Looking for Penny – Day 3

I made the mistake of going to bed last. As I walked to the bathroom I’d normally rub Penny’s head as I passed the sofa. That’s probably how she’d know it was almost bedtime. When I finished I looked to my left, this is where I’d say, “Come on Penny, bedtime.” And she would waddle her way past me and into the bedroom. Pause at the stairs, sometimes needing a few words of encouragement to get up there or simply for a path to be cleared.

It’s those moments. The every day occurrences, the ones that make up your day that you miss so much, that you leave to your mind to commit to memory. So many nights, and I only have this fallible memory of mine to remember that and so much more.

When my nephew was eating his lunch I took a piece of his chicken and gave it to Cordi to eat. She sat up, looking for something… Someone. She went to the table, looking for something. Maybe it was to see if more food had fallen, but my heart tells me she went looking for her sister. Because that’s exactly where Penny would have been. Waiting for something magical to fall from the sky. Or for the awaited, “Clean up!” instruction that signalled whatever had fallen was no fair game. But she wasn’t there. And these moments are another unwelcome reminder. Another trigger.

Every sound that would’ve meant someone was in the kitchen, maybe food is coming. Penny would always be alert. And the paws would follow soon. If she wasn’t sure then she’d stay on the back of the sofa, but her nose would be turned up trying to figure out what was being eaten. She knew when she needed to get up. Whenever someone sat at the table the ears would go up, nose sniffing, on alert…Food? No Pen, just water, nothing you need to get up for. Cordi walked into the kitchen when I was getting water. I think the first time since Penny passed. Hearing the paws on the floor. The expectant looking up for food. Triggered.

We’re worried about what’s going to happen when we have to leave her alone, because she’s never been alone. She went from a household of four dogs, three dogs, to her and Penny. Always Penny. Cordi was bad before, if we’d leave the room it was only a few moments before she came looking for us. Now we make sure we never leave her. That won’t be able to continue for much longer.

I know she appreciates the constant attention, the extra treats, the not having to share anything. But I know if Penny walked through that door Penny would be in her face giving her a million slobbery kisses as Penny growled back. She’d relish giving her a hard time because I know she misses her. I know she loved her sister so much. I see it. I can see how happy and excited she would be. Wagging her tail because her sister was back. I see it. I feel it.

We’re looking at finding her a new friend, even as a foster, so she’s not alone. It’s too soon for me but we have to think of Cordi, we don’t want her to be alone. It’s not fair to her to not have someone. But it’s not just got Cordi. Me too. People are blaming themselves because I’m always sad. That stoic Britishness, gone. I feel everything. I feel it so much. And it hurts.

Finding a dog is proving difficult, the various shelters saying we live to close to a main road, we don’t have a garden, the dog would be better in a home with no other dogs, a myriad of reasons. And then there are those ads for dogs that “need” a home…for a significant fee. Puppy brokers acting under the guise of people trying to rehome the dogs they’ve overbred. They’re the ones responsible for taking Penny. Their greed and callousness breeding dogs that weren’t well, raising them in horrible conditions just so they could make money. They make me sick. How can they claim to care about giving a dog a home when they’re keeping them in cardboard boxes?

And this constant thudding in my head. Exhaustion. Dehydration. The lack of caffeine. Not having Penny to lean against on the sofa, only the cold hard table. The pain does not stop.

Every time we take Cordi out or we come back home, or even go into a different room I keep trying to see if she’s looking for her sister. Does she think she’s just gone somewhere and she’s going to come back? Maybe she’s hiding because she doesn’t want to go outside… She’s never hid for this long before. Maybe I should eat all my food quickly because she’ll suddenly pounce out and take it. Does she think these things? Is she looking for Penny? Because I look for her. And I know she’s not going to be there. But I so very much want her to be.

I don’t know how to not want to look for her.

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Without Penny – Day 2

I broke down again after making dinner last night. It’s not like I hadn’t already. Multiple times. Annie did me in several times over. ‘Sandy’ and the lyrics, ‘And he really comes in handy. ‘Specially when you’re all alone in the night, And you’re small and terribly frightened it’s Sandy, Sandy who’ll always be there!’ is not what I needed to hear.

It was nothing complicated, just a can of soup. Everyone said I had to eat something because I hadn’t all day. I was heating it up and then the tears came. And they didn’t stop.

I couldn’t remember the last time I ate dinner, or any meal, at home without Penny at my side. She was always there, waiting to the left of the chair I always sat at, looking up, waiting for something to fall from the sky. Never begging or pawing at me. Just waiting. Even if I sat in a different chair she would wait in the exact same spot until I called her over or she realised I wasn’t going to sit there. She expected me to be a creature of habit because I was.

Now, heating this can of soup, my body gave out its cry as I realised I had lost that too. My constant companion. I would be alone. I looked at the bread and thought, if she was here I’d probably prepare a slice or two because I always had to make sure there was some part of my meal that I could share. No bread tonight. Who would eat my crusts?

Last night I went to bed just before midnight. My body ready to collapse from exhaustion. Usual routine. Wash face. Brush teeth. “Come on Penny, bedtime.” She would wake herself up fully because she always fell asleep, yet was always aware of when it was nearing my bedtime. She’d shake herself, stretch out, hop off the sofa. If the bedroom door was slightly ajar she could push it open. If not I would. Then she would enter first, heralding my presence. She would take her spot. I mine. A few chest rubs and a goodnight.

In the morning when she would get up to go out she’d usually step across me. Her belly would rub against the back of my legs with its soft fur. No more.

That didn’t quite set off the waterworks. I’d like to think because it’s getting better, or perhaps I’ve run my stocks dry. I know neither of these things is true.

I couldn’t bring myself to make tea, because that is part of the breakfast routine that she was part of. She would sit on the floor just outside the kitchen door because the floor in there was too cold. Waiting whilst the kettle boiled and I did my stretches. Deciding what to make for breakfast. Toast. Penny can eat the crusts. Today, no. Today I ate a banana. Drank some water.

Cordi went for a run around Hyde Park. Ran three miles, walked the other two. That was the only park Penny liked, through Kensington Gardens. If you took her there in the stroller that is, not if you made her walk. That set me off.

Did I give her too many treats? If I hadn’t shared so many of my meals with her would she have been able to run? Would that have made her a fitter dog and stopped the heart murmur developing? No. I’m assured. She had bad hips, she was never good with running or walking for long distances. That f-ing dog breeder probably fractured her hip and it never healed properly before she was rescued. Once again the life she had been born into finally deciding how it would play out.

I couldn’t put the shirt I wore as I held her for the last time in the laundry. It was one of the t-shirts I got during the first trip when I met her. I was always worried that she’d had an accident as she lay on the back of the sofa behind me and that there was something on my shirt or that I was covered in “chihuahua glitter.” I would do laundry every other hour if it meant I could feel her sat behind me right now.

I tried to take Cordi to the seaside but she was too anxious in the car. She didn’t stop shaking so I had to come home again. I couldn’t tell if she was scared because of the car, or because Penny wasn’t there, or if it was new surroundings, or if she thought I was taking her away and not bringing her home again. Penny liked the car, at least she used to. But we never went on trips. I never took her to the beach. She wouldn’t have known what to do at the ocean and it would’ve been too cold, but I should have taken her.

I need to eat. I feel myself getting weaker. But what can I eat? Fish and Chips? Penny would’ve wanted some chips. Every time chips are suggested I cry. Egg fried rice? Onions, dogs can’t eat onions. Leftovers? That was the last dinner I shared with Penny. I can’t.

I made eggs. She would’ve shared those with me. As I waited for them to boil I looked down to my right. No Penny face staring up at me silently asking if it was ready yet. Was there anything I could give her to tide her over in the meantime? I’d never stood in this kitchen for this long without her at least trying to join me. If there was oil that might splash a quick, “This isn’t your room Penny” and she’d know to leave. But she’d only get as far as the doorway. That was the safe line. At the sink I turned because I thought I heard her nails on the tile. The little taps I knew would come. I was wrong.

Cordi shared my eggs with me. Some day I’ll eat again without getting teary. Maybe.

I deleted a game app off my phone. I was too busy playing on it during those last days. Too busy trying to win a jackpot that would materialise into nothing. My focus divided. I should’ve spent more time with Penny. I should have been paying more attention then just sat here preoccupied on the sofa as her breathing laboured.

I watch Cordi now as she sleeps. Her body tucked in close to mine. I wonder if this is how she used to spend her days with Penny. Both asleep, waiting for us to come home. She sleeps too soundly. With Penny I would check to make sure she was still breathing, it was a joke. As soon as I’d hover over her she’d know and her eyes would open. Cordi not so. I touch her. No movement. I gently shake her. Nothing. Momentary panic I lift her up. She’s fine. I got scared. I miss Penny’s breathing. The rise and fall of her chest. Her legs poking into my back as she made herself comfortable.

Today was the first time I had to take the pups…pup…singular for their evening bathroom break. Three legs. Not seven. We would say Penny had three and a spare to help Cordi know she only needs the three. I took her down to the usual spot. She peed where they always do. Just by the first tree. Penny would always go on the tree, Cordi would give her space. Then Penny would choose where to go. Sometimes by the large plant pot. For the first poop. Then she’d move on, sometimes under the overhang. Sometimes she’d venture even further to near the community theatre. These last few days, she didn’t go much further from the first tree, and there would only be one poop deposit.

I didn’t know how long to wait. The timing was always determined by when Penny was done, she was the one who had a lot to do. Cordi is quick, and doesn’t always poop. Pee once. Is that enough? Is there more? I don’t know if I have to wait Cordi. I don’t know if you’re walking around because you have more to do or if you’ve picked up Penny’s scent or if you’re looking for it. I don’t know how to do this without her.

Cordi ate the other half of her breakfast for dinner as soon as we got back upstairs. No question. I didn’t even need to ask. This never happens. Penny always wolfed down her food first. Then Cordi would wait and wait, sometimes not eating it at all until much later. It was the kind of crappy thing a younger sibling would do knowing that their older sibling wanted nothing more than to eat it. I would make Penny wait on the floor before allowing her back up on the sofa incase she ate Cordi’s food when my back was turned, because Cordi wouldn’t make a sound if she did. Eventually I would give up and put the food up and then let Penny back up to assume her spot on the sofa. I don’t have to worry about that anymore I suppose. I’m glad she’s eating.

I worry that she’s sleeping too much. It’s one of the signs of depression. It’s what often happens when dogs lose their owners. I can’t, not Cordi too. I can’t remember what it is they used to do. I would come home. Put my bag down. Tell them it was time to go out. Cordi would race down the hallway and Penny would follow. Cordi would get in the way as I tried to hook Penny up to the lead. When we got downstairs Cordi would try to shoot off and I’d have to hold her back so she didn’t drag Penny. Then we’d come back up. I notice Cordi is hesitant now as she steps out of the elevator. It’s like she’s scared her leg will go down the gap. She didn’t have to worry before. Penny was her anchor.

All Cordi seems to do is sleep. And I cannot remember what they did before after they ate. Penny would sit on the back of the sofa, moving from one side to the other. She’d lie on her back. On her front. Sometimes watch TV. Cordi would sit next to me. On me. Wedge herself between me and the sofa. I can’t remember what’s normal. Penny not here isn’t normal.

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My Penny

This is Penny. Within a few days of meeting her she had already peed on my stuff. It would not be the last time, and it would not just be my stuff. On more than one occasion it was me.

We joke that Cordi is my puppy because she looks like me – black hair and tan. Penny though, she has my temperament. We like to be left alone. I knew she and I had reached an understanding because she would always make sure her butt was against me because she trusted me.

Here are a few facts about Penny:

She was a rescue from a dog breeder who had tried to breed her too early. I think this has a lot to do with her mistrust of others and also her attitude.

When she was adopted her name was Maggie but it had to be changed because that name was already taken.

She is scared of dinosaurs. I learnt this when we watched Jurassic Park and I saw absolute fear in her eyes.

Her nose is crooked.

She can talk. I have video. She’s very adept at telling you, “No!”

She is our Florence Nighting-puppy. If you ever got a cut of scratch she would lick it to make sure it was clean and would often inspect your legs just to make sure everything was okay. She takes care of us.

She has a Curious George monkey, he’s her boyfriend. But the only time I’ve ever seen her act like a dog and actually chase a toy was when we threw this little yellow duck that squeaked.

Even though she is technically a Jewish American with Mexican ancestry, she quickly adapted to life as a British-Filipino Catholic and loves pork and could eat rice with every meal. She’s also incredibly adept at guilting you into sharing your food. Catholic guilt is real.

She hates putting her hoodie on because she knows it means a long walk was in store, but she looks like the baddest dog on the block when she did. The real B.I.C.

Her collar is sky blue.

She is a terrible guard dog but she’s a great alarm. She makes a lot of noise when the doorbell rings but that’s about it. And you have to thank her for letting you know someone is there.

I taught her to give high fives in exchange for chest rubs. This does not mean she did tricks. She would tap her paw on my hand to tell me I wasn’t finished.

She loves massages. If she had her way this would be my only job.

In the mornings when I wait for my tea to brew she sits up waiting to see what I’m making for breakfast and whether it’s something she can have. I feel guilty when it’s only cereal because I know she wants no part of that. She prefers pastries, particularly croissants.

When she poops she has to do it in at least two places, usually three.

She is not a morning person. She only tolerates them because they involve food.

Baths are definitely not her favourite thing. However, she doesn’t seem to mind having her fur blowdried.

Her favourite place is on the back of the sofa where she can lie on her back, front, side, any way at all, watching the TV – particularly food shows.

She does a creepy winky thing when she’s half asleep and you wake her up and her tongue’s hanging out the side of her mouth.

She has the softest fur, especially on the top of her head. I kept trying to make it into a mohawk but it wouldn’t stay.

She hates hugs.

When I come home and open the door she’s sat on the bed and she tilts her head so she can see who it is. She doesn’t come down until I call her.

You could put her dinner down and it’d be gone in 60 seconds. Less.

She likes to sleep in front of the fan. Never under blankets, even when it’s cold. Other times I’d wake up and her back would be against mine.

She snores. Loudly.

We call her our ‘Chicken Chimichanga’ because sometimes she looks like a chicken. Cordi is our ‘Black Bean Burrito.’

I’m convinced she’s learning to cook because she pays avid attention whenever I’m cooking or baking. In another life she would have been a chef.

People always say that she needs to lose weight without realising how much she has already slimmed down. Sometimes we are the shape we are. Penny and I are okay with that.

She stays up late with me, even if her version of staying up was passing out on the sofa. She wouldn’t leave until I said it was time for bed and then she’d hope down from the sofa, and open the bedroom door heralding my entrance. She is the Silver Surfer to my Galactus.

I don’t know when it was I started to love her, but I do.

She is my last goodnight.

She is my constant shadow.

She is my pup.

I want to imagine her in a field somewhere that she could run and chase birds, because she ran after the occasional pigeon. Or maybe on the beach, by the ocean. But I know she would have hated both of those things. So I imagine her where she was happiest, riding on the back of a bus when the doors used to be open, as her favourite conductor petted her. On her way to Starbucks to get a croissant. Or maybe just lying on the back of the sofa, not a care in the world, as we enjoyed one of our lazy Sundays.

She would have been 12yrs old on June 21st.

She died last night at around 1am. We held her and wished it could have been more easy on her, knowing she deserved a better life than the one she had been given, that she tried to make the most out of.

My heart is broken. I don’t know how someone so small could leave a hole so big.

Penny Jacob
Penito. My Penny. The best dog.
(June 21st 2006 – 2 May 2018)

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My First Picturehouse


I cannot say for certain that the first film on the big screen I saw was at the cinema that has occupied the corner of King’s Road and Old Church Street for as long as I can remember, but I cannot think that it would have been anywhere else. This is where I believe my love of film began. And sadly, this is the place I must say goodbye to next week, because they are closing their doors. When I found out that news a month or so ago it felt like a chapter of my life was ending. Similar to the way you feel when you leave school. That place where you became who you are, no longer part of your every day.

When I tell people that I grew up at this cinema here that is no exaggeration. My mum, as well as series of godmothers and family friends, worked there up until I was in my teenage years. Even now when I go there’s a possibility that someone I call ‘Auntie’ will be taking my ticket. I remember it first as a Cannon, then a MGM, a Virgin, a UGC, and now its final incarnation as a Cineworld. I remember when the box office and kiosk were both on the ground floor, and what is now the kiosk was an actual bar. When the uniform was a brown skirt and blazer and the tickets were printed on a dot matrix printer. One of my mum’s friends would watch my sister and I as she served behind the bar. We would eat the peanuts as we waited for our mum to collect her wages. No bank transfers then. Sometimes we’d go upstairs and look over the side of the bannister on the first floor into the lobby, now that space is a second kiosk. When I was a child watching movies there used to be an usher standing in the screen selling ice-cream before the film started, I remember their names were Sue and Maria. Sue had curly blonde hair and wore glasses. Maria, with her silver hair always tied up neatly, reminded me of a kindly grandmother from a storybook.

Screen 4 – the basement, if you wanted to you could sit all by yourself in the single seat on the left, bathrooms conveniently located just outside the door. Screen 3 – take the back row on the right, that way you get the rail. Screen 2 – the bigger screen, where we used to sit on the left because that way my mum could find us if she needed to, but middle-middle is where you wanted to be. Screen 1 – the screen at the end of the corridor, middle-middle. Three Men and a Little Lady. The Woo Woo Kid – before Patrick Dempsey became McDreamy on Grey’s Anatomy. Turner and Hooch. Pee Wee’s Big Adventure – that one was a little frightening. The Princess Bride. My Girl – it was the last show that day and my sister and I were the only ones in there, but we were waiting for my mum to finish her shift anyway. Who Framed Roger Rabbit on my then best friend’s seventh birthday – I still have the cinema ticket for that one somewhere. Mermaids – my first 15 rated film in the cinema, I was not 15 but it was the start of my Winona Ryder fandom.

So many memories. It is only now that I take the time to think about it that I realise how many there are, and how so much of my life was influenced by those walls. Simple things that seem unrelated, like my watching Eastenders. My mum would have Thursday and Friday off, and Thursday used to be the only day Eastenders was on so that was the show we ended up watching. Every Thursday, after Top of the Pops. We would tape Dallas – yes, on a VCR (with a plug in remote I might add), because that was on a Monday. I am not a big fan of metal staircases because of the ones that go up to the staff room. In my mind I remember them being dimly lit with water dripping between rungs. That memory is probably more influenced by a movie I saw there rather than actual reality.

Practically I understand the decision, even if there wasn’t issues with their lease. There’s another cinema a short walk away. That one’s recently added a Starbucks franchise and the screens are much larger. It is probably a better cinema, although I will never fully admit that. A rivalry again from my childhood because that cinema was originally part of a different franchise – an ABC. We didn’t go there. We just accepted that if a film we wanted to see was there we would have to wait for it to be on video to watch it. My cinema certainly doesn’t have all of the bells and whistles of 4D and leather chairs on offer in other cinemas and other chains. However, none of those will ever feel as much a part of me as this cinema came to be.

I have taken the day off work with the intention of watching as many films as I can, which given the current schedule most likely means three. Now to decide what that final film will be. It will quite likely be a choice between Logan, Kong: Skull Island, or Hidden Figures. Wolverine’s last hurrah seems fitting, and I have certainly seen many a comic book based movie here. Kong, featuring my current silver screen crush – Tom Hiddleston, and of course a Hollywood legend – the ape. Or perhaps the story of three extraordinary women whose determination brought us to the stars. I’ve already seen Hidden Figures, but it seems fitting that a movie that teaches us to see a world bigger than the one we might have imagined possible might be the last one I see there. That place where I was carried to a thousand different worlds and times.

My choice will most likely be determined by time. Aren’t most things these days? Under that roof though, in the darkness, sat in those seats, for however long that movie was on for, the rest of the world didn’t matter. You didn’t look at your phone, you might not even talk to the person sat next to you. Instead, you were carried away to wherever and whenever the screen took you.

I will miss these walls. I will miss the chance to be carried away again in this most familiar of environments. Chelsea cinema – in all of your guises, for all of the memories and the movies I thank you. Goodnight.

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May the Force

Six years ago when I had had more than enough I asked someone I barely knew to meet for a cup of coffee, and she said yes. In that single decision, she gave me back a city I so wanted to love, and so much more than that. Today, I do not wish to ever imagine my life without her. She is a joy. Tomorrow, she takes a big step. She is leaving her city. The one she has come to call home, but it is for the best possible reason, to pursue their dream. To make their life what they want it to be. I know that they’re worried, they are still caveating the decision with, ‘We’re going to give it a year.’ I would add those words too were it me.

I know that this is the best choice for them. I have been reminded often the past few weeks of something I told another dear friend, ‘The only regrets in life we have are the risks we don’t take.’ I know those words to be true. I also know those words have sometimes gotten me into trouble, but they have also lead me to paths and people whom my life would have been less without, including the friend leaving their city. Selfishly, I sill wish she wasn’t leaving.

I feel like I am almost back to where I was six years ago. Only, instead of wanting to be anywhere but there, I long for the city’s familiar streets and sounds. I miss the freedom given to me since the city and I came to our truce, I ask nothing of her and she takes nothing of me. Now, my talisman, the one I could turn to when I felt myself turning back, will be gone. I never thought I’d have to make this journey without them again. I have to ask myself if I have changed enough to be able to go back to her on my own. I do not know if I have.

May the 4th. As she leaves and as I return, may it be with us both.

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And Seven More

“For every seven years we change completely, they say, and there is nothing left of what they were.”

Without realising it, I’ve reached another seven. Thirty-five years today. I would say it sneaks up on you, but it doesn’t really. Sure, sometimes you forget the exact number, but when you’ve had so many, they’re hard to not know they’re coming. Thirty-five. Five times over I have become someone else. That sounds about right.

When I think of who I was when I was 28yrs old, they are a world away. An entire galaxy away from who I was when I was 21yrs old. And though I still cannot comprehend how many years there are between now and my 14yr old self, I find it even more difficult to see how this life came from that one.

There are things that still persist. Friendships. I choose those carefully, and the fact that so many have endured is testament to how well I have chosen. And there are those, whose friendships I have not kept such a tight hold on, that remain in my heart, if not in my life. The Job. I still work for the same company if not the same role. I still sit next to Graham, well kind of. We still go to lunch on the days we’re both in together. The wanderlust. I see that my last post was in 2012 was a Bucket List. I have not crossed off a single item. If anything I could add a dozen more. But then I think, the last item…I may have found some of that. So much is different too. There is a marriage. Nieces and numerous other little people. A mortgage (I fear that will still be there in seven years). I bake. All the suggestions of a grown-up life, but still that title is not one I wear easily.

In my 28th year I finally made that trip to Cambodia I had been planning since my 21st year. My final impetus? I did not want to look back two…five…seven years later and say that I should have gone then. So I went. I am still hoping for a return. That year I also started watching this webseries that would change the course of my entire life. Who I am now, who I have in my life, had I never clicked on that link, I can say with certainty that this would not be my present.

I cannot say I have any idea of who I will be in another seven. I know who I want to still have in my life. I have a vague suspicion that those in my heart will still linger, as will this hunger. This need for more. To see experience more, to see more, to be more. Through the thirty-five that has always persisted. Through the seven, I hope that remains.

Onto the next great adventure. I suppose this means I’m also due another tattoo…

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The Bucket List


Normally around this time I answer the questions for my ‘Year in Review’. I can’t remember how long I’ve been answering those questions for, certainly back in the LJ days. It is a way to test my memory, and also for me to see how much has changed or stayed the same. I answer questions on the places I have travelled to, the people I have lost, the lessons I have learned, and songs that will remind me of that year. For me 2012 was so full I am not entirely sure where to begin, so I decided not to. This year, I have instead chosen not to reminisce and reflect on what has happened, but to look ahead at to what is to come and what I hope to achieve.

I have experienced some new and wonderful things this year, amongst them my first Olympic Games in my city, my first real Thanksgiving, and of course, holding my niece. However, this year more than most has been one in which I kept coming back to that same longing Belle sung about in ‘Beauty in the Beast’, “I want adventure in the great wide somewhere…”

In a year in which so much has changed I still feel as though I have been stood still. I have not been amazed. And I fear I am guilty of that thing I always warn people against; I have not seen the wonder in each in every day. I need to live again. To that end, I have decided to write my Bucket List.

For those unfamiliar with the term (or who haven’t seen the movie), a Bucket List is simply a list of things you want to do before you die. Perhaps not what most would choose to think about at the start of a new year, but I think it allows you to focus on what it is you want to achieve.

Here is My Bucket List:

  • Camp under the stars like a cowboy
  • Ride a motorbike across an open highway
  • Go on a Safari
  • Witness something wonderful that makes me speechless
  • Watch a Wimbledon Final in person
  • Be in two places at once
  • Make a difference
  • Twirl beneath the Northern Lights
  • See the stars arrive on the Oscars’ red carpet
  • Throw a really good punch
  • Catch a big fish
  • Be a force of positive change
  • Have more in my ‘Yes Column’ than my ‘No Column’
  • Go on a roadtrip from one end of a country to another
  • Fly a plane
  • See the sun rise whilst sat on Ayers Rock
  • Catch a ball in the stands during a baseball game
  • See a whale in the wild
  • Build a home (literally)
  • Volunteer with elephants
  • Watch a meteor shower
  • Climb 14 flights of stairs without getting winded
  • Find the Joy in your life

The last one is from the movie; I hope everyone else has that on their list too.

The list will change. Things will be added, others hopefully crossed off. I am a living work in progress.

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