I fell in love with Liverpool many years ago. It is my prince, on a horse, like the Old Spice man but better. I think it saved me.

The thing about Liverpool is that it is full of strays, it likes the underdog, it likes to mend the broken. It will rob you, it will hug you, there is no other place in the world where I feel at home. In Liverpool, I can be me. There’s no pretending.

I’ve had many a night out in Liverpool, there are things that happened that I’d never share on this blog. I like that Liverpool keeps my secrets. I’ve stumbled around in heels, I’ve sweated in nightclubs, I’ve eaten scouse in the Cavern accompanied by bottles of Diamond White (I am a cheap date). I’ve found myself sitting alone at the docks seeking answers at 1am on New Year’s Day. That was then, a million years ago. I even ended up marrying a scouser, that was a million years ago too, black hair, blue eyes, there’s a type. I walked down the aisle to a Beatles’ song.

If I believed in spiritual homes, Liverpool would be mine. But with having kiddies and with all that came with that, nights out in Liverpool became difficult.

But last weekend it was different. Last weekend was a celebration, was fun. And with that I got to stay at the very perfect Beatles-inspired boutique Hard Days Night Hotel in Liverpool.

I’d heard about the stunning Grade II listed hotel (it opened on 1 February 2008 to coincide with Liverpool’s tenure as the 2008 Capital of Culture) from a documentary. The objective was to offer high-quality accommodation with a difference. And that difference, for me, was obvious from the minute the door was opened. I was absolutely, totally and utterly, blown away by the decor, the attention to detail and the attentive staff (which is why I’m blogging about the hotel!).

The Hard Days Night hotel is all about individually designed guest bedrooms and bespoke facilities. I stayed in a luxury guest room. To say that it was tastefully fashioned would be an understatement. The new design has pulled on all of the contours and character of the original hotel building, yet with a perfectly modern twist. This isn’t a gimmicky hotel, this is stylish, stunning, it is clever. My room, like all the rooms, featured an exclusive Beatles artwork by Beatles artist Shannon and the bed was possibly the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in. I didn’t want to leave.

On Saturday night I had cocktails in Bar Four, a meal at Jamie’s Italian, drinks galore on Matthew Street and then ended up back in the hotel’s The Lounge (the photos I took at that time showed just how flowing the drinks had been). The Lounge was all about retro decor, stunning Beatles artwork, artefacts, pictures, books, and poems from those who were actually part of the Beatles’ story. It was one of the most perfect environments ever. If you’re ever in Liverpool, really, seriously, the Hard Days Night hotel needs to be visited (and I’m sure I’ll be free!?!).

Two days on. My love affair with Liverpool is still winking.

So, Doctor Who, Season 5, Episode 2, ‘The Beast Below’. Amy Pond takes her first trip in the TARDIS and they discover Britain in space. Starship UK is full of British people searching the stars for a new home. And there’s a Voting Booth. And Amy watches something horrific and then gets the chance to ‘forget’ by pressing a button. She does.

And although I’ve been watching the entire Season 5 over Christmas (and fallen a bit in love with Matt Smith), that episode, or rather that ‘forget’ button really got me thinking.

It’s the end of 2011, most of us will be feeling refreshed, raring for a new start, thinking 2012 will bring with it all that 2011 failed to deliver (cynical much, me?). But will it? So many of us will be making resolutions we’ll almost definitely break, we’ll be promising to stop smoking, lose weight, be a better person and then feeling depressed in about two weeks’ time when we’ve smoked, put on a pound, bitched for England. That’s what we do. It’s traditional. Because for all the best intentions in the world, change takes effort, overcoming obstacles takes effort, realising that we’re responsible for who we are is massive. That doesn’t change just because we enter a new year.

But am I the only person who breathes a sigh of relief that I’ve managed to survive another year? Maybe that’s just me, maybe that’s part of my baggage. But, for me,  there are no resolutions to be made, no promises that I won’t keep and maybe, if I’m totally honest, there’s fear about having a whole new year to deal with, to survive.

Which brings me to the ‘forget’ button.

I’ve been looking back on 2011, as we all do at this time of year, and although I wasn’t ever really one for regrets, this end of year I’m faced with them. And there’s a chance that those regrets could eat into me and make me bitter and twisted and no longer me. If I let them. But, don’t get me wrong there was also SO much that was amazing in 2011. Just I tend to remember bad, before good.

So if I was offered that ‘forget’ button, would I press it? Would I erase 2011?

Part of me thinks I would. It’d take away those regrets. But then there’s that other part of me, the part that realises that ‘forget’ button would also take away so much that was good and magical and beautiful. I can’t help but feel that 2011 was paving the way for 2012, that lessons were learned that’ll last a lifetime, that connections were made, were broken, for reasons.

Everything happens for a reason. Doesn’t it?

So I won’t be pressing that ‘forget’ button. And I won’t be dwelling and letting bitterness grow and destroy me. I’m letting go of those regrets and embracing that belief, that idea that everything happens for a reason. I’m believing in me a little bit more.

And, so I’ll make a tiny wish instead. And the thing I want most in 2012 is to have tiny moments when something happens, when I hold my breath or squeal or laugh so hard I cry, when I feel utterly alive and excited. That’s what I want for 2012, that’s what I’m believing in. I’ll take the bad too, because that’s life, life throws us bad, I’ll take them as payoff for those moments of breath-taking beauty that thread through and make you realise just why life’s magical.

Goodbye 2011, I liked your cake.

And hello 2012, let’s be friends.

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And for anyone interested:

My top two books of 2011: ‘Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal’ by Jeanette Winterson and ‘The Tiny Wife’ by Andrew Kaufman.

My favourite songs for 2011: This and this and this and this.

My favourite cake for 2011: Almond and lemon drizzle.

Happy End of 2011, to you.

For me, this time of year is one big contradiction. The air is full of anticipation, of fear and excitement, of change. There’s a melancholy that is crispy, a feeling that alters with each glance and each spinning on the spot. There’s a sense that things can never be as they once were. I like that, I think, sometimes. I like that nature signals and guides. I hate that I don’t know what will happen next.

I’ve been writing. And this means that I’ve been thinking and dwelling and making sense of chaos. Novel 4 (it needs a name!) is different to my others. It’s full of longing and regret. I thought it was a love story, but I think I was wrong, I guess it’s more a story about love. Maybe that reflects where my head’s been at this year, maybe not. But I have realised that I struggle with the word ‘regret’. It bothers me. I’m not a ‘used to’ or a ‘wish I had’ kind of person. I grab and I run with it or from it. I could never be accused of living in my past. I’ve been told that’s a negative, but I don’t think so. I like that I take chances, I like that I never go back. I’d hate to be dying and whisper, ‘You know, I wish I’d…’.

Reaching the end of a story means that I’m reaching the end of a chapter in my own life. This final push, this final spilling and not knowing if what I’ve created is good enough. That’s the scary part of novel writing. That’s the conflicting part, the bit where I’ve spent months building and not sharing and now I have to prepare myself for letting others in. It’s terrifying.

But, we all know that writing is all about courage. I’ve only ever met one writer who thought they were amazing, s/he said it a few times and each time it shocked me. I think most of us seem to struggle with the voice that’s constantly saying, ‘YOU’RE RUBBISH, YOU ARE!’. That voice has been my friend for a few years now. I’m hoping it’ll keep me company for a bit longer.

But, for now, I’ve a novel to finish by the end of this month, maybe, sort of, I really should. Oh…

The day we moved into this house was the day before Middlest started primary school. His tiny uniform shoved in a plastic bag and lost within the chaos. We got the keys at 5pm. I was stressed, I panicked. I’d wanted him settled and calm for his big day.

I cried that first morning. I watched him go into school. I knew his older brother would look out for him. His older brother did.

Today Middlest is wearing a high school uniform. He looks smart, the sleeves of his blazer are too long. Today he’s starting a new adventure. He’ll make his own mark, his own successes, his own mistakes. He’s going to a different school to his brother. Today I want a machine that will slow time, just a little bit more.

Today Middlest starts high school. I feel very grown up.

Sometimes I forget that the online world is linked to the real world. I forget that my online friends have real lives. Lives that don’t include me. Lives that could end. I guess I almost think of you all as imaginary friends. I think you’ll be around forever.

Today and yesterday, I stopped that thinking.

Yesterday I woke to a message from a friend. It told me that another online friend had passed away over the weekend. Today I received an email from a mentee, someone I’d worked with weekly, someone I truly like, telling me that he had a book deal but also that he had months to live.

If it was in real life and in real time, my response would be to hug. That’s what I do. But faced with an email it’s hard to find the words. I’ve never been comfortable with goodbyes.

I guess in our online world we get used to seeing people around. There are people I tweet with daily or weekly, others who post photographs on Facebook or link to songs that make me smile. I feel like I know them.  I honestly feel like they’re my friends.

Today I’ve realised that I take my online friends for granted, just as I take my own mortality for granted.

It’s a simple and obvious fact that with death people disappear offline. I guess some of us will wonder where that person has gone. We’ll tweet to them, we’ll leave a message on their blog or on their Facebook wall. But soon we’ll give up. We’ll think they’ve just had enough of the online world. Because people do.

At some point we might find out about the passing. And at some point we might not know how to react. Because no one’s written a book yet about ‘how to grieve your online friends’. One day someone will.

I doubt that when I die the first thing G will think of will be to tweet it or put it on Facebook. I’d like to think that his priorities would be to the children and to himself.

Today I almost wish that you were all imaginary friends and that I had made you all up. I’ve an overactive imagination. I’d prefer that than losing you.

I hate goodbyes.

I don’t tend to do personal memes but this one’s got me thinking, so if you could indulge me for a while…

There are only a few books that I’ve ever read twice, but there are films that I’ll watch over and over again. There are certain films that I always watch when I’m feeling low and it seems that films have always been my escape, more so than books. Films give me easy visuals and the ones that force an emotional reaction are my favourites. Maybe I’m lazy, but when I’m low I’ll always turn to film, rather than book. It’s really rather simple.

And so, as stolen from the wonderful Mrs Lister, I’ve pulled together a list of my favourite films. I couldn’t manage 10, so here are my top 11 (almost) beloveds:

Elf: “[phone rings, Buddy picks it up] Buddy the Elf, what’s your favourite colour?” I love the innocence of this film. It, quite simply, makes me happy.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s: “I’m not Holly. I’m not Lula Mae, either. I don’t know who I am! I’m like Cat here, a couple of no-name slobs. We belong to nobody and nobody belongs to us. We don’t even belong to each other.” An exploration of struggling with being needed or wanted, for the right reasons. This film defines beauty.

Pretty in Pink: “May I admire you again today?” Everyone needs a Duckie in their life. And Andie’s line, ‘I just want them to know that they didn’t break me,’ makes me cry every single time.

X-Men (all of them): Wolverine, super powers, leather, mutants, dark and light. Genius. Enough said.

Betty Blue: An exploration of sexual attraction, passion, love, obsession and mental illness. It’s a bit pretentious, in that many students had the poster on their wall because it was seen as cool, but for me it was never about the cool factor. This film influenced me, it matched my connection with darkness and wonky love. This is explicit storytelling that doesn’t shy away from extremes. Love it.

Brief Encounter: I hate the film ending, but absolutely adore the scene in the railway station café. This is my ‘cup of tea, lying on the sofa on a cold, grey afternoon’ film.

Truly Madly Deeply: Juliet Stevenson is amazing. This film makes my stomach twist and Juliet’s portrayal of grief is utterly convincing. The clip I’ve linked to makes my cry (and this film is the reason why Nina is called Nina in ‘Like Bees’).

It’s a Wonderful Life: Best Christmas film ever.  “You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.” Sometimes it’s good to realise all that you have.

Star Wars (original 3): Epic storytelling at its absolute best. Darth Vader is my favourite and I wish George Lucas was my dad. (Although Jar Jar Binks, what’s that all about?)

Toy Story (all 3): An emotional roller-coaster in animated film. The first film was about when I started my journey into motherhood and the third came out just as Eldest was becoming a teen. These films are ace.

E.T.: He’s lost, he’s alone, he’s such a long way from home. He NEEDS me. I don’t think I could ever love/be friends with anyone who didn’t love ET. Simple. (This is where I lose many friends, yes?)

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So, any of you care to share your top 10 films? Oh go on. I wanted to include at least another 5 (Tarantino!) but rules are rules…

The year has flown. I’ve launched, I’ve signed, I’ve smiled, I’ve cried, I’ve let new friends into my life, I’ve lost friends, I’ve realised (once again) that the online world can be magical, I’ve realised (once again) that the online world can be cruel, I’ve been part of events around the UK, I’ve read reviews, I’ve had a best-seller in Malta, I’ve toured in Malta, I’ve stopped writing, I’ve parted company with my agent (6 months ago), I’ve been excited about writing, I’ve written 25 short stories for ‘Freaks!’, I’ve written ’99 Reasons Why’, I’ve sorted out my dodgy health,  I’ve met a professional man who has the potential to change my career.

It’s been quite a year.

Now I feel that I’m about to step into something new and I’ve important decisions to make. I’m waiting to hear what will happen with my very quirky ’99 Reasons Why’ and if or when it’ll be published. This wait has been really hard. I’m just finishing my final tweaks of ‘Freaks!’ and that’ll be submitted in the next couple of weeks (Amazon tells me publication is April 2012). I’m feeling very out of my depth with some aspects of publishing and, without an agent, am struggling to make the right decisions. But…

In amongst lots of niggles and rubbishness, there is a shimmering sparkle of delight. I met David (in a professional capacity, I feel I should add!) at an event last May. He turned up in leathers, clutching a bike helmet and bought ‘Like Bees to Honey’. We’ve been in regular contact since. David has boosted me and my writing in a way that few people possibly could. I’m currently writing novel 4 which I guess is for him (but, yes, that sounds odd). Regardless of whether or not something becomes of our professional connection, having someone like him so enthused about my writing is amazing. It’s quite simple, but having someone positive about your writing makes you want to create. (I know, as I said, simple!)

A very late night conversation last night made me realise that I have exciting possibilities ahead of me. In simple terms, I need to keep the positive people close and the negative people far far away. I have an opportunity to create a novel that is so different to anything else I’ve ever written (it even has paragraphs and standard grammar and I’m planning!). I’m a mix of absolute excitement and ‘can-I-do-it?’ fear about this novel, but I know that this one feels right and it wants to be written (and that, believe me, is a huge relief).

18,000 words in…

We made the decision before going to Center Parcs to make our stay as packed out as possible. I honestly don’t think that we could have squeezed anything else in (and although it might not appear it at first, this post is really an excuse to tell you about my absolute skill at children’s hockey).

Eldest went on a Quad Bike Safari (and particularly liked that he crashed and has a tiny scratch to prove it), Littlest tried Climbing Skills, we spent hours being dragged around rapids and going down flumes, and I took the children rollerskating. Clearly the rollerskating was more fun for me, as I whizzed around and the children stumbled and fell. I perhaps should have helped them a little more but there is nothing like feeling the gentle breeze in your hair as you rollerskate around (and past your children lying sprawled on their backs) to dodgy 1980s music. Bliss!

As a family we took part in Lasar Combat in the woods. Laser Combat should be a bit rubbish, after all it’s just big boys playing war in the mud, right? Well, no! Actually it’s far more fun than it has any right being! The basis of the game is pretty simple. You have these space age gun things that fire an invisible laser at sensors on your enemy’s helmet (these looked a bit like Dalek eyes, but that may just be me). And that’s it, but the fun comes in the games. You are split into two teams and assemble on either side of the battlefield (a big bit of woods with loads of wooden barriers and bunkers) and slug it out.

My main worry was that it would be too much for the Littlest (7), but I couldn’t have been more wrong. The ref made it clear from the start that it was for all ages and we would take it easy until the little ones were up to speed. As it turned out Littlest and a little pal she made (also 7) were rather good and in the last game were two of only a handful of ‘survivors’. Their small size meant they fitted perfectly behind the barriers where they could happily shoot away, safe from all this nasty adult laser shots. All in all, laser tag was good simple fun, and yes it is ‘big boys playing war,’ but in a super-high-tech-good-old-fashioned cowboys and Indians way.

The Halk Walk was another amazing activity. It very much was what it said in the title – you took a hawk for a walk. The hawk lady turned up with a Harris Hawk on her wrist (real name Bob for all you biologists) and proceeded to walk around the village. The hawk was set free and every few yards a member of the group was given a glove and the hawk was tempted to swoop in and land on the glove to gobble up a bit of raw chicken. Once you got over the magnificence of the bird, watching it swoop and fly, the walk turned in a very enjoyable stroll. The hawk lady chatted and answered questions and we all got to have the hawk land on our wrists.

But my favourite activity was Middlest’s choice which was Junior Olympics (which was also one of the cheapest activities). It was organized by two young men (Ric and Paul), who spent 2 hours being consistently enthusiastic and patient with a group of children, putting them through a series of competitive Olympic style activities. I’d volunteered to sit watching with Eldest while G and Littlest were off doing another activity. I had stupidly thought that I’d be able to drink a Starbucks and take a couple of hours to unwind, but clearly the gods were laughing!

A couple of the kids had to go on to another activity and Ric asked if Eldest and I would join in a game of hockey. Now, if you know me well, then you’ll know that I run a bit like Phoebe from Friends (or a penguin, if you are not familiar with Phoebe from Friends!) and my instinct was to say no, but I somehow said yes. So, Sunday morning saw me playing hockey with a bunch of 8-13year olds and I can honestly say that I had a scream.

It goes without saying that I was utterly fabulous, in fact, I’m not one to boast BUT I scored the goal that ensured that our children’s hockey team won. And you can imagine my absolute delight when I was awarded a certificate (see photogragh). I don’t think I’ve ever felt prouder of myself.

Now, if the 2012 Olympic hockey team happens to be reading this blog post and happens to be short of a player, I am of course available.

Well, it’s been no secret to those who are Facebook friends or follow me on Twitter, but the last few weeks have been very rubbish. At the end of a string of negatives we were broken into and I guess it’s the aftermath, the tiny niggles and the ‘not feeling safe’ anymore that particularly affected Littlest and I. A break away from it all was needed to help us sleep better and laugh a lot more.

Last Friday we went for a relaxing 4 day break to Whinfell Forest Center Parcs. Did I say ‘relaxing’? I swear I am so stiff and my bottom aches so much (from cycling!) that I am honestly considering installing a Stannah Stairlift in our house. Center Parcs, quite simply, offers the ultimate family outdoors holiday experience for children of all ages and mine had an amazing time. I don’t think I’ve laughed quite so much with them ever.

We’d visited Center Parcs before, the last time when Littlest was possibly 4, but this experience was the best we’ve had. I honestly think this was to do with the children’s ages – 7, 11 and 13 – and the fact that they could all swim and ride bikes. The boys loved having the freedom of the Village, to cycle and explore and Littlest loved the ‘back garden’ where she went nature spotting with G. We tried a whole range of new experiences, both as a family and individually and I loved that my children amazed me with their confidence and courage to try the unknown (more about them in another post).

But, and I know this will AMAZE some of you, one of the highlights of the weekend was that (I feel there should be a drum roll here, so do use your imagination)… I think I might have conquered my PHOBIA OF TOUCHING FISH!

Now, this fear has bizarre roots and is much ridiculed amongst my circle of friends, but the truth is that I can’t stand people touching fish. Seriously, it makes me gag and has been known to induce vomit. So, with that in mind, it may surprise some of you to know that I LET FISH SUCK MY FEET (and, yes, I do feel that uppercase is necessary!).

You’ve probably all heard of the fish pedicure treatments, they seem to have popped up in shopping centres all over the UK. I’ve been interested (from a distance) so when faced with several amazing choices of treatments at Aqua Sana, I absolutely shocked myself when I signed up for a Fish Spa Pedicure.

Aqua Sana was so very different from the rest of the Village. It was quiet and the guests were all white robed and sweaty. For some people days spent in the utterly luxurious spa, having treatments and unwinding was their experience of Center Parcs. There are no children running about, no bike bells trilling and no one shouting ‘MUM!’ at the top of their voices. It was a bit of a shock to the system.

After having my feet cleaned I was asked to sit and put my feet into a tank full of Garra Rufa fish. I was told that it would feel like bubbles, that the fish didn’t have teeth and rather that their suction-shaped mouths would suck away any dead skin (cue me trying not to vomit!).

I feel that I must be honest and say that it so didn’t feel like bubbles and it really did feel like fish sucking my feet, in between my toes and my ankles. It was possibly the freakiest feeling ever, but not in a bad way. I did feel a bit on display as people walked past and gazed into the tank of dead-skin eating fish.  Some people were happy to express their disgust, others pointed and giggled.

But perhaps most importantly was that that 20 minutes forced me to think about everything that’s been happening recently and about how negative I’ve become. It’s almost felt like there’s been a black fog there again and that feeling of ‘never being good enough’ has been suffocating. I’ve been anticipating negatives, rejections and disappointment without celebrating the little achievements and positives.

Those 20 minutes of me dealing with me in the tranquility of Aqua Sana, combined with the whole experience of Center Parcs (wait till I tell you about the goals I scored in children’s hockey!), has left me feeling focused and ready to carry on taking small steps to finding me.

And the results of the Garra Rufa fish pedicure? Well I had very dry skin on my heels and I can feel a definite difference now. At only £20.00 for a 20 minute session, it is a veritable bargain.

I can’t help but now hope that I might somehow and magically become a mermaid…