“There is nothing better than a friend, unless it is a friend with chocolate.”

A friend in need is a friend indeed...

It's not often words fail me. As most people that know me will testify.

My career has been mostly dedicated to the art of the written word, the spin of our beautiful language and yet so often in the last month I have found myself unable to find the words to describe life going on around me.

My beautiful friend (BF) has cancer. Well she doesn't just have cancer. She's frankly battling cancer and if that's not bad enough the crappy chemo is also trying to take her down. (I would replace crappy with another much more severe c-word but various other beautiful friends would really tell me off).

But this blog today isn't about that battle. It's not about the tears of sadness, frustration and anger we've all cried recently, it's about the beauty of human spirit.

I live in what can only be described as a community. Some of us live close as a gnat's chuff to each other (see the eloquence of my written word) and some of us have migrated a few more (thousand) miles away but what the bastard cancer has revealed is what a tight little community of fantastic people we are.

Human spirit has shone through in large dollops of friendship. When friends have felt helpless in this stupid situation that none of us can control we have resorted to practicalities. 

And when the practicalities have been done, we have resorted to full blown over emotional love-ins.

In a world where we can control most things - and a world where if we want something bad enough and we work hard enough, we can mainly achieve it. 

Cancer knows no such rules. Cancer just takes - and it doesn't matter how successful, wealthy, determined or ballsy we are, we can't control it or the journey it takes its victims on.

So we control what we can. The small details that makes the cogs go around the battle against cancer. The little details that can make things as easy as possible for everyone involved - and it's these small things that make me realise how priceless true friends really are. Of course I already knew that - but I've been reminded a lot lately.

There's not a day goes by when my BF has not had a food delivery, a friend pop round, a gift dropped off or a child distracted. And it's these mini details that count. 

And then amidst all this cancer chaos, there's the story of the actual small things - the children. Not just my beautiful friend's small things but mine too.

Watching mine deal with such raw emotion first hand has been a journey in itself.

My 8 year old who walked up to my BF and asked her almost shyly (even though he's known her since birth) if he could give her a hug. Which was gratefully received. The worry etched in my over anxious 12yo's face as she tries to come to terms with the cruelty of life. And the power of friendships. Watching how they support my BF's small things on a day to day basis mainly by trashing my house and doing my head in but never the less it distracts us all.

And then there is the small fry belonging to my BF. The stoic 12 yo who is still able to rebel against authority and yet watches her mum's every movement. And the nearly 11yo who wears his heart on his sleeve and still finds a reason to smile every day.

This is life. It's the day to day acts of our small things that we look to, to reveal how we should live. For the moment, for the here and now - and for the smiles you can get from finding a perfectly shaped conker or baking a rainbow cake.

Today I am watching the small things with increased respect. Obviously I'm still shouting a lot otherwise everyone would get very nervous.

This is life.  The community I live in that I'm grateful for, the friendships that are strong and true.

Those true friendships are not only supporting my BF but me too; I've had deliveries of flowers, vodka infused strawberries left on my doorstep (oh yes, you read that right) and stacks of croissants delivered for when the BF's small things are also present at breakfast. 

Oh yes, it appears I have chosen my friends wisely. And then there's my lovely friends who have simply sent a text to check up on ME (and it's not even me going through the bastard cancer) that make me realise what makes the world go round.

And all through this there is the centre piece to this story - my beautiful friend. 

Strong, determined, fierce, vulnerable and of course beautiful. She managed to laugh as we shaved her head giving her a lovely mullet (we did of course do the proper thing after we'd all had a good laugh). She's been cross, she's shouted and she's cried. 

And mainly she's still in control - we've all had barked instructions from the hospital bed, the chemo ward and the bedroom. 

And mainly she's trying as hard as she can to stick two fingers up at this bastard disease. I'm not sure I would be able to greet each day with the grit and determination she has. Mind you we did have to have words about some of the post cancer diagnosis outfits of choice. 

So here's my revised survival guide for when things are crap. 

I appreciate that as a result many of you could need to review your friendships - and now is the time to do it, because should you be ill or your friend be ill, you need to make sure the right stash lands on your doorstep.

The key to surviving crap includes:

• Vodka infused strawberries
• Laughing 
• Good crying*
• Gladioli 
• Spiced salmon and stir fry (cooked by friend's husband, as this friend doesn't cook)
• Curries and chat on a Saturday night
• Silly daft ridiculous texting
• My beautiful mum
• My family
• My fabulous friends
• And of course my small things

Now before you all get your hankies out at this overly 'soppy as shite' blog (again spot the eloquence of delivery), what I'm mainly trying to do is help you all live your life better. Of course NEVER under-estimate the power of wine.

And finally, if you don't have friends that know how to make vodka infused strawberries (that were also coated in chocolate) you're really missing out and I suggest you start interviewing for one now. Sadly mine is taken.

*Good crying. I have been told that if you cry a river and feel better afterwards, you can cry. If you cry a river and still feel pants after, that's bad crying and you have to distract yourself and avoid at all costs.

Girlpower

Make friends, make friends

...never never break friends

It began six months ago. Five of my oldest friends. Several glasses of wine and a determination to celebrate our last year in our thirties in style - in the sun. A plan was formed. A weekend was set and the flights were booked.


At 4.30am on Thursday, the girls arrived to pick me up for a stupid o'clock flight. As I left the house, I heard from inside the car; 'Bloody hell who brought Paloma Faith' (a comment about my lovely hat) and so the weekend had begun.


We arrived at the airport, checked in and boarded the plane to take us to the sun.  The plane was full of groups of girls, women, hens, stags, boys, very few men, each and everyone looking forward to seeing that rare sighting - rarer than hen's teeth in the UK - the sun.


On the plane, we plugged in iPhones, opened kindles, read pages and barely uttered a word - all around us people were catching up. We ignored each other. It was just perfect. Each of us content in each other's silence as we made the transition from mum to me.


We arrived at our villa, marvelled at the bedrooms, argued over the master suite and gazed longingly at the pool. Within minutes cases were abandoned, phones were laid down and bikinis, tankinis and burkinis (me) were found, bemoaned and adorned.


Then it started. The laughter. We chattered, gossiped and reminisced  over our past, caught up on latest goings-on, shared our angst, our worries and our nonsense - which even included whether the blades of grass were thicker in Spain than the UK. 


And then we laughed some more and ridiculed each other - I even snorted beer down my nose. It was one of my more classy moments in Marbs.


These girls have been part of my life for over two decades - we've been through break-ups, make-ups (and that's just us girls) boyfriends, husbands, marriages, divorces, children, illness, grief, loss and laughter. At the heart of it are six girls that met through school, clubbing and parties - and in Marbs we were those girls again, friends to the end.


The thing about friendship - true friendship - is that it just exists. 


In silence on a plane. In shared cocktails at a beach bar. During a three hour Mad Dogs styli walk in the burning heat of the midday sun to find a supermarket. Even when one of your oldest friends storms in a takes a picture of you in the shower (of course I hadn't locked the door, why would I?) A picture I might add that will never see the light of day - mainly due to the fact that I got my revenge shot the following day. Nothing is sacred.


The weekend ended with a delay at the airport. Seven hours and several bottles of champagne later we finally made a flight out of Marbs. 


And once again I was reminded about the power of friendship. I realised how lucky I am as my friends at home rallied round and sorted my small things. In an instant. In a blink of a eye - and then told me to go and drink more champagne - which of course I did.


I know two things.


This time next year we will be back in Marbella drinking in the sunshine.


My friends are blinkin important to me and I salute you.


Well actually three things:


Cocktails on the beach in the sun are just the best thing ever. 
(except for good friends of course).


*This blog is dedicated to my beautiful friends.

Say my name...say my name.

Say my name...say my name.


No don't worry I haven't gone all Destiny's Child, but I have realised that not many people use my name. 


My actual name. 


The name I was christened with. 


It may shock many of you but that name is Sarah..not Knighty and not mum or mummy.


I was talking to a friend the other day and in the middle of the conversation, she said my name. Immediately the conversation had more meaning. Immediately I listened a little more closely. Immediately I realised that I very rarely hear my own name. 


Of course I am talking about my actual name and not the given name for the past 10 years. I hear 'mummy can you, MMUUUUUUMMMMMYYYYY, mum will you, MMMMUUUUUMMMMMM, is your mum there' all the time. 
In fact when I go to bed it's ringing in my ears. And then at 4am I hear it again and all to often I realise it's not a dream, it's real and it's coming from the 6 year old's bedroom. It also usually means that action is required.


I never liked my name at school. I hated the fact it couldn't be shortened as it meant (and still means) that I was forever nicknamed Knighty. It's one of the reasons I gave my small things names that could be shortened.


All through school, through university, through my career and even now if someone wants my attention, it's often Knighty I hear. Nothing wrong with that of course (well unless you're in a lovely posh shop and your 'friend' shouts Knighty from the changing rooms to get your attention; then I really pretend not to hear).


But now I like hearing Sarah; it often means:
1) I'm in grown up company
2) Someone grown up is talking to me 
3) It's time to behave like a grown-up (this doesn't always follow 1 and 2)


I think there's a lot of power in someone's name - used properly. 


I'm not suggesting you go around saying someone's name over and over again as frankly that would be slightly weird, but next time you're chatting with your colleagues, friends, peers use their name. Drop it into conversation and witness the magical effect of someone listening to you a little more closely.


Unless of course they are saying 'Sarah, get another drink in,' then all bets are off.

Everyone's talking about communities.

Everyone's talking about communities.

Mainly online communities where you can connect to people thousands of miles away, where you can make friends with strangers, where after years of talking to someone online (twitter) they become your mates and you go wandering in the Ribble Valley with them.

In the good old days, your community was the street in which you lived.
Today no-one knows their next door neighbour.

NOT IN MY STREET.

There's Frank who's not only the small things' surrogate granddad, but he's also the saviour of the street. From electrical faults, to blocked drains to emergency bottles of wine and at Christmas his home-made mince pies, Frank is your man.

My neighbours on my left hand side take my bins out every week and on the right hand side Isa has taken to watering my plants for me. I think this is actually due to the fact that she can't stand looking at their wilting pitiful appearance any longer.

Up the road is Jane who owns the local deli which means the nearly ten year old can go to the deli on her own and I know she's safe (whilst feeling independent) and Jane 2 who is my long time friend and godparent to the 6 year old. Oh and then there's the dishy doc (and his wife) - just in case of medical emergencies.

When someone's alarm goes off, people actually step outside their houses to check and when new people move into the street bottles of wine are delivered (often with people attached to them to have a nosey at the house).

The minute the sun shines, cars are being washed and it has been known that this is followed by a few beers and a street celebration.

This is a real, every day community. It's a bit rough round the edges but it works and it's one of the many reasons I love living here.

In Salford.