Our physical and mental health are closely related; tightly interwoven like the threads in this rich tapestry we call life. They cannot be separated from one another without damaging the fabric – if one unravels, the other surely will too.

A healthy mind needs a healthy body to reside in and nourish it; similarly, for a body to function at its optimum level it requires a sound mind at the helm, telling it what to do. You body is the puppet, its actions only as fluid and streamlined as the decisions of the puppetmaster pulling its strings – your mind.

Someone who understands the power and importance of the mind/body connection is Anton Pattenden, a boxing coach living in Kent. Having made the link many years ago, he overhauled his own lifestyle and began reaping the benefits in all aspects of his health and relationships. Keen to pass on what he’d learnt, he began coaching boys and young men in football and amateur boxing.

Fast forward to 2020, and Anton is now a licensed professional boxing coach at Honour And Glory, complete with a fully-equipped boxing gym in the grounds of his Sidcup home. He has witnessed on many occasions the transformative power of exercise in general, and boxing in particular, on the people he trains.

“It’s incredible,” he says. “People who are suffering with chronic anxiety and depression – even PTSD in some cases – have shown a complete shift in their mental state after regular sessions in the ring. Even those who were so traumatised they could barely make eye contact or hold a conversation have totally come out of their shell. You can see the change in these guys’ personalities – and in particular their eyes – as well as their physiques and fitness levels. Their eyes are shining by the end of a session.”

The current pandemic has seen cases of mental health issues soar, with people who may have been struggling prior to lockdown now more isolated and in need of support than ever before. Which is why Anton’s new brainchild, Healthy Minds, a charitable organisation aimed at helping people with mental health issues through the restorative powers of boxing, could not have come at a better time:

“My aim is to help as many people as I can by building their self-esteem and reducing symptoms of stress and anxiety through these training sessions, as well as providing the social interaction that comes with being part of a boxing club; meeting new sparring partners and making new connections.”

Anton’s vision is to connect with other local mental health services and charitable organisations in order that they could cross-refer one another’s services, working together to give their members a multi-pronged, holistic approach to their recovery. He has plans for twice-weekly workshops and a brand new site lined up which is large enough to host them.

This scheme could be a lifeline for those struggling with the crippling effects of depression and anxiety, but is not without a struggle of its own: the one to fund it. Which is where you come in.

In recent months, Anton and his team have been busy training for various fundraising activities, including recently completing a 5-peak climb in the Brecon Beacons, and a gruelling SAS trial. Next week sees the team tackling their toughest challenge yet: the Three Peaks Challenge. This task involves climbing three mountains (Ben Nevis, Snowden and Scafell Pike) spanning three countries (Scotland, Wales and England) in 24 hours. He also has ‘fun walks’ factored in to support the cause, involving multiple 5k coastal hikes. Anton envisages that these types of fundraising missions will become annual events; by bringing people together to participate in these physical challenges they will strengthen all aspects of their health as well as forging social connections whilst simultaneously raising funds for the cause. It’s a win-win.

With so many people, and young men in particular, at grave risk of rapidly spiralling into the depths of depression, accelerated by the current pandemic, this campaign has taken on a particular urgency. Anton, his team, and their supporters are eager to get more of these sessions underway, in order to avoid vulnerable people sinking into the quicksand of mental illness.

Would you like to take part in a challenge to raise funds for Honour And Glory: Healthy Mind? Do you know someone who is struggling with mental health issues who might benefit from the Healthy Mind project? Or would you prefer to show your support by making a donation to this very worthy cause?

Mental illness is something any one of us could succumb to at some point in our lives, due to life events and difficult circumstances, so can we afford NOT to help?

Contact Anton on 07544 737278, or email him at ap@boxingandfitness.co.uk. To make a donation please follow the link below:

https://www.justgiving.com/crowdfunding/anton-pattenden

Thank you for reading, and for your support.

Sam x

Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.ifyouboozeyoulose.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (lifeabirdseyeview)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Healthy Body, Healthy Mind appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

I’ve always valued experiences over things, and this is never clearer in my mind than upon returning from South East Asia, where people have far less stuff but always seem so much happier than us Western folk. Can you relate?

The Thing About Things 

The thing about things
Is that objects can’t talk
They won’t laugh at your jokes
Or come out for a walk

The thing about things
Is that stuff gathers dust
It clutters your house
Or turns into rust

The thing about things
Is they can’t make you better
They won’t say the right thing
Or cheer you up with a letter

The problem with things
Is the buzz won’t last long
You hand over your money
But what’s wrong is still wrong

The things that we buy
To fill holes that we’ve found
In our souls end up filling
Big holes in the ground

So whenever you think about buying a thing
Consider the happiness it may bring
If the thing won’t benefit your heart or your head
Put it back on the shelf
And buy an adventure instead.

Sam x

Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post The Thing About Things appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

G’Day Birds Eye Viewers!How are you all on this dull February morning?Now, those of you who know me personally and not just via the blog will already know that I’m something of a motormouth. I have a tendency towards being pretty full on: turbo-charged and as nutty as a tray of Ferrero’s at the Ambassador’s Reception. Some of you may remember my previous podcast recorded with Washington DC-based podcasters Sip And Shine.

Trying to get a word in edgeways when I’m on one is no mean feat…as Mike Douglas, creator of the mental health podcast Mike’s Open Journal, was about to find out, when he invited me onto his show to talk about my experiences with mental health issues, specifically in relation to infertility, IVF and marriage breakdown, as described in this blog post…

                              
Having had his own experience of mental health issues and also a marriage breakdown and no children, Mike and I have plenty in common. Unfortunately what we don’t have in common is the same calm and controlled style of speech, so listening to Mike’s even and lilting tone will be soothing and easy to listen to; my own hyper and breathless babbling…not so much.

I wonder which one’s me…? photo credit

So apologies for the frantic pace of my chatter – oh, and the fact that I sound like Pat Butcher from Eastenders…and say “yeah” a thousand times. Believe it or not, despite the mile-a-minute rambling, I actually don’t like the sound of my own voice that much. Let’s just say I make Bianca Jackson sound posh.

Anyway, thanks for listening! I hope I don’t send your blood pressure soaring and you can listen with a nice cuppa, and not require a vodka and a fistful of statins to get through the hour-long episode….

 To listen to the podcast click here




Listen to Mike’s other episodes 
Follow Mike’s Open Journal on Twitter

Who, me? I don’t know what you mean… photo credit

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post I’m a guest on Mike’s Open Journal Podcast appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

The post Vote for me in the UK Blog Awards 2017! appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

The invitation to test the Essential Teatox 14-day detox couldn’t have landed in my inbox at a better time: a few days before my eventful trip to India.

To me, this was a green light to scrap the beach yoga and instead indulge in all the calorific curries and Kingfisher beers my little pot-belly could handle, safe in the knowledge that immediately upon my return I could flip the kettle on and brew up some evil-tasting concoction that would magically melt away the evidence of my gluttony.

Now I’m not overweight – my BMI is 22 – and at almost 6ft tall I have a lot of body to fill, BUT – having turned the big (whisper it!) 4-0 this year, I’ve decided to take a bit more care of myself. Let’s face it, the only place a muffin top looks good is on a muffin. And I’d been no stranger to the M&S bakery…

So I ditched the cigs and am eating my veggies like a good girl. Unfortunately ‘smoke-free’ is not synonymous with ‘sugar-free’: my taste buds – suddenly reawakened – start twerking furiously at the prospect of a cinnamon bun. I’m no GI (Glycaemic Index) Jane; I’m more familiar with Kettle Chips than kettle bells, admittedly. But I’m getting there. Kinda. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love a prosecco (or 3), and I’m still partial to the odd Big Mac, but Rome wasn’t built in a day (and neither was Gisele’s body).

So I was sitting on the beach in Goa, eyeing my physique appraisingly. Hmmm, hardly the stone cold fox I’d envisaged. More an urban fox. You know the ones: weathered; mangy-looking; furiously tearing open rubbish bags with their teeth in search of scraps; existing on a diet of old tea bags, sandwich crusts and discarded bacon rind…and perhaps the occasional small child if they can squeeze through an unlocked suburban cat-flap.

“You’re in shape, darling,” soothed Andy, in an attempt to rebuild my flagging body confidence. “Oh yeah,” I replied, resignedly…..”the shape of a barrel,” vowing to take action upon my return…

As soon as I squeezed (sideways) through the door when I arrived home, I tore at the packaging with my teeth (see, fox?) and scrutinised the contents. Hmmm. The teabags themselves are aesthetically pleasing: silky little pyramids; high quality. It was the contents that I was more dubious about: bits of bark and plant material. Well, it certainly looks organic, I thought. A few minutes later I took a tentative sip of my new brew…..and was pleasantly surprised. I expected rank-tasting swamp water….but it’s actually….very nice. No involuntary screwface. The licorice sweetens it nicely, and there’s no bitter aftertaste. Result!

In the evening, I steel my tastebuds for the PM blend. Again, to my surprise, it tastes fresh and sweet. The detox is simplicity itself: a tea each morning and a different blend every other evening. I made the decision not to adjust my diet or exercise regime at all for 2 reasons:

1. I don’t diet or have an exercise regime, and
2. I wanted to ensure any results were 100% down to the tea.

Over the coming days, I find myself looking forward to my Teatox. I know people are always sceptical about these things, and I was too, but I swear I saw an uplift in my energy, and my mood, within a few days. Even if this was partly the placebo effect, caused by me feeling all virtuous and thus projecting a smugly satisfied glowing aura, then surely even that’s a good thing?

The list of ingredients is impressive, all renowned for their energising and slimming properties, so I’m convinced there’s a bit more at work than my imaginary shiny halo. Judge for yourself:

The programme costs £19.99, so 95p per cup: a third of the price of my usual coffee-shop skinny hot choc with chocolate sprinkles (and yes, I’m fully aware that there’s really no such thing as a skinny hot chocolate thank-you-very-much), and leaves me feeling far more energised than the over-priced Starbucks sugar-rush that’s soon followed by a crash. The only place I lose weight with my regular beverage is my purse, as I empty all my hard-earned coins onto the counter.

As the tea tastes so good, I leave the teabag in whilst drinking to make it as strong as possible, and even find myself topping up the hot water a further few times to really get the most out of each bag. This is not in the guidelines, but I figure you may as well get maximum benefit and value from the detox, right?

A week in, and I’m feeling great. On a night out with my girlfriends I feel confident and happy in my silky dress and get a few cheesy compliments from some randoms in the pub. I’m not in the market for a new fella, but it’s nice to be appreciated nonetheless, hey?

Working in retail at Christmas time is flat-out busy, and I often resort to double-dropping Pro Plus in a desperate attempt to pep up my flagging energy levels with caffeine (since I hate coffee and you need arms like Popeye’s for the mammoth stock deliveries), but during the detox I find I’m awake before the alarm and don’t feel tired during the day at all. My sleep is better too: although I still wake up super-early, I’m not waking as much during the night.

At the end of the 2 weeks, I’m sad to see my tea supplies come to an end. I haven’t lost weight (unsurprising, considering I’ve had fast food a few times, boozy nights out with the girls and my usual sneaky snacks), yet I definitely feel less bloated, more energised, and happier overall with my figure.

Would I use Essential Teatox again? Yes – particularly before a holiday or a special occasion. Who knows, next time I may even combine it with a healthier diet and some exercise to get the maximum slink-factor. Stranger things have happened (erm, it begins with T and ends in ‘rump’).

Oh, and did I mention I’m also a Victoria’s Secret model now? Best keep schtum for the time being – it’s such a secret that even Victoria doesn’t know…

Seriously though, I’m bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and feeling fierce. So you wanna be a Stone Cold Fox?  Get Teatox 

Use code TEATOX10 for 10% off when placing your order.
For a chance to try the 14-day Teatox for FREE,  enter my competition here.*

UPDATE: This competition is now closed and the winner has been chosen at random. Congratulations to Kirsten Hyde – your Teatox is winging it’s way to you!

Find more opinions and reviews on Essential Teatox via Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

*Competition T&Cs:

– the competition will run from Monday 5th December until 11.59pm on 30th December GMT.
– entrants must be UK residents aged 18 and over.
– all entries to be completed using the Rafflecopter link above.
– all entries will be checked and verified.
– the winner will be chosen at random from all valid entries.
– the winner will be announced by the 5th Jan (emailed as well as via social media and as a blog update).
– the winner will have 72hrs to respond with their details, otherwise a new winner will be picked following the same procedure.

Thanks for entering – good luck!

Sam x

Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Wanna be a Stone Cold Fox? Get Teatox! appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

With my brain still pickled from celebrating (commiserating?) a recent landmark birthday, and having dashed straight from a two-day business conference, it’s fair to say that I arrive for my appointment at The Floatworks feeling somewhat frazzled. I’ve been burning my 40-year-old candle at both ends and despite my best efforts with the make-up, it shows.I get off the rammed Victoria Line tube at Vauxhall and head straight for my float session, tired feet aching in towering heels, and am relieved to discover it’s merely a stone’s throw from the station, nestled amongst plush residential apartments in St George Wharf.I am greeted by two fresh-faced, smiling young staff, who shake my hand warmly and politely introduce themselves, before offering me some water and a comfy seat and handing me a health and safety sheet to read. There is a pleasant aroma wafting throughout and a flat screen TV on the wall plays hypnotic psychedelic patterns enhanced by chilled background music, which all contribute to the relaxed ambiance.

“How deep is the water?….And how much salt?” I ask skeptically, contemplating the enormous corporate buffet I inhaled at lunchtime. It’s gonna take a whole load of epsom salts to get THIS body a-floatin’….

Soon, my pod is ready and I’m led into a room where my i-Sopod awaits. Sounds futuristic? Well, it looks it too : a huge shiny egg with a lightweight lid sits surrounded by a calming blue light. The water inside is around 25cm deep, and about half a kilo of magnesium-rich Epsom salts are added to create a super-buoyant detox soup.

I need all the kidney cleansing I can get right now, so I take a quick shower and hop right in, slowly lowering the lid on my watery tomb. I have reservations that the pod will feel as claustrophobic as a coffin, but to my relief it’s actually very spacious, and the high curved roof contributes to the airy feel. The water is so salty that it’s impossible to lay on the bottom, and I instantly bob on the surface like a careworn rubber duck.

During the first ten minutes the lights gradually dim and soft music is played which fades out whilst I adjust to my surroundings, until I’m left floating in the pitch darkness. Initially, I’m lying rigid with my arms stiff by my sides, but as my tense limbs become accustomed to the sensation I start to unfurl and I’m soon star-shaped and weightless.

As the water is body temperature and I’m engulfed in blackness, it’s impossible to feel which parts of your body are submerged, and I have to physically touch them to find out. Fortunately, for a die-hard make-up wearer such as myself, there’s no danger of your face getting wet. I already removed my face make-up in the shower, but this means I don’t have to worry about panda eyes with mascara ending up somewhere around my knees, plus you’re advised to dry your face before entering the pod. With this level of saltiness, you’re certainly not going to want to get it in your eyes, much less ingest any!

Similarly, if you have any cuts it’s sure going to sting, so those thoughtful reception staff hand you a few packs of petroleum jelly at the outset to apply to those areas. Shaving your legs (or any other area for that matter!) beforehand is a definite no-no.  However, these pre-float precautions are worth the effort, as the benefits of soaking in this high concentration of Epsom salts seem endless: from eliminating migraines to lowering blood pressure, reducing stress levels, improving circulation, concentration, reducing toxins – the list goes on…

I’m no hippified yoga bunny, quite the reverse, so I’m hardly expecting some transcendental spiritual experience – and none comes – but I am acutely aware of both my heartbeat and breathing slowing considerably.

I’m sure meditation experts can zone out and reach a higher plane, but for an uninitiated stress monkey like me it may take a little practise. I’m sure with regular visits even I could learn to reach that level of zen, such is the calming womb-like environment. After a while, my aching muscles feel less tense, my head clearer. I haven’t had a single urge to check Facebook for almost an hour now, so something strange is definitely happening to me….

I’m happily floating about contemplating life when, to my astonishment, the ching-ching tunes start up and the blue lights gradually come on, indicating I have five minutes left of my hour-long session.

I reluctantly climb out of my pod and enjoy a hot shower, availing myself of the delicious complimentary toiletries. Then it’s time for a quick tidy-up in the Hollywood room using the turbo-powered hairdryers and GHDs. I’m offered a free herbal tea on the beanbags in the chill-out area, but alas, I have to dash, which I do as quickly as my blissed-out bod will allow. Back at Victoria Station there are delays and an accompanying level of travel chaos which would usually make my blood boil, but to my surprise I struggle to even raise a frown.

Finally home, I sleep like a baby and wake up in the morning with the soft skin of one too, which is an unexpected added bonus. Floating has never before been on my health radar, but I think from now on I will be making space in my diary for it. This is one item on my to-do list I definitely won’t be pushing to the bottom….

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Whatever Floats Your Boat appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

Working in the beauty industry in London in the late nineties and early noughties was a close-knit, glamorous affair. I use the word ‘affair’ partly because the relationship between employer and employee tended to be a short-lived love story: we fell in love with a brand, threw ourselves wholeheartedly into selling their wares, then like the fickle young things we were, we’d soon fall out of love and move onto the next exciting company in the department store’s beauty hall. Thus grew this incestuous community of bouffanted babes, where everyone knew everyone and it wasn’t uncommon to see the same faces work their way from one counter to the next over the course of a few years, each time building up their contacts book, boosting their CVs and getting a change of scene and a cheeky pay increase into the bargain.Dickens and Jones, Harvey Nicks, Barkers of Kensington – we touted our make-up skills and fragrance knowledge around them all, but my favourite of the lot was Selfridges. A hip and bustling cosmetic hall crammed with carefully-coiffed glossy young consultants, we’d have to shout above the pounding beats of the music, different tunes coming from various counters in a kind of controlled chaos: tall, slender model-esque reps offering fragrance strips doused in the latest heady scents to passing shoppers, make-up artists applying red lips here, brushing on mascara there; it was a veritable beauty playground set against a house music backdrop as DJs spun tunes in the neighbouring Spirit fashion section. The social scene that came with working with hundreds of like-minded young people was as buzzing as the atmosphere in the store itself, and club promoters came by on a daily basis handing out passes for free entry or discounted drinks at all the hippest clubs. My fellow beauty buddies and I fell into a familiar pattern: selling high-end beauty products by day, partying at night.

One particular party-loving pal of mine was Lorraine (Lolly) Mack – a 30 year old effervescent blonde bombshell, whose larger-than-life personality and striking looks earned her notoriety on the beauty and clubbing circuits. Being blessed with a banging bod meant she’d also done a spot of glamour modelling and had appeared in various publications such as FHM and The Sun as well as a TV show on Sky1.

One night in March 2004, I’d been invited to Pacha nightclub in Victoria by a friend of mine, so Lolly and I decided to make a night of it and take our respective beaus along too – I was engaged to Liam, and Lorraine had an Italian boyfriend who was over for the weekend. Lolly was tired on the day and considered dropping out, but after a few drinks in Islington we were all buzzing off each other’s energy (and possibly a few cheeky shots) and in high spirits took a taxi to the club. What happened next changed Lorraine’s life forever.

Laughing and joking, we bantered with the bouncers before being ushered into the blackness of the club, our bodies reverberating from the heavy bass of the music. We queued for the cloakroom, bought drinks at the bar, then Liam and I left Lolly and her boyfriend near the bar whilst we nipped upstairs to find the rest of our mates.

Unbeknownst to us as we passed by the crowds on the balcony above, a heavily-built young guy (who was high on drink and drugs) was about to come over the balcony into the crowd of tightly-packed revellers below……landing directly onto Lorraine.
Instantly, her spinal cord was severed at the fourth vertebrae from the top, rendering her immediately quadriplegic. In that split-second her life, as she knew it, was over.

When Liam and I came back downstairs a few minutes later we saw a commotion and a crowd gathered around someone on the floor. Everything went into slow motion as it dawned on us that it was our friend, and that she wasn’t moving. We fought through the crowd, shouting over the music, pleading with her to get up. But it was no use. She knew instantly what had happened, that she was paralysed. All she could do was blink helplessly. We raced to hospital where Lorraine had emergency surgery involving taking bone from her hip and putting it into her neck to secure it.

When your phone rings in the middle of the night it’s often accompanied with a sense of dread, and as we sat alongside her Mum and two elder brothers Tony and Gary in the waiting room we were all numb with shock, unable to take in the enormity of the fate that had befallen our Lolly.

When we set off for a night’s clubbing, none of us could have known that Lorraine would not return home for the next 10 months, those long dark days spent instead at the specialist spinal hospital Stoke Mandeville, surrounded by other patients for whom life had also dealt a terrible hand.  One such patient who became a friend to Lorraine was Dan Nicholls, an 18-year-old boy paralysed by a freak wave whilst enjoying a day at Bondai Beach, whose father would later go on to set up The Nicholls Spinal Injury Foundation.

During those unspeakably tough early days of her injury Lorraine’s thoughts were dark, even asking her brothers to take her to the Dignitas Clinic in Zurich to end her life. It was during this period that her brother Tony started researching possible treatments online, desperate to help his beloved sister.

“We can give up, Lorraine, or we can fight this together until we find a cure and get you walking again.”

This marked the turning point, and since then Lolly and her family have campaigned tirelessly to raise funds towards finding a cure. Despite being paralysed from the neck down, Lorraine still endured constant chronic pain all over her body in the form of burning pins and needles, and needed a cocktail of 18 different drugs each day which left her bloated and did little to alleviate her daily agony.

Twelve years on, and today Lorraine is a beacon of hope in an otherwise bleak prognosis. Despite doctors telling her early on that she’d never move again she cranks up the dance music, flips on her disco lights and undergoes four gruelling hours of intense physiotherapy each day with the help of her carers, and consequently has some movement in both arms. Although she is unable to grip with her hands, she can use her phone, laptop and has even learnt to apply her own make-up again. She retains her love of fashion, music, modelling and travelling the world, and her treatment and quest for a cure have led her as far afield as Miami, LA, Italy and Brazil.

Her relationship with her boyfriend came to an end, but now she’s found true love in the form of a 29 year old LA-based hunk, to whom she’s been engaged for a year after meeting at a mutual friend’s house two years ago.

The man who landed on Lorraine was given a two year sentence, but Lolly doesn’t dwell on the facts of the night, instead remaining focused on her mission to walk again.

She is now completely drug-free, having gone cold turkey from all the meds after ten years, a feat which impressed ex-addict Russell Brand when she bumped into him in her local, causing him to remark that that was probably more difficult than stopping his well-documented heroin use. The bloating caused by the medication disappeared, taking her back to a slinky size eight and today she is as strikingly attractive as ever – her slim figure in contrast to her huge personality, raucous laughter and Barbara Windsor-style cheeky cockney character.

She’s done a tandem skydive which raised £3k for Spinal Research, completed countless ‘virtual cycles’ for SCI (Spinal Cord Injury) charities including a whopping 285 miles London to Paris bike ride with the aid of her FES (Functional Electrical Stimulation) bike, and is currently about to take part in the WFL (Wings For Life)  World Run in Milan, which her brother Tony will be running whilst pushing her in her wheelchair. She’ll be dressed in a pink ensemble complete with wings alongside her four Italian fellow ‘Cure Girls’ – a group of fiesty women from around the world, all of whom have suffered a spinal cord injury and are therefore campaigning to raise awareness and money for SCI charities.

Lorraine fundraises continuously for various charities including Spinal Research and The Nicholls Spinal Injury Foundation. These charities receive zero government funding despite around 40,000 people currently living with paralysis in the UK at a cost of £1billion a year, and help fund vital research. For the first time in history scientists have recorded the reconnection of severed long spinal nerve fibres by using the patient’s own stem cells to create a “bridge” over which the damaged connections can grow back, resulting in one paralysed man being able to take his first tentative steps.

When I think back to that fateful night in 2004, my heart lurches when I picture the pair of giggling carefree girls who entered the club and the tragic events that led to only one of us walking out of there again.

The very definition of girl power, I’m filled with admiration for my pal, who overcomes adversity and chronic neuropathic pain on a daily basis in her steely determination to walk again. She remains bubbly and positive, despite losing ten friends over the years as a result of their SCI – either through suicide or health complications relating to their injuries. (Don’t be fooled by the glamorous shots – her own list of ailments is extensive, from bladder infections, to scoliosis, osteoporosis and pressure sores).

I’m sure you’ll agree that her mental and physical strength and stamina make Lolly Mack a true inspiration, and if anyone can get back on the dancefloor, it’s her.

You can visit Lolly’s blog at www.curegirls.wordpress.com, sponsor her at www.justgiving.com/lorrainemack or visit her website www.lollymack.com. See www.spinal-research.org and www.nsif.org.uk for more details on SCI, the research taking place and how you can help. Photography by Michelle George, www.michellegeorgephotography.com

This article has also appeared at Huffington Post UK.

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Return of the Mack appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

So who are the other characters in the sit-com of my life?
Which two innocent beings were responsible for the creation of this bubbling blonde mass of insecurities cunningly disguised as a fierce and fiesty be-atch?
First up, I give you Patricia aka De Mama, the alpha female of the Blake posse:

Standing tall at 5ft 2, she’s a Deborah Meaden/Big Mo hybrid. She resembles the indomitable Ms Meaden not only in facial features but also her staunchly suspicious nature, keeping her (bank) cards close to her chest – her trust is earned.

She’s like a learned owl, and having had her fingers burnt by a few unscrupulous characters and one laptop-hacking bunch of Eastern Europeans, is more security-conscious than The Pentagon. If an email comes in from an unknown source, it’s ISIS.

However, she’s also as street-savvy as Big Mo from Eastenders – she ain’t takin’ no crap from nobody. Like me, she’s an action-packed feisty bundle of ‘tude, who loves nothing more than bustin’ out shapes to the latest Ibiza anthems. She can “big fish, little fish” with the best of ’em. When I would roll in at 6am Sundays (still do sometimes!) worse for wear with a faceful of smudged glitter eyeshadow following a marathon raving sesh, she’d climb out of bed for a cuppa whilst I filled her in on the night’s events. I got my strong twerk ethic from her.

More recently, she zoomed across a series of 650ft-high ziplines above the Costa Rican rainforest despite her fear of heights, grimacing like Wallace and Gromit til her face ached. She’s awesome. The best mother I ever had.

Of course, I didn’t get my height from De Mama, as I’m almost six feet tall. No, I owe my go-go-gadget limbs to my dad, Alan :

My pops is of the old school stiff upper lip era, a hard-working salt of the earth geezer hailing from south east London. He first locked eyes with a teenaged De Mama as she casually tossed her flowing blonde locks and sauntered past him whilst out walking Red, her imaginatively-named red setter, as he was playing football (my dad, not the dog.)

They were soon married and to their shock, surprise and…dismay, I put in an appearance soon after. Letting out forlorn sighs, they accepted their fate; their lives were now ruined anyway so they may as well try for a son too….and then promptly had Karen, my sister. Oh well!

Dad had gone from a carefree young chap to being surrounded by familial females, so he had no choice but to do what any bloke in his position would…..he went down the pub. For oh, about 20 years or so.

He may not have got a word in edgeways in our three-bed semi, but surrounded by his colleagues and mates he was the life and soul of the party. Never one to hold back, he loved nothing more after a tough day at the office than to shimmy on down to Smollensky’s with some clients and have a few bevvies ‘on the baron.’

My parents are chalk and cheese in many respects, and their ability to partake in a par-tay is one of them. Whilst Dad has always been the beer-guzzler, Mum is unconscious, eyeballs rolling, after one whiff of a wine gum. She henceforth became the lifelong designated driver, ferrying a pickled Pops home from their jobs in The City.

No strangers to hard work, they’d both clock up untold hours there each week, striving to give us kids the best of everything. Annoyingly sometimes, they also passed on their strong work ethic to me, making it physically impossible for me to skive off school even if I wanted to : a guilt complex ensured there’ll never be any shirking from home for me.

They also share a love of music, the soundtrack to my childhood being icons such as The Beach Boys, Queen and Abba, played full blast on vinyl on our old Sony stacking stereo. On Friday nights  after the pub my dad would wear out the VHS player watching The Blues Brothers repeatedly on video. Despite a tendancy towards being the strong silent type, I know my dad would do anything for me. He really is top of the Pops…

Then there’s my ickle snish Karen. Born three years after yours truly, she was my nemesis for the first 21 years of my life until I disappeared one day into the Ibizan sunset.

As kids, I’d threaten her with dreadful dreamt-up outcomes if she disobeyed my commands. My favourite was getting her to massage my feet for hours on end “otherwise Misty (our cat) will die.” Cruel I know, but highly effective and a perk of being the eldest. The only perk I reckon, seeing as the youngest generally has a far easier time of it.
Firstborns send mums into a frenzy of cooing and fussing, cleaning and mollycoddling. By the time the second sprog arrives the frazzled mother lets them sit goggle-eyed in front of Peppa on the telly eating fistfuls of soggy snacks, grateful for a bit of respite.

The sibling rivalry ramped up to fever pitch as we got older and the ensuing ‘accidents’ came fast and furious. One unfortunate incident involving Karen being tied with a skipping rope to the back of my bike as I pedalled furiously down the street until her foot was a mangled mess in the spokes. A frantic trip to A&E followed for stitches. Boy, did I cop it for that one!

Another time, she threw a hairbrush at me full-force, which split my lip wide open and left me looking like something out of The Nutty Professor. Never a good look for an already self-conscious teen.

We spent many years in a tight tangle of fighting limbs, just as you’d see in an old Tom and Jerry cartoon…..a spinning ball of bodies with the occasional arm or leg sticking out. Black eyes and bulging bumps were de rigeur. We only stopped arguing to eat or sleep.

Exhausted by it all, upon my return from Ibiza aged 22, we decided to call a truce. My parents heaved a sigh of relief as harmony was (for the most part) restored. Today, she’s my mate and confidante and I love her dearly. We even live a few doors apart in the same street. Her rebellious nature has been replaced with a personality as soft and mellow as marshmallow. She’s almost TOO nice. She is now engaged to Chris and mother to a mischievous two year old son named Hayden, who melts our hearts and tests our nerves in equal measure.

The final remaining member of our immediate family is Gramps, my paternal grandfather who is still going strong at the ripe age of 88. Due to his forgetfulness these days he’s as shocked as anyone else when we tell them his age, such is his youthful constitution and pink flushed cheeks.
He loves long walks in the woods and flickering old black and white movies, although he doesn’t follow the plot so keenly these days and falls asleep mid-sentence like the grandpa in The Simpsons.

So that’s it! The players in the game of my life. You can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family, but that’s fine by me as I’d still pick each of them…..

……in a line-up.

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Relatively Speaking…. appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

Ok, so by the age of 40 most people have managed to get their shit together : you’ve got the big house, the fancy car, the fitness model husband, the adorable 2.4 rug-rats, the high-powered career….oh wait, let me check that….so I have a house, tick, and I’m employed….yeeeees, but the rest?

Before you switch to Facebook thinking this is going to be a pity-party post – stop right there!

So the Big 4-0 is definitely time to take stock of your life, have a bit of a happiness audit, make a few tweaks and culls as one sees fit….but I can safely say to all those dreading the mid-life deadline, 40 is a good age. Ok, so you might not have the picture-perfect life that you envisaged at 20, when 40 sounded absolutely ancient and as far away and unlikely a place as Timbuktu, but it comes around mighty quick, let me tell you young whippersnappers, and when it does I reckon you’ll feel…..well kinda proud actually.

That’s not to say that life will have dealt you a winning hand, not at all, by 40 you’re bound to have had more than your fair share of setbacks, disappointments, countless broken-hearted outpourings of grief over a bottle of white or six with your besties….but you wear your battle-scars like a badge of honour, “yeah I’ve been through the wars but I’m still here, I’m still loving life (mostly!) and I intend to make this decade the best yet. What you gonna do about it?!”

Before I launch into a cat’s-chorus rendition of Elton’s ‘I’m Still Standing’ (which could be a tad embarrassing on this packed train), let me welcome you to my new blog – a series of observations, musings and mundane day-to-day chitter-chatter about life as a 40-years-young bird…..


Life : A Bird’s Eye View

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post The Big 4-0. That’s Four….Oh!! appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.