Hanging with the cocaine king

I'm reading a book in French called Le Prince de la Coke. I stumbled upon news of this explosive second book while exploring YouTube. There was a link to a name I hadn't encountered for nearly 10 years. Out of curiosity and almost shock I watched several videos of my ex-boyfriend Gérard being interviewed by journalists, lawyers and Radio and TV presenters.

It turns out that all the crazy stories he had told me were true. Indeed he really had been a notorious French (and elsewhere) gangster. He was a top drug trafficker, specialising in cocaine to the rich and famous, the right-hand man for Marseille-based godfather Gaetan Zampa, a bank robber/hitman until he was arrested in 1986. Gérard has spent a total of 18 years behind bars in various countries and escaped three times but, as his interviews reveal, it wasn't always so bad. Being such an important gangster he had access to everything he wanted in France. Holland had been his crime university. He put his years in prison in various countries to good use learning languages, accounting, passing exams and writing.

Gérard had shown me drafts of his books and poems in 2010 but at the time was too afraid of assassination if he published them so I advised him to leave the manuscripts with his lawyer. With the passage of time and deaths of many of those he had dealings with, such as corrupt politicians, the elite, intellectuals, businessmen, music celebrities etc he has less to fear though he has recently received threats. His protection, he says, is that if anything was to happen to him the proof would be exposed and that would be very bad for the perpetrators. He supplied the likes of the French equivalent of Jeffrey Epstein,  former French President Chirac,  Mick Jagger, Johnny Hallyday, Yves Saint Laurent, Robert Stigwood, dealing with the Vatican, to name only a few.

He is staunchily against child sex trafficking and pedophilia and is trying to raise awareness of the extent of this activity. His book alludes to a member of the British Royal Family. We can guess who.  He detests the hypocrisy of politicians, has some revenge as a motivation, and maybe he is looking for some sort of redemption because his crimes are many.

As I watched and listened to the videos I was transported back to our time together which had its highs and lows. Highs because he was super intelligent, handsome and charming and could be down-to-earth, helping me put up curtains with his electric drill, helping me find a winter coat, and going grocery shopping together but he also had angry moods, fear of the cops, a revolver handy, and irrational behaviour, and that's why I did not remain in the relationship. He had been very open with me about his really bad past but had a good side too and that's the one I mostly enjoyed with him.

His first book 'Dealer to the Whole of Paris' was published in 2018 and has sold out. This second book chronicles his life, lifting the lid on his famous coke clients and his work with the DEA.

He had told me he was retired from the women, the champagne, the drugs. I gave him the benefit of the doubt; he was no longer young, but I was a little dubious when he tried to give me a fur coat and jewellery. I was also a bit perturbed at le Chesnay shopping centre as he encountered guys who were almost kissing his hand like Michael Corleone in the godfather. He admits he spent a large part of his life as an amoral and immoral creature. I wonder what happened between 2010 and now? Has he been back in prison? If so for what, at his age? Did he go back for the watch in a Belgian jail after our breakup and get incarcerated as a public enemy? His wikipedia entry is incomplete and poorly translated.

Now 74 years old, he prefers to write and has married the ex-wife of a prominent cop. I contacted him recently to offer congratulations on his publishing success, imagining he would never remember me, but he did, replying it would be impossible to forget a lovely creature such as me. He asked about earthquakes in Christchurch and was it safe there now? He gave me his mobile number in case I am ever near Paris. I'd love to have a catchup one day. I have a great many questions. I have never forgotten him and in a corner of my mind I have a soft spot for him - the ultimate really bad boy.

Note: You may ask why on earth I would I have a relationship with someone who has done so many bad things? The pre-2010 me would think the same, but you see I was utterly alone on the other side of the planet. I had lost my country, my language, my home and job, my relationships and all my belongings from 55 years. No friends or family. There was only NOW. I was looking at a fresh, blank page and the chance to have new and richer experiences. My work colleagues, who had met him, said give him a chance if he treats you well, so I did, until the sudden, bizarre and shocking end of our relationship. My spirit is far more open to possibilities these days. In fact the worst life for me would be a mundane one. That is intolerable to me now and a constant risk now that I am back in NZ. So, my life is richer and has been more exciting with colourful international characters like Gérard in it.

Photos are from my private collection 2010.

For a chronology of our relationship see links below or read my book:

https://francesbigadventure.blogspot.com/20 10/11/disappointing-and-disastrous-weekend.html

https://francesbigadventure.blogspot.com/2010/11/rebuilding.html

https://francesbigadventure.blogspot.com/2010/11/barely-above-zero.html

To see Gerard in action with the media this year see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E_Nf-GwU1Eo

He has other books in the pipeline including one about the assassination of a previous King of Morocco.

Kiwis demonising kiwis

Reading posts and comments on Facebook and elsewhere pertaining to a handful of quarantine escapes makes me sad. I feel that I am not welcome back in New Zealand, that I don't belong here.

No I'm not an escapee from a covid quarantine facility but now I'm starting to feel I was an escapee from a mean-spirited, bigotted, ignorant and defensive society that doesn't have any idea (and doesn't want any) of what is beyond these islands. NO, I'm not referring to the raging pandemic.

Good on our team of 5million who, for the most part, followed the rules to keep us all safe and help get our economy back somewhat asap. Naturally there are dickheads who think only of themselves and won't consider the team and our country's direction. They exist for every issue out there.

I suppose the poorly educated and poorly disciplined media  have delighted in taking advantage of this and stirring things up but I am seeing widespread nasty, hysterical ranting against people who have left NZ and have the audacity to come back.

Returnees are being stereotyped by intolerance and general ignorance of anyone else's situation, by kiwis who have never taken a risk and lived overseas. Apparently NZers should not be allowed back here because they are green-grass seekers, opportunists, parasites who haven't contributed to NZ's economy. OK let's be clear, people like me are disloyal to NZ and kiwis don't want us back. We are Traitors!

Sigh! This is not news! I've known that for many years.

When I was living in France I never knew how long I would be able to stay there. I kept tabs on what was happening in NZ on a daily basis. I was a member of the global KEA network, a network of expats creating connections, offering each other contacts, business advice, moral support and research: a very supportive thing. https://www.keanewzealand.com/

A survey was conducted amongst the hundreds of thousands of members as to their experiences and difficulties encountered when trying to come back 'home'. It was truly sobering and mostly negative. Mostly negative because of the suspicious and antagonistic, and discriminatory attitude of kiwis who had never left NZ shores.

Recruiters didn't feel comfortable with our CVs which included experiences they would never understand and couldn't pigeonhole. HR staff felt threatened by applicants for jobs in NZ who had better qualifications or more diverse experiences than they and/or management had. But we were not a threat. We should have been an asset because generally we are not petty. We are used to mixing it up with anyone to get the best results. And we still care about NZ.

Overwhelmingly we were seen as traitors and that was pretty hard to take. We had left NZ. We left the team for selfish reasons? WE thought to better ourselves more than kiwis who stay? How dare we try to have more exciting, adventurous or more lucrative experiences elsewhere. We should all stay at the arse-end of the planet, away from influences of the rest of the world, away from cultural, social or financial enrichment.

These distressing survey results led some of us to ponder what could be done to help Kiwis needing to get home, how to help them into jobs. A small think tank got together. It included myself, Tony Alexander who was then BNZ chief economist, and a handful of other professionals scattered around the globe. We had meetings via group skype calls. We wondered how to fund an innovative website to help expats, which specialised in finding solutions and promoting them into employment because it was clear, most recruiters in NZ were unwilling or incapable of doing this.

Despite the best will in the world, we ended up disbanding because there was no leader and no money to start making things happen and we were meeting in our personal time. Everyone was so busy. I was in an unusual position where I had not emigrated for a fancy new high-paying job. I was extremely vulnerable, in a subsitence-paying job with no employment security from year to year and being serious abused by my boss (yep, a kiwi-born bully of sickening magnitude). I never fit the stereotype expat. I had left NZ at the age of 55 with only a suitcase, containing legal and medical documents and a qwerty keyboard - full of desperate hope of a life better than losing my home in Auckland. In hindsight it was the best decision I could have made.

In Europe where so many countries can be accessed by car, let alone a 2 hour plane ride, this nasty attitude towards those from other countries does not noticeably exist. In fact, international experience is welcomed and normal and often valued. It demonstrates initiative and provides employers with expertise they never had to pay to develop.

The argument that expats don't contribute to the NZ economy is equally ignorant. Many of us do. While I lived in France I rented out my deteriorating family home. This helped out a family, gave income to a property manager and I paid tax on rental income. How is this not contributing? Plus I had been paying tax in NZ since I was 15.

I was told I was disloyal by several kiwis because I had moved overseas. Disloyal to what? A country that didn't give a shit about making me unemployed and destroying my career at a vulnerable age? A country that wouldn't let me contribute to kiwisaver from overseas? A country that stripped me of my right to vote? A country that ultimately destroyed the life I had struggled to build in France by it's immoral retirement rules? I wouldn't have left if NZ had provided fair opportunities. What I had to go through to save myself was extremely upsetting and challenging. Well, lots of water under the bridge and very rich experiences have passed. NZ would never have provided half those rich experiences.

Many people love NZ and have no wish to leave. I have no issue with that and totally understand but when so many kiwis denigrate expats, punish them for leaving, call us traitors and want to ban kiwis from coming home I see one of the things I never missed about NZ: a widespread juvenile jealousy of others doing something different. Tall poppy is particular to this country though maybe it exists somewhere else. Scarcely in Europe.

Yes, of course, there will be kiwis coming back and using the system and buggering off again later just as there are a few lazy bastards milking the welfare system but don't class us all as parasite expats or dole-bludgers or I'll wish the bad times on you so you'll understand. We are not all the same. For many of us life is a struggle and we do what we can to survive. We give our best wherever we are and we sacrifice, we contribute and we can never know what the future will hold.

I'm only back because you forced me to be. That will be the case for many kiwis returning. Many will have lost all forms of financial support overseas. Visas will have expired. Visas usually depend on employment. Some expats will have had to leave family members overseas in order to come back. Some come back because families here need them. There will be struggle, sadness, fear, discrimmination to deal with.

In the nearly three years since I have been back it has been a huge financial, social and emotional struggle, alone. I have felt the weight of increasing agressive nastiness which now pervades Aotearoa. So, I have a somewhat more open perspective on returnees during the pandemic, as I do towards those who fall on hard times, have a different culture or practice various religions, even if they are not my personal thing.

Be kind... and grow up New Zealand.

London Burning - destruction as art

As I ponder the devastating effects of Covid 19 on the lives of millions of people, and also how the great quakes of 2010 and 2011 changed Christchurch, NZ, forever, I'm reminded of another time when disaster changed forever the city of London: The Great Fire of 1666.                                                        The inferno began in the king's baker's shop in Pudding Lane and quickly spread to destroy 80% of the walled city. London dated from Roman times and was a bustling, congested city full of timber houses.

The timber houses were tightly packed together and thatched, waterproofed with tar - highly flammable. THe city was also filled with sheds packed with hay and straw. The fire continued at least 5 days.                                                                                                 Originally the mayor didn't want to destroy a lot of houses because of the cost of rebuilding. Eventually, days later, the city had to resort to blowing up buildings to create fire breaks. It is estimated that 70,000 of th 80,000 residents were rendered homeless, with a bitter winter ahead.

Among the buildings lost was Old St Paul's. Rather similar to the inferno which partially destroyed the cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris in 2019, scaffolding erected around St Paul's cathedral at the time added to the inferno and molten lead from the roof flowed through the streets. The masonry is reported to have exploded like grenades.

Sir Christopher Wren designed the new city, including a new St Paul's with its iconic dome. It took decades to rebuild the city. Houses now had to be faced in brick, streets were widened, pavements a sewers were laid making London much cleaner.     The fire had also greatly diminished the population of rats carrying the plague.

Preserving a baby's tears

The last bit of touristy stuff I did on my last trip to France involved exploring the town of Étampes with an ex-colleague, Sophie. We had both taught at the Université de Versailles Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines but I had never visited her town.

It is located on the Juine River 48.1 kms south-southwest from the centre of Paris and a train trip will take about 25 minutes.

Étampes existed at the beginning of the 7th century and in the early Middle Ages belonged to the Crown. During the Middle Ages it was the scene of several councils, including the one in 1130 which resulted in the recognition of Innocent II as the legitimate pope. In 1652, during the war of the Fronde it suffered severely at the hands of the royal troops.

A former royal town, once highly prized by the kings of France, Étampes contains many treasures, a reminder of its prestigious past. It has no fewer than twenty-six listed monuments including a 12th century donjon (keep). I decided to visit the museum beside the Town Hall.

Étampes Museum, based in the right wing of the town hall, houses palaeontology and archaeology collections, as well as fine arts and contemporary art. It was here that I encountered some rather surprising items.

Among the statues, paintings and fine objects I was amazed to see a harpsichord/harp. What a bizarre object. It wasn't obvious how one played it but it was certainly pause to ponder. Since both harps and harpsichords are stringed instruments maybe the keyboard plays the harp strings. The sign said not to touch.

There are a number of objects from Roman and Middle Ages eras plus late eighteenth century items. One object, rather modest, caught my attention and I had to ask the volonteer on duty what it was. It was a lachrymatoire. A tear bottle.

I asked the assistant on duty about it. She said it was found in a Middle Ages child's grave and would have contained the baby's tears or the tears the mother had shed at the child's death. Since my visit I have done a bit of research on this topic and there are quite a few conflicting explanations. The bottles, in most cases, didn't (and still don't) contain tears. In fact the bottles contained perfume samples but the grieving aspect is a romantic invention. Who to believe? More modern lachrymatories have etched designs on them but the bottle in the museum was clearly very old and unadorned.

Some places still sell modern versions of them. Online auctions sometimes list them. Check out myths and realities here:
https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/tearcatchers-victorian-myth-bottle 
http://www.lachrymatory.com/History.htm

While small bottles have been found in Greek and Roman tombs, chemical analysis show they contained oils and essences, not tears. Small bottles from the Victorian era were for scented vinegars, smelling salts, perfumes and toilet waters to scent handkerchiefs.

Many of the little bottles were suspended from chatelaines which hung at the waist. People in mourning during the Victorian era wore cameos and lockets designed to hold hair from the deceased. So the bottle I saw may or may not have contained tears or perfume.

As I wandered around Etampes with my friend, Sophie and I noticed quaint fountains and statues. I burst out laughing as I passed by someone's back yard; what an eclectic and eccentric mix of garden statues. The birds and animals were all artificial. Very kitch but lively, and I wondered what the owner must look like.

Not far from the town centre, outdoor sports-lovers of all ages can find plenty to enjoy at the regional leisure centre. Swimming in the wave pool, pony treks, treetop courses, canoe-kayaking, climbing, mountain biking, year-round luge, mini-golf, archery, a fitness trail and nature observation are among the activities available on site.

 Prior to this visit my only knowledge of Etampes was by growing the variety of its famous red/orange pumpkins. They are enormous and sweet tasting; a reputation well-deserved.

Sophie and I walked around the lake and paused by a picnic table but our time together was limited so we headed back to her place. I would normally not have visited Étampes but it had a relaxed and historic feel and I'm glad I did.

Missing customer service and flair

Lately we've been flooded with doom and gloom messages about smallish business (and not so smallish) going bust. It's sad when a successful business goes bust through no fault of its own and this post is not commenting on that.

My comment is that quite a few deserve to go bust and many that still haven't gone bust have still learnt nothing about service and flair. Let's look at just a few examples that have occured for me over the past 2 weeks (Yes, only two weeks though I could give a lifetime of examples; maybe you could too).

I recently hired a graphic designer to make a brochure for my French extended family. It's a simple job, a DLE brochure which is folded twice, printed both sides. In order to make sure things were efficient I collated all the content into finalised text and sent all images available a month ago. When I heard nothing I had to ring and was given a 'technical difficulties that lasted a week' excuse. He had never warned me of the problem.

He then wanted a part payment which I arranged to be paid. Another two weeks have gone by and still no word, no proof for the brochure. I've had plenty of experience in dealing with designers so I know this job takes hours, not days or weeks. Once again I have left a message with no idea if and when it will be answered. I have already said to him that communication is really important to me, otherwise I get the impression that I, as a customer, am not of value.


A week ago we had a day of rain. Part of my backyard flooded (and still is). The situation has gradually been getting worse over the past year so I know something will need to be done to solve it. Doing nothing about the issue hasn't worked.It is now urgent and important. No gardener wants their compost bins to become swimming pools and their mowing strips to rot. The problem has probably been created by the subdivion developer's heavy machinery compacting the ground while creating the sections.

I contacted three companies. The first took three attempts to even speak to someone. One voice message was out of date but I was told the boss would be calling me the next day. He never did, though his business had been recommended to me on the local community Facebook page.

The second company popped around promptly and seemed enthusiastic but the solution supplied is probably not the right one. They sent a quote the following day but it was incorrect. They told me they would correct and resend. They haven't.

The third company popped around and we discussed what is probably a more expensive option but likely a better one. Despite numermous texts and voice messages from me they have never replied nor sent a quote.

Can someone please explain to me what is going on here? Why are they in business? Here's a client they did not have to advertise for, needing work done. Why even come for a site visit if they are not interested and don't care enough to say so?

Once we left lockdown level 3 we were allowed to go to the plant nurseries to buy plants. I waited a couple of days and then visited. I noticed some differences in management. One was well stocked and organised and tidy. It was easy to get around but there was no magic, no delight. I asked myself why? There was no fun/entertainment/surprise/creativity - no flair! The displays were minimal and predictable as they had always been, but now, after a break from them, I was noticing it more.

The second nursery that I tend to use is smaller but usually offers a few different plants. As I entered, I was increasingly dismayed. Inside were many shelves without stock or stock poorly positioned. Outside it was worse. Very little stock, plants in a dreadful state of health, no effort at displays. The place was dirty, ill-kempt. So this was the first impression I received. I was hugely disappointed. Of course lockdown level 3 would have been difficult but staff were allowed to tend plants, clean etc and we were now in level 2.

My memories went back to my time in French nurseries which had always had the 'delight' factor. Maybe because French culture values beauty, artistry and quirkiness.

The photos on this post are from French neighbourhood businesses. They feel things should look great at all times as a sign of respect and encouragement to customers. I wholeheartedly agree. They are also capable of 'kitch' displays but they at least try to do something surprising.

So why don't so many businesses in NZ care enough to be professional, respect the interest shown by clients and show a bit more flair? It's not rocket science and no more expensive to do things well than to to be slack. Clearly Covid 19 has taught many businesses nothing in terms of valuing customers.

Bubbles and reflective boredom

Today our Prime Minister outlined what level 2 lockdown would look like; much less of a lockdown and more opportunities to lead an almost normal life coming up in future. But what is normal for me going to be like?

I've being trying really hard to adapt to my new life in Rolleston, NZ from unwillingly being unemployed, then a senior citizen and in lockdown. It has been a lot of change but during the lockdown there was a complete lack of change in my days. That hasn't worked for me either.

My bubble is a physically comfortable one: I have my new house and a flourishing garden. I've worked hard on them and they reflect a part of me. They are intensely personal because it's me who has created and designed them but their creation is mostly finished. There's little more I can do to them. Confined to my little French DomTom of One (a little French offshore territory in my mind), I've had so much time to consider what I want for the rest of my life and I'm in conflict.

In many ways, I have adapted extremely well to no visitors, no deadlines, no work, no contact. I am perfectly capable of staying in bed for hours reading or checking social media, or gardening while mumbling to myself in French or English, or pottering with music. Oh dear, I've been hiding away from the world and not wanting anything else in my life, even being a little afraid of life as it unfolds so unexpectedly. Just when I think maybe I can settle for a 'nothing happens' life I realise I need more than that. A LOT more.

There is the other side of me that remembers my past and how life was so much richer, especially during my time in France. Oh the adventures I had there and the countries I visited in Europe. I was reminded of one of those adventures when it came to my attention today that a French ex-boyfriend has become quite famous and infamous over the past year. With him I entered the outskirts of a world so different, a bit dangerous, ultimately disappointing but what an adventure. And we liked each other even though his final behaviour was not nice. Those of you who have read my book may guess to whom I am referring. No, it wasn't conservative and risk-averse Jean-Claude. No it wasn't the guy who ghosted me. There 'he' was on YouTube in front of the media, and I remembered, and it woke up the adventurous Frances again. How very frustrating.

Back in France, especially in the early years, life was positive and exciting, filled with new experiences, twists, strange meetings that showed me the world was so much more than a couple of islands in the South Pacific. Now I am stuck inside four walls in Rolleston and no matter how I try, it seems a bland and bleak future - trying to get excited about a visit to the hairdresser or Mega Mitre 10 after all I have seen and felt. There's no growing, no adventure, no grand projects. 

I have energy, curiosity, talents being wasted here. I can't shove the genie back in the bottle. I've been trying now for 2.5 years. It takes Covid 19 to prove it by showing me the shut-in option. Shit, I don't know what to do, very little I can do in this new world order, but I can only stay open a bit longer before maybe I lose the spunk I used to have. Somebody send me some tinder, I need to light a fire under myself. Blast that Covid 19. 


Photos show: home in NZ, Greece, France, Brazil, Hungary.

The most important birthday of my life

Today I turn 65 years of age. It's a milestone in many ways, yet, here I am, alone in a 'bubble' at home. Well I didn't see that coming, none of us did. How to celebrate? By being silly, of course. Today I was a winged unicorn rather than an old-age pensioner. A year ago Jean-Claude had sent me a unicorn onesie (this sort of humour is quite out of character for him). I thought today might be the right day to don it, for a laugh. Sorry, the tail is not visible.

Hoolie on hold
I had organised an interactive party to celebrate this most important birthday of my life. Alas, Covid 19 has ruined all that for the moment. I am hoping all those who expressed an interest in paricipating will come once we are all clearer what we can do socially and what domestic travel we can make.

Still breathing
How is it that this is the most significant birthday in my lifetime? It has great meaning for me. Firstly, I am very happy and relieved I have actually made it this far, not everyone does. I've weathered quite a few vicissitudes over the birthdays of the past but am happy that my efforts to stay healthy and active have succeeded so far.

Respectable at last
It is also the date where benefit bashers can now take a flying 'blip' because I am graduating from being a bludger to a respectable citizen. Weird the difference a day makes. Financially this takes a wee bit of stress off me though the superannuation for a single person living alone here is not enough to pay all the bills. I had plans to do something about that once I hit the big 65 but Covid has wrecked those ideas too, for now.

Things have been mightily tough since I had to leave France. With the exception of two very short contracts, I have been unemployed for two and a half years, and not all that was on a benefit. I tried to eek out an existence without Jobseeker but it's impossible to do that beyond a handful of months. Having gained international experience seemed to turn people hiring, off me.  Experience, qualifications and great work ethics counted for nothing. No one thought I was worth hiring, no one would give me a chance. Now I don't have to care about that.

Ease up on the accelerator
There are quite a few experienced folks like me who could run rings around younger employees and their managers but we are deliberately passed over. Consequently I have been trying to wean myself off my 'driven' behaviours of the past when I gave my all to employers who, with two exceptions, never appreciated it.  It takes a while to learn how to slow down when you had not intended to 'retire'.

The sadder side
It's a shame my mother can't experience the day with me. She doesn't even know who I am. She doesn't know she has a daughter who made it to 65. She's a dementia patient locked down in a rest home in Christchurch and I can't know if she will survive this Covid thing. She's 90 so if she can get to that age maybe I can too (but without the dementia and strokes).

One of the most important significances of this day relates to my dream for a life in France. Many of you know I never wanted to come back to New Zealand. I had sacrificed everything to create a life in France under, again, very difficult circumstances. Though, financially it would have been a struggle in old age I could have sold my Auckland house and built a new home in France, independent from Jean-Claude, with a wee bit of money left over for retirement. I had looked at a plot of land just along the road from him but, as he reminded me, although I had earned the right to be in France permanently, I would not have any liveable retirement in those circumstances because NZ doesn't play fair.

NZ Superann rules
New Zealand forces expats like me to destroy all that is important in their lives in order to APPLY for superannuation. You are not allowed to apply from a foreign country. I have discovered many traps for the unwary in my superann application. One of those is the requirement to supply a copy of a utilities bill that is at least TWO years old - proving you are seriously living in NZ. Woah! Many folks wouldn't know about that. I hadn't, so I guess coming back here when I did was a smart decision, rather than leaving it any longer.

I have been paying tax all my life, since I was 15, even when I was in France, so I DO feel entitled to a retirement. Letting folks apply from overseas would be a more intelligent move since expats are not using any facilities like healthcare, roads etc. But no, this draconian and, to my mind, cruel requirement which is not present in many other systems overseas, forced me to lose all the money I had struggled for in France to move back here to the Ends of the Earth, cost me my relationship with JC, and cost me my dream. Am I pissed off? Of course, but I am doing the best I can to get on with things. I have no idea what is ahead.

Celebrating me
Today it's a recognition of how I have 'saved myself' yet again though it has been with pain. It's a recognition that I have had good luck to live this long, that I am connecting with new folks and reconnecting with previous contacts now I am back in NZ. It's a celebration of the fact that through forced circumstances I am probably being obliged to find a new way of living and adapt, once again.

I'm happy to be 65. I can quietly celebrate a life that has been anything but ordinary. I can put aside many of the past struggles and decide on a few things for myself each day. I have received lovely messages from my daughter Laura, as well as other kind well-wishers. I guess I still matter to some, after all these years and adventures. Thank you all for being part of my precious 65 years of life.

Now, where to from here?


Photos show my first birthday photo, one aged six, one aged 21 with Eriks at the Chateau Commodore as it was then, my 50th birthday party, turning 60 in France with JC, and today.