Helen Highwater.

Nana's baby is back, did you see? I am slow when it comes to all this technical stuff and I would love to have a jazzy looking blog, I just don't get how to do it though. I can't understand that jargon and I'll be darned if I can work it out, all that stuff, what the blazes??
I sit here thinking that I am doing what they tell me to do and then I get all excited and hit PREVIEW....nothing, same as before unless it is all wrong, sometimes I hit preview and see such disaster I squeal and say " Ah...NO... what did I do.....where did ....Agh, quick, undo it.......phew" And then I tell myself that less is more and I should just stick with the minimalistic style, yes, let it be about the writing. So that's it, because I have no idea to put great pictures on and a jazzy title.
What would be a great title for my blog? I would love a great name.
The first one used to call me Helen Back , which I think is quite funny and actually it sort of says what my life has been like doesn't it? I feel like I really have been to Hell and Back. I am so glad I got to come back, I don't think I will go there again. Thankyou.
The other cool name would be Helen Highwater, because come Hell and high water I'm not giving in.
That post yesterday got me thinking about the person I'm not anymore. I kind of liked that person, though she had to grow up at some stage. If I were brave enough I would take some of the responsibility for many of Sophie's actions, the difference between us is that I used my fearless feistiness for the good. When I was righteously indignant about something I would go hell for leather to right the wrong. I didn't just fight for the sake of it. I have some unbelievable tales of extraordinary bursts of going to battle.
Like the time I was pregnant with Jordan, I was so sick, had the flu, had been in hospital for a few days with torn belly muscles having coughed so hard, for so long that I thought I was going to lose Jordan. At home finally, I was longing to sleep. The couple in the apartment below us, in an army camp in Germany, were a sad couple, he was a pig, she was a scared little thing a long way from home. He invited a group of soldier buddies back for a party, she was to be the slave for the night and serve them food and drinks but shut her mouth and stay out of the way.
Lovely.
She came to see us and we set up a plan, she was so afraid of him and just did not want to be the slave and have to put up with the humiliation he always put her through. She asked us to start calling at 10-11pm to ask him to stop making a noise, she thought he would listen to us, no way was she going to say stop to him.
Well, we did what she asked and she said that he had told her to tell us to F off, he'd instructed her to tell us to shut up. so we did, until after midnight when the yelling and screaming and cheering woke 20 month old Daniel up, that was enough for me. I called and she said that he wasn't listening and maybe Kevin should go and talk to him. Which he did. Within minutes there was much ado and turns out the bully had smashed a glass and gone after the first one. Uh Oh.
So, in my dressing gown, with red crusty nose and puffy eyes I ran down the concrete steps to the cellar where they party was being held. I saw, when I huffed and puffed my fat and expectant body down that many stairs, a circle of about 12 soldiers, surrounding 2 men fighting, bully on the floor trying to protect his cowardly head that my husband was punching, hard, he was holding prissy little scaredy cat bully down with one hand ( " OW OW OW! Sorry Brummie, sorry, OW OW OW Please stop...sorry!) and punching his head with the other hand ( fist)
The other men? standing like simpletons wringing their hands.
So, I stopped it, ran in and grabbed the first one by the hair, dragged him away and all the while was stating with great conviction ( and volume) that this was ridiculous and unacceptable and imploring spectators of military variety with supposed courage and strength, to LOOK YOU PATHETIC ARSEHOLES! Look at the PREGNANT WOMAN breaking up the fight!
suddenly, when big tough soldier was being held aloft by his pregnant wife, spectators sprang into action. They grabbed puny wife beating and bullying coward and held him, AHA! Thought pathetic one, am safe now so the very best thing I can do is to show bravado,
"Yeah! I'll 'ave you Brummie! Watch your back, I'll 'ave ya!"
Wrong move.
For some reason, that was the straw that broke the camels back, I was so incensed by this yellow bellied no-mark's, sudden and insincere bravery that I felt impelled to react.
"You'll WHAT? Not before I've had you snivelling twit!" ( except I didn't say twit, I said the word that is pretty much twit but so much more satisfying, yet nowhere near as ladylike)
And I hurled myself, in my husband's bathrobe ( because it had to be his, mine didn't exist and if it did it wouldn't have fit around my belly) in my bare feet, with my snotty red nose down those stairs and I went for him , fists flying and I called him every name in the book. I didn't reach him though because the first one had come out of his rage induced frenzy and had grabbed the back of his robe. I was halted, mid air and held there, with legs and fists flailing, my very best navvy swear words were dragged from the recesses of my proper mind and every one of them came spitting out at this man, whose name was Dean, I hate that name to this day, when I hear the name I feel my top lip curl and I drool because I am too ladylike to spit on the floor.
The night didn't end there. Coward was so angry at this wife that he beat his own door down and he took it out on her, the MPs came and still didn't take him away and he yelled up the stairway at me, used some choice words of his own, the first one flew down the stairs, punched the front door so hard it split and flew open, MPs posted outside got in and were chasing both men around the apartment like a badly filmed Benny Hill skit.
I saved the day twice in one evening.
I was a little shy the next day bit figured everyone else was so drunk it would have been forgotten. All was well until my friend, who was a barmaid in the Naafi came over and she asked what had happened.
I expressed my surprise that she knew anything had happened and being the good friend that she was, she told me that the whole camp knew, that I was a legend and several of the men who had been there had said things like " That brummie's a big lad, I wouldn't want to cross him, would you?"
To which another one had said " I'd rather have to face him than his missus any day!"
I swear to you that I never set foot on that base again, the whole time we lived in Germany, so ashamed and embarrassed was I.
So, I have a quick word to my son, Jordan, who said today that Mel is having an ultrasound on monday, that they are going to find out the sex and NOT TELL ANYONE EVEN ME. Listen up Jordan my son, I can break you boy, I made you and whilst I carried you, I made trained soldiers quake in their highly polished boots. Just try it. Don't mess with this Nana.