Sometimes you just don’t want an egg.

Sometimes you just don’t want an egg,

you’re just not in the mood

It’s nothing personal to the egg

you just want another food.

Don’t get me wrong, I like an egg

just not shoved down my throat

if I want the egg I’ll fry it – poach it

whatever rocks my boat.

You eat the egg by all means

enjoy it like a winner

I just want to eat something else tonight

for my very special dinner.


Lovers watching

waiting in the dark,



sweet nothings.

Lovers lonely

Reaching out,



for love.

Lovers wanting

fantasy fulfilled,



bitter kisses.

Lovers aching

clinging to hope,



a life without.

Lovers existing

Hiding away,




Lovers alike

Calling out,



Creeping through.

Lovers escape

Shielding lies,




Lovers beware

Clutching hands,



true life.

Flirtation VS Assault.

After posting “A Very Different World” last week (about the short French film that focused on a total role reversal and challenged viewers’ preconceptions on sexual predators and abuse) I began a discussion with my mother around the subject of ‘boundary breaking’. I am no prude. I’ve always been known as flirtatious. However, I – as many women do – have boundaries. I have personal lines that should not be crossed especially when it comes to the opposite sex.

I posted a comment on my blog detailing an incident that happened to me at the beginning of the year. I told another blogger how that on my way to meet a friend for an evening drink, I fell into a difficult situation. During the winter months in Britain, it tends to get dark around four in the afternoon. I left home at six so it was pitch black. At the end of my road is a little corner shop which slightly lights that part of the street. Outside the shop stood two men. They seemed young but I could not tell their age immediately. I was not dressed provocatively. I was covered up in a very warm coat. I was not expecting them to behave the way they did. Both men were wearing hooded tops. Their faces could barely be seen. They were both standing blocking the path. I felt wary as I approached them. Striding past, a strong and overwhelming gust of marijuana flew past me. Both men were smoking in plain view. Within seconds, they began making kissing noises at me with one even muttering something (I only caught him saying “darling”). I looked up but continued walking. Worryingly, I missed my bus and had to continue walking to the next bus stop which happened to be a bit of a distance away.

I began to feel nervous.

I practically sprinted to the next bus stop. Was it wrong to feel so anxious?

As I approached the dimly lit bus stop I looked back. I was happy to see no one was behind me. I was now by the side of a busy, main road. Cars were rushing by. Surely I would be safe. However, after a couple of minutes, one of the men appeared. Horrified, I stepped out of the dark bus shelter and closer to the busy road; it was the only way to be seen. The man stared at me as he passed by. I tried not to catch his gaze.  Relieved that he had walked by, I started to relax. That was until he decided to turn back. With darkness as his cover, he approached me.

“What’s your name?” He asked abruptly.

I answered. I couldn’t be rude in fear of what he might do. There were many bushes around. He could have easily dragged me into one if I dared to insult him. So I was polite.

“Give me your number,” he ordered in a monotone voice. How he thought this was seductive or appealing I’ll never know.

“No!” I answered jokingly, trying not to show my fear.

“You have got a tight little ass haven’t you,” he said, biting his lip and staring at my behind.

That was it. The words that made me worried but what could I do?

“Let me take you out.”

“You can’t. I’m married.”


That is not the first time a man has responded that way when I have replied that I am not single. It is completely disgusting.

Just then, my bus came. Relief can not even begin to describe my feelings. I can honestly say, I have never been so pleased to see a bus in my life.

If that can happen at six in the afternoon then imagine if it was ten at night. I can’t believe that people feel they can say whatever they want to whoever they want! Have some boundaries! What gives someone the right to speak so inappropriately to me, to make me feel like a piece of meat? When does flirtation cross into assault?

My mother told me about a time when she visited New York back in the seventies. She went and stayed with my father’s brother and wife. On a day trip out, whilst walking alone through the Bronx, a man passed by and casually assaulted her, he then walked off again as though he had done nothing. Horrified, my mother ignored it with the fear that speaking out to her brother-law would be met with ridicule. Alone in a big city, it was inconceivable to find help and admit such a derogatory incident.

I just cannot comprehend something like that.

I have flirted with men in nightclubs before, I cannot deny that I have not been physically flirtatious but we all know the unspoken lines. I would not grab a man by his crotch yet why have I had a man attempt to put his hand up my skirt before? Did I invite that? Was I dancing too provocatively? Some people might agree to that. Isn’t that the excuse of rapists, that she was deliberately trying to turn me on or she shouldn’t have been wearing such seductive clothing.

Why is it becoming more and more acceptable to behave this way?

Addicted to Kisses.

Wash over me, your feathered brushes

touch my lips with tender nudges

be gentle, be reckless, feel liberated

unrestrained, wild but not complicated

hands in hair, pulling and tugging

bodies so close we’re practically hugging

breath on my neck like a whispering breeze

caressing my skin with a pleasing tease

etching your tongue around the rim of my lips

consumed in a haze, we lose our grip

on reality, time and where we belong

passion it burns, it trembles thereon

breaking away for a moment of air

our hearts are open our souls are bare

give little strokes, give velvety licks

give pressured pushes and unyielding flicks

make me feel like you’re the master

to stop now, well, it would be a disaster

feed my obession and grant my wishes

nourish my consuming addiction to kisses.

courtesy of Google Images.

6 years with the man I love.

And yes, another year and I’m apologising to my hubby for not having the time to buy him a card for our anniversary. I am a bit of a useless wife in that regard! He knows I love him. So, to embarrass him a little, I want to blog about my husband, (keeping this as far from gushing and sickening as I can).


Thank you for the last 6 years. You are the only man I have ever truly loved. Your open heart loved me so easily and although it is still a battle for me to surrender and open myself up completely to you, I am grateful for the journey you have taken me on. You are my best friend. Your loving arms and radiant warmth protects me. I know I can be ‘difficult’, I’m sorry for that. Even though I am apologising, you never see this as a fault. Instead another part of me that you love. Thank you. I love you too.

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.
Lao Tzu

Health Scare Part 1.

In 2008, after a routine smear test, I was informed that my test showed abnormal cells in my cervix. I had been having smear tests for a couple of years before and the results were always good so I was surprised to see this change.

My initial reaction was “keep it a secret”. I couldn’t tell my mother in fear of her reaction. Her fear of anything related to my health frightened me into not immediately speaking of it. I couldn’t bear her gasps of worry from what was an easily dealt with complaint. The doctors had made it clear that I would have to go through a procedure called a Colposcopy. Here the surface of the cervix is closely examined with an instrument called a colposcope. This device carefully looks to see if their are any abnormalities or cancerous cells. I was warned that a biopsy of the cervix may also be undertaken to determine whether the cells were indeed cancerous. The doctors reassured me that it would not be painful, just uncomfortable but it felt pretty uncomfortable – borderline painful to me.

It didn’t even cross my mind to tell my father. It was plain to me that this would be another thing he would use against me. The myth that cervical cancer developed after being promiscuous was something my father believed. That the HPV virus (linked to Herpes and cold sores) must mean that I was a slut. He had implied how “promiscuous” I was before after a doctor friend (albeit drunken doctor friend who hated my mother and often flirted outrageously with my father) stumbled into my bedroom one day at a party at my father’s house. When I caught her in there, she muttered something in Bengali and left. I went over to my desk where she had been standing and noticed how things were slightly out of place. She had been spying on me and had clearly noticed my carefully placed medicine at the back of my desk. Behind a couple of asthma inhalers lay an open packet of contraceptive pills. I was twenty one years old. Surely, other than proving that I was sexually active, it also clarified that I was being safe.

My father didn’t see it like that and berated me for ruining his reputation. I was not to have any indiscretions or appear reckless with life. Sex was sure fire reckless and crude behaviour to him. Though he happily flirted and flaunted affection at his married, drunkard doctor friend.

Cervical abnormalities can affect most women in their lives but it doesn’t mean that they will certainly develop cancer.

My father did eventually find out whilst partaking in his usual habit of delving through my post. Medical letters were a thrill for him to find as it gave him tremendous power over my basic human right – my health. Of course, after discovering my ongoing problem, my father was quick to verbally scold me, humiliate me and lash out at me. An argument ensued and I was left defending a cause that my father should have been supporting me through.

Once he knew the truth, what was essentially manageable to me became a nightmare for the following three examinations over the next two years.

My father now had control over my mind and my body.

3. Sex and respect, Part 3.

My family never questioned why they never met my boyfriends. I kept many of them away, with so many hidden secrets I could not risk them being exposed. My family were needy and I was sure they would reveal themselves at some point and uncover my pretence.

My mother rarely asked about my love life. By the time I reached my early twenties, my sister had been with her boyfriend for eight years. They married when I was twenty two. Her relationship was far more important. I couldn’t turn to her with boyfriend problems. She had only experienced it with one man. She was lucky as he was devoted to her, she never had to deal with the games people played. I wanted to have those chats with my mum but she was more concerned with my sister. I felt she’d just laugh at me as I had always been a source of amusement to the pair of them. I could hardly turn to my father, he would only use it as a weapon against me in the future, saving all the casual remarks I made to him or the times I was truly upset and using them to insult me. I wouldn’t tell friends in fear they would laugh too. I just kept it concealed from everyone.

I continued to meet pointless men and have disastrous, fleeting relationships. Everything was meaningless and had no depth. I longed to meet someone I connected with. In 2007, after dating an imbecile, I decided enough was enough. I was at my lowest. Things were awful at home with my father, I was unhappy in my career and I had put on over two stone in weight in the space of two years. It was time for a drastic change.

In the space of four months, I managed to shed the two stone I had put on. My confidence had returned and it didn’t take long for the men to follow. This time it felt different and the confidence felt real. I actually had a bit of fun that year and I didn’t berate myself for it either.

By 2008 and the point I met my husband David, I looked back on my dating and sexual history. I was surprised by how many worthless men I had met and how I had lowered my respect for myself so much. I wished that I could have discovered true inner confidence sooner and not fallen for the compliments in the dating game. I wish I wasn’t so desperate to feel loved or be needed by a man. I just looked for everything my father was not giving me and I don’t mean that in an incestuous way. I mean security, love, kindness, honesty and most of all,


I wish I had learnt these lessons earlier and been a bit more prepared. All my friends had long term relationships and weren’t seeming to be making the stupid mistakes that I was. I needed the guidance from the two people you expect to get it from.

I was lucky to meet my husband at the right time and feel like I was truly worth something, I was attractive and appealing and that I deserved love and respect from a man.

3. Sex and respect, Part 2.

I can’t say my first time was the most memorable, how many of us can? It wasn’t in a perfect relationship, or any relationship for that matter and it wasn’t with a total stranger I’d picked from a bar either. It was just the right time for me and at nineteen years of age I thought it was about time too.

I had nothing to compare it too and it certainly did not give me a taste for more as it was over a year that I contemplated doing it again. I definitely fell into situations that could have led to sex but I never followed through. I was confident yet massively insecure doubting how sexual I was or how appealing I came across. I received plenty of attention in my early twenties but put it down to my attractive set of friends. I never thought I may have been drawing that attention all by myself.

I knew nothing of men.

The only male figure I had around me was my father and that man could’ve put me off for life. I doubted men and was certain they’d betray me. I convinced myself I could never be loved. My father helped fuel those feelings with his constant criticisms and accusations against me. I felt disgusting most of the time. However, eventually, I pushed those deep rooted feelings to one side. I wanted to be loved and found physically attractive. I needed something positive from a man so I went looking for it.

In my early twenties a new found sexiness and courage developed in me. My love of fashion enabled me to flaunt myself and create a new seductive identity. It wasn’t me but it was better than the miserable identity my father had labelled me with. I revelled in it and enjoyed the copious amounts of attention I was now receiving from the opposite sex. My friends admired my confidence and ability to talk to anyone. It was just nice to be free, even if it was only for a few hours.

Soon, I became “addicted”. My lifestyle changed and I was out all the time. I was never a big drinker but my love of music and dancing drew me into the club scene. I was young and wanted a social life. My father didn’t care at first if I was out all hours but eventually it became another thing he wanted to control.

Clubs revealed a specific kind of guy. Ones that were out for one thing. Initially, I fell into this trap and believed their lines and flirtation. I thought I was giving as good as I was getting and still keeping boundaries. But I had never been exposed to the concept of boundaries so my lines were completely blurred. A few one night stands followed suit and many nights were spent anxiously waiting for the call that never came. I foolishly made these mistake several times, thinking each man would be different from the last.

But of course, I was wrong.

In my mid-twenties and in need of a long lasting relationship, I tried out on-line dating. I have to admit, I met some right bastards on that. Yet once again, I believed their lies as they romanced me into bed. Some I dated for a couple of months, others a few weeks and all the time they had the control. I see it now. I allowed it to happen, it was easier that way, it was all I was used to; a man controlling me.

Sex became an escape, a way to be free, to hide from the abuse and feel loved. It was a chance to feel released and become someone else.

Even if it was only for that one night.

Part 3 to follow.

3. Sex and respect Part 1.

I was never given any guidance around the subject of sex. My parents shied away from discussing it with my or my sister and we never saw any evidence of attraction between them. Where some children are embarrassed by their parents’ display of affection, we never had that feeling. They rarely embarrassed us.

As a child, I had no knowledge of sex. I never questioned things as most curious children do. The reproductive system and menstrual  cycle was taught at school in Science. We were never taught at home. My parents left that to our teachers. My sister and I never talked about that side of things, we were not close and our relationship was already unsteady and resentful. I wanted to confide in her and ask questions but my fear to approach her in this matter was too overwhelming and I backed away. Fellow peers at school always seemed more enlightened on the subject than me. I wondered if they could talk to their family about their curiosities.

At my all girls secondary school, I remained intellectually inexperienced in sex, looking to my more confident peers to set the example. I was envious that many of the girls knew about sex and could talk about it freely to each other. I would not have dared joined in. I just listened from the sidelines picking up information without them realising. My teenage years were turbulent at home and my needs were pushed to one side. Socially, I was doing okay. I had friends and due to my dream-like and false reality, I was able to appear confident and capable. No one truly knew how much I was suffering inside.

At the age of 16, when my mother and sister had gone and I was left with my ever-changing father, sex became more of a forefront in my life. I switched school and my year group was now mixed. I was seeing boys every day and socially, I couldn’t cope. I was not popular, fading into the background in my first year. I was developing crushes and obsessions easily, feeling heartbroken if the feeling wasn’t reciprocated. I began thinking about sex but never acting on it. I’d only kissed one boy until the age of seventeen. I was behind in a lot of ways. My friends at the time were surprised how unsuccessful I was with boys as my confidence sent other messages to them. I got on well with boys as I had a good, sarcastic sense of humour. I could poke fun at myself and was easy-going. But I did not know how to turn on the sex appeal. I never felt sexy.

By the time I reached Drama School the majority of my friends had all lost their virginity. As it had never been discussed at home I had no idea how to broach the subject. I was frightened of it and although I was having natural urges, I pushed them to one side. I did not feel attractive in any way especially around boys of my age. I hated competing with other girls and naturally moved away from those scenarios. I was drawn to older men often getting more attention from them on nights out. My friends loved that twenty five year old men were attracted to me, they thought it was thrilling and I was encouraged to take it further. I enjoyed the flirt as I was good at that. I was great at banter. However, any further would just scare me off.

I learnt about sex from film and T.V mostly as a teen. As a young adult, it was from listening to my classmates stories and sexual experiences. I asked questions shamelessly. I wanted to know every detail. They didn’t mind, they enjoyed talking about themselves. I realised that it was something I needed to do, I wanted to experience it. It was unlikely that I would see it in a relationship as I was unsure of how to even begin one. I couldn’t “love” remember. The girls at Drama school were shocked that I was an eighteen year old virgin. It was practically unheard of. Even though they regularly encouraged me to do it I wanted to do it on my own terms. I wasn’t waiting for love. I just wanted it to feel right.

The hunt to find it began.

Part 2 to follow.

1. Love

The most obvious thing I never truly understood was love. I never saw it growing up nor was given advice on it as a young adult. My mother had her own problems to deal with and I, inadvertently had become my father’s problem. He wasn’t about to teach me about love.

My parents expected me to know everything about how the world worked but I lived through example. Either choosing to do positive things they showed me (which was not often) or the opposite of their negative choices. I was adamant that life couldn’t be that miserable and my life would be a success. I look back on my dreams as a child sadly. I had so much hope. I no longer feel that way. The innocence has completely disappeared.

Love for me:

Love came across so bitter as a child. My mother withheld it, used it and controlled how much love she gave me. She showered it over my sister, not just affectionate love but guidance and advice, two things I longed for from her. She will say she did that but it was not in the same way she treated my sister. She was given positive praise and affirmations and I was just told. Her love for me came out as worry. I wasn’t meeting her expectations as I grew older and every time we were together I got bombarded with a list of issues I needed to resolve to become more like my older sister and succeed in life. The comparisons were too much and only pushed me further away.

My father’s love for me has been twisted since I entered his miserable life. I was used as a pawn and weapon against my mother. He used love to manipulate people. He used love to hurt and destroy any faith I ever had in human compassion. Love was a word to him, not a feeling or emotion. He had no emotions. He felt nothing.

Love for each other: 

God, they really hated each other didn’t they? I never once witnessed love for each other. My parents did not love each other, certainly not by the time I came along. I know my mother once did, she told me. She fell in love with a totally, different man. A man who complimented and laughed with her, not a man who mocked and judged her. He led her into his deceptive world, tricking her into loving him, manipulating her devotion to benefit his will. He was truly awful to her it’s no wonder her love for him vanished and her hate became everlasting. I don’t blame her. I feel for her. No woman deserves that.

Love for my parents:

I loved them so much as a child. All the bad examples, their reckless behaviour, the abuse and screaming, the taunts and violence, it didn’t stop my love for them. I saw them as separate beings. My mother was so powerful in my eyes as a child. She was the dominant figure and my father seemed weaker than her (I now know how he deliberately placed himself in that position to make Ma look dictatorial and evil). I never saw her like that, at least not as a young child. She was my mother and I loved her. My father was a God to me. I adored him and the love I felt for him was immense. What child feels so dependant on her father? An abused one I’m sure. It was an over the top love, an unreal love we shared. It was a love he had created, disturbing and obsessive. It was a love that worried my mother. She needn’t have worried. It was a love that soon disappeared. It was a love that turned to hate and anger and fear.

Love for others:

As I was never taught the true meaning of love, I never knew what to expect from relationships. You all know how badly my friendships went. Relationships with men were no different if not worse. As a thirteen year old, I developed an obsessive infatuation with a neighbour of mine something my mother’s friend still jokes about it to this day. I smile. What else can I do? She does not know how it felt, how it ached every time I saw him, how I thought about him constantly and had no one to tell. I couldn’t brush it off as a crush, I didn’t even know what a crush was! I had no guidance in love and sex. The T.V was my main source of advice and as we didn’t have a computer at home, I wasn’t able to access the internet, in fact the internet was only just beginning when I was in my late teens. I had hoped my sister might enlighten me on the subject of men seeing as she was eight years older, but she was leading an entirely unconnected life from me, she was never going to do that and I was far too embarrassed to ask. My mother would just reiterate to me that sex out of a relationship was unimaginable to her and if I did it, she would look down on me for that decision. She never talked about love, just sex. I wonder how she perceived me………

I do often find it difficult to love.

I hope I’m doing it right.

Where there is love there is life.
Mahatma Gandhi