Let’s all do the deployment limbo

Greetings all, and a very happy 2016 to you all. I hope you all had a very merry Christmas filled with champagne, vast quantities of chocolate and loved ones aplenty. 

You will have also had to contend with the bizarre period between Christmas and New Year’s Day when you lose track of what day it is, but you think it might be Sunday, and the best thing to do with your time is watch The Sound Of Music (Julie Andrews film version please, not ITV’s recent live attempt) and consume your weight in Cadbury’s Roses. It’s a Chrimbo limbo in which time at once manages to stand still and fly past at a rate of knots so before you know it you’re having to sweep away the hazelnut whirl wrappers and drag your sorry carcass onto the 6.58 to Paddington wondering why trousers with an elasticated waistband are not deemed acceptable office attire. 

Well this year I have been extra lucky because I have gone straight from Chrimbo limbo to deployment limbo. Which has the same sense of foreboding as it approaches the end, but it’s less acceptable to sit in your pyjamas filling your face with strawberry creams. It should be acceptable, but I’m afraid it’s not. 

Deployment limbo is that awkward few days when you’ve said farewell to your loved one – and no one will judge you if that’s involved holding onto his ankle crying “don’t leave me” – but he hasn’t actually left the country yet. His phone hasn’t gone into storage, but you can’t see him, and it feels a bit weird to get upset over someone who is sitting in a barracks somewhere dicking around on YouTube when they are supposed to be doing Very Important Army Business. 

Welcome to deployment limbo. Where people don’t really understand why your bottom lip started quivering at your desk, and only three bags of Maoam pinballs can stop it. Where you want time to go quickly because you want to see him again, but at the same time you need it to slow right down because better that he’s sat in a barracks watching Arnold Swarzenegger YouTube in this country rather than in a camp somewhere else. 

All you can do is hope that by the time deployment actually starts you never want to see a Maoam pinball again, and you’re ready to start on the “I’m going to spend deployment getting super fit and healthy AND learn French” stage.*

In the meantime, you convince yourself that buying new coats is “retail therapy”, that dry January is an invention of the card companies and start up your blog again. 

All the while, you know that things are about to get a whole lot trickier. 

*This usually doesn’t kick in until the final week of deployment. By which time it’s too late for any of this self improvement nonsense so you eat Maoam pinballs while watching Amelie (with subtitles). 

A second chance to say goodbye

So, as previously documented I said goodbye to my new fiancé (love typing that) and returned home to the comfort of my fast growing collection of wedding magazines and the remains of a chocolate yule log.

He was going back to work, having been called in a day earlier – cue changed flights and quiet resignation from me, hardly surprised by his plans changing yet again at the drop of a beret. Got to love HM Forces.

I got on with returning to normal life, went out and got festively merry on New Year’s Eve, flashed my sparkler at all who came within a 100 metre radius, watched the fireworks in London, and miraculously avoided seeing in 2013 with a killer hangover.

Happy New Year: My attempt at photographing fireworks over the London skyline

Then it was back to work again where my boss allowed me five minutes to discuss wedding plans with the girls in the office before I was ordered back to the grindstone.

Meanwhile The Boy was finding that his work load was altogether lighter.

Having been hauled back to report on the Saturday morning he was in work for all of half an hour before being stood down until the morning of New Year’s Eve, when the same thing happened again – this time until January 2.

So despite being back in Cyprus he had completed around an hour of actual work in the five days he had been there, and was getting mightily pissed off about it.

Then he was told that his flight to Bastion had been cancelled and instead of flying out on Friday he had an extra two days.

I suspect his brain had been addled by too much New Year’s champagne when he decided that he might as well use the extra time to fly home for a whistlestop overnight stay.

When he told me of his plan my initial thought was “You’re crazy, it’s so expensive and we are supposed to be saving for a wedding now, not to mention a spare bed that still hasn’t been purchased despite the fact that we moved into our house a year ago”.

But soon I was desperately hoping that he’d been able to find a flight, and when he told me on Thursday that he would see me the next day I was overjoyed.

Having cried buckets when he went back to Cyprus a week earlier I was worried that the second time it would be even harder, although in fact the opposite was true.

Instead of thinking “I don’t want you to go!” my overriding emotion was “I’m so happy you’re back”, and we spent a wonderful evening drinking Champagne and mojitos, and I even put my 1950s wife skills to the ultimate test by making dinner.

When it came to take him to the airport I was still happier that I had got to spend the extra time with him than I was sad he was going. I love that he spent eight hours on planes just to spend one more night with me. Turns out my rugby playing, kickboxing soldier is something of a romantic.

Now he really has gone, and we said our last goodbyes on the phone this morning.

The next time we talk will be on a satellite phone, I can no longer send him a simple text message, and my only means of contacting him instantly are firing off numerous emails and eblueys that he may or may not be able to read.

The thought of the next three months apart feels like an aching dull thud in the pit of my stomach, although I am grateful that it will only be a short tout – unlike the two seven month stints he has done in the last three and a half years.

However, this time there is another difference in the fact that when he comes home we will be about to really start our future together. In his words “when I come home we’ll get married”.

It’s sad that he has gone but at the same time I feel excited about what is to come.

And I’m not the only one. I had an email from his mum today where she summed the whole situation up rather well.

“So if its ok with you we have decided we haven’t lost a son/brother but gained a daughter/ sister. So Christmas 2012 will be remembered not for shortened holidays but for true romance in the story book style.”

Here’s to that!

Otherwise engaged

As many of you who follow me on Twitter will know, I have some very special news to share with you all. After nine and a quarter years together, a house, two full tours of Afghan and a mini one on the way, and two foreign postings (three if you count Scotland) The Boy finally decided to do the right thing, get down on one knee and ask me to be his wife.
I have to say, it wasn’t a complete surprise. We’ve probably been talking about it (much to his annoyance) for the last two years and have often discussed where said dream nuptials would take place.
That said I was beginning to give up hope that he would ever actually get around to asking me and was wondering what degree of bunnyboiling would be necessary to get him to take the next step.
I thought that something might be stirring when he volunteered to come to my parents house on Boxing Day before we both headed back to ours – around an hour away.
Then while he was there he did disappear into the kitchen with my dad and having heard him utter “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask for a while now…” I scuttled upstairs in a fit of excitement in a scene reminiscent of Pride and Prejudice when Bingley asks Mr Bennet if he can marry Jane, as all her sisters excitedly dash around the house in fits of laughter. I have tried and failed to find a YouTube clip sadly!
So we both drove back home and decided that we would belatedly swap Christmas presents after having dinner.
I was determined to be a good girlfriend by making dinner, promised to cook Toad in the Hole only to get back and find that I didn’t have any eggs.
Toad on it’s own it was then… with a bottle of red wine to wash it down.
Then we went into the sitting room and after exchanging gifts I was handed one last small one to unwrap.
The Boy grinned as I guessed what could be inside the small black box.
Inside was the most beautiful ring. White gold with a single diamond it was everything I had ever hoped for.

Shine bright like a diamond

Classic and timeless, I wouldn’t have been able to pick a better one if I had chosen myself.
I couldn’t help but burst into tears as he got down on one knee and slid the ring onto my finger. It fitted perfectly.
There I was, tears streaming down my face asking “Really? To ACTUALLY get married? Are you joking?”
Thankfully he wasn’t joking, although he did start laughing.
Cue the Champagne (a handy Christmas present)and an evening of celebrations before we broke the news to our families the following day.
I have to say there was rather a lot of Champagne drunk so I wasn’t actually in any fit state to talk to anyone until about 4.30pm!
When you think of a dream proposal you might picture a walk on the beach, a romantic restaurant, a grand public gesture – all us girls are guilty of fantasising about our handsome prince sweeping us off our feet thanks to a childhood diet of Disney films.
My proposal was low kew and personal. There were no fireworks, no singing waiters, no ring hidden inside a pudding. But to me it was perfect.
Here was the man I love, asking me to marry him. And the way he did it suited him to a T.
Since then I’ve spent two days in a happy little bubble, reading wedding magazines and contemplating where, when and how our big day might go.
Of course, there is the small matter of him having to go off to Afghanistan before we can actually start to really plan anything but at least I can keep myself busy doing some preparation so that when he gets home we can push forward with the real planning.
I can’t wait.

Keeping myself busy until he comes home again

Mulling over Christmas

Hello all, I hope that whatever you’re up to you’ve managed to keep out of this horrible weather and have been so organised that you haven’t had to brave the shops today.
I’m at work so staying away from both the rain and the desperate shopping zombies, although I’d still rather be tucked up at home with a mince pie or three (Or a slice of this rather excellent Scandinavian Christmas Cake – which I really recommend you try.)

Scandinavian spiced Christmas cake – tasty

Christmas can be a difficult time for many families, especially those with loved ones serving overseas. While the “normals” get to enjoy their Christmas turkey all together there are thousands of Forces families whose festive highlight might be a snatched five minute phone call from a dodgy satellite phone out in Afghanistan.
I’ve always been lucky that so far The Boy has been able to avoid a Christmas deployment, and that the two tours he has done in the last five years have both been over the summer months.
He’s off again in January but has been lucky enough to be allowed home from Cyprus for Christmas, even if he will be whisked back to the Med before the New Year’s Eve celebrations can kick off.
We’re not actually spending Christmas day together. Instead we will both be with our respective families as I’m on call for work and have to stay down south, whereas with deployment (even though it’s only for three months) looming we thought it would be best if he fulfilled his “good son” duties and went off to see his family on Tyneside.
Instead we’ll have Christmas part two on Boxing Day and our presents are safely under our tiny little tree in anticipation (no peeking now!).
He’s been at home since last Friday and it has just been fantastic. We went off to London for a couple of days and got our culture on, as well as blitzing the Christmas shopping like nobody’s business and stuffing our faces with top quality Chinese food at the wonderful Kai Mayfair (an early Christmas treat).
We went off to Tate Britain to see the Pre Raphelites: Victoria Avant-Guarde exhibition, which was brilliant, and then to the V&A for Hollywood Costume , which I have to say despite it’s “lighter” subject matter was really really interesting. I never realised the amount of thought that went into creating costumes, especially for films set in the present day. And it did make me chuckle when The Boy, after gawping at Maximus’s armour from Gladiator, and James Bond’s Casino Royal dinner jacket, started lusting over the tweed suit worn by the one and only Edward Cullen in Twilight. Both of the exhibitions are on into January so if you fancy a day out or two I would highly recommend either one of them.
The best part of the week was getting to spend it with my lovely soldier, especially after I worked out that I had only spent three days with him in the last two months, and with another separation on the horizon – made worse by the fact that it was doubled from six weeks out in the desert to three months.
Even though I’m not going to be with my man on Christmas day itself I am fortunate that he will be safe and snug, and not out in Afghanistan (at least for the time being).

Oh Christmas Tree! My tiny little tree, all ready for the presents

My thoughts however will be with those families, parents, wives, girlfriends and children who will have a loved one away from home, whether that is with the Armed Forces or not. I appreciate that for the mums, or dads, left behind to pull off a festive extravaganza without the presence of their partner Christmas can be a trying time and I hope that you are able to enjoy your day as much as you can, and that Santa will have swung that phone call for you.
Deployment is stressful at the best of times and I have a huge amount of admiration for those of you in the middle of it right now.
There are of course other families out there who are having to endure a rather more permanent separation and of course I will also be thinking of them.
Finally I wanted to say thank you to all those members of the Armed Forces out in Afghanistan, or elsewhere, away from their families, and of course wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas and a safe and Happy New Year.

Three words

As I walked up the flight of steps from the tube I could see you stood at the summit, the darkness of your silhouette contrasting with the bright white of the pale December sunshine.

You greeted me with a smile and a cheery “alreet”, in your northeastern burr which had always stood out among the estuary vowels of most of our fellow students.

It was one of the few times we had met off campus, despite “seeing each other” since the start of term.

You were 19 years old, yet to join the Army, yet to really even consider joining the Army. Our 20s still stretched out in front of us, in a vast swathe of uncharted waters and untold possibilities.

In those early days the following month would seem as far away as the next five years and we were both figuring out whether our two futures would entwine with one another or branch off in different and unexpected directions.

Before that December day I had never really considered that you just might be “the one”, this fair haired boy who seemed to have appeared from nowhere and charmed his way into my life.

I told my friends that it wasn’t serious, I wasn’t looking for anything long term, it was just a bit of fun.

But day by day it became harder to imagine my life without you in it.

So there we were, alone together despite the hoards of desperate shoppers clogging Oxford Street at they frantically searched for presents for their own loved ones.

It seems like a lifetime ago, and yet I remember the detail like it was yesterday.

I wore a pair of pale pink gloves, with beaded snowflakes stitched onto the backs of each hand while your yellow and blue university scarf protected you from the winter chill.

We walked hand in hand, peering into shop windows and talking for hours as the winter sun began to dip behind the London skyline.

Stepping away from the busy hustle and bustle we found ourselves on a side street, illuminated by the small frosted windows of the quieter shops and brightly coloured Christmas decorations hung overhead. I told you that it reminded me of Diagonal Alley from Harry Potter, only to correct myself and, in a desperate attempt to make myself sound like the English literature student I was, added “or Dickens”.

You stopped and your eyes met mine.

“I’m really going to have to get you a good present now,” you joked.

I asked why but you simply smiled and replied “just because”.

Hours later, back in the happy bubble of the university campus, we celebrated the end of term in the rowdy students union with our friends. Our two sports clubs shared a Christmas meal and though we were sat apart our eyes continuously met.

Escaping for a moment we ventured outside into the night air.

“Do you know what ‘because’ means?,” you asked. I nodded.

“I love you.”