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His children are against us

Posted by Patricia_Marie
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on Friday, 01 November 2013
Dear Patricia Marie,

I am so delighted to have discovered that The Lady offer an agony aunt to help their followers. Could you please give me some help?

Recently I have been dating a man who is widowed with two children aged 31 and 35. We are getting on really well and are planning to travel the world together but his children are so against our relationship they have asked my friend to choose between me or them.

I am so distraught - I have a chance of personal happiness and I am fearful that it is all going to be destroyed by his selfish unthinking children.

Do you think I should just walk away and make life easier for him or should I pursue my chance of happiness and just consider my future?

Patricia Marie says...

You say you have only just met a widower, yet feel your chance of happiness is dependant on you travelling the world with him? You would be left distraught if this wasn't to happen?

There seems much pressure and expectancy not only on yourself, but on this gentleman to be responsible for your happiness.

You describe his children as selfish and unthinking. After the loss of their mother, their father is clearly very dear to them and yet in a short space of time you wanting to embark on a world trip with him must only intensify their loss and grief.

I'm wondering if you could consider things from their perspective. A meeting with these children, where you can all speak openly and discuss everyone's feelings may help.

Don't expect them to embrace you immediately, but if you are able to come to an understanding, this will be a good starting point for you all. I urge you to consider where your fear of his children destroying your happiness is coming from and would recommend embarking on some counselling sessions to explore this issue at a greater depth and enable you to hopefully find the happiness you are searching for and so deserve.

The British Association of Counselling and Psychotherapy have a directory where you can find a qualified registered therapist in your area. www.bacp.co.uk



Got a dilemma, please email Patricia.Marie@lady.co.uk
Please note, while Patricia cannot respond to all emails, she does read them all.



In need of further support? Patricia Marie offers a counselling service in Harley Street, contact details as follows

Email: patriciamarie@tenharleystreet.co.uk
Telephone number: 020 7467 8389

Walking the Horse

Posted by Tania Kindersley
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on Wednesday, 25 September 2013
This morning, on a gloomy, dreich Scottish day, with a lowering sky and the suspicion of rain in the September air, I took my horse for a walk. She was galloping round the field in the high winds of last week and managed to pull a little muscle in her shoulder, so she’s a bit too tender to ride. Instead, it seems perfectly logical to me to take her for a walk each morning.

Out of the paddock we go, through a high stone archway, past the mighty Wellingtonias, over the burn, and down the long line of beech trees to the south. Here, there is an excellent stretch of flat drive, good for conditioning her hooves. (I keep her without shoes.) An occasional car or van drives by, but there are fine wide verges where we may get out of the way, and, despite being an ex-racing thoroughbred, and so supposed to be mad in the head and skittish and spooky, she does not blink an eye even when the most rattly of lorries rolls past.

The red mare, on a sunnier day, having a good graze out in the set-aside with her friend Stanley the Dog, before we set off on our morning amble.The red mare, on a sunnier day, having a good graze out in the set-aside with her friend Stanley the Dog, before we set off on our morning amble.

This morning, a gentleman I know screeches to a halt in his big black truck. He is rocking with laughter. I wonder if I have hay in my hair or mud on my face, both of which are fairly usual occurrences. ‘I’ve seen people take their dogs for a walk,’ he says, in high merriment. ‘But I’ve never seen anyone take their horse for a walk.’ And he drives off, still laughing. My grand mare stares after him, with a de haut en bas look, as if she is Maggie Smith playing the Dowager Duchess of Grantham in Downton Abbey. (She can do dowager duchess better than any horse I’ve ever met.)

We carry on. She walks kindly on a loose rope, with her head down and her ears in their relaxed donkey position and her lower lip wobbling into a dreamy equine smile. We go through the Scots pines and the silver birches, back over the burn again, along the beech hedge, which is just starting to turn as autumn begins to get into gear, under the biggest and most venerable of the horse chestnuts, and back to the gate, where the little grey pony whickers in greeting, glad to see us back.

Part of our route, complete with dashing caninePart of our route, complete with dashing canine

I could make a fairly sensible case for walking a horse. Teaching an equine to lead politely, without pulling or barging or pushing, is a foundational pillar of horsemanship, in my view. This kind of simple daily routine builds trust, deepens the relationship between horse and human, and is a nice, relaxing thing to do. I think it’s quite important not always to ask them to do serious work, but to mix it up a bit. Sometimes, I just go and sit in the field and read a book, so that the red mare does not only associate me with action and demands and doing things. Sometimes, I think, it’s good merely to be present.

But really, it’s not what people do. The laughing gentleman is right. Most people go out and school their horses seriously, do lunging or flatwork, teach them to do side passes or flying changes, practice dressage or jumping. They have serious goals. They enter competitions. They win rosettes and shiny silver cups. I see their pictures all over the internet and wonder at their accomplishments. But the funny thing is that I get as much profound pleasure from slowly walking my grand duchess past the old oak trees, under the benign gaze of the blue hills, as I would from any number of glittering trophies. Just watching her happy face is my prize.

Searching for a ray of sunshine

Posted by Tania Kindersley
Tania Kindersley
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on Wednesday, 04 July 2012
The rain continues to fall. In the village, people gather in the shop to buy strong liquor, clearly planning to drink their way through it. The farmers look harried and fretful; the cows are downright grumpy. There is a flinty north-eastern pride in getting through the tough winters. The lower the mercury falls, the happier we seem to be. A long snow in January is greeted with a sanguine blitz spirit. The thing is, we are braced for hard weather in the dark months. This is the north of Scotland, it is what we expect. Also, there is something clean and honest about minus 16, and it often comes with a dazzling blue sky and beautiful glittering hoar frosts. This weather, on the other hand, is just sullen and soul-sapping. The sky is the colour of old socks and the land looks sodden and defeated. The blue hills are lost in filthy cloud.

People are now heard seriously discussing the jet stream, which apparently is stuck. Meteorological experts spring up everywhere. Escape plans are hatched. One of my relations said today: ‘I think we are going to drive south.’

‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘Perhaps at the tip of Cornwall you might find a ray of sun.’

‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘The South of France. The cloud goes all the way to Bordeaux.’

...

Searching for a ray of sunshine

Posted by Tania Kindersley
Tania Kindersley
Tania Kindersley has not set their biography yet
User is currently offline
on Wednesday, 04 July 2012
The rain continues to fall. In the village, people gather in the shop to buy strong liquor, clearly planning to drink their way through it. The farmers look harried and fretful; the cows are downright grumpy. There is a flinty north-eastern pride in getting through the tough winters. The lower the mercury falls, the happier we seem to be. A long snow in January is greeted with a sanguine blitz spirit. The thing is, we are braced for hard weather in the dark months. This is the north of Scotland, it is what we expect. Also, there is something clean and honest about minus 16, and it often comes with a dazzling blue sky and beautiful glittering hoar frosts. This weather, on the other hand, is just sullen and soul-sapping. The sky is the colour of old socks and the land looks sodden and defeated. The blue hills are lost in filthy cloud.

People are now heard seriously discussing the jet stream, which apparently is stuck. Meteorological experts spring up everywhere. Escape plans are hatched. One of my relations said today: ‘I think we are going to drive south.’

‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘Perhaps at the tip of Cornwall you might find a ray of sun.’

‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘The South of France. The cloud goes all the way to Bordeaux.’

...


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