Annie Waller

“Count your age by your friends not your years,” someone told to me recently.  What a gem of wisdom, I thought, realising that would make my husband a toddler.

A couple of days later another friend told me his best mate is a tree.  He seldom sees this 400-year-old chum who, with grace and majesty, dominates a Buckinghamshire garden.  But when they do meet, a deep respect overwhelms him and they ‘talk’ for long periods of time without words.

Last year I said good bye to my old friend Tiny.  Just a few months later, I found myself doing the same thing for my sister’s gorgeous husband.

Lieutenant Colonel Geoffrey Moss OBE was a fab dad.  His four young sons, each the image of him, are blessed with their father’s massive sense of adventure.  They have a remarkable mum who I am proud to call my big sis and I know she will see them through the sadness purely because of her strong Yorkshire heart (and mafia-like family).  However, I can’t help asking ‘why the good guys?’  There really is no justice in all this.

Geoff was taken from us tragically quickly.  I grew up with him around and had great respect for his ironic humour, sound sense of ethics and an immense knowledge of just about everything.

It seems right that at Fountains Abbey, close to his home and always his favourite place to go for a run with his beloved dog ‘Daisy’ tagging along behind, are to put some of his ashes around the roots of a young tree.

Who knows?  In time, as it grows, the essence of that tree may well echo the strength and intelligence of the man lying at its feet, becoming a dear friend a few hundred years down the line to someone who has the calmness of spirit to stop and notice it, just as the ancient sycamore at Adstock Old Rectory.

And for those of us left behind who loved Geoff… I know hope hides in laughter.  It gives us brief bouts of courage to carry on.

So I shall laugh.

Sad eh?

The house is minging and needs a blast so as the sun shines for a change, I go once round the welsh dresser with the baby wipes and up with abandoned Lego into the vacuum cleaner trying not to feel smug about telling the kids to tidy their rooms.  Wish I was outside writing in the beautiful evening light…

Stacking my daughter’s fairy books back on her shelf I tell the ultimate dominatrix (one woman and seven little men, I ask you…) to get real.  My three year old princess will be primed to marry a house trained Prince. It’s true, at no point in school were we girls told that our male counterparts would expect us to daily decide dinner and constantly sort out the laundry.  Miss Potts said we were all equals.  And like an eager beaver, I stood there believing every word.  Then I got married and found myself buying white bread and washing Calvins.  Love does strange things to a girl.

But looking around, some of my friends obviously attended the house proud classes I missed since they do it so well.  In fact they put me to shame.  Hence the urge to strip and boil wash anything that moves.

Then my fabulously funny friend died.  Just like that he was gone.  Squadron Leader ‘Tiny’ Spires knew how to laugh at life.  His infectious humour always had me collapsing into giggles whenever I saw him.  God speed dear friend - on wings like eagles (Isaiah 40:31).

So, the haphazard house and messy garden can wait.  Today is short and so are my kids.  I shall write whenever I can, play with my babes and laugh at the mess we stew in.  For tomorrow we die.

By the way, the sheet answered, “Come here and find out,” darling bill payer was still on top of it!

Thousands more people know about ‘Albert’ thanks to MY WEEKLY magazine. See, you can’t keep a good read quiet!

But where have I been lately? Well, I lasted one month as Chair of my daughter’s playschool. Once the committee sussed out I was a loose cannon they side-lined me off into the fundraising and social events team. All went well for a week until I organised a meet and greet morning during half term. No one showed up. Yours truly sat alone amongst a crowd of strangers reading all about Jordan’s new boob job in a brightly coloured play zone costing ten pounds a minute. Oh well, at least I got to watch my little angel traumatise kids old enough to beat her up. We left after she stripped naked and chundered in the ball pit.

And last night I spoke to the lovely ladies of Westbury W.I. These amazing women have initiated a campaign to provide every service man and woman involved in conflicts around the world with a shoe box full of home cooking. So far over 300 boxes full of fruit cake and much needed home comforts have been received by the troops. Whatever your opinion on the situation of war, if you found yourself unlucky enough to be away from home, lonely and frightened, imagine receiving a box of goodies from someone who cared. Watch out for their website coming soon… www.boxesfromthegirls.co.uk.

I also graced the home page of www.christianwriter.co.uk for the month of January which gives me great encouragement to keep on chasing my dream of being a writer. It’s always one step forwards and two back but I never give up!

Yes I know I’m useless at blogging but I keep thinking something will happen worthy of reporting. Then I get told it’s all about patience. That’s a word not in my vocabulary. I want pink and silver hair but my hairdresser told me, “You can’t, your grey isn’t light enough yet”. See, I can’t even get old properly. So whilst waiting for the wheels of industry to turn I get up with the Lark and write book three.

I rise bleary eyed, still clothed (what - there’s a whole nation of mothers out there sleeping in their clothes - it’s quicker), push one of the kids off my arm, and stumble downstairs to write in the quiet hush of sunrise. If I’m lucky enough for beloved bill payer to be home and game for a school run, I keep going but with industrial ear phones on. Let me tell you it’s not a pretty sight.

One day my friends…

Incidentally my spell checker just told me blogging should be flogging which feels about right.

Well, apart from going completely grey, I am now released from Medavia, my publisher for Albert, and have an agent talking to publishers interested in Girl Guidance (check out the Story So Far page, link above).

Hopefully it won’t be too long before all can be revealed… Until then, I’ll crack on with book three. At the moment, You & Your Wedding magazine rate ‘Married to Albert’ as the second best honeymoon read ever - that’s higher than the Penguin entry (see page 32).

Back soon!