Brunei August 2012 - Part 2

There are walking tours and there are walking tours. With the waterfront less than 15 minutes away, I was soon off to explore. My first spot was a chinese temple with its double happiness symbols all over it. I've been wearing my own symbol of it, the past few years and though it hasn't exactly worked, I have given up just yet. Next the outdoors market was drawing folk but I decide to save that for a closer look once I've got more currency and the lay of the land.

Five minutes later and I'm at the waterfront with $200 so Brunei is mine to explore proper and I'm overlooking an attempt to make a busy water taxi terminal in to an attractive area to eat and drink overlooking the enormous water village on the other side. Its clearly a deliberate attempt to promote tourism with an interesting piece of sculpture art fountain as a focal point. It isn't exactly slick like you'd see in Singapore but its a start and provides a welcome orientation point for visitors.

Brunei's tourist brand is 'Abode of Peace' with Brunei the 'Green Heart of Borneo' and 'A Kingdom of Unexpected treasures' promised. What's striking about the waterfront is its attempt to integrate in to its surroundings rather than the reverse. This is not a mass tourist attraction as I'm just about the only tourist in sight. They are attempting to attract travellers who are looking for something different and it's as different as I've felt travelling for a long time.

Where ever you are 'down town' you are never far from the magnificent gold domed Omar Ali Saifuddien Mosque. I've got a particular fascination with almost any religious attraction (my children get 'templed out' on trips) but this is probably the finest example I've ever seen. Simple yet elegant, bold yet refined, I've taken as many photos as I can which is pretty unusual for me. I know there are larger examples around (here) but its scale sits perfectly with its moat surroundings with water being an ever present feature of almost everyone's lives here.

I spot a family from the plane enjoying a KFC meal in the outlet situated in the malay style buildings housing a shopping centre and department store. I'm sure they sell everything you could possibly want but as I don't want anything, I'm back walking along the waterside, stopping for a couple of drink stops at some of the outlets that are open, en route for the Arts & Handicrafts training centre at the far end. It's enormous but empty and I decide against going in when I see a sign for its restaurant just around the corner and remember I haven't eaten since dinner last night. Appetite is a very negotiable experience in this environment.

It's clearly open with lights twinkling but no cars in the car park and its heading towards dusk so I venture in anyway to see a large noodle offering of ten different types on the ground floor and then upstairs a full buffet and a la carte menu with sufficient tables to seat several hundred people in each. Crikey. I can't imagine it gets that busy but there are staff there as if it might. The chef starts talking to me in excellent english and I establish that it exists really to cater for groups that visit though they must be open from 10am to 10pm. Goodness. I'm not entirely sure why but I think the same person responsible for having a go at the waterfront is having a go at providing other opportunities for tourism.

My new friend expresses surprise that I'm alone and says 'You must be...'..... .... .... 'adventurous'. No, I say. Just curious. And curious enough to decide to go back later if I feel hungry at all. Walking back along the front, its starting to get hazy, dusky and while I feel perfectly safe, I'm constantly being shouted at by water taxi drivers and wonder whether I should take the plunge. Plucking up the courage would normally take a beer while watching what everyone else does first but of course I have to settle for Mocha Latte at Fratini's 'Authentic Italian Cuisine' Restaurant that has an impressive menu and wouldn't look out of place anywhere outside italy for pizza and pasta. The nice young water has only me to engage in conversation and apparently I can take a trip across to the Kampung (Water Village) for 50 cents to $1 either way. He says everyone is friendly and I'll be fine just walking around by myself but I've been walking for a couple of hours and in this humidity its exhausting to do anything much more but watch people going home with their shopping and worldly goods. And fascinating. All manner of boxes and bags, groceries, and purchases.

I decide to have a go tomorrow if its a bit brighter and nicer weather though I've visited my fair share of Kampungs all over Asia and I like looking at this one with its myriad colours and designs from across the way where it looks like a film set rather than real life. There's a cultural and tourism centre but I know I'll be the only one there and judging by all the looks, toots and general attention seeking behaviour going on around me, I'm the object of a lot of solo traveller interest and I don't think its got nothing to do with my gender.

So I end up winding my way up and down a few more of the less than ordinary streets, taking more and more pictures of the mosque but gradually returning towards the hotel when I spot tonic water in a mini-mart type store and recall my allocation of duty free awaits. I've been out for four hours which probably accounts for my relief to feel refreshed by the aircon and consult the menus for the various hotel restaurants but know I will end up on a date in my room with a G&T and Piers Morgan on CNN. The Republican Romney ticket acceptance conference is being shown full time (what para olympics) and its compelling viewing as it turns out, I think because its so incongruous and removed from my 'Abode of Peace' where I'm reading the Brunei Tourism Year Book which confirms a lot of the feelings I've been having. Rich in Gas and Black Gold, this tiny country of only 400K inhabitants is fabulously wealthy but attempting to remain at one with nature.

It's sort of like Belgium is to europe in terms of scale on this enormous island of Borneo but also very focussed on retaining its 'lush pristine' rainforests and 'placid, relaxed and rush free' way of life. Hector (the Psychiatrist) would do well to have visited in his search for time because all of sudden I have in fact found somewhere that feels time rich. Or at least where time passes more slowly. Or where I at least have time.

Drifting off to sleep, its a more settled night before waking early ready to finish the tourist yearbook and watch Romney strut his stuff. I know this has nothing to do with me (I was as excited by Barack Obama as everyone else was by his two books that I bought and read in Washington the year prior to his election) but I have to say that I've seen a lot about him and his wife and their values these past two days and there is something, yes conservative, about him that is quietly reassuring. If his story is true, he sure knows what he's doing in business and one thing that we all need to prosper in these difficult times is someone who knows what they are doing in business but who also looks out beyond their own family to the welfare of others and theirs, balancing the need for us all to succeed and not at everyone else's cost.

He isn't swag Cameron, cheesing grins through it all. He seems like someone solid, reliable and trustworthy and has a healthy disregard for lawyers (which I think is perfectly reasonable). Plain old boring dependable. Committed. Careful. And self-effacing. You sense so many politicians have egos the size of the planet but he just doesn't. I could work with him, I thought. But as I said, it's all got nowt to do with me.

When he'd finished and they went back to being OTT conference americans by filling the entire stadium with so many balloons no one could speak, move or breathe, I was ready for the off to follow the hotel's suggested jogging trails but walking that promise to take me to the local waterfall and hilltops. The Tasek trickle wasn't exactly as depicted in its botox enhanced picture but the walk was relatively pleasant once I left the tooting roadside. The way I deal with feeling anxious about being very solo in a strange place to behave as if I'm completely at ease but keep a really close eye out for anyone who might get a bit tricky. I was groped once in a fortress in Oman and its made me super selective of my routes. Obviously there wasn't more than the odd soul for the whole hour but the flowers and fauna were just stunning and I got lots of pictures to show my Mum of some hugely amazing varieties of all sorts of flowers I've just never seen before. Worth a bit of sweat equity (and nervous sweat) to acquire them.

I pitstopped back at the hotel lobby on the free apple and pineapple water that someone had prepared for no one but me to drink. I considered eating by the pool but the pool was obviously empty and the hotel buffet restaurant is unremarkable (until its also upgraded). There were a few folks in there and the Aussie GM probably would have engaged me in polite conversation but I'm tired of polite conversation with strangers and decide to head off on route two which will bring me through tree lined vistas back to the cultural centre restaurant on the sea front by a completely alternative route.

I knew it was an error to be turning off the beaten track about a nanno after every car that passed slowed and tooted, rather than just tooted but luckily I soon had other things to worry about - like the uneven path in Fitflops, no path, steep uphill and baking sunshine which miraculously came on as soon as there was no shade. Resolute, I soldiered on, figuring that every step taken was one less left to do but I was all of a lather and was beginning to regret ever thinking the suggested two hours of brisk walking were just what the doctor ordered with an overnight flight ahead of me tonight. Rigour will set in, I just know it and I bet I don't feel like walking ever again, tomorrow morning in London.

Oh well, this is Brunaian Borneo and I can at least have said I'm the only person ever to follow the hotel's jogging trails completely as I think I'm the only person who has ever stayed in the hotel too. I spot my possible lunch stop eventually with a mixture of relief that only half a dozen steep hairpin bends and no paths are between me and life but guess what, it's deserted and I just can't face being so lonely, so early in the day. It will attract all the unwelcome attention that too much attention when it is not welcome can. So there's nothing for it but to return to Fratini's to break the overnight fast with a caesar salad that I don't think caesar would have recognised but hey, as I said, an italian restaurant that wouldn't be out of place anywhere outside Italy.

So I'm the only one sat outside but there's a roar of the boats as they thunder and slap across the river and so I can hear life carrying on here as it does every day, no doubt. Simple, honest, straightforward and a world away from life as we know it. I'm glad that I didn't spend another night in KK. As much as I love it, it has moved on from the KK I fell in love with a decade ago. In its place is a fast moving modernising malaysian city that I still love but its nice to be back somewhere where tourism is not a backbone and more of an after thought.

Brunei has world class golf courses, hotels and function facilities. It also has some of the most untouched rainforests in the world. It's a great place to round off my 'gap year' and return back to the UK with some fresh views on life, the world and things that have nothing to do with me. Except of course that we are all in this together. Country by country, nation by nation, our life chances and experiences are dominated by our prevailing views unless we have seen and appreciated something of others. Brunei is refreshing. Fascinating. Fabulous. It's a place I would like to have had more time to explore.

Brunei August 2012

When I booked my flights for Kota Kinabalu, the possibility of an overnight stay in the airline's home country opened up the possibility of going somewhere new. I wouldn't say that I plan to visit every country in the world but my in-built nomad felt curious and so I decided that rather than transit for 8hrs, I'd 'go-for-it' and take an overnight on the way back.

As I transited on the way to KK, I had the pleasure of three hours in Brunei's Bandar Seri Begawan airport and despaired at its ramshackle appearance with a lonely Coffee Bean cafe keeping up appearances overlooking the 'departure' hall which has seen a lot better days. Not to worry, I thought, I bet I can change my flights and stay an extra night in Perfect Paradise and simply suffer a long transit.

What with one thing or another - give or take a mountain and turning 40 - I sort of let it slip my mind and only got round to thinking about doing something about it last weekend with precisely one week left to scheduled departure. I put a half hearted attempt together with the lovely Golden Circle concierge but what with Hari Raya and language and contacting London but it all not really coming together by Monday, I somehow decided that enough was enough and it was meant to be. No one in KK has anything to say about Brunei. Nothing there, they said. Resigned and stealing myself for 36hrs of alcohol free torture, I left the Shangri-la Tanjung Aru this morning wondering whether the plane might be full and somehow get transported to tomorrow by the back door.

It wasn't meant to be. Or maybe it was. Sometimes interesting paths have narrow entry points. A bit like happening upon a new relationship, you sometimes have to take unlikely avenues to find a new partner. Not that I was expecting to start a romance as the short flight began to descend almost as soon as it reached cruise height. Half an hour at most south of KK, I hadn't even bothered to book a hotel which could have been a disaster in the making but I think I recalled an advert in the in-flight magazine on the way out and thought, well, they will have them. Although - yes - I was a little nervous because in Sarah world, as my best friend always says, anything might happen and normally does.

As we land you notice that the properties are huge and that there a lot of glistening domes. Huge glistening domes. Which means one of at least a few things. Religion is central, power is acute and wealth is self-evident. I know that the Royal Sultanate of Brunei isn't poor - compared to a lot of asia - but actually, I realise, I know not a lot. Which was all about to change.

The airport didn't improve a month on but what did change was an apology by Royal Brunei airlines that it was undergoing extensive renovation and apologies for all inconvenience caused. Ah ha. I thought. That means that someone else has noticed that it isn't exactly up to international standards and is doing something about it. Very good start then. I have to sign in with a very heavy customs and immigration set of forms. Different countries have different priorities. Here there is an issue with alcohol, perfume and smoking and you are taxed per stick on every cigarette you bring in. Luckily, KK's new world class but empty airport had got its duty free training right and I could take in two bottles of spirits and a perfume. I took only one bottle of Gordons in because as much as I'm up for a session, this is not the place to be drunk in charge of a single female whirling dervish machine. On the other hand, if rumours were correct and I had to pass 36hrs in a stupor for lack of anything else to do, there's no way I'd be allowed to find the secret squirrel drinking dens that Swissman had alerted me to as I checked out this morning. Wrong sex. Just for starters.

Navigating the airport was a bit of a challenge for all the reasons that extensive renovation excuses would imply. Perturbed I couldn't drag all my luggage up all the steps to the Information Desk, I decided to head for buses, taxis and collection point and hope that someone somewhere would see me and somehow help. The plane had been virtually empty but there were a few small groups of people around so I hung slowly back to see what others did before taking the plunge. I'd decided there would be an airport hotel if all else really did fail (though secretly I knew there wasn't one because I was beginning to sweat silently on the sheer folly of my ways).

Get a grip, Ruston.

So I did. I got to the taxi point and decided to look like I was waiting for someone while silently watching what was going on by standing by the closed information point (it was lunchtime) and letting others make their moves. A family that I somehow guessed were going to be staying where I thought I would were trying quite hard to get a taxi but not standing in the right place. Meanwhile, I scanned all the brochures (two) that were left outside the abandoned help and realised that the Radisson had clearly anticipated my departure time tomorrow evening of 9pm by offering an included 6pm checkout. That's me, I thought. I've still got more reading left than time so it could all be a whole lot worst if the suggested push came to shove.

I had changed all my Ringetts in to Brunei dollars so I had $25 for the taxi and soon I was in it, confidently declaring my destination as if I had any idea, whatsoever, what I was doing. Almost the first thing you notice is that it is immaculate. Lamp posts designed to be trees on the first big roundabout and then an absolutely breathtaking building. I asked if it was a Mosque. No Ma'am. It's the Sultan's business building. Right. He knows about style then.

Not bling. Not OTT. Just truly, truly breathtaking. I was jaw dropped. And beginning to anticipate something that alcohol and disney can't buy. We then passed the State Parliament building. I've seen my fair share but after London and Berlin, it ranks for me 3rd. Stunning. Sleek. Understated. Surprising.

OMG. I began to feel my underneath self, just as I felt 20yrs ago on my last gap year. Engaged. Alive. And about to re-discover why I first fell for Malaysia, truly Asia, all those years ago. Visiting Singapore then, I went up through Jahore Bahru and went up to Malacca and its fort via Malay longhouses and tea in a new concrete settlement and felt my british welcome for all the years of colonialisation but also help in the war years. In a long coach tour, we saw oceans of palm plantatons. Poor but proud, hardworking but hard up.

The last time I was in a Radisson was in Leeds when we had 63 runners for the Yorkshire Haven in the Jane Tomlinson Run for All. They have chosen us as their 2012 charity and what resonates, resonates. You reap as you sew. So I turned up and thought, I bet I'd have been better to book in advance but figured if they were full, well, there'd be other places to go. Hopefully.

The absolutely lovely lady on check-in took one look at me and found her room and best-rate. Interested, kind and hospitable, she soon understood my needs and my solo status. Trying hard to help, she did. I asked about city tours and any tours but its quiet and no one is really here so no one is really able to be a tourist. Which is cool because it makes me a traveller and that is where I truly begin to feel alive.

In the end, I had a room and I had a map and with a clear mandate to leave the hotel dressed appropriately for a  devout Muslim country, I felt confident that I was going to be just fine, all alone. And with a cursory read  of the Borneo Bulletin Yearbook 2012, I was off and informed. Bring Brunei on.

Dubai - June 2012

Dubai is a contradiction built upon a huge risk. Thirty years ago the 'airport' was a sand strip and a wooden hut. Then the Sheikh in charge thought, I know, I'll build an international port, dredge the river to allow in freight and then turn it into one of the world's great economic success stories.

Built with huge swathes of cheap labour imported up the river from India and Pakistan, it has nevertheless brought livelihoods that wouldn't otherwise exist and given people great purpose and focus. In a sense its been an army critical mission to get from the desert to the deep blue sea. But now there is more land and more wealth growing day upon hot day.

I've been watching Dubai grow for about six years now. It faltered slightly like all economies did with the worldwide credit crunch but lived on through resources rich reserves, believing in itself in a way that you don't really see except in China.

There was a vision, a plan and a gamble. No one thought it was a great idea when the Sheikh started. In fact, they tried to talk him out of it. He had to borrow the cash to get his way but once he'd started, there was no stopping him. Of course, like many great visions and plans, you've got nothing if you don't execute - just do it. Try and fail. Fail but keep trying. That sort of thing.He kept on and on and on.

Dubai isn't to everyone's taste. To be honest, until I read the Sheikh's story on the plane on the way out, it definitely wasn't to mine. I really, really, nearly didn't get on the plane last Thursday. I had an industrial strength wobble about going. After six months of being unwell after the bike ride and not really going out for ages, apart from working, I just felt like an empty shell. And one thing Dubai won't suffer gladly, is empty shells.

Somehow, I forced myself to drive to Manchester and get on the plane. Encouragement from friends helped but mostly, I thought that a rest is as good as a change so if I was going to stay in and sleep as I have been doing all weekend, every weekend for ages, this is the time to do it in a hotel room 7hrs away from home. Illness has its consequences. In me, it has taken my confidence away.

I was late to check in, saw Jedward lurking in the recesses and generally thought about bolting for the emergency exit but didn't and boarded amid tears and anxiety. I planned to say I'd been bereaved if anyone asked. True actually. Grief for a close family member has a complex effect.

Anyway, the One&Only Royal Mirage Arabian Court awaited me and in all my many Dubai experiences, the rooftop bar there has always had an extraordinary pull for me. Meeting up with the Girls there on Friday night was the best Fizz Friday I could ever have had.

I only knew one of them personally but we were immediately Friends for Life. Like Big Brother, only natural selection is a great differentiator.

We haven't stopped laughing and giggling these past five days. All of us have suffered with loss. It is a terrible affliction - particularly when those we have lost are still alive or living other lives.

Four strong, resilient, talented, beautiful woman, all brought down by Loss and trying to find a way through it. Hard days, easier days, days to forget and days to remember - we four had our reasons for all of them.

With each other, we could swap and share stories, build insight and develop empathy. We all know how each other feels. But how to live beyond it, is what's hard. How do we carry on living when all we know has gone?

I'm not sure that we found our answers but in companionship and friendship, we regained some spirit. As a team we were inseparable, united and greater than the sum of our upset parts. Particularly the sum of those parts at this time.

I know you need strong teams in life. I had the best team around me in my old life. You have to build it, slowly. You have to develop trust and responsibility, encouragement and ownership. And then push on in pursuit of your vision. I think our lives were pushed together to remind us that isolation in distress is not a good plan. Togetherness in misery is a wholly better look.

We didn't do anything mad or mental - except each adopt a Sex in the City persona. I was Charlotte. Probably because I'm the most like Charlotte in real life, really. Its just that I never had the chance. I was too busy working.

Not so in the New Life. In September after my 'Gap Year' ends, I start again. This time, Sarah's Rules. The exciting part about new beginnings and fresh journeys is that you are charge of navigation. No one can tell you what to do. I suppose its scary as well as exciting but exciting none the less.

A time to build new teams and do something valuable. Believe, dream, do and make. I saw a really encouraging anthem this weekend. For those with good eyesight, I attach it. A Desiderata for modern times.

Instinctively, we know it all. But life's incremental decisions cause dream creep. We get pushed around by the rules and forget what's in our hearts. Perhaps Loss is a way to break your heart and then mend it anew, with fresh ambition and a lot of dreams. If we still wake, we must live and in living, we must be true - to ourselves, to our families and to our friends.

I have felt like me for the first time in many, many years this weekend. The challenge is to take me back and stay true. I think its possible. I believe in my plan. All I have to do now is follow the Sheikh.

Trustee's Blog - Good Friday 2012 Durham UK

I adore Durham. The first time I visited was a year or so after its university rejected me for having committed the cardinal sin of applying to Oxford. A bit mean really. They didn't want me either.

My then (sort of) boyfriend was the result of a holiday flirtation and his brother lived up here so we visited in order to progress things only I didn't bother and fell head over heels for the place instead.

My well documented love affair with Northumberland actually begins here too. The minute I arrive, all is well in my world. There is something reassuring about the Cathedral as it rises above the inevitably swirling mist and snow of this time of the northern year. Perhaps because it had withstood desperately awful weather for more than a thousand years, it is very much my Safe Place.

I bonded for life with my great friend Jude Heron who lives here seven years ago. We were late collecting our Girls from afternoon ski school in La Tania, largely because in a moment of well meant but ill fated generosity, Robert (her husband) offered to take us skiing in the afternoon after our own morning ski school beginners class. OMG - huge mistake. I ski faster uphill than I do downhill.

Anyway, we made it back - just - but shared a collective sigh of welled up panic that only a very large G&T can honestly relieve. It takes one to know one, as they say. We knew one another from that moment of relief.

A week later, I was in Durham attending Robert's real 40th Birthday party in Shadforth Village hall, after celebrating his actual 40th Birthday in a swirl of fizz while still away. To say I got a Geordie welcome under states what it is to be 'family' in these parts. This is how to live.

Last year when my life began to unravel completely, I came for Holy Week to settle my head for the year ahead. It worked as a retreat. Although I needed medicine to really help, at that time, I was still planning on getting through my terrible depressive illness without chemicals.

A year on, give or take a few weeks to allow for the calendar vagaries that surround the allocation of Easter, I can see quite clearly that I was in no state to be able to cope without medical intervention. At the time, I thought I felt so terrible because it was my cross to bear. Now I know that no one is intended to bear crosses like that.

I have been asked to write about my experience because people who meet me would never believe I could get like that. There are all sorts of theories about why people do in fact get like that. For my part it took a book called 'Depressive illness - the curse of the strong' by Dr Tim [Cannot Remember his Surname] to persuade me that I wasn't a weak, feeble good for nothing after all. But that was months and months later.

Instead I sat for hours in the Cathedral last year pouring ecclesiastical balm on my wounds.   As a child and young adult, I was adopted by Father Maurice & Eileen Bird (RIP) who retired to my parish and took me to Wakefield Cathedral most Sundays for evensong. I'd enjoyed singing at school and had found my way in to the Church choir where I sang my little heart out at hundreds of weddings, christenings and services through my teenage years. Probably why I'm so fond of babies and marriages now. When you have seen so many seas of happy faces from an elevated position, it tends to point to the important things in life.

I went to York Minster for Easter Sunday last year where there was standing room only for a glorious sunshine weekend. And then managed to walk Phenny Ghent the following day where the decision to accept the voluntary Haven Trustee role was finally made. As I reflect on that decision, a year on, I know it was a great turning point in my life. In the year that has followed it has been my one constant companion, never failing to give me a reason to be optimistic when I'm least cheerful.

When I look back at what life was like beyond a year ago and in particular the stresses of the years leading up to it, I have finally found the courage to be my own independent bystander who would say, knowing all that I know, it would be surprising not to need modern medicine.

A year on, last week was an extraordinary week for me. At Ripley Castle, last Tuesday, we had the wonderful pleasure of a Black Tie dinner to welcome HRH the Countess of Wessex, Patron of the Haven Guardians to Yorkshire. All the people that attended will never forget what a stunning evening it was bathed in spring sunshine at the family home of Lord & Lady Ingleby. I could barely contain my excitement at being in the room with many of Yorkshire's most illustrious. It never fails to amaze me how a Girl from South Leeds can get about.

Sophie Wessex is the most beautiful woman, I've ever met. Quite simply stunning. Radiant. Kind. Courteous. Funny. Ordinary. Extraordinary. Everyone - and I really do mean everyone - fell in love with her.

Then the next day, she came to see the Yorkshire Haven having last visited when it was a building site more than three years ago. What a difference to the world Debra Horsman, the clinical manager, makes. Most people around me know that I credit Debra with saving my life, this last twelve months. Our Visitors happily say the same thing so why shouldn't I? The work she does changes lives.

Whenever the going gets tough, Debra is there. It has been mighty tough this past year. At Christmas and New Year when I felt so ill with hyper thermia after the bike ride that, to be honest, (Sorry Majors) I'd had enough and wanted it to kill me, there were days when I think it nearly did.

I should never have done LEJOG. I was physically fit enough but the black hole always gets me anyway and having been well and truly in it for July and August last year, I should have known better. The truth was, I didn't care enough about myself at that time to be bothered what it would and did, do to me. 

Looking back over the last six months of my recovery, I didn't help myself at all. I can see that very clearly now. How hard that has been for my family has made me realise that you can't keep battering yourself otherwise something or in my case, someone, has to give. Its one thing to read a book that describes you but quite another to practice what it preaches. People like me think they can always take a little bit more. Until no more.

Still, I'm here. And this week to begin the real return to health, I met Simon Coach who, to the relief of pretty much everyone has made me pledge Charity Challenge Chastity for a whole year from now. Otherwise he won't take me back. To my own amazement, I've agreed so that huge scary six months that I got through all by myself was actually a growth experience. Way hey.

This time last year, I still did the London Marathon despite being in a state. This time this year, much as it pains me, I shall just have to watch. I gave my place to Vicky so that she can enjoy the experience for me. I tried to secure New York in November but Simon Coach just gave me the look in our Apprentice Equivalent cafe in Horsforth. That'll be a 'no' then. He also handed down another ultimatum. Miss more than two sessions consecutively and I'm toast.           

I do feel pleased with myself about this important milestone. The last two months after my operation have made me really think and look hard at myself. Killing myself is not a great outcome for my children. Also I have a day job to do. Plus I would like to be a good Trustee and raise a load of money.

So I have decided that as last year's challenge was in honour of the memory of my Grandfather Albert who would, I know, be proud of my single minded over throwing of the UK road network, this year's challenge will be vocal in honour of my Grandmother who passed away in the final days of LEJOG on the day we saw the world's most beautiful rainbow just arriving in Inverness.

My Lent Course this year was based on the King's Speech and was a book because I couldn't get to Wakefield Cathedral after my operation stopped me driving. It was called 'Finding a Voice'. When I went to see my Grandma Ethel in the Chapel of Rest last November, I painted her nails, did her lippy, brushed and sprayed her hair and used her favourite scent, ready for her return to her beloved Albert.

I sang at her funeral, two songs that she would have liked. When I was a little Girl, she would always sing with me and I think that's why I always liked singing. In view of the pact described above, I can't do a physical challenge, this year's challenge will have to be a Concert for Ethel. Feel the fear and do it anyway. No pressure.

The music in Durham Cathedral today and Wakefield Cathedral all this past year has been wonderful. It makes me calm. We have a sing therapy group at the Haven. I wonder whether someone will cover the cost of the singing teacher that we will need? 

X

Trustee's Blog Saturday 3rd March 2012

I had a Fantastic Friday yesterday, largely because the doctor prescribed me industrial strength antibiotics earlier in the week (to treat an infection in my incision wounds from my operation four weeks ago). Within a couple of days I started to feel incredibly more better than I have in months. I also had my beloved Fish & Chip lunch at the Bradford Club (my new favourite restaurant) which I defy Harry Ramsden to criticise.

I was talking to Debra Horsman last night about how I put my life on hold through the last six months, waiting for it all to be over but generally and secretly feeling like the world had ended and there was no future or way forward.

Very unfamiliar territory for me.

I'm one of life's great dreamers. If it's possible to dream large, then I dream gigantic dreams. Largely I blame my parents for this. A childhood spent mostly in garden centres has resulted in a life long aversion to sitting still. Which is a shame, I guess, because I also prefer natural, rugged landscapes to cultivated homes. Though my great love of city spaces is the ultimate irony. I'm sure my parents wonder whether I was truly their creation almost 40 years ago.

So it will come as no surprise to anyone that even on holiday (like in Shanghai last week), I would choose at least some time in a city, particularly as no two are ever the same.

Bradford, for example, is a really interesting city. It has a rich heritage, built on cloth of course. More than that though, it was built upon good old fashioned hard work. I don't suppose a lot of that hard work was downright good fun but its resultant wealth explosion created a lot of seriously solid architecture.

It does have a lido at the moment as well. A rather unattractive hole in the ground shrouded by hoarding. The people of Bradford are rightly not that happy about it because it has created a void in the cityscape that no one wants to look at. Particularly, visitors.

Hmm. Don't think its owners, to be fair, fancy the gamble in the present economic climate. And the other thing that I keep hearing, now that I've spent three months working there (even got a monthly public transport pass this week for the first time in my life) is how it has an image problem - not caused by above said hole.

That image problem is something one Jane Vincent has decided to sort out with her Positive Bradford initiative. Started last year, it brought together a lot of people and was borne out of Jane hearing someone on the radio being miserable about Bradford.

In her fury, she thought 'Right, we'll show you' (or similar) and that lead to a wonderful event last year which is to be repeated this year even larger (and better if that's possible).

In my first three months I have met a lot of new people that have encouraged me to believe that actually Bradford is full of positive people doing their bit for the community they live in but more importantly, love.

Another newcomer to Bradford is the Church of England Bishop. At the Cathedral's annual advent service for the City of Bradford, I had the opportunity to chat with him afterwards (briefly) and he said to me that 'what Bradford really needs, Sarah, are new positive voices' so when I then met up with Jane afterwards for the first time (she gave a reading) to ask how I could help her campaign, it felt an entirely natural place to be.

To say we get on like a house on fire is something of an understatement. I hate to think what would happen to the decibel counter if we ever manage to find the time to add a few drinks in to the mix. They'll be hearing about Positive Bradford in Australia I should imagine. Anyway, I came away with an enthusiasm that knows no bounds for Jane's mission. All I needed then, was to figure out what to do with it.

Six weeks or so ago, a group of people that I've met and my New Team (we all Girls and new to Bradford) sat together over sandwiches and tea to talk through an idea I'd had to showcase those positive people I know are out there, largely borne out of the Bronte Rotary Club meetings at the Midland Hotel that I've been attending when I can (another lovely place that should really be seen to be believed).

Anyway, we came up with a breakfast lecture format, perhaps monthly or bi-monthly, in the run up to Positive Bradford weekend in August. We are starting it this coming week on Thursday which just so happens to be International Women's Day 2012. Err.. no. That'll be totally on purpose as a start date.

I don't want to alienate the men in doing this but if I have for the first event, it's probably because the vast majority of my new contacts have been women and the initial email went out to all the people I'd saved as new contacts more or less from my hospital bed.

Anyway, it's almost here and we shall have fifty guests hearing from my first pro bono client that took my breath away when she told me what she was doing for the community. And if that doesn't inspire them to arms in favour of Positive Bradford then nothing will. Think not what can be done for you by Bradford but what you can be doing for it.

The name for our mini-campaign is Positive Voices. A new Bishop's dream has come true. Hopefully he might mention it positively, the next time he is on the radio.

Trustee's Blog - Thursday 23rd February 2012 - Shanghai Surprise

Greetings from China.

My true love affair with Shanghai began six years ago when my good friend Andrew Steele moved here from managing a hotel in Borneo (that I'd visited three times with my family when they were young) to coincide with the opening of the New Tower of the Shangri-la.

I recall asking him what Shanghai was like and his reply was 'It's great. Particularly if you like Jazz'. I do like jazz music but I guess I didn't associate it with China, a country I'd never visited before.

The first time I went was for a long weekend. An unlikely long way, I know, but from Leeds Bradford via Amsterdam on KLM points, it was a risk worth taking.

Shanghai is mad. Total, insatiable madness. My second visit was to take part in their annual (and my first) marathon and it's mile after mile of monumental skyscrapers on the Bund side of the river (wider than the Thames). On the Pudong side it was beginning to look the same way too but the difference is that twenty years ago, Pudong was a swamp. Literally.

Someone somewhere thought - 'oh, I know, let's build some of the world's tallest buildings on that bit of waste land over there'. It started with the Oriental Pearl. You have to see it at night in the flesh to believe it's real. I've been up it a few times and each time, it doesn't get less mad. Actually, it gets more mad because while you weren't looking, they built another ten skyscrapers. Or twenty. Or more.

There's a building you can visit near People's Square that shows you the Plan for Shanghai. I've never visited it because I daren't. As readers of my blogs will know, I like a good plan. I generally have five year ones in my head which sounds Stalinistic but it's more that 'My name is Sarah and I'm a Workaholic' personality requires a structure and framework to prevent 24/7 amounts of effort going in to every year without stopping to draw breath or enjoy life.

I'd be more Chinese than the Chinese when it comes to working if I lived here. That's pretty difficult to imagine when you are here though. I have to say that I know they say this about New York but my opinion is that it's Shanghai that's 'the city that doesn't sleep'. For starters because there's shopping to be done all night long isn't there?

Over the past six years, I've also seen many other places within China and it's just vast. Life varies tremendously of course but undoubtedly there's still great poverty in large parts. And no social security network either so they take a lot more risks with everything - including life itself. If you get sick in rural China, you need a lot of money saved in your family to get over it. If you have city workers sending money home, you might survive.

If you don't, well, that's life.

I try to get out each November for a long weekend but couldn't last year because of my bike ride and the illness I've suffered after it. On top of that, I needed an operation a couple of weeks ago to sort out my bad back. And on top of that, I started a new job at the end of November, so all things considered, the past three months have been quite tough - notwithstanding I have already luxuriated in a few trips as part of my 'gap year' and it's still only February.

Not sure if I explained earlier in this blog that this year marks shoulder year celebrations for my 40th in August but I can't unfortunately go off on a tour of the world due to family and work obligations (clearly).

Thus each month this year I plan to visit a different country which is my way of checking out the world 20 years on from my last worldwide trip. A sort of worldwide strategic review, for want of a better expression.

Twenty years from now when I'm sixty, I want to look back and have really done something useful with my life. Made a contribution and a commitment to others. For others. We are all different but it's what I do, and will, derive value from.

Here in China where they have dreamed a dream in terms of their vision for Shanghai and then dreamt again, it's easy to build a big dream worth executing because they make it look so easy. Take a dose of hallucinatory drugs and then imagine your absolute ideal dream of dreams then just work really hard towards it, every single day until you're done. All it requires is single minded determined effort to succeed at whatever you want to do. Easy peasy.

A Chinese leader visiting europe recently remarked that the trouble with post-war europe that got us in to this (financial) mess was that we got too lazy and generous with our welfare state(s). The Chinese inner backbone has been forged on poverty. Huge amounts of hunger and misery create a nation that simply does not want to go back there. Generation upon generation, it has gotten a little easier and for some at least in the present day, incredibly wealthily easier. But only with a lot of hard, hard work.

Even now when you look at the grossly conspicuous consumption (which makes the Middle East look like a Hillman Imp) in the new brand shopping centre just behind my hotel, everyone is working. Your brain cannot compute the scale of four floors of every designer brand you can ever imagine in stores four and five times the size of your average Bond Street equivalent but it is there and wealthy Chinese people are spending a lot of their hard earned money while on their I-Phones, I-Pads and assorted other mobiles, laptops (and probably I-chipped bodies). This is the modern world and they are going with or without us.

The challenge for me therefore is to translate this in to something that I understand. Back in the UK, I did that all for nothing over the past ten years. You can either see the swamp I ended up with as 'the end' and give up or you can decide to move on and go forwards with a new spring in your step and a new vim and vigour. Having been so unwell for about a year with various things, I've come to realise that your health is more important than any of us know until we no longer have it. I have been rudely, incredibly healthy all my life but worked myself in to the ground without safeguarding the one thing that enables us to look after our families and loved ones without social security.

So for that reason, I chose Shanghai to convalesce. To linger and consider, to reflect and to indulge in the luxury of time stood still. It does do that here if you let it, particularly if you are hotel bound like me, unable to do a lot of walking or anything much at all except read and write.

'It's a long way to go' people have said or 'that's an unusual place to go for a holiday' or 'it seems mad you would choose there'. Objectively, I agree with all of those statements. If you allow your head to decide rather than process, you wouldn't ever get on the plane, for sure.

But if like me, you are sat looking at the twinkling lights of the Bund from the Horizon Lounge on the 29th floor of the Pudong Shangri-la new tower (the original tower was the first hotel built on the swamp all those years ago) then it's possible to believe and hope in the future while looking at the past, no matter how hard life has been.

Then when your heart decides what that dream life looks like and makes your head do the processing to get you there, you recall that you need to raise £1m to pay off the Yorkshire Haven mortgage and buy our wishlist items.

Only a million small steps till we get there then...

Yorkshire Haven Trustees BLOG - Monday 16th Jan 2012

Some weeks disappear in a hurry when you are busy, busy, busy. This was one of those weeks.

I've never had expert marketing support before and Monday was my first stab at looking at a fresh campaign. All these buzz words are new of course. 'Collateral' sounds like something out of the Bourne Identity to me. I have to admit that professional marketing help certainly shakes up your approach and headset, even if ultimately some of the ideas are out of kilter with your remit. It challenges you out of your comfort blanket. As I get older, I realise that I've become more and more inclined to play safe and less and less inclined to take risks.

On the other hand Tuesday reminded me that there are a lot of risks associated with living. Sat on the M1 car park for two hours (due to an accident that closed it in both directions, just short of Woolley Edge services and less than twenty miles from Leeds with 160 miles left to Hereford) I had set off needing to get diesel but as I always put it off until the mileage countdown makes it totally obligatory and unavoidable, I really did need fuel. I had a choice. Run out and cause more distress but amuse my fellow road sufferers with the AA or put my hazards on and go up the hard shoulder to the services. Only I couldn't find my hazards.

I'm sure it's obvious where they are but it isn't obvious to me. Whatever. I did go up the hard shoulder for one mile on an indicated three miles of diesel with a clear conscience - though I fully expected to be stopped by a nice young policeman and handed a huge fine. Hey ho. Such is life.

But no. Or at least but not yet. Once filled up, I noticed the steady stream of wagons ignoring the 'hotel guests only' warning at the bottom of a steep hill that looked suspiciously like it lead to a bridge over the motorway and allowed you back on the other side to go home. Figuring that wagon drivers know best, I followed my leaders and two minutes later whizzed merrily back north on an empty motorway and rejoiced that I'd nearly run out of fuel. But hadn't. You see Dad, sometimes incurring your unknowing wrath yields risky but unexpectedly good results.

Determined to make Hereford despite the odds and less than an hour late via Manchester, I did. What a lovely old town it is. The surrounding countryside is just super. It reminded me of LEJOG and the second section from Bristol up to Telford which was probably the most enjoyable part of the trip looking back.

Cancelling all other appointments, I got back to Wakefield the way I should have travelled but in three hours flat (which wasn't bad, considering that was round Birmingham in rush hour) and made my first Yorkshire Philharmonic Choir rehearsal. What a fantastic experience that was in a room of approximately 80 wonderful voices and me! The pieces are Carmina Burrano and Mise which are new to me but I found myself joining in where I could with the complex music scores and loved every moment of it. After a few weeks I will be auditioned to see whether I'm good enough to have a place. Fingers crossed because I know I'd really like one.

Wednesday was another strategy day, refining the marketing approach but also laying more foundations for Pink Power which I have been quietly developing in my head over the past months of being terribly unwell post LEJOG. This is, I hope, the vehicle that will fundraise for the Yorkshire Haven and become my legacy. I've played with it previously but after all the things that have happened these past three years, I have decided to do it properly in a business like but charitable way. Now is the time.

Thursday, I ventured to the University of Bradford Business School. What a fabulous, fabulous place it is. I'd applied to their executive MBA programme on a part-time study basis and went along to look around the facilities, meet the staff and decide whether to be interviewed. It's been a long time since I was last interviewed for anything and I forgot as we chatted away that assessment can be and often is conducted informally. Two hours later, I was recommended as a candidate that should be offered a place and I walked out feeling like I'd arrived 'home'. Sometimes you just know, don't you? I've always wanted to do a doctorate and maybe this is the place, one day, where that dream will come through.

Friday 13th could have been awful and I didn't get to the Haven for lunch or wine o'clock but for me, at least, it was a day to receive a formal MBA offer while sat in Leeds Bradford premier lounge awaiting the evening flight to Amsterdam. My Uni mate Vikki lives somewhere unpronouncable near Schiphol airport and I've been threatening to visit her for ever. Three years since we last caught up in London, in a whoosh of dutch travel infrastructure, I was out of the airport on to a fast train to Leiden and then in a taxi, arriving just in time to read a pre (late) bed story to two excited french-dutch-english children that mix and match languages like I change my shoes. I so admire that in anyone.

We immediately set about catching up those three years over champagne and dominos pizza which is just as consistent here in the land of clogs as it is in Yorkshire and as with all Great Friendships, no matter that the years in between have been a long time, we are off and back to full throttle friends. You can't beat it for Fizz Friday.

Waking here this Saturday morning in the children's playroom, I'm disappointed there's been no tapping on the door at a terrifyingly early hour. Some of these toys look awesome but I'd look a bit strange if I got caught playing with them by myself.

 

We are off shopping later in said unpronouncable town but in the cold dark taxi drive last night, I could see that Leiden and its environs are well heeled suburbs of somewhere and it turns out that somewhere is 'Den Haag'. I've never been to the Hague before though it's a famous legal destination for a lot of infamous people. I'm really interested to see it tomorrow as my flight doesn't go back until late so I've got 48hrs in the Netherlands to enjoy.

Knowing Vik, it will be epic. Our weekends together always are. X

Yorkshire Haven Trustees Blog - Wednesday 28th December 2011

Another full morning put in at the Office with cloudless blue skies and the sun beaming down upon me. I know I said it yesterday but it's hard to fault life with this degree of loveliness all around.

Tried to move Soph's group but in a comedy of arms, fast and furious italian and forlorn faces, I gathered that this group is the only group she can be in. Seems bizarre as there are hundreds of skiers with guides but maybe as most of the runs are red and blacks, people have private lessons. It's certainly a rich person's place here. A lot of understated wealth rather than bling which gives the game silently away (if you spend all day looking as I do without skis).

Everyone came to the Office for lunch and in my new favourite place, I loved it. Talented, funny and good looking, everyone wanted to be at our table. Adjoining were four adults and a million children between two families including Rory, the stand out star, with his confident four year old fuzzy red hair and a demeanour to match. I happily predict a stunning future for him.

Our new Friends took Soph skiing in the afternoon and after a digestif, I took the cable car down for a preliminary assessment of Courmayeur proper. I say preliminary because I think its easy with ski centred towns to not really understand the equilibrium in peak ski season.  It's pretty compact, straddling one main pedestrianised street full of expensive shops though they are varied and not as completely gimmicky as you get in some places.

I browsed cheaply around, admiring one or two things but not especially taken with anything until I came across a photograph picture of Mont Blanc which took me straight back there for the first time. Perhaps because I was unwell after climbing the mountain with a raging temperature, I didn't really get a souvenir. It was also an experience that was bitter sweet. As a high heels and nail varnish Girl, I was uncomfortably way out of zone.

Anyway, I've looked since when occasion allowed, for a photograph or picture to record my terror (though the one of me at the top says it all) and I've never really felt close. This picture captures the scale though, taken from the Monte Bianco side, as if I'm stood at the top looking down and someone happened to record the moment. It's expensive though and with keen photographers in the group, I'm wondering what they think of its quality. Also, I'm going to have to get it home which will no doubt be a financial experience in its own right.

The Alpine Guide museum is interesting, recording historical equipment and images of a long and distinguished history of successful mountaineering and skiing. I enjoyed looking at the topographical representation but felt no pull for any of the lesser peaks. My time as a mountaineer is very clearly in the past.

Back at the ranch and no playmates around, I took to my bed for a siesta read. There is something about pre-dinner hours spent idle that is quite delicious when you are content. I'm reflecting upon the loss of my dearly beloved Grandma Ethel who passed away in her sleep on November 4th as I finished LEJOG. Grief is not a linear experience and I'm struggling some days more than others. One thought stood out for me - that the gap left behind by a loved one that we no longer see is what binds us tight to them. It is never filled, nor should it be, if we are to remain connected to their presence in our lives. That somehow comforted me today.

Pre-dinner bar drinks were amusing as Group Dad took it upon himself to perform the honours due to a curious lack of staff. It does seem a little odd in that way. They could make a fortune this week if they actually bothered to serve us. Food was beyond me, again. I did have salad at lunchtime and enjoyed it but just can't seem to feel like anything. At all.

Conversation flowed merrily. Sal & Dave have a photography business and some of the pictures on the I-Phone just blew me away. Inspired, original and timeless. Wow. I'm really impressed.

Tom and Noodle used to be an item but called it a draw after 8yrs, a few years ago. It's a shame as they'd clearly make a very handsome couple but growing up together can lead to being grown apart.

Sal and Noodle are joining in my trip to New York in November for my 3rd 40th Birthday Party in 2012 at the Waldorf Astoria. It's going to be fabulous.

Yorkshire Haven Trustees BLOG - Saturday 7th Jan 2012

The first week of 2012 has been a revelation. For the first time since I can remember, I didn't dread going to back to work in the New Year and the mountain of emails that used to inevitably await me. Not only no dread but I knew I had an exciting and interesting week ahead.

I had to call in to the Haven on Tuesday morning to collect my laptop and papers from our Christmas Trustee Annual Lunch (that I'd left behind as I had a client visiting and we'd gone off for dinner) but it was lovely to see the Christmas Tree still up with all our lovely Stars donated by people on behalf of loved ones. The glow of love never fades or becomes dull when we actively choose to offer and recall that love.

We have a real job to do this year at the Yorkshire Haven. We need to raise £1m to meet our annual running costs and to fulfil our wish list items which simply include providing all our services free of charge to those that need them. From where I'm sitting that isn't a wish list, it's a necessity. Need = Necessity. Where there's a Ruston will, there's normally a Ruston way. Get a strategy straight and execute it. Easy peasy.

My day job is in Education. I think I'm officially the luckiest lawyer alive. I get to work in a sector that is solely for the benefit of children and all those who wish to learn. As that includes me, arriving at my desk in Bradford on Tuesday was a pleasure not a chore. Not many lawyers would say that if you asked them, I guarantee it.

The trainee attached to my practice area is world class. I say that out loud because trainees the country over generally have a miserable time. It's sort of a rite of passage in the lawyering world. You do the photocopying and get grateful. That's how it is. Not in Education. And not where I work.

I have a fellow Partner and lawyer that has been babysitting my practice while I got going. He's a legend in his own field so you can't get fairer than that. His PA is probably the world's lovliest PA and will do anything for him, me or anyone else. Get us.

Then we have a super part-time solicitor that helps us get through our peaks. I think he would like to be retired but there's no chance of that. 2012 is going to be epic in Education with more work than we can do ourselves. It would be easy in the short term high workload peaks not to focus on a long term strategy for my practice. That, however, would be repeating my last school girl error and there's no way I'm doing that. Sustainable and balanced lifestyles require an eye on the big picture while completing the task(s) in hand.

A full day in the office, further refining and populating our battle plan spreadsheet with key data and indicators for the year ahead felt very satisfying indeed. However, one of my books over the holiday has made me decide to apply the same discipline that made me a workaholic in to a lifeaholic. If you operate your life in a disciplined way and make time for all your own essential requirements and fit work around that then you don't wind up burnt out like I did last summer. Sounds easy, doesn't it? But my name is Sarah and I'm a workaholic.

So I decided to start my year off as I intend to finish it - with some quiet time each day. I cannot do that in a work or home environment. The book suggests that you discipline yourself to go to a place that you can. Our building is opposite Bradford Cathedral and it is open all day every day. They have a daily office at 5.30pm too and so at 5.15pm I trotted across for Prayers.

It's years since I used the Book of Common Prayer. At least 20. The Priest was very considerate but as I was the only other person there to take part, it made it essential as I could barely navigate my way around. It's soothing to say words you've forgotten you know by heart.

Bradford Cathedral is an absolutely lovely place. Beautiful but not austere. Welcoming but reverential. Silent but not deafening. Prayerful but gladdening.

Afterwards the celebrant informed me that the Dean has gone on a sabbatical and I'm immediately transported to images of the Holy Land. I really do want to go there sometime soonish. Though not this year. Easter 2013.

This year is a year for commencing, consolidating and celebrating my New Life and I want to work towards that visit of a lifetime as a 'journey' in it's own right so that I can look back at what I achieved to get there though achievement will be measured differently to how I used to measure it. Doing less will be a major achievement for example. Most people who know me will be shocked by this announcement.

The rest of the working week has been spent at the North of England Education Conference at the Royal Armouries in Leeds. It has been the best conference I have ever attended. I'm inspired, enthusiastic and hopeful. The theme and focus has been 'Passion, Potential, Performance'. The speakers have been largely outstanding but at the very least good. The content has been thought provoking and engaging. The delegates friendly, committed and facing a whole sale revolution in Education. The exhibitors interesting, stimulating and kind. At it's centre though was the education of children, young people and lifelong learning and for me, eye widening and reassuring. We have a lot of very talented professionals in both academia and practice that shape our children's and our own lives. I think we are all so busy with life in these difficult economic times that we forget how essential it is as a society that the cornerstone of all our prosperity and wealth (in the widest sense of the word) is anchored well and truly safe.

We are really, really good at Education and Learning. So good, that the world over our teaching and learning professionals are largely valued above all others. We have a major worldwide export to deliver and we should be doing that internationally. That Education Revolution could yet be larger than the Industrial Revolution. If we get it right.

My place as a lawyer is as yet as a novice observer entrant. My historical skill set as a business woman and lawyer are needed as schools move in to the new age because the traditional support mechanisms are being dismantled by the Government. Not only in Education but in Healthcare. There is a lot to do. A huge amount to do actually. Lucky I like challenges.

The Royal Armouries complex is a tremendous place. I'm in awe of the development as a whole. Truly in awe. Someone's vision has really shone through. There are some mistakes in my opinion though. The car park should be free for example. The fact it isn't means people go to the White Rose centre for a day out or Meadowhall or wherever they go shopping. Just not there. A real shame as I have discovered this week. Truly a shame.

The triumph of the conference was the showcasing of Yorkshire talent. Young people sang, played, danced and joined in the entire event. It was inspired. Truly the visionary, planners and executives that made it happen deserve recognition and reward. Yorkshire did us proud.

Wrapping up Friday afternoon, I was able to take a table decoration from the gala dinner to the Haven for our reception. A stunning display prepared by the students of one of our colleges now happily decorating the post Christmas clear up which leaves us all feeling it's a little bit bare.

It is a little bit bare when you clear up and clean out all that was. But it's a time to be fresh and to put in place a new approach. The Yorkshire Haven 2012 needs help to reach its fundraising target. It needs help from everyone in Yorkshire pulling together to make it happen. Perhaps my optimism is inspired by what I have seen and heard this week but I do know this last thought for the week.

We none of us know what we are capable of, as long as we believe anything is possible.

X

Yorkshire Haven Trustees BLOG - Tuesday 2nd January 2012

You never sleep all that well when you know that missing an alarm is not an option. I didn't even hear Francesco go to bed at 6am this morning because my trusty alarm clock had realised I heard him the other day and has started being quiet! Not that I needed it all week as I was awake but only because the 5am training hour is not a time for training at this time but it is still the hour of waking. And probably so for life.

We were due our transfer collection at 7.10am but I defy anyone to raise a 13yr old for that time on a morning without a scene. Sending her back to the baby shop for a refund is not an option and normally the comedy Damien child would be amusing but I could have done without her waking the whole hotel in protest and teenage temper tantrum. I guess some things from 2011 will be no different in 2012.

We cut a weary bunch but Tomka Toy made our Crystal Rep's day by presenting him with 2/3rds of a bottle of Vodka. His Newkie Boy grin was wider that a Newkie Brown Ale Bottle with teeth so white they caught the light of the millions of lights spread in every tree in Courmayeur. Guess he was pleased then.

The transfer is easy and relatively painless, particularly if you are on a coach and not crammed in to a taxi or minibus with less than half the spaces taken. A time to catch the sunrise as it caught the plateau or take a snooze. Less than two hours later we were delivered safely to Turin Airport Turmoil. Hell hath no fury than hundreds of revolving flights taking its cathartic cargo back to replenish with freshly fuelled fodder.

I officially hate airports after too many hundreds of check ins and arrivals and security and passport control and crap design and crap management and lest it go on, you get the idea. I wish I had started a performance indicator table for airports years ago because by now, I'd have got a mean assessment results table with which to beat the hell out of airport departure taxes. Some of them would be closed if they were schools or hospitals for being officially, totally rubbish. As if you can charge people in a service industry for that.

But today is not a day for being bothered to care though I do warn Group Dad that getting to the Gate is a mistake if you have not shopped, ate, toiletted or lost the will to stand like cattle without enough seats for the two hours pre departure where you have passed go and no one is allowed back for fear of something. If I could figure out what Turin airport is so scared of, I'd make them rich.

Ah well. Time to take in the varying shapes and sizes, families, couples and general debris of relationships, friendships, injuries and apathy that make going home so special. I work out by a process of over analysis that as they have sent all the UK flights to the far end of the airport it's actually pretty obvious what they are scared of. The English. They can't refresh us at this time on a morning - no cafes, bars or pubs - or they choose not to refresh us. Mmm. Who says the spaghetti wars are not alcohol fuelled.

Our flight is almost on time leaving although with a full flight of people, skis, boots and general guff taking off in a northern direction, in order to avoid a close encounter with Mont Blanc that is unplanned, we have to route round in a large circle to get enough height to take it on. They even unpacked the hot food and litre bottles of spirits to make sure. Bless.

The captain and 1st officer were jolly. A bit too jolly. I'd personally rather rely on their judgment than know what decisions they need to make to get us home safely but as most people are slothing, snoozing or generally being vacant due to a nice long week skiing, too much food, too much drink or generally just too much, I seem to be a silent silly billy so I keep quiet.

Soph has become boisterous in her mission to down the twenty five coke bottles that she would have to have surrendered to Italian customs. No way she could get them home in our cases. Her new outfit took up her case as it was. I copped for most of her kit anyway so she thought the best thing to do was make haste. I could, I know, have tried to stop her but frankly I'm a wee bit unwell and can't be bothered with the scene. If she feels sick, she might nor do it again.

Manchester is such an unsavoury airport. I think it every single time. It has this 'seen better days' look that no amount of cleaning could now alter. It looks shabby because it is shabby. Bizarre really that it is now effectively a northern UK hub for amazing middle east airports like Dubai, Doha and Abbu Dhabi en route to the rest of the world. I wish someone would really take to it with a fresh vigour and enthusiasm. It should be world class. Not jaded.

We leave our New Friends at the carousel and before we even got to the Radisson to collect the car, both Soph & I are proper missing them. Funny how sometimes you feel a fit and probably don't realise it fully until they are gone.

But out drive back to Yorkshire is light, airy and relatively straight forward. A lot of traffic around the sales shoppers at out of town retail parks but I guess the shops are pleased about that. I always feel that Little House on the Prairie welcomes me back home due to the many times I have passed it over the last 20yrs but it has a peculiar vulnerability and like many millions of motorists over the years, I always wonder what the owner feels like now.

A lavender bath and a siesta assuage my bodily bad behaviour and a catch up Eastenders reveals the Epic Matriarch that is Pat Butcher has died. I don't know anyone that doesn't love or loath her character but as with all Great Personalities, it is the depth of her loss that is felt more tenderly than the number of complaints. She has been part of my life for 25yrs and I did shed a tear at those final scenes in her In Mem programme. How can you not? Who could replace her?

Back to work tomorrow and a good work week ahead. The Yorkshire Haven reopens for 2012 tomorrow and I'm relieved. Home is Home.

Yorkshire Haven Trustees Blog - New Year's Eve 2011

Awaking to a huge dump of snow overnight and continuing sleet made me fear a repetition of yesterday's first lift drama. Health & Safety must be on annual leave at the station. One of the three lifts had its doors open and you could have stepped straight in to the void. I didn't but there's something that always make me want to peer down and then up. I have no idea why.

There was a repetition of chaotic crowd control but today I'd already sussed out how to beat the stampede. Careful observation of expert ski guides showed where to stand and to be on guard, ready for the signal that they had finished dressing the slopes and we could go up to ski school.

Soph was late again but went off with Laurent anyway. Rakishly handsome youngish Italian. Mmm.. let me think that one through some other time. Someone said to be recently 'You're going to have trouble with that one, Dolly'. I'm only too  aware that at thirteen but already on her way to six feet, looking like a young Sophia Lauren with a main of dark hair and a personality to match, there is indeed likely to be trouble ahead. Guaranteed.

Group ski school commenced but we all had lunch around a big table at the back and as usual, I whiled away another day at the Office in a very pleasant way. By now all the staff know me by first name and I've become a fixture and fitting, moving around through the day to help ensure their revenue maximisation. I don't mind. I just love watching the people, the banter, the chatter and the vast amounts of food and drink being served during the day. It must be an absolute gold mine though no one minds paying for good food, served quickly with lashings of beer.

The Group are starting to get tired. It's hard going out there and this is day 5 of skiing so lethargy is starting to creep in, irritated by the lack of lifts open due to the conditions. Still, this is New Year's Eve and they give it their all. Then they all frequent the American Bar and Bar Rosa which became Group Locals this week.

As dinner doesn't start until after the pumkin hour tonight, I know I need to get some sleep to have any chance of welcoming in the New Year awake. Three solid hours later and then we are assembled in the lobby for drinks and fun. Francesco and Luigi are in charge of party central and have arranged the bar for a dancing party post gala dinner. I'd swear they have got out Grandma's record player and Luigi is all geared up to DJ. A man of many talents.

Maria is all dolled up as Queen Mum and by now, even though her english is worse than my Italian, we have become friends. She pronounced my dress 'Bellisimo'. I didn't bother to tell her is was Monsoon vintage. They don't seem to do less than designer brands in these parts.

The Gala Dinner is a relatively raucous affair. The food is sensational though I'm having a bad day on the eating stakes and don't do it justice. Mind you, it would take someone with a pretty monumental appetite to do this standard and amount of food justice.

We have a lovely evening and I do make it to New Year. Just. In swirls of grandiose kisses all around the room, everyone forgets we are british and kisses everyone the Italian way. Two is better than one though I like the Spanish three best (if I'm honest).

I leave my new Friends to dance and party the night away with Soph a little after midnight, relieved that 2011 is dead and gone. It was the worst year of my life so far and I couldn't wait to see the back of it.

Now 2012 though. Hurrah. The first year of the rest of my New Life and the year of my 40th festivities and 'gap' year. Wow. It's going to be fantastic. I've made up my mind to make sure.

Happy New Year.

Yorkshire Haven Trustees Blog - Friday 30th December 2011

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

An absolutely colossal snow dump overnight meant the first lift didn't open up to ski school until 9am and in the ryanair school of Italian queueing it was never going to be anything other than a monumental tug of war once it did.

Eventually up at the Office the view is slightly different - total snow outlook. The beauty of the mountains and trees swirling in snow is unsurpassed on days like this. You just cannot capture in photographs the essence of it but I could sit and look at it for life.

Ski school had to start an hour late and Soph's private lesson was cancelled in the chaos. We sat inside Christiana and she messaged the universe on her blackberry while I got on with my work. Eventually Group Dad showed up to assess the situation and was about to call it an early day when Billy Boy, Sal and Dave turned up and they all decided to try a few runs. I have to say that I think they are mental. Practically everyone coming down the blue run in to ski school was falling in the deep drifts.

Naturally the Office got a bit crowded, loud and jolly. You meet all sorts of people who are also not skiing. Often they have been injured in a fall and it has knocked their confidence. I once sustained a hard head knock in La Tania where in Bridget Jones fashion I proved the Sarah Ruston No. 1 Rule of Skiing - that it is possible to ski faster uphill than downhill when fabulously out of control down an icy steep red. Funny for the film but it ended my private confidence battle with my head and I officially gave up any desire to ski there and then.

It hasn't though stopped me enjoying watching everyone else pretend that ski boots and skis are comfortable, fun and enjoyable. The absolute rigmarole of the whole thing is totally ridiculous. Soggy, drippy, freezing people that keep going back out for more. I'm sorry but I can't do the maths as to why anyone would want to risk their lives on two planks (or one for that matter) when they can walk around on the service roads perfectly well on two steady feet.

Eventually my logic outed when Noodle and Tonka Toy turned up with Group Dad and Soph for a raucous lunch. As officially Christiana's best customer of the week I secured a table for 8 which is a feat of modern ingenuity in this place because the food is so good. It is officially the best food I've ever had skiing and you can't say fairer than that.

In the end, I gave up half the table to an Italian-English group which was good fun as they mixed and matched their language and we four squashed around the end for the best half pizza I've ever shared. Noodle agreed. Christiana will never get a Michelin star because it is uncomplicated food but what it does do should get a Ski Food equivalent. I cannot recommend it enough.

Our mini-group decided to call it a draw and go down the hill. We couldn't raise a lift from Luigi back to the hotel and the free ski bus was also on siesta so we took refuge in the hotel at the bottom of the lift which has the most lovely bar. It turns out to have the most lovely rooms and spa too. Gordon Bennett. I felt lucked out. I'd tell you the name but it only has 40 rooms and I fancy booking myself.

Group Dad, Noodle and Tonka Toy got a booking in the spa so we hailed a taxi to return us to the hotel and I took to my bed for a nod or two. Waking at 6.30pm I felt a whole lot better than I have all week and changed for dinner.

I thought they were all out in town as I rounded up Luigi to make me an illegal G&T. I know free pouring is an art. Here it is half and half in a pint glass and you only need one to get you going. Trust me. It cannot possibly meet the 20,000 EU regulations that deal with alcohol but as I'm on holiday, I don't care. 

The Group were all there though gazing at their phones to a man, as if in some semi-comatose state. My goodness, not in the zone at all. Alcohol rationing has clearly been introduced while I was asleep.

Day 4 sloth and slumber induced by over extending ones physical capacity for exercise in deep snow and binge drinking in all but the Minors cases means they are all feeling like sleeping. Only for once, I'm hot to trot - until the pumpkin hour anyway.

Wondering whether the Spaghetti War would ensue we were almost first in to dinner. Now that is new. No sign of the enemy though. They checked out this morning but apparently the armistice was signed with smiles, hugs and kisses last night at the bar after I had pumpkinised at my normal hour. Ha. The English know how to win a battle. And a Spaghetti War.

I managed a bit of each course of dinner. The food is a bloody legend, if only I could eat very much of it. Maria makes a mean anything, even if she can't staff the bar. I managed to get to cheese at the end which is a triumph of eating compared to the whole week so far and retire almost last to finish another short piece of writing entitled 'On death and Dying'. I don't think contemplating mortality is morbid. Actually, I think it is essential. Life is short and we have to get on with it at a pace that is astonishing.

As I recently killed the pace and realised a whole day is a really long time, I have been reflecting upon what I want from the rest of my life. Being so ill with this hyperthermia and my bad back has seen me feeling very, very rotten indeed.

Hyperthermia can kill you. It probably won't but it might. It focuses you in a way that is hard to exaggerate. It makes you feel like dying would be a release from being so unwell. I have never felt this unwell before so had no idea how unwell it is possible to feel.

But I'm feeling increasingly better on a day to day basis, bad bouts not withstanding. Starting a new job has also been a stress even though I love it already. So I will see out New Year's Eve tomorrow with a clean, clean sheet on every front and I've made some interesting decisions this past week about what I want my future to look like. It can't be more exciting. But first there is a time to sleep.