Way back in the 1980’s when disco was king, a friend of mine was getting married to a young man whose family lived by the seaside. Not having much family herself, and this being her second wedding, she decided to have the wedding in his home town with a group of RAF friends in attendance. I don’t totally remember but we must have had the Friday off because I remember driving up a near deserted motorway on a sunny afternoon in several cars packed with people and luggage. There was an air of anticipation and a determination to have a good time.

On the 22nd of December 2017 I was offered a short temporary role as a Contractor, they will never know they saved my life. 


Regardless of the fact that I was the one who chose divorce, and the fact that it had been building up for years, I was devastated when it became a reality. I didn’t have much in my petty little life but I had a tiny family unit and we were part of his wonderful large family. I had three sisters in law, old, middle and young. Now ‘Young’ was a scatty but extremely kind lady, with a few issues and a growing family and career. We didn’t see much of her because ‘He’ wasn’t a fan. ‘Middle’ seemed to have it all, switched on with two children and a husband whose career was going places. She was the one we saw the most of, I loved that family unit, they were fun and open, and yet they could offer advice and support in equal measure. ‘Old’ was a cow bag, an Ex GP with the bedside manner of a sergeant major who got away with being rude, with people just saying that’s just the way she is. ‘Old’ lives in a very posh house, in a very posh place, with membership to rather nice clubs and plenty of name dropping. She had a well to do husband and two older boys who were just about to settle down and get married when I got divorced.

Forgive me if I revisit old ground, and this may be a long one so make a cuppa because I have a lot to say. You’ll have gathered by now that I didn’t trust people much anymore, and especially not men, my health had taken a bit of a blow and I’d been single for 6 years, so at the age of 30 you now have an average-looking woman, with low self-esteem and trust issues. The steroids had taken their toll as well, paper-thin skin and weight gain the main visible effects, so all round I was doing well, lol. 


I feel that I was particularly ‘down’ on the RAF and I really shouldn’t be, I did take part in some brilliant things. I went on a number of ‘expeds’, travelling at RAF expense for community things like clearing ditches, building dry stone walls, decorating a disabled kids holiday home etc.. then there were the walking holidays to the Peak District, Lundy Island, oh! and skiing in the Cairngorms. There were parties for everything and after I was commissioned there were Summer Balls and Winter draws, excuses to wear a long dress and enjoy everything.

Having had a very restricted upbringing, joining the RAF was an eye opener; joining up as a 17 year old who had never had a boyfriend, no parental chats about the birds and the bees, a crowd pleaser with little experience of fighting back and even less knowledge of how to fit in, in a group situation, things were never going to go smoothly.

OK, so I guess I had better start off by saying something about myself, I am distinctly middle aged and female which basically makes me a bit invisible. I’m also very single which means I have no one to bore the ears off, hence wanting to write it down and inflict it on anyone who can be bothered to read it.