Is it possible to dance sober?

Back at the start of January I wrote my ‘goodbye letter to alcohol’ which laid out my reasons for stopping drinking and highlighted the things I was most afraid of without alcohol by my side. I was scared my husband wouldn't want to be married to a teetotal wife; I was afraid my friends would find me boring; I was fearful I'd never have the confidence to dance on a table or belt out karaoke again; and I was scared no one would choose to hang out with me.  However over the past 10 months I have realised that David and my marriage runs far deeper than a vat of Merlot.  In fact through banishing alcohol, I have also banished my destructive mood swings, leading to a far more harmonious partnership.  As I've made this transition to a sober existence I have also become aware of  just how incredibly supportive and solid my friendship group is - booze or no booze, they're still there.  I was also quite taken aback by just how little time it took for me to feel brave enough to wail down a karaoke microphone without a bottle in the other hand.  However, dancing... well, I'd just written off dancing as something that was firmly relegated to my pissed up past.

In Catherine Gray's 'The Unexpected Joy of Being Sober', she describes the moment when, after becoming sober, she finally stopped caring about what other people thought about her dancing and she was 'able to leap around the dance floors with wild abandon'.  I remember reading it and thinking that would never be me.  I had never in my life danced without alcohol obliterating my inhibitions and I didn't think that I was capable of starting in my mid-forties.  Nevertheless, this past weekend I had a major sober epiphany.  On Friday night I attended Clockenflap, Hong Kong's annual music festival, and I was watching an Aussie DJ duo called Peking Duk who were just brilliant.  Before I knew it, I was leaping around like no one was watching and loving every moment of it.  The music was amazing, the atmosphere was brilliant, I was totally in the mood and the music got me.  I quickly realised that no one was looking at me dancing or judging me, and it was easy to let go and dance like a crazy lady.  I loved it.  That night I danced 16,000 steps according to my fitness tracker!

Once I'd broken my dancing duck, so to speak, there was no stopping me!  The following night I went to the Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club Regatta Ball and danced a further 18,000 steps, then the following night I was back at Clockenflap and rounded off my weekend by smashing the 20,000 dance step mark!  The high I felt this weekend having conquered one of my biggest sober barriers was quite exhilarating.  Now I know that there is nothing enjoyable that I did under the influence of alcohol that is not entirely possible, and unequivocally better, without it.

OK, so dancing sober may not seem like such a biggie to anyone who can throw some shapes on the dance floor, but when you have the grace and dance moves of a baby elephant, then this is a milestone.  Quitting drinking and feeling comfortable in my skin as a non-drinker has taken time, but ten months down the line, I feel I can hand on heart say that I have finally got there. None of my preconceived fears about not drinking have been realised and nowadays I simply see alcohol as the dragging anchor that was preventing me from moving forward with my life.  Now I have cut myself free, I am hurtling towards endless possibilities.  Brace yourself dance floors of Hong Kong... I've found my dancing shoes!

I really hope you find this useful and if you want to ask me any questions about my experience of getting sober, please do post a comment or privately message me at dreamscheming@gmail.com.

The repentant Walders

When I lived in London, all too frequently that 'one quiet drink' after work turned into several, and before you knew it you were dancing until the early hours on a Tuesday night, conveniently forgetting about the client presentation you had to give the following day.  Living on the south coast of England things changed a little as everyone drove to work, which meant that 'one quiet drink' with colleagues always was just that.  Already I have witnessed plans going awry in Hong Kong with a foreboding sense of deja-vu.

On Tuesday night David and I met up with a friend of David's who was visiting Hong Kong for a couple of days.  The plan was to go for a civilised dinner in Soho and then head home at a sensible time.  Things veered off course when we were sitting outside a bar having a pre-dinner glass of wine when Dave's new friend Lars happened to be passing on his way home from work, and decided to join us.  One drink turned into two and then our stomachs insisted it was feeding time.  After a fantastic Chinese meal accompanied by copious wine, it seemed too early to call it a night, so we paraded back to a lively bar for more drinks.  Needless to say, once that bar shut, it still seemed too early to head home, so we dusted off our dancing shoes and took ourselves off to a fine Hong Kong late night drinking and dancing establishment - which came complete with a DJ who was stuck in the 90's and a plethora of hookers.  It was only after we had demonstrated to Hong Kong that we had the dance moves of Justin Timberlake - and the place closed around us - that we took our weary legs back home.

Waking up at around lunchtime, I was overwhelmed with drunken remorse and reluctantly donned my gym kit to drag myself up The Peak.  I'm not going to lie to you - it hurt... everything hurt... but I did it nonetheless.

To compensate for our night of excess, David and I decided to have an early night last night so we could get up at 6am to walk up to Pinewood Battery.  Fortunately, last night we managed to avoid bumping into any bad influences and the repentant Walders stuck to their plans and made it to Pinewood Battery before David headed to work this morning.  Here is the evidence:

Already I can see that as we make new friends here in Hong Kong, the likelihood of bumping into people we know on our way home on the escalator is going to be a worryingly common occurrence.  Therefore the need for an iron will is going to be mandatory for David and I to avoid repenting our way up The Peak, regularly, first thing in the morning.  Wish us luck - I think we are going to need it.

Waking up with Psy

Well I think you can safely say that you have had a good night when you wake up to find a Psy 'Gangnam Style' dancing doll in your handbag the following morning!

It is strange that what seems like a fantastic idea/purchase after a vat of sauvignon blanc seems a little odd in the cold light of day.  However, I am sure that Poppy and Bertie will be delighted with my drunken shopping once I can find a post office so I can send it to Spain.

Home sweet home

The quest to find your perfect des res in the world's third most expensive city after Monaco and London, is a daunting challenge.  We knew when we were planning our move that we were going to have to downsize considerably from our three bedroom detached house with a garden, to something far more compact, for a far higher price.  Before my arrival in Hong Kong I spent many nights dream scheming and investigating the best areas for us to live in while we made friends and found our feet, and exactly what we could get for our money in these areas.  From browsing the property listings, it soon became apparent that things that we take as a given when we are moving into a new home - are considered a luxurious attribute here.  Such as 'bathroom with ceiling thermo ventilator' or 'bedroom with wardrobe'.

It wasn't until David arrived here and made the mistake of telling me that he was at a loose end one weekend - that I gained my 'on the ground' guinea pig - who I could email details of rental properties I liked the look of and cajole into arranging viewings.  Rapidly it became clear that the words 'cosy' and 'boutique' are simply estate agent acronyms for tiny and minute.  If an apartment is advertised as '2 bedrooms' - it doesn't necessarily mean that there is room to cram a bed in the second bedroom.  And we soon realised that key words to seek out were 'queen size bed', 'lots of storage' and 'new deco'.

So after a couple of false starts David finally found our new home with a queen size bed, lots of storage, new deco - and not forgetting the bathroom with ceiling thermo ventilator - on Peel Street in the Mid Levels.  In my opinion it is 'cosy' and 'boutique' but the location is perfect and I think we will be very happy here.

The queen size bed

Lots of storage

New deco

Pounding up The Peak

When I packed my gym kit and trainers in the luggage I brought with me on the plane, even I wondered why I hadn't just sent them in the shipping boxes as they were taking up valuable suitcase space.  Besides, I knew they wouldn't actually be used, well not until I got a job and could afford to become a member of a swanky gym where I could trot on a running machine while watching MTV and pretending I looked just like Jessica Ennis.  So, it was with consternation that I found myself pulling on my jogging bottoms and trainers on day one in Hong Kong.

When David had suggested a walk up to The Peak I had leapt at the idea as I had never made it up there on my previous visit to Hong Kong.  What I had failed to grasp was that The Peak was called 'The Peak' because it is 'the top of something', and being 'the top of something' this would involve enduring one of my least favourite things in the world - walking uphill.  I suppose I had envisaged a gentle road winding its way to the top and David said nothing to suggest otherwise - I was misled.

The one redeeming factor was that the weather was cool.  Having said that I had broken into a sweat after the first set of steps before we had even reached the road leading to the trail to take us to The Peak.  Being alone for the past couple of months David has had plenty of time to fill and has clearly kept himself occupied by hiking up the many hills of Hong Kong.  So while he pounded up the steep path with relative ease, I plodded behind trying not to listen to my breathing getting heavier and heavier.  Feeling plump and self-conscious I attempted to gulp for air quietly as a steady stream of fitness fanatics jogged smugly past my lumbering carcass.  And I kept my head bowed, hiding the salty sweat streaming down my face, as the slender Asian's snaked back down the trail without so much as a bead of sweat between them.

To add to the humiliation I had David jogging on the spot beside me and 'cattle-prodding' me up the hill, as I heaved myself up the slope.  Every now and then I would stop to point out that the wooden signposts indicated that we were still too many thousands of metres from the top.  And just as I was on the verge of physically abusing my husband for making me endure this torture, the path evened out and we were walking along a flat road and the high-pitched wail of Chinese music could be heard drifting along from The Peak.

As the pheromones engulfed me and I could breathe normally again, I forgot about the hell of scaling The Peak and was overcome by a satisfying sense of achievement.  I rewarded myself with some fish shao mai from Seven Eleven.

I've decided that walking up steep hills must be a bit like child birth because when David leapt out of bed the following morning and suggested that we walk to Pinewood Battery - I happily agreed.  Thirty minutes later as I was scaling endless flights of stone steps, my thighs were burning and sweat had plastered my hair to my head, I wondered how I could have possibly forgotten how excruciating this uphill exercise is.  However the thought of the fat melting from my elephantine thighs and my bum becoming pert kept me going, and once again I was rewarded with an overwhelming semblance of accomplishment.

So today, as David set-off for work, I put on my gym kit for the third day in a row and headed for the trail to The Peak.  For the moment, while I am in temporary early retirement and have no excuses, I intend to do exercise every day - so while it is cool and the humidity is low, I plan to trudge up the trail to The Peak every day.  And I hope that each day it will become a little easier and each day my thighs will get a bit slimmer.

The Romantic Reunion

During my sleepless dream-scheming nights, in my run up to arriving in Hong Kong, I had visions of David and my romantic reunion in Hong Kong airport's arrivals.  In retrospect the vision of David arriving early in eager anticipation of meeting my flight, armed with a bouquet of flowers, was ill-conceived.  David is not known for his punctuality and the romance fled our relationship the first time we farted in front of each other.  So, true to form - I cleared immigration, picked-up my luggage and passed through customs before my husband had even made it on to the train from Hong Kong to the airport.

When he did finally arrive - I was slightly disappointed at the absence of any flowers.  However, brushing the disappointment aside, it was lovely to see David again after our two month separation.  And after my first lychee martini - the disappointment was soon forgotten!

Blubbing in Caviar House

One of my highlights of travelling by air tends to be the couple of hours spent pottering around the shops and deciding where to eat, once I've cleared security and before boarding the plane. This time round was different and I was completely overwhelmed by such a vast range of emotions that my time was mostly spent crying in Caviar House.

I could see the other customers' furtive glances, trying to work out my story. Maybe they were wondering if I was crying because I had just said goodbye to a lover or I was escaping abroad from a broken heart. Maybe they assumed I was laden with illegal drugs or fleeing from a nasty crime I didn't mean to commit. Or just maybe they had guessed I had kissed and hugged my parents and my perfect pooch goodbye, unsure of when I would be seeing them again. Or that I was reading heartfelt text messages from my friends or an emotional email from my husband who I hadn't seen for over two months. Or perhaps they knew I was upset that security had rifled through and ruthlessly unpacked my hand luggage, man-handled my teddy bear and my clean knickers, checked EVERYTHING for explosives and then left me, humiliated, to repack the entire contents while other travellers looked on in sympathy, amusement and/or fascination. Or maybe they could see it was the shock of receiving the extortionate bill at Caviar House after imbibing half a bottle of wine and a sea food platter for one.

Unlike any previous trips abroad, it was with some relief when I was finally able to board the plane, take my seat, hide away from people's prying eyes and focus on arriving in Hong Kong after months of dreaming about what it would be like.

Goodbye my furry friend

Besides the tough farewells to family and friends, today I have the horrible task of saying goodbye to my naughty little furry friend Winnie. Once more my brain has sprung into action at 3am, cruelly to remind me that today is the day I have been dreading for this very reason. Having had Winnie in our lives and by our sides, through the good times and the bad, for the past year and eight months, leaving her behind is a wrench for David and me.

Carie and I collected Winnie and Bear from Kent on a gorgeous sunny August day and I remember our excitement, tinged with guilt, as we drove them away from their mum and other brothers and sisters, to Hamble. Neither of us were fully aware of quite what we were letting ourselves in for. No one had mentioned to us about the sleep deprivation during the first couple of weeks when we had to get up regularly throughout the night to let them out to pee, to get them house trained. We didn't know that you couldn't leave them alone for two minutes without them scattering the contents of a bin around a room or shredding apart a new loo roll - like a possessed Andrex puppy. We hadn't considered that we may feel guilty when we locked up our playful puppies in their crates and left for work as they pawed relentlessly at the clanging doors, hoping to be set free to create more havoc. Yet despite our lack of mental preparation, neither of us would have changed our decision to get our Winnie and Bear.

There have been the lows - when I discovered Winnie had chewed my pink suede heels, followed by my red patent leather heels, and to my complete disgust, my Irregular Choice heels. There was the 'nest' I discovered under our bed which consisted of the shredded contents of our bathroom bin. The time when Winnie murdered a rabbit during a walk and then refused to drop it or come back to us when we called, until she had finished skinning and eating it. When we arrived to see a cousin's brand new house and Winnie chose to 'christen' the pristine carpet with a very liquid and pungent turd. And a particular low was returning home from a boat trip to discover the entire downstairs of our house carpeted with feathers after Winnie and Bear had chosen to have a tug-of-war with a cushion in our absence.

But her plus points have always far outweighed these 'minor' defects. The way she knows when I am feeling down and she will jump up on my knee and cuddle me - her way of telling me everything will turn out fine. How she paws me when she wants me to carry on stroking her or to share my food with her - and incidentally, she is the only person/ animal that I am prepared to share my food with. The way she digs in her food bowl to hint that she is starving and needs more, and how she literally howls with excitement to see me when I get home from work at the end of the day. The way she drags me to break into a trot when she is on the lead and the springy gazelle-like jumps for joy she does when I walk her through the woods. And her endless patience when she is bribed to do 'high-fives' and 'spins' to keep children entertained.

In the same way that a parent believes their children are the best - I am convinced that Winnie is the best dog ever. I love her unconditionally and I am going to miss her so much. Also I love my parents so much for offering to take on our perfect pooch while David and I live in Hong Kong. This has spared us the heartbreak of rehoming her and means we can be reunited with her when we return home. Thank you so much Marge and Rickster, and Annie, who has kindly relinquished her role as only dog daughter.

When dream scheming becomes reality

Dream scheming:  Random nights where thoughts and ideas flood your mind, and you suffer by not being able to fall asleep and turn the thing off.

The dream scheming started nine months ago when David first mentioned that he had been approached about a job selling yachts in China.  It appeared like a hand dragging us free from an ocean of routine, grind and tedium that had gradually become our working lives.  Until the opportunity was presented to us, neither of us realised how much we craved a change and were ready to grasp that hand and let it lead us into the unknown. 

For months I have woken up at around 3am with my brain whirring aggressively into action, relentlessly circulating thoughts, concerns, ideas and worries around my head - keeping sleep firmly at bay.  How could we leave the comfort of our home in the UK?  What would we do without our close-knit group of supportive, caring, naughty, fun friends?  Who would look after our dog, Winnie?  How would we deal with moving somewhere where we only knew each other?  Would we be able to learn Mandarin?  Was there an established expat community?  What would I do for a job?  Where would we live?  Would I have to pretend to be a good corporate wife in front of David's customers?  How would my hair cope with the heat?  Where would I get my highlights done?  Did they sell  fake tan in China?  

You name it, I've thought about it, dwelled on it, investigated it on my iPad and obsessed about what our new life in China could be like - at 3am.   And then David finally got offered a job in Hong Kong six months ago... and the dream scheming belligerently continued.  Would we be able to learn Cantonese?  Where did the expats live?  Would I get a job without being able to speak or write Cantonese and Mandarin?  How could we afford to become members of the Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club so I could pretend to be a good corporate wife in front of David's customers?  How frizzy would my hair go in the humidity?  Was there a Toni and Guy?  Did they sell  fake tan in Hong Kong?  

Now finally, the dream scheming is almost a reality and I still don't know the answer to half of my questions.  What I do know is that nothing could have prepared me for the reality of saying goodbye to my amazing family and  wonderful friends.  So many have revealed just how supportive and considerate they are.      There have been those that have been there in person or at the end of the phone whenever I've been tearful and tearing my hair out at the scale of what needed to be done to downsize our lives and move abroad.  Those that have sent me comforting text messages to check that I was coping after David left in January.  The ones that dropped everything to help me dismantle wardrobes, sofas and tables, that have driven me to my parents with furniture.  Those that have taken me out to dinner or invited me to the pub and plied me with wine and lobster.  The ones that looked after me and lent me a car the day I locked myself out of my house. The ones that have put a roof over Winnie's and my head after the tenants moved into our house.  The ones that have shared their sausage casseroles, polenta, chilli con carne, pasta, pork belly and scallops with me.  Those that have sent me daily emails full of  banter and have mopped up the tears when the reality of leaving eventually struck.  And everyone who made the effort to come to the pub to see me off and have written me cards with messages that I still can't read without choking up.  You know who you are...

And so the dream scheming continues and the next chapter begins.

"Friends are like stars - you don't have to see them to know they are there."