Almouth beach

Isn’t it funny how life has its little jokes? After saying that the one thing I was decided upon last October, was continuing to live in the van, an internal electric circuit failed, and I was without a fridge, water pump (no running water) and auxiliary battery (lights). With no money to fix this, I limped through the winter, jumping between house sitting, the hospitality of longsuffering Pete and a parking spot behind my (rented-out) house, hooked up to the electricity there.

I note here, that I speak as though I have the power of choice. However, often I am still just deciding between available options. I have big things to fix (beyond the van) before I can genuinely say that I am living the life I choose.

So long as I was on hook up, I could run lighting and heaters but water had to be poured from a 5 litre bottle, which was a struggle while trying to keep everything clean. Imagine your hands at their dirtiest, then having to manhandle a heavy water bottle in order to pour water out to clean them. The same water bottle you would later use to fill the kettle or wash the dishes. Far from ideal.

Winter made being fridgeless bearable, but with pleasantly mild weather, nothing lasted long and I found myself throwing food away – something I had more or less eliminated from my life over the preceding year. Van living certainly took a downhill turn.

With the loss of van time, came a loss of space for writing, which resulted in shelved plans, zero blog posts and an avalanche of frustration. The power of choice deserted me and I often felt pushed into a decision by the practicalities of the situation. During this fallow period, I addressed the ongoing issue of the dog business. November brought the likelihood of an influx of new clients as another local dog walker made us her top recommendation to her clients, when she moved out of the area. I took on two new contractors, and decided to build the business up until we were ‘full’ again, but by April we were over capacity again so I repeated the process.

Now we are a team of 11, and there I have decided to rest. We currently have capacity in the system, so are still taking on new clients, and of course there is a natural fall off when people change jobs or move away, but realistically, it’s big enough. Small enough to be manageable and to maintain standards, while big enough to accommodate any request our clients can throw at us. And today – typing this as I look out over a wild, grey Northumbrian coastline – I have proof that it can function in a practical sense, without my physical presence. And that is all I need.

Adorable pup

There have been so many shifts over the months since I last wrote. Perhaps the biggest, is that I have a small, exuberant, expressive, somewhat hairy companion on my travels. Raffi – a cross poodle/pug – is in the house (or the van, or the pub, or wherever I happen to be). We are good mates, who enrich and irritate each other in rotation, but for the most part we are very glad to share our lives. I also became Nana, to an unexpected trio of puppies, from a lovely little dog called Solar, whom Imogen rehomed. Astrid, Lily and Otter became such a big part of life for us all for a while.

My heart finally let go of Pete and we have fallen into an easy, fluid friendship. I’m not sure when or how it happened but sometime around April I noticed changes, most notably the capacity of my heart to look at someone else and feel a flicker of interest. That said, I am far from looking for relationship. I’m still very much in the process of building my own life, and love will come when there is room and capacity to embrace it.

Perhaps the biggest shift of all is the tragic death of my ex-husband, aged just 54. He died after a rapid decline, courtesy of the bitch that is Motor Neurone Disease, on Monday 26th June. We were together for 25 years and have three children, and although the ‘ex’ bit has cushioned me to some degree, this is the first time I have lost anyone whom I have shared any depth of living and loving with. My sadness is primarily for him, for his loss of life, especially at a time when he had the potential for the greatest happiness. Watching our children suffer in their own individual ways is a visceral ache, as is contemplating how it must be for his mum and dad.

But I will end with the certainty that life is cyclical. That ebb and flow are as natural to us, as to the waves hitting our shoreline. That I am fortuitous to genuinely know the power of choice. That struggle often gives way to our greatest gains, and that goodness and kindness always remain at the heart of what it means to be human.

With love

Alison x