A Jaunt Around Ireland

I could boast that I collected charming Irish men on our trip but the unembellished truth is I relish chatting with the locals, connecting heart to heart. And you learn more about a place and its people in a curious chinwag than in hours poring over travel guides.

So first there was Michael, then there was Liam and finally Eanna. Oh those Irish lads could sweet-talk the socks off a gal. ‘Tis true, the Irish accent is so melodious and seductive, they could be prattling about any old mundane topic like wind direction, stone fences or the invasion of Oliver Cromwell and I’d still be captivated.

Which isn’t to say I didn’t have my cherished D & K on board (the veritable bible on Ireland) as we cruised out of Dublin in the sturdy Nissan hire car, heading south to the rugged coast of the glorious Emerald Isle. Husband, Andrew was in the driver’s seat with Self by his side, Delightful Daughter, Justine and Aussie Adventurer, Sis-Outlaw, Chris sitting pretty in the back seat. Jussy’s boyfriend Andy was all set to join us further down the track.

For starters, I sketch my intuitive little mud map of the proposed itinerary, keen to hit the bases Andrew & I had missed on a delirious trip way back in 2001. It was back then I decided I had Irish blood, which got vigorously stirred, even though I couldn’t prove it. My heart went POW on Irish soil, Irish music, Irish history and Irish folk. In the interim, research into family history had confirmed my Irish convict heritage and now I’m so proud to be green I could burst.

‘Kil’ is Gaelic for church so it pops up as a prefix in many place names, including our first destination. In Kildare we visit the Irish National Stud and tour the Japanese Gardens (I know, weird cultural collision!) and take the Journey through Life, groping through the Tunnel of Ignorance, stopping briefly at the

Hill of Learning, Justine stands hopefully on the Engagement Bridge, Andrew and I squabble on the Marriage Bridge, I almost fall off the Hill of Ambition, we all avoid the Chair of Old Age and have a good blubber on the Hill of Mourning!

At the Horse Museum we learn that the Irish love horseracing, especially the famous Grand National Steeplechase, as much as they love Guinness and the craic. We admire the impressive stallions in their fertile fields before hitting the gift shop and hitting the road!

Kilkenny, built around its 12^th century castle on the River Nore, is a lively town full of picture-postcard, brightly painted pubs. Lured by the promise of hearty veggie soup, we find a quiet corner, only to glance up to see that Neighbours is playing out crass Aussie drama on all four big screens! The soup turns out to be yesterday’s veg pureed into mush so we fill up on hot chips and scour the shops in search of tacky souvenirs. I make an excited purchase of some musical wooden spoons but after a pathetic attempt to master them decide to give them to Young Andy, who is after all a talented drummer so should have no problem keeping the beat during our next sing-along!

That night, after enough pub fare, Chris manages to source an upmarket gourmet Italian restaurant and we dine in style and then slide down market to a rowdy little pub to hear a solitary crooner and meet some country lads whose vision is somewhat dulled by an excess of Guinness and they mistake me for a Young Hottie! I have to be coaxed back to Fanad guesthouse before I’m intoxicated with flattery!

It was in Kilkenny I was inspired to open my laptop and delve into an old file on my mum’s Lane family background. The story goes my great, great grandmother, Ann Carroll was just 17 when she was transported to Tasmania in 1849 with her mother Ann Carroll senior (nee Birnes), who was convicted of stealing a sheep and potatoes to feed her family. She was a widow and, like thousands of Irish Poor, reduced to stealing to survive during the Potato Famine of 1845 to 1852 when more than a million people died from starvation under British subjugation. Now this heritage could explain my rage against injustice and zeal for human rights! The feisty convict Ann Carroll and her children hailed from Queens county. To my delight I discovered that rural area, just outside Dublin north of Kilkenny, is now called Laois.

The teenaged Ann married Charles Ainsworth, an English convict transported for the petty crime of stealing tools, who after serving his 10-year sentence took his young Irish bride and together they ran a pub called The Man of Ross in Hobart. Now this might explain my love of traditional pubs! They had four children but Charles and his son, Charles Ainsworth Junior moved to Victoria on the mainland of Australia and the young Charles married Eliza Swanston, the daughter of a Scottish woman! Ah! There you have it. The trifecta! I’ve got working class Irish, English and Scottish blood coursing through my veins! My grandmother Millie Ainsworth was one of 11 children who grew up in Victoria and married grandfather William Lane. And then there was me mum, Valerie Lane and then there was me!

When chatting to the locals you realise just how fiercely the Irish love their homeland, their small town communities and their families and how it must have been heartbreaking to be banished to a convict settlement on the other side of the world; the worst kind of soul-destroying punishment the British rulers could have inflicted.

But the Irish Uprising of 1916 eventually led to Independence in 1922 and the Republic of Ireland was made official in 1949. But the Irish still suffer. They might be an emotional race of people, musical and creative, and as endearing as a Labrador puppy and favourite old uncle rolled into one but cold, hard accounting is not the Irish forte. I heard on the evening news that the Irish economy is haemorrhaging as the government borrows €70 million a day and the front page of the Irish Daily Mail screams the headlines that the country is losing 500 qualified young people a week, as they emigrate in search of work.

Day Three, we take the long way round via Tipperary to reach the bustling city of Cork and arrive at the legendary Blarney Castle where a peculiar backward kiss on the upper tower is meant to bestow the Gift of the Gab, an effusive eloquence that will allow you to talk your way in to or out of anything, except the beguiling Blarney Woollen Mill, full of sumptuous knitwear and Irish delights.

And my banter proves no match for the lovely, gregarious B & B lady who treats us to a hearty Irish breakfast and an astute comparison of Irish football, Aussie Rules and that other game, rugby.

We prise ourselves away from the lavish table to set off for what would be the most magical, out-of-the-box day imaginable! It seems the Irish remain cheerful and enterprising in the face of economic gloom. When we arrive in the exquisite tourist town of Killarney, we are enticed by a colourful line-up of jaunty horse-drawn carriages ready to trot tourists through the beautiful national park.

I cannot resist the mellifluous Michael who has all four of us up on that cart in a flash and merrily setting off along the track. Michael knows more about the 25,000 acres of pristine forest, the mesmerising lakes and centuries of local history than humanly possible! We end up at the ruins of Ross Castle and the gentle sun sparkles across the vast expanse of placid Lough Leane, across to the velvet hills of scattered islands; an entrancing vision of tranquillity.

That afternoon we drive the magnificent Ring of Kerry and absorb the breathtaking scenery of the unspoilt Iveragh Peninsula. As if that wasn’t enough magic for one day, after booking in at the splendid Carrilea House and chatting with owner Eileen and her four little daughters, we treat ourselves to the original Riverdance which, as luck would have it, is playing at the Irish National Entertainment Centre! We are left buzzing and speechless by the exhilarating genius of the dazzling dancers and collapse happy after a day full of wonder.

Saturday sees us driving to Tralee and on to Tarbert to take the ferry across the River Shannon to get to County Clare and tour the rugged west coast on the Atlantic Ocean.

The wild and desolate vista from the Cliffs of Moher is softened by the verdant hills dotted with grazing cattle and sheep and pretty cottages. When we reach the tiny historic township of Doolin, the day has turned blustery and bleak. We step out of the warm car and the freezing wind is forbidding and unforgiving, sending us on our way to look for accommodation at the inland town of Ennis.

It makes sense to hole up in a cosy B&B at this funny little town set on the River Fergus so that Justine is all ready to rendezvous with boyfriend Andy who is arriving the next day by train. On Sunday morning, Justine heads for the station and Irish luck is on our side as the new day has dawned calm and sunny for our intrepid trip across to the Aran Islands.

At Bill O’Brien’s Doolin Ferry service, I meet the son, Liam who enchants me with stories about the Matchmaking Festival where every September hopeful bachelors come looking for eager wives. But the delectable Liam is already taken, having gotten himself hitched just weeks before to an American bride!

Chris, Andrew and I board the robust ferry, which carves through the choppy Atlantic to reach the smallest of the three islands, Inisheer. We are greeted by local lad, Eanna who tours us around in his van. The tiny, picturesque island is just two miles long and two miles wide and home to just 300 people, who live a traditional lifestyle, speaking Gaelic, playing music, fixing the endless rows of limestone fences and entertaining tourists.

Eanna says in a soothing accent that: “It is a nice, easy way of life” and no amount of money would allow outsiders to buy property here and intrude on the close-knit community of families that go back generations. However Eanna and other islanders venture to Galway by light plane, boat or car when they want to escape the peace and quiet and Liam tips us off on the best pub for craic.

And Galway is just where we’re heading after we meet up with Andy and Jussy. The vibrant harbour city is jumping and we locate the Taaffes pub and bravely weave our way through the crowd to sit just inches for the two old boys who are pumping out tunes on an accordion and thrashing guitar. Amidst the ear-splitting exuberance, Chris is serenaded by an amorous drunk and narrowly escapes a beer bath from a boisterous lad doing a jig with his pint. It is hilarious fun and we wonder how the rowdy Sunday night revellers can face work Monday morning!

From Galway we traverse lush countryside to stop-over at Mullingar in the Midlands at a B&B with the charming Richie and Margaret. For the final day of our trip, we explore Dublin, taking in the sights from the green tourist bus, laughing at the driver’s well-worn jokes, hanging out at the famous Temple Bar and drinking Guinness while singing along to Dirty Old Town.

There’s something about Ireland that makes you want to wallow in your whiskey, sing and dance and celebrate the pathos and struggles and the passion and joy of life.

Aussie Party time for Justine

All women who have ever entertained at home know it’s no small feat.

It started on Thursday. Usually, for just the two of us, I shop around the corner at the Co-op and with smiling Sakti at the Fruit & Veg, but this party called for a trip to gourmet-splendiferous Waitrose.

Because we don’t own a car since moving to the big city, and being impossible to haul 20 bags of groceries on the bus, we hired a car from the Connect club to pull off the mammoth shop.

When sis-outlaw Christine touched down at Heathrow on Saturday morning, fresh from the Land of Oz, she set off with Andrew to pop in on Liz at Buck House while I got stuck into the wonder dips.

In the midst of the messy business of baking eggplants, (that’s aubergine to you English readers), boiling chickpeas, chopping garlic and chilli and squeezing lemons, I wondered ‘why bother’ with whipping up homemade dips when I could rip the lid off the fantastic plastic in a snap and be done with it! Nevertheless I was eager to show off my healthy new cuisine to the party throng so I ended up with a mountain of Baba Ganoush and Houmous fit for an Arabian feast and Guacamole any Mexican mamma would be proud of.

The gooey lentil burger mixture was left to bind in the fridge overnight and the hand-ground pesto, bursting with fragrant basil, was set to go.

On Sunday, the day dawned bright and sunny. What a lucky break in Autumn which can swing either way. So we borrowed some chairs from the neighbours, Andrew zapped the mower over the tiny patch of lawn that is our backyard and we assembled the seating and tropical drinks trolley alongside the squirrel feeder and jasmine bush.

I whipped up the now famous vegan chocolate cake loaded with the last of the summer raspberries. This was Justine’s 22^nd birthday cake. She was in Australia for her 21^st with her larger-than-life, adorable boyfriend, Andreas who threw the most spectacular surprise birthday bash so this was our chance to give her a homespun party in our new digs.

As coincidence would have it, seemed every stray Aussie under the southern cross decided to blow in right on cue for the celebration; Auntie Chris was returning for the first time ever to Old Blighty after migrating in her parents’ arms as a baby. Tom’s beautiful girlfriend, Hannah had arrived with her dancing shoes ready to take on West End. Emma’s parents Andy and Cathy were over from Bris Vegas and the marvellously mellow Marcus had jetted in, all sun-kissed from Bali.

What a delightful collection of friends Justine has gathered around her in just 18 months of moving countries and getting established in London. It was a hoot to meet animated actress Teresa who could launch into an entertaining performance with every turn of the conversation.

Jussy’s bubbly flat mate Gillian is the genuine article Brit amidst a bevy of Aussie chicks. Sweet young Emily is a girlfriend from Jussy’s high school days doing her Overseas Experience (OSE).

Big Brother Daniel was looking sharp in a new jacket. He has made his little sister welcome in the UK by including her in his vast circle of friends, amongst them the amiable, fun-loving Michael and his stunning finance Alma.

And the muso lads, Andy and Tom, Jordan and Kano were fast converting to my pitta pizzas, while soaking up the fading rays stretched out on the sun loungers. I’m sure the beer helped the chewy crusts go down!

My new gal pal, the flamboyant Chrissy made the trip from Derbyshire to join the festivities and witness the extravagant speeches, our great family tradition. After proud dad, big brother and me had all made lavish tributes toasting our adorable Jussy, exuberant boyfriend Andy stepped up and sent shockwaves through everyone’s spine and sparked a collective gasp when he dropped to one knee to propose! But it was just a teasing practise run for the real thing.

And then Devoted Dad suggested we go around the circle and everyone got to say nice things about Jussy. The love and genuine affection flowed like honey for a gorgeous girl with the kindest heart. But as her dad stated proudly, she is no longer a girl but a young woman in all her radiant beauty, on the threshold of her glorious 20s.

As if all this wasn’t enough to fill a mother’s heart to the brim, once we could coax Tom to pick up the guitar, the Beatles sing-along session got underway. My lover-man was on the other guitar and everyone was in fine voice. Young Jordan graced us with a dramatic flourish on the keyboard.

It was outrageous fun belting out old favourites until late into the night and if the neighbours didn’t know we were Aussies before they sure did after our rowdy rendition of Still Call Australia Home!

It was a night to remember and worth every bit of effort and all the washing-up (thanks Chris!) These celebrations are the reward for years of parenting, gifts from above, that make life rich and wonderful and make your heart swell with gratitude.

And by the way, for those of you curious about the results of my 28-day Detox, I have lost a total of 53 cms and now fit into my party dress and skinny jeans! We’re off to Ireland tomorrow. There’s no stopping me now!

Life Balance at Last!

Remember when you were in your highly-charged 20s, partying hard, looking for love in all the wrong places, battling hang-overs and dramas, sleeping late, scoffing junk food, working long hours, clashing with the boss, trying to pay your rent, buy your first car and save for that whirlwind trip!

Don’t worry, you were perfectly normal! The decade of your 20s is meant to be turbulent. It’s the stage of life when ambition and hormones are running rampant as you get on with the ‘psychological tasks’ of establishing your career, ‘mate selection’ and becoming an independent adult.

In your 20s, you were biologically wired to seek a mate at this prime reproductive season and that’s why manic energy was poured into partying and pursuing attractive partners. But simultaneously you were striving to become an independent, capable adult as you aspired to gain an education, achieve on the job and manage your finances.

That was a lot to master in a decade and it is no wonder that the notion of life balance was hard to grasp and even harder to pull off.

Along came the decade of your 30s and you probably found yourself raising a family while trying to hold down a demanding job and pay off a mortgage in between running the kids around to ballet classes and football games, supervising homework, battling loads of laundry, throwing barbecues for friends and scheduling ‘date nights’ with your spouse although you could barely stay awake for the romance! The 30s were exhausting!

Having survived the obligatory midlife crisis in your 40s when your marriage, health and/or career collapsed under the strain, you have now recovered your pep. Renewed and redeemed, you are sitting pretty, a little battered perhaps, but optimistic and resilient in the 50s, ready for a whole new exciting stage of life. Well that’s MY story anyway! And I suspect you have shared a similar jaunt through the decades because we humans are not really that different, as much as we like to imagine we are unique!

This brings me to the elusive topic of life balance. Life can be divided into three core areas; career, relationships and healthy lifestyle. Having reached the maturity and wisdom of your 50s or older, you have probably achieved, quite intuitively, a natural balance of time spent in these three parts of life.

Your career is the domain of your intellect and by now you will be feeling competent in your chosen field with a stockpile of knowledge and skills while hopefully being open to learn more and adapt to new ways.

You will be smart enough to limit the hours spent working to a reasonable amount; say four to eight hours a day. Whether part-time or full-time, paid or voluntary, your work represents the culmination of your career and life experience and a way to make a contribution to society and future generations.

At this mature stage of life, you are wise enough to know that time invested into close relationships with family and friends is crucial to your wellbeing. It is wise to make quality time with your husband or wife, your grown-up kids, grandkids and other family members and long-time cherished friends. However it is still possible and vital to make new friends because new friendships are invigorating.

I include ‘personal growth’ in the category of relationships because it is through close relationships with others that we really learn to heal old wounds, communicate and love.

Finally as an Empty Nester with kids flown the coup, you can reclaim the interests and passions of your youth and revive your Lost Self that was buried under a pile of mundane chores. This is the area of life I call Healthy Lifestyle.

You should now have more leisure time to fill with enjoyable recreations, hobbies and interests. Make sure you put effort into keeping fit and healthy.

My interests include travelling and discovering different countries and cultures. I have a massive bucket list of fascinating places to visit before I kick the proverbial.

I love music. I never did achieve my ambition of becoming a famous folk singer-songwriter however I can now fully appreciate the musical talents of truly gifted performers! I plan to attend countless London clubs and concerts and see every West End musical several times!

And I have a whole list of recreations I’m determined to have a go at over the coming decade! These strenuous activities include hiking on the Burren in Ireland’s county Clare (next week!) hiking in Tuscany, sailing in the Greek Islands, dancing in Spain, cycling in the South of France, horse riding in Montana and skiing on the Alps! I’m on my way to achieving my goal weight, ready to hit the gym to build core strength and muscles to support my skeletal frame so I will make ‘old bones’.

50plus is the time to live life to the full and live life in balance; spending the right amount of each day devoted to the three important aspects of life to be a well-rounded, fulfilled and valuable human being.

How to Handle Regrets in Later Life

As we get older we carry regrets, shame and remorse about things we've done and things we've failed to do.

You might think you are the only person with a secret stash of shame about past actions but take comfort in knowing everyone has done things they regret.

In the journey of life we have all made mistakes and hurt people mostly out of immaturity and selfishness in pursuing our own needs or acting out of painful emotions and unformed values.

Mistakes and bad choices usually centre around the three biggies of life: relationships, career/finances and health/lifestyle.

You can regret and feel ashamed about past sexual experiences and relationship heartaches, past financial mistakes and misguided career choices and bad habits and unhealthy eating which has led to illness. Maybe you regret an accident that spun on a split second decision.

You can also regret what you failed to achieve such as having children or wishing for more children; the failure to have a happy marriage, be successful, rich or famous or fulfil childhood dreams to develop a talent.

You can torment yourself by mulling over past regrets and wallowing in shame and self-loathing but it is a completely futile exercise because no amount of wallowing can change the past.

And such anguish is damaging to yourself and those around you. You cannot be your best in the present if you are mentally and emotionally beating yourself up for the past and feeling guilty and ashamed with family and friends.

Various schools of psychology offer three different coping strategies for dealing with the past. When you use all three together, they become a potent force in overcoming regrets and allowing you to embrace resilience, renewal and redemption.

The first coping strategy is emotional release. It is essential not to repress but rather to express painful feelings and get them out of your system and process hurts, disappointments and grief. Experience fully your grief and remorse over your losses and the hurt you caused others. Crying is healing and so is journaling.

Most people need help in processing painful emotions from people who are gifted with empathy, understanding and compassion. One to one counselling or group therapy is a way to healing and growth. When seeking professional help, be discerning in choosing a counsellor or a support group.

The second coping strategy is reframing. After you have expressed your feelings, it is essential to reflect rationally on the trauma or mistake and think it through from fresh perspectives. View yourself with understanding and compassion and choose to forgive yourself; accept a pardon for your mistake and stop the self-punishment.

Use mental disciple to accept that it has happened and that no amount of wishing will change it. Stop tormenting yourself by churning over the painful event. Choose to forget it. Make a conscious choice to let go of regret and shame.

See the positive side of the trauma or mistake. What good has come out of it? Funny how good can come from the worst situations. Consider what you have learned from this pain and how you have grown and deepened and how others how benefited too. Be grateful for grace.

Remind yourself of all the good things you have done in your life that outnumber and overshadow the bad.

Counselling or a support group can help with reframing as you receive input from caring, trustworthy people who can focus on the positive and show you forgiveness, acceptance and compassion.

The third coping strategy is to take action or change your behaviour. What can you DO to make amends for the wrongs you did in the past? Can you make it up to people you have hurt? Can you say sorry and reconcile?

Now you are older and wiser, show love to your family and friends every day. Share the joy of the present and build happy memories for the future.

Can you help others in some way? Can you help the younger generation avoid the mistakes you made or help other adults deal with similar traumas, grief and mistakes?

The opposite of feeling shame is feeling good about yourself. How can you be a better person and make a contribution to a better, kinder world? Find yourself a worthy cause and use your time to make yourself and others happy in the present rather than waste your time wallowing in the past.

Forever Young: 28 Days to the New Me

Some people want to look good naked. I just want to look good in a dress.

I have gained weight to become a Size 12 on the top and Size 14 on the bottom, that awkward pear shape with a heavy bum and thighs (and the belly has expanded too!). I can wear separates, a top and pants, and disguise my thunder thighs but dresses are just too tight.

Well-fitted dresses are feminine. Looking good in a dress, curvy but evenly proportioned, is what makes us womanly. I want my shape back.

So much for my vanity, I also want optimum health. After years of focusing on my intellect and ignoring my body, I am finally ready, at 53, to discover a new level of vitality. I want to be agile and nippy as I dash and weave through the crowd in the Tube and city streets, dodging back packs and stragglers.

It is harder to stay slim as we age because the metabolism slows down and the body insists on storing fat. But it doesn’t mean that being overweight in midlife is normal, natural or inevitable. It just means weight is harder to manage.

There is a healthy weight range for your skeletal frame and height. It is reassuring to know this range is quite wide and generous. For example, for my height of 5 foot 4 with a light frame, my weight can range between eight and 10 stone and be considered Okay. Between 10 and 12 stone is Overweight and more than 12 stone falls into the category of Obese.

It is stating the obvious that being overweight has a host of unhealthy consequences such as lethargy, the risk of diabetes and constant strain on the heart, organs and all body systems as you lug the extra lard around.

In my 20s and 30s, with an efficient metabolism, I could eat carbs all day and never gain weight. I stayed around eight and a half stone, a dainty size 10. Now I am a hefty 10 and a half stone. I don’t want to go back to my tiny figure but I would be happy with nine and a half stone, a comfortable Size 12, with no bits that jiggle; a flat tummy, pert bum and firm legs.

So this is my mission and I am devoting a month to regaining a slim, fit body and getting on track with super healthy eating and an active lifestyle.

Doing a detoxifying diet focuses attention on the digestive system, giving it a rest from hard-to-digest, acidic foods and replenishing it with nutrients while releasing a build-up of toxins through the lymphatic system, bowel, bladder, and skin.

This is a new frontier for me. I am someone who has pretty much ignored my body until now. But I am developing a new respect for my body, as an entity in its own right with its own intelligence that keeps the whole complex business going despite my neglect!

In my sudden discovery of my body, fortunately I have the guidance of talented trainer Morne and his beautiful, intelligent girlfriend Natalja who run the program called Forever Young supervising clients through a 28-day Detox program.

Morne and Natalja are keen to help overweight, menopausal, sedentary old chicks like me break entrenched habits and overcome food cravings to discover a whole new level of health, fitness and vitality.

And so, the Show begins!

On Monday, the first day of my Detox I have a severe reaction. By 1 pm I am throwing up and blindsided with a migraine. What have I done to make myself so sick? Eaten something horrible?

No. All morning I had feasted on fresh fruit; delicious sweet raspberries, strawberries, blue berries, cherries, apricots, apple, banana and a few almonds! Followed by a big healthy green salad!

By the time Morne arrives later in the day I am reeling with nausea and ready to call it quits, swearing off Detoxing forever, resigning myself to hauling around extra poundage and accepting mediocre health.

I was used to tea and toast with a generous spread of jam and peanut butter propped up in bed as my pampered start to the day, followed by a mid-morning coffee and biscuit at my desk. Now that’s not much for a girl to ask is it? Simple pleasures really.

It was as if my body was behaving like a toddle throwing a tantrum demanding my Carb Fix and rebelling against digesting the sudden onslaught of healthy natural food.

Morne has a better explanation. He says when I stopped eating ‘bad’ food, that is, processed, hard to digest bread with a sugar hit, my body saw a break in the traffic and seized the opportunity to purge toxins.

Now what is all this about toxins? I have been down that track before with Jeni Edgley at the Hideaway health retreat in the lush Gold Coast hinterland where I endured the seven-day cleanse complete with daily colonic irrigations. Now that is commitment to releasing toxins!

Older and wiser, I am now sceptical about New Age theories. Really, just how toxic could my system be on my new meat-free and dairy-free diet?

Since becoming a vegan earlier in the year, I have gone overboard on the soya milk, with great slurps in my tea several times a day. It turns out the brand I like is high in sugar! I have also devoured meat-substitute products, which although better than meat, are still processed, not natural sources of protein.

And okay, I admit I am addicted to bread, pasta, corn chips, potato chips, oil-soaked wedges, dark chocolate and the occasional glass of Red.

Morne points out very politely that I am eating a lot of ‘dead’ foods that lack enzymes and nutrients, which promote toxicity and acidity and a build-up of fat in the cells. (Might explain the thunder thighs!)

My home-cooked eating habits, while better than most people’s junk food intake, are low in fresh, living nutrient-rich fruits and veggies and also lacking water. Most of us fail to drink sufficient pure water to keep up the supply to the body made up of 70 per cent water.

Morne eases me through my Detox Crisis and encourages me to persist by writing up my goals.

The first question on the form is ‘How do I feel about my physical self and current state of health?’ I have to admit I am in denial and delusional about my weight gain, imagining I am still as slim as I was in my 30s.

I am also in denial about my lack of fitness because I seldom put it to the test! Gyms can be dangerous!

But I am starting to worry about ageing and getting lethargic and sick as the years roll by. While my health is okay now, I realise I need an ‘intervention’ to prevent illness in the future.

For everyone who has coasted through their 40s and made it to early 50s with few complaints, it is essential to take charge to prevent serious health problems in later life.

I decide that NOW is the time to grasp the nettle and create new healthy eating and exercise habits for the rest of my life.

I want to lose at least one and half stone (eight kilos) and become lithe and agile again and fit into pretty dresses and suits (and give my pants and t-shirts a rest!)

I want to be revitalised so I can work out in the gym and get fit and strong for all the strenuous activities I aspire to over the coming years (not all at once) such as travelling, hiking, cycling, kayaking, swimming, tennis, horse riding, snow skiing and dancing.

I want to WORK productively without stress and bad habits for three more decades. Like most people, I have to balance my time in front of the computer screen with physical activities.

I want to be fit, healthy and slim for another reason; to be an example of good health as a vegan and activist for ethical eating so I can influence others to Go Veggie. It is part of my world domination plan.

I want every human being on the planet to stop killing and eating animals. We now kill 57 billion animals every year for food, causing our fellow creatures immense pain, suffering and death, when tragically meat-eating is entirely unnecessary and unhealthy and the cause of most illness and disease and the abhorrent meat industry is the root cause of most environmental damage. Visit Viva!

Morne suggests that I visualise my future self, the New Me, whenever I feel discouraged and lose motivation. So I have a mental picture of myself looking Ab Fab!

But in my wretched state that first day, as a touching role reversal, my lovely husband, Andrew together with Morne, a big muscular body builder, went shopping at the health food store to buy all the Super Foods I need for the program.

By Day Two my body has stabilised and accepted the deprivation of my tea and toast ritual and is gearing up for all the life-giving goodies. I’m a little light-headed but the vast quantity of food and water ensures I’m not hungry.

I clear out my food cupboard and fridge and make up my own delicious salad oil with a potent combo of Hemp seed oil, Flax oil, Bragg Liquid Aminos seasoning, garlic and lemon juice. I start to really enjoy the Big Salad in a whole new way, crunching and munching and savouring the taste sensations then follow up with veggie soup.

The program allows you to eat carbohydrates for dinner, but NO bread or pasta. I can get my carb fix from brown rice OR potato, not both at once. Bliss! I love my spuds! And I eat lentil burgers, tofu or hummus for protein.

Day Three, Morne visits for a pep talk and takes my measurements. Reality bites. How depressing! My weight has crept up to 68 kilos and I aim to shed at least eight kilos. And my waistline is missing in action! And those bat wings are ready for take off!

By Thursday, Day Four, I am laughing at the irony of this so-called ‘diet’. I am eating so much more than normal. The point is to consume vast quantities of super healthy, life-giving fresh fruit and veggies to replenish and revitalise the whole body.

And it sure is time-consuming chopping up all the good stuff. I just grated an apple, beetroot and carrot to add to my spinach leaves, bean sprouts, red peppers, tomato and avocado. And that’s just for me!

This afternoon it’s veggie soup and lots of water. And I’m off to the health food store for more supplies and my favourite bargain store, Argos to buy a juicer.

Friday morning, though usually confounded by gadgets, I persist and get sorted with the bits and bobs of the juicer and make a delicious brew of apple, pear, ginger with spinach leaves and cucumber. Now I know what you’re thinking, something like ‘How vile!’ but to my utter surprise, it is delicious because the sweet of the fruit overpower the greens. There’s a lesson in that, Sweetness Rules!

Slow food is the antithesis of fast food. A Macca’s burger can be purchased in minutes and wolfed down in seconds. Healthy food takes time in shopping for fresh ingredients (I am now the smiley Sri Lankan man’s favourite customer at the Fruit and Veg store around the corner) all that peeling and chopping, then the munching and crunching and the big clean up! But maybe this is how it should be, since food is the essence of our survival. Maybe meals should be a purposeful ritual as they is in so many other cultures.

Saturday, out shopping at Westfield at Shepherd’s Bush with beautiful daughter, Justine, I bust out from my regime and have a decaf soy latte, known to gay waiters as the ‘Why Bother’ cup of coffee! Usually I love the creamy texture but after a week of pure alkaline fruit and veg, it tastes acidic and icky.

In a masterstroke of forward planning, I buy two new dresses in Size 12, to slide into when I reach my goal weight. Now some people might buy new clothes as a reward at the end of a diet, but, always the optimist, I preer to give myself a tangible incentive!

We meet Andrew in the city for dinner at funky Leon’s on the Strand and Jus and I have the veggie and bean curries and brown rice, proving it is possible to eat out and stick with healthy dishes. We see the delightfully entertaining stage show, Legally Blonde. I sit clutching my water, while Andrew indulges in ice cream at interval!

Sunday sees me at Gina’s birthday lunch sharing in a superb healthy feast, once again proving to myself it is possible to socialise without falling off the wagon.

Monday brings me to my first treatment of electrotherapy. I am rigged up to a machine with 32 pads placed over my body and experience a gentle pulsating sensation for a 40 minute session as the currents stimulate the tissue to break down fat and release toxins into the lymphatic system.

This is Morne and Natalja’s secret asset in the quest for weight loss and super health and in conjunction with the pure diet promises to be powerful. I am privileged to be the first client to use the new kit! And I am glad to have some extra help from technology!

But most of all I am grateful to have human help along the way. Changing comfortable habits is tough but essential to growth. I feel more balanced mentally and emotionally as well as physically after just one week.

Thanks Morne for kick starting me on the road to health! Read more about the program at Elixir wellbeing

Middle-Aged Invisibility

Women complain that they become invisible in public from the age of 45. Middle-aged women are ignored by service staff everywhere, especially if they are part of a couple. The man automatically seizes the focus of attention from waitresses, sales assistants and even strangers hanging about in airport terminals.

Travelling with my husband from Australia to London provided an opportunity to observe this absurd phenomenon, which would be highly amusing if I was not on the receiving end. When you are treated as invisible, it is not so much like having a super power, as downright insulting.

On our last connecting flight from Zurich after a long, weary journey, my husband struck up a conversation with the businessman seated next to him. He chatted for five minutes, which was pleasantly polite, but when he continued the conversation for the entire flight, while ignoring me, I was hurt and teary.

His choice was short-sighted. It was me he would be cuddling up to in the B & B that night, not the big-noting Canadian. It is the wise husband who has a brief courteous exchange with a fellow passenger then turns his attention back to his wife!

When we made it to the Hire Cars at London Airport, I stood guard with the luggage while my husband approached the counter where there were three services to choose from. He called out to me “Do you have a preference?” I didn’t want to leave the luggage to walk up to him with a discreet answer.

We were travelling on a budget, so I replied loudly “The cheapest one I suppose.” In that split second, a young woman seated nearby shot him a smile and he smiled back, sharing a joke at my expense. I flushed, not with a power surge, but a twinge of betrayal and a jolt of embarrassment.

News flash. Husbands, it is not your job to amuse people in public places especially when your wife is the butt of the joke. It is not your job to be a charming people-pleaser. It IS your job, the one you signed up for, to show respect to your wife.

Australian balladeer John Williamson reckons that being True Blue is standing by your mate when she’s in a fight (or a tight spot at an airport or during an awkward moment at a cocktail party). It means showing unwavering loyalty to your best buddy even when she’s behaving badly!

I believe such an act of kindness is called extending grace. You offer undeserved support and smooth over her social blunders because she’s your Number One ahead of all casual acquaintances.

Granted, you can not control other people. It seems that women of all ages, from teenagers to old ladies, are biologically programmed to flirt with men of all ages, shapes and dubious features. My middle-aged husband, despite his salt and pepper ‘George Clooney’ spikes is apparently still attractive to younger women.

Most men with a pulse are suckers for a random female smile or stray flirtation, while pleading naïve innocence. However a clever husband resists the fleeting ego kick of momentary female flattery in preference for the flesh and blood woman by his side (even if she has more curves than the stick-figure in jeans). The mature man knows the difference between snacking on junk and feasting on wholesome nourishing meals!

When we arrived at the Real Estate office, I clued up my husband to let me do the talking as I had been emailing the office for weeks. I engaged the attention of the forty-something woman for five minutes before her eyes shifted to Him seated on the couch behind me.

She proceeded to lock eye contact, explaining the availability of rental houses in earnest, even moving to sit next to him to show the local listings up close! Despite my campaign of rapport-building emails, I was snubbed as a second-class citizen and tag-along wife.

So this is the curse of being a woman over 45. You are regularly treated with disdain by other women. Whatever happened to the sisterhood? Or perhaps this fierce competition and ruthless rivalry for male attention is symptomatic of a desperate divorce-wrecked society?

As if female disdain is not bad enough, male interest in middle-aged chooks is zero. Middle-aged blokes can apparently impress young chickie-babes but we are invisible in public to all males under 70 who can still master bladder control and possess their own teeth. Spunky young guys just see Mother.

The one consolation Baby Boomer wives can hope for is loyalty from a True Blue husband who appreciates the flirty gal he married all those years ago; his travelling buddy for life who will patiently pose for his happy snaps, laugh at his corny jokes and stroke his salt and pepper hair long after the skinny thing in denim has turned her pearly whites on another deluded middle-aged ‘George Clooney’.

Letting Go of Grown-Up Kids

Leaving home is a process. Sometimes we must rip off the band-aid fast and feel the sting; other times ease it off gently.

Number One son, Daniel had launched himself into adult life in spectacular style a few years before. He is now a successful entrepreneur and acclaimed public speaker. Eventually it was Justine’s turn.

The first time our beautiful daughter left home she was 17, straight out of high school as a dazzling, award-scooping High Achiever.

In a blaze of glory she moved to Brisbane city, an hour’s monotonous drive from our Sunshine Coast home. We helped her transport her stuff to the tiny flat with her gal pal and toasted her freedom with a cup of tea over bulging cardboard boxes.

I wandered around our empty house howling, bereft. My grief was premature however. She missed her friends and drove that tedious stretch home every weekend. We relished the whirlwind of her arrival and were dizzily swept up in her hectic social life.

The next year she moved back into her old room to go to college. In Australia we call this moving out and moving back home syndrome a case of Boomerang Kids. How long does a kid act like a boomerang? For some families it lasts throughout their twenties as depicted in the amusing Aussie TV show Packed To The Rafters. But not for us.

Like a magnet, Justine attracted a glittering array of exuberant teenagers. Every night giggling, glamorous, leggy girls would file through our corridor as my husband Andrew and I sat in our PJs watching episodes of Cold Feet, waving and smiling feebly at the youthful parade, feeling frumpy, self-conscious and obsolete.

Our Super Girl landed a plum job in a flash and hoards of the young and beautiful took over the house when, in a neat Baby Boomer twist, we the parents, took off to live for a few months in London and travel the States.

While we gallivanted, Justine and four girlfriends experienced sorority life in the House of Babes; her obligatory taste of communal living with all its delights and challenges!

When we returned from our globe trotting, our baby girl, at the tender age of 20, was ready to leave home for good. The pretty bird had found her wings and was poised to fly the nest, to pursue a career as a film actor.

When we waved her onto that plane, faces streaked with tears, this time we really did confront the bleak silence of the Empty Nest Syndrome.

But leaving home properly is an essential rite of passage en route to adulthood. It is a sad irony that parents, especially mums, if we do our job right and raise strong, capable, independent adults, are destined to be abandoned; at least in that initial wrench.

In Changes That Heal, psychologist Dr Henry Cloud outlines the stages of human development. First, children bond with their mothers, then they must separate from them in order to ‘individuate’; in order to break free from enmeshment and become independent, mature individuals.

As mums, we must encourage our adult kids to leave us. Cheer them on. Take the lead. Be gung-ho. It is the toughest, most brutal call to cut the umbilical cord once and for all. But cut we must.

Some mothers refuse to let their kids grow up. They don’t understand that standing up for themselves in their late teens and early twenties is just another stage of growth. Young adults are hard-wired to leave home as surely as babies must crawl and cruise and walk.

Some mothers cling to the cosy dependency of infancy. They want the bliss of bonding forever. But that kind of smothering only breeds resentment and inhibits maturity. If grown-up kids fail to individuate and master every aspect of adult life, they can form unhealthy co-dependencies in marriage.

If parents are courageous and wise enough to encourage them to leave without guilt or fear, we will be blessed with a new kind of mature relationship when our children blossom into assertive adults; an equal relationship, full of mutual respect and honesty.

In an exhilarating surprise, Empty Nesters discover that we are simultaneously faced with the opportunity to have another shot at becoming strong, independent individuals ourselves in what author Gail Sheehy, in New Passages, calls our ‘Second Adulthood’. I wholeheartedly suggest parents seize their second chance with both hands.

So months after Justine had flown off and made her own nest in Shepherd’s Bush, we knew the ‘leaving home’ ritual was complete and it was safe to take off ourselves. So we landed, dazed and jetlagged, on her doorstep but the very next day started house hunting and instantly found ourselves new digs in West London.

Our little girl officially reached adulthood and returned to Australia to a 21^st birthday surprise party thrown by her flamboyant boyfriend, Andy. He gave beautiful Venetian masks to all the young guests dressed in stunning evening wear before limousines gracefully transported them to a charming restaurant in the lush hinterland. Justine celebrated her milestone in grand style. Once again we cried with overwhelming pride.