My name is….

If there were such a thing, my name would be Dr  Erica P  PhD in Lame Duckery.

That makes me smile.

My relationship history is just one long catalogue of disasters.

Before I was married, I only had relationships with men who obsessed about being with ex-girlfriends, or who obsessed about having relationships with unobtainable girls.

One of the all time break-up lines I had to endure was:

‘ I love Sharon, she looks like a boy, and she lets me f*** her in the arse’


Yes really.

I have had two marriages, one was happier than the other, both split, because yes, that lure of another.

And so, this pattern continues.

You would think at my age, I would know better!

My recent foray into ‘coupledom’ was with a man of a similar age, who truly believes that his only path to happiness is with a woman who made his life a misery for 10 years. So much so that he feels that without her he could never be happy, and has chosen isolation and self pity over jolly japes and romps with me.

I did for many years choose to believe that my bad luck in finding a suitable mate was due to an inherent un-loveableness. However,  the past few weeks has shown me a side of the coin that I had not hitherto considered. The path of my destruction may in fact be due to my horrendous addiction to people-pleasing. I just want the whole world to be happy, unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to include me. I must have been at the back of the self-love queue!

I am currently seeing a therapist about my most recent fall from grace, and really she is being very  helpful.

Apparently, I suffer from a syndrome called ‘Attachment Disorder’, which is complex and can be very debilitating.

In my case, I do not suffer from some of the greater ravages of this mental health issue, as apart from my love life, I have led quite a happy and successful life.

But where love is concerned, my modus operandi is to seek out broken souls who I try to support with loving kindness and gentleness, where what they really need is a massive boot in the arse with dainty size 38’s ( even better if they were enclosed in a sturdy pair of Doc Marten’s).

You see the form of the syndrome that is my speciality is my fear of abandonment, so subliminally, I choose as partners those who will inevitable tell me that the ‘gig is up, aufwiedersehen’.

I have though, due to some very skilful head-shrinking, realised that I have the power to do something about this unfortunate kink in my personality I have


  1. I could feel sorry for myself, and drink/drug myself to death, but having researched addiction,  Stage IV Liver Disease has  severely limited attractions.
  2. I could  with grace, style and finesse bow out of the game and live happily with a dog and Netflix as my companions and best friends. I love dogs, and films, but dogs have limited intellectual ability, and films of the kind I like best,  can make you angry, bitter and twisted. I feel somehow that the self pity poor me game would not work to my best advantage.
  3. I could develop a more pragmatic attitude towards sex, and get my kicks from meet-ups through dating sites. This would require a certain amount of backbone and immunity to rejection. I feel  that this option would only serve to  increase the symptoms of my affliction.
  4. Alternatively, I could build my own dating site for nearly-grannies whose best friends are their pets and Netflix. Now there’s a thought!
  5. Or I could re-evaluate my attitude, build up my resilience and work at becoming so emotionally healthy that I can spot a lame duck at within a 100 mile radius, and shoot the fucker before it shits on my head.

I choose option 5

Below is  a useful link that will help to explain Attachment Disorder and points to some more academic texts if that is what floats your boat.

Once again thanks to Tony Bologna for his brilliant article on 9 ways to hate yourself a little less

9 Steps to Hating Yourself a Little Less




“My feelings were honest

My feelings were  true

My feelings were heartfelt

I  did love you


I thought you were sexy

I thought you were fit

I watched your bum jiggle

I thought you looked sick


I swam in you laughter

I drowned in your smile

Your skin is so silky

To touch all the while


Your brain is amazing

You’re funny and smart

Your voice is like chocolate

Smooth, rich and dark

Nibbling your nipple

Was a bit of a lark


Your legs are long

Your muscles strong

You want to know

What went wrong?


You made me happy

You made me gay

I wanted to lay

In your arms all day


I wanted to sail

In your deep recesses

I wanted to fondle

Your silky long tresses


I wanted to hold you

To keep you safe

To enfold you

In my strong embrace


But my head was a mess

Full of past stress

As hard as I tried, I could not dispel

my growing distress


(so here I must tell

What you knew so well)

The dreams from the past

Of another girl


She held my heart

In an iron grip

Which as hard as I tried

I could not rip

The thought of her lips

Made my loins  flip


She haunted my dreams

With her cold longing smile

We had been happy

For a little while

The guilt trips

The anger

The anguish

Soon followed

And though I knew

There was no tomorrow

I hoped and prayed

And wished she’d stay

I even promised not to stray


For years this was my daily diet

Until one day I decided to riot

I phoned her up

And said goodbye

But that was not it by a long mile


Thoughts of her stayed in my head

Made me wish that I was dead

Then one cold day you came along

You were sad

I knew  I could be strong

And help you write

A happier song


You brought sunshine

To my days

No longer shrouded

In thick black haze

The months went by

And we grew fonder

Until one day I could wait no longer


You set me free

Now I could see

What true love

Could really be


But there

Deep inside of me

The ghost of her refused to flee

It became her only goal

To haul me back

To burn my soul



I tried, my love

I tried to banish,

But thoughts of her

Just would not vanish

She was harsh

She was cruel

I had broken

All her rules

This love for her

I could not move

Out of it’s long, deep, icy groove


So came the horrid fateful day

When I pushed your love away

Since then, my love

I have been fickle

Got myself into a pickle

I drink all day,

I drink all night

I am a fool

I’m always tight


My eyes are red

Hands are shaking

And oh, my love

My heart is breaking

My soul feels like it is on fire

My heart’s become a funeral pyre


I cannot have you in my life

You must go

My love,


good night


Do not text me

Do not call

Contact with you

Makes me feel like a fool

Your caring fills me full of shame

I only have myself to blame


I did not set out to deceive you

So my love,

I must  now leave you”



Just say NO

It amazes me how often I get things wrong due to trying to do the right thing.

This afternoon I read a post by Tony Bologna: it was something to do with 10 steps to hating yourself less. It was hilarious, but there was a lot of truth in it. Due to his post, I have resolved that  in August, I will try to limit my people pleasing ways and learn how to say NO. I will do this by saying NO.

I  will say NO when I don’t want to do something that people ask me to

I will say NO to myself when I won’t allow myself some downtime

I will say NO….well, I’ll just say NO…lots!!

I will acquire this skill by practising in front of the mirror at least three times a day.

Reapeat after me…no…nnnoooo….NO….nO

I have been flobbing about feeling sorry for myself for days, when I decided not to respect somebody’s wishes and to do what I think is best…yep first example of saying no and it’s still only July!

I have formed a plan, for good or ill. I no longer feel like a leaf being buffeted by the wind (good day) or a fish being filleted by an apprentice fishmonger (bad day).

I’ve taken a decision and feel empowered, so lets see what happens next.

I think I’ll sleep well tonight.

Night all

My name is Mum


Kiss your  fingers

Wipe you bum

Feed you spinach

On and on

Tickle your toes

Pat your tum


Bimbling, walking, by  the shore

Ponies, bikes and so much more

Dinosaurs, trains, pokemon

Silly songs,

on and on

Keep you happy,

Make you smile

Grinding exhaustion

All the while


Reading, writing

One, two, three

Now you’re telling tales to me

Swimming, gyming

Kicking balls

These things are

So quickly gone


Driving, driving, everywhere

Cooking, cleaning


Sulky, sullen

In your room

Dark and smelly

Filled with gloom

Music blaring

‘Turn it off’

‘Shut up, mum-just piss off!’


Texts are flying

Your phone’s switched off

‘don’t worry mum,

I’m fine, just rough

Had a banging time last night

Now need to sleep to feel alright’


Watch  you waving too-da-loo

Nothing left for me to do

It was busy,

looking after two


Winter evenings

Dark and lonely

Cooking for one

Is kind of phoney

Silence is an empty  tune

I’m turning slowly into a loon


No one to shout at

No one to hug

No one to bug

No cheeky shrugs

No sly kisses

Impossible dreams and wishes

Now, it’s only  me

It’s shit being free


Even through my irritation

I enjoyed our conversation

biting on, my great frustration

But, I was proud, full of elation

At your manhood graduation


Now I have my peace and quiet

Life is not an endless riot

I miss you,

Yes I do

it’s no longer

Just we two







I am a refugee living, against my will, in The Digital Age.

Digital Technology has been thrust upon me against my will.

I hate it:  it scares and frustrates me. It has bestowed up me the legacy of drawers full of wires and plugs that I dare not dispose of..just in case.

I live in fear of digital technology;  it has the power to betray me when I need it most.

It’s language is foreign to me. I have had to learn to speak it, but as I grapple daily with new words: slugs, pinbacks, moderate, widgets;  I am acutely aware and very embarassed that I will never be bilingual.

However, in common with most of us who do not live ‘off-grid’, over the years I found myself surrounded by is slowly, but surely encroaching on my life. It is taking over. As it’s power grows, preventing me from performing even the most simple of tasks without it’s assitance, my anxiety grows.

As time passes, and my trusted analogue possessions retire themsleves through ill-health and death, I feel discomforted with out the presence of these solid and well made goods that link me to my childhood and the happy carefree time that was my teens.

There is one piece of ancient technology that I cling too, that I love and nuture and will defend from the ravages of old age until my death.

It sits on my desk in pride of place. It cannot me moved..well at least not far. It feels weighty in my hands. The firmness with which I have to press in into life reassures me.It is  a horrid colour, but that does not bother me, as the solidity of it’s lines reassure me.It does not depend on electricity or the internet to assume full life.  Knowing that it is there, every present, reassures me:IMG_0006 it is my constant link to the world.

I do not have enough praise to bestowe upon my trusty analogue telephone phone.