those days turn up – and don’t pretend just because I don’t talk about them all the time they don’t turn up a lot – there’s nothing you can do. I call them the ‘Dark Pit’ days. And when they arrive don’t hold onto the edges of the pit, because it will just wait for your grip to fail. And fail it will.