Becoming a fashion icon

It's been a few weeks since I last posted, but don't despair dear reader, for I have not been idle.

The truth is things have been fairly hectic one way or another, but somehow between doing my day job, celebrating my dad's 60th (happy birthday Poppa C!) and having some very important team building exercises (pub lunches), I have managed to obtain new gear and more donations, and begin my training for the trek.

There comes a time in every girl's life when she
has to decide whether or not to join that hip hop
dance troupe. I reckon I'm in.

Waterproof trousers should be S/S 2015's must-have

Last week my job took me to the Caravan, Camping & Motorhome Show. After a long Monday building up our exhibition stand (and those of 20 odd attending campsites - yes, my guns are now rock hard(!)), I decided to have a snoop about on the Tuesday for some kit for the trek. Half an hour on the outdoor clothing stand and some advice from a very helpful chap later, I was the proud owner of 2 pairs of hiking socks, a pair of lightweight trekking trousers and - get this - some waterproof trousers.

I don't know if you've ever seen a pair of these badboys, but women of Britain, I can tell you now that these are a fashion essential with their total lack of shape, tasteful elastic ankle cuffs and rustling anorak material. Still not convinced? What if I told you the pockets are so large that I can basically fit a zebra in each one. HOT.





The sun is always over the yardarm somewhere

Luckily something a bit more exciting turned up today - a T-shirt from Mind (which I will be wearing at every possible opportunity so be warned) and my collection tin (which I will be shaking irritatingly in people's faces for the next 6 months). They arrived in good time for a wine tasting that I shall be holding at my long suffering parents' house at the end of March.

I decided to capitalise on my Majestic training and teach a few old dogs (they're going to kill me) some new tricks - namely how to tell the difference between a Marlborough Sauvignon and a Loire one, and that not all Chardonnay is oaked to within an inch of its life. If all goes well the plan is to repeat said tasting with other groups. Wish me luck.



Getting in step

On Monday I donned my hiking boots and headed out into the Kent countryside for a sunny lunchtime ramble. When I say sunny, what I mean is it was sunny when I left the office. The first half of the route is almost entirely uphill, and just as I got to the mid-point, by the field where the spring lambs will be frolicking in less than a month, over rolled the clouds and down came the rain. And hail. It's worth mentioning at this point that the only waterproof item on my body was my footwear.

I arrived back in the office 20 minutes later looking like I had possibly washed up somewhere inconvenient and had to scramble through hostile undergrowth to get back. Like a pro though, still cheerful. Take that, depression.

People are surprising (and fabulous)

It's only a week since I mentioned my Machu Picchu endeavour on social media and I'm overjoyed that people have been donating already. In just 5 donations, my Just Giving page tells me, I'm 10% towards my target with over £100 raised.

This reaction reminds me that we humans have a remarkable capacity for generosity and kindness. It's true, we can't possibly support every cause we come across, but for me, the fact we're willing to try and help people - even in such a simple way as offering our hard-earned cash - offsets some of the selfishness, the violence and the greed that is so constantly reported through our TV sets.

It's important to remember that although there are lots of people who cause others harm, pain or suffering, there are far more who are kind, warm and caring. It can be easy to get disillusioned by the bad that exists in the world, but it's my belief that it's up to each one of us to counter it by being decent. What I mean by that is that every act of kindness, every time we pay a compliment, every time we give up a seat on the train for an elderly person, every time give someone a hug, or share a meal or just care about someone else, we are increasing the amount of good. It doesn't matter if it's something small or seemingly insignificant, it simply matters that we make that choice to do it.

One of the hardest things about depression is the profound, unceasing loneliness. Until last summer, I didn't know it was possible to feel so utterly alone in a room full of people I knew. I was torn between wanting to join in and feeling unable to; when I was on my own I wanted to be around people and when I was around people I desperately wanted to be left alone. It's not uncommon for people with depression to isolate themselves, and I certainly isolated myself. At work, I stopped talking to my colleagues unless it was necessary and hid in my daily tasks, earphones in. I wanted to be invisible, particularly on the days when I struggled to hold it together during the day, yet simultaneously wanted someone to notice, and to care.

I am very lucky in my friends and there were, thankfully, a handful of key people who patiently and consistently offered me support. One of my friends texted me almost all day, almost every day as I went through various cycles of tearfulness, anger, self hatred, guilt and self blame. He wished me luck every week before my therapy session and asked how it went afterwards. He gave me pep talks. He reassured me when I began medication.

Another friend encouraged me to get to a therapist in the first place and offered advice and empathy on days when the sessions left me feeling mixed up. She calmed me down when anxiety tied my stomach in knots and told me I was brave each time I made a tiny turn to face my situation head on.

Being a friend to someone with depression is hard. It's frustrating at times and can be deeply upsetting. But it is also one of the most noble and compassionate things you can do. And believe you me, to the person you're being a friend to, it's a lifeline.

My point, I suppose, is that many of us don't realise what an impact small acts of kindness can make, and that we should allow that warm glow to shine through when we do good things, even if we don't consider them to be a big deal.

A preparatory butt massage

Him: "This is going to sound weird, but I think a bare butt massage would really help you out."
Me: "..."

Ladies and gentlemen, my personal trainer, a man who I find completely fabulous, if in possession of some of the strangest ideas I've ever heard in my life. But (no pun intended) since I'm dedicating the next six months of my life to fundraising and training for a hardcore trek across the Andes then to hell with it, why the devil not? I shall be booking a session with the sports massage lady on my next trip to the chiropractor's.

Is this a typical part of preparatory training? I hear you gasp. No. No it is not. Except for people like me, who manage to mess up their lower back and need to get it sorted before the real training begins. Which means a corrective programme to start with, and the aforementioned bare butt massage. I really know how to get my timing right.


I have now told most people about the trek, except my boss, who will be slightly trickier because I have booked it for the two weeks before our magazine's print deadline. If I set up in a way that makes him think I'm going to resign, he won't mind the holiday timing...right? We'll see.

I told my martial arts buddies this morning. The laughed and asked if I was fitting it in around my pilot training, helicopter licence, SCUBA qualification and Japanese lessons. Funny, guys. But with a pertinent point: part of the reason for my ending up with depression is that I have a tendency to push myself too hard, expect the world from myself and beat myself up if I don't deliver. My therapist uses the word 'harsh' without a second thought when we talk about how I treat myself. Or used to. Part of my rehab (yes, I'm running with 'rehab', it makes me sound like a tortured artist) is remembering to be kind to myself, to take breaks and to have a lie in every now and again. And I'm not about to lose sight of how important that is: depression is beyond rubbish in every way, and I'm the kind of person who is coming out of it determined to reduce my chances of being crippled by it again. Things are never certain of course, but it turns out going easy on yourself is kind of fun. I think I'll keep it.

My sincerest thanks to the eager beavers who have been super quick off the mark and donated to the cause already, I know you are among the people who best understand what this means to me. The fundraising begins in earnest as soon as that delivery of self raising flour, butter and icing sugar arrives!