"She's a funny little thing: separated with two kids".

That was how I was described to Bear by the Churchwarden when  the organ broke down. It was Bear who 'looked after' several small church instruments when they couldn't afford to pay the professionals' prices.

"You had better be there to explain what's wrong." she told me, so, at the appointed time I arrived at the church with the children in tow.

Bear was charming in a sad sort of way and there was a kind of immediate chemistry between us. When the repair was done I invited him back for a coffee (we lived with my parents) and he accepted.

It was easy to talk to him then and he was even pleasant to the children. He left me with the impression of a sad and lonely man. However, apart from saying I should call him next time the organ went wrong, neither of us thought about further meetings.

Until, that is, some months later when the choir I played for scheduled a concert in a church with a small organ but no piano. Now I could get away with playing hymns on an organ but a complicated oratorio was another matter.

I called Bear to ask if he would play for the concert.

He declined but offered to help by turning pages and pulling stops. I gratefully accepted and this led to several meetings to practise - sitting side by side on the organ stool. It was thus that we became closer.

I was completely hooked by the time he let it be known that he wasn't actually divorced but his tale of the hard done by husband was completely plausible (at the time) and I swallowed it hook line and sinker.

We became inseparable. He would even meet me during my lunch hour at school and we'd go for a picnic in a secluded spot.

Eventually we rented a house together but the situation was far from perfect. His Jeckyll and Hyde character came to the fore and, although I loved him blindly, I was also very unhappy.

"So, why did you marry him?" I hear you say.

I simply don't know.

Maybe I didn't want to lose face with friends and family after spending five years of my life with this man:  maybe I didn't know what else to do - I certainly didn't want to move back with my parents and I couldn't afford a three bedroomed house to rent or buy.

He 'proposed' very casually by saying,

"Have you got anything on on Saturday 13th?"

"Yes, there's a concert in the evening."

"Oh, that's OK. I've booked the register office for 11 o'clock."

But that wasn't said with any sign of excitement or pleasure.

I can't remember how I felt - or what I said in reply but I know it wasn't the sort of reaction it should have been.

But I resolved to make the best of a bad job. (How foolish can you get?)

Bear and I had married six weeks before I turned 40.

The wedding had been a pretty low key - a few friends at the Registry Office followed by sandwiches and snacks at the house where we were to live.

It was the house Bear had lived in with his first wife and family. She had remained there after their separation but when she told him she wanted to sell up and move somewhere smaller he decided to take out a mortgage and buy her share.

The last thing I wanted was to live there but my views were not considered and it never felt like home, especially since he made it clear that he didn't really want my children to live with us.

At 11 and 12 I felt that their place was with me and I put my foot down but that didn't  do much for anyone's happiness.

As I look back, it makes me think of the promise I made to myself when my mother married a man who didn't like me much either - and the feeling was mutual!

"I'll never do that to my children"  I decided - and there - I went and did it!

But it made me understand how she must have felt:  madly in love with a man and hoping that if she made him happy he would be willing to accept another man's child.

Looking back, I'm sure that, deep down, I knew I was heading for disaster but my heart over-ruled my head. In the early years of marriage I remember I cried an awful lot but as time passed I hardened and my love died.

When I realised that it was much more difficult for him to make me cry I knew that I was no longer in love with him. I walked out on him several times, but always on the spur of the moment and with nowhere to go - so I had to return.

The only time I actually 'moved out' was when he pushed CC while she was washing some dishes. Jay sprang to her defence shouting,

"Don't you push my sister!".

Bear turned on him and hit him.

CC and I tried to pull him away and then I rang Whale (who lived a few villages away) and we all piled into his car and went back to his small bungalow.

The children had their own beds there but I had to sleep on the settee. It was hardly an ideal situation and, for once, Bear seemed genuinely remorseful, so, believe it or not  - we went back.

The only real achievement was that now Bear knew that if he pushed me too far I really would go and he never laid a finger on any of us again - although he would still shout and threaten.

At the age of 40 I decided to learn to play the flute. The peripatetic music teachers were located in a sideroom off my classroom so there were often verious wind instruments lying about and I'd frequently sneak a 'blow' when no-one was around. But I could not raise a squeak from any flute.

Then, one day, the music teacher  let me try her flute with a solid silver mouthpiece and it made all the difference. After that, I found I was able to produce notes on the school flutes, so I bought one for myself and started lessons.

Despite taking exams up to grade six I never played well enough to join a group or a band but these lessons resulted in a close friendship with the music teacher and we still keep in touch and see each other two or three times a year when she comes to visit with her mum or other friends.

So my 'forties' certainly weren't that bad.

Sablonneuse at 45 was not a particularly happy bunny.

My marriage to Bear was strained - the shine had definitely worn off - and I was feeling decidedly miserable inside although I did my best to put on a cheerful face.

One of the main problems was Bear's attitude towards my kids. He made them feel most unwelcome in 'his' house and eventually, CC had had enough. She decided she would rather live with her dad, Whale. Less than  a year later, Jay joined her.

It broke my heart, but I could understand how they felt. Also, as   teenagers, they wanted lifts into Norwich to go out with their friends and that's something I couldn't (and probably wouldn't if I could) have done because school meant a very early start each morning.

Whale, who worked at a University seemed to keep his own hours and was therefore on call no matter how late at night to fetch and carry CC  and Jay- and provide a taxi service for their friends.

Of course, they would come and have meals once or twice a week with me but their bedrooms remained empty.

Bear wasted no time in transforming CC's room into a study. Some years later I was to move into Jay's room.

But life wasn't all doom and gloom. I had some close friends in whom I could confide, I enjoyed my job and I discovered little ways of manipulating Bear to 'get my own way' if it were really important.

For example I quietly insisted that the children and my Mum came for Sunday lunch nearly every week. Bear complained occasionally but I ignored him - and it worked!

On the other hand, when I tried to persuade him to allow Mum to have a bungalow built on part of our garden I was less successful but he did agree to sell the plot some years later and I finally replaced the kitchen I'd been forced to live with ever since moving in.

We spent most school holidays in France, often house sitting for friends and it began to feel more like home  to me than our actual house. We talked about retiring to France but Bear seemed more enthusiastic when we were with friends than when we were back at home.

I began to realise that he would probably never leave that house even though he knew I was unhappy there.

This is going to sound very petty but the first thing I remember about my fiftieth birthday was that Bear prevented the party I was hoping for.

After organising and catering for many a celebration for his 'big birthdays' I tried to arrange something for my big day that didn't involve doing most of the cooking myself. I actually got as far as enquiring about caterers but when estimates were mentioned Bear decided it was too expensive - even though a friend offered a very good deal.

So, with the help of CC and Jay we prepared a selection of curries, a coq au vin, a cheese board and desserts, bought in a supply of wine and beer and sent out fairly last minute invitations.

The children ordered a fantastic cake in the shape of a grand piano with black (!) icing as a big surprise.

It has to be said, that, despite the frantic preparations, I did have a really good time and the children still have a photo of me looking extremely merry after several brandies. (Before you ask - no, I wouldn't publish it even if I knew how!)

As you may have gathered, the marriage was not very happy. The few interests we shared no longer kept us together. He didn't want to come to any concerts I played for, either at school or with the choir I accompanied, and I had to admit that belonging to the organists' society was rather boring although I dutifully treekked along on organ crawls round draughty churches.

Then there were chartered train trips which Bear adored but it meant a very early start on a Saturday morning and several hours journey either side of a three or four hour mooch round some distant town. The return trip was inevitably delayed through breakdowns or track repairs and that left Sunday to do the washing and ironing and preparation for school on Monday.

Bear was already retired so he could stay in bed.

It was more bearable if we went with friends as we had someone to talk to plus we took a cool box full of goodies for the meal on the way home.

It has to be said, though, that  frim the age of 50 I was beginning to feel kind of trapped in the relationship with Bear. His constant efforts to pull me away from my children only served to drive a bigger wedge between the two of us.

I had long since given up trying to convince him that I had had enough love for everyone at first, but it was he, himself who had killed off the love I had for him.

Oh, this is getting depressing. Time to stop!!

At 55 I was teaching at my last and favourite  school - a middle school near Great Yarmouth. The best part was that they ran a secondary type timetable so that staff could 'specialise' in the subjects that they preferred - well, most of the time, depending on the constraints of the timetable.

When I started there I was fortunate enough to have lots of music lessons and the rest of my timetable consisted of Maths and English with a bit of History, Geography, French or R.E. from time to time.

It was a huge relief not to have to do anything remotely ressembling Sport or Science but every spare lunch time was taken up with Music groups - recorders. Windband, flute and clarinet. Eventually, I became a 'floating teacher' - in other words, I didn't have a class responsibility so I was able to fit in more music before Assembly while everyone was doing their register.

 By 1999, however, with ever worsening eyesight, I was beginning to find life difficult. The problem was that I needed such strong correction (-17 and -19) that it pulled my eyes into a squint - particularly when I was tired.

An operation to shorten a muscle(?) didn't help much so I had to live with undercorrection and therefore far from perfect vision, despite wearing contact lenses plus one of several pairs of glasses for various distances.

Life became most uncomfortable and I had to go for early retirement. The head obviously didn't realise how bad things were because she was amazed when my application was granted. I wasn't even allowed to finish the school year and left at the end of June 2000.

I thought this was because the LEA was too mean to pay my salary through the Summer but when I saw my dossier at the hospital I realised that my specialist had said I was as blind as a bat - though in more technical terms!

After retirement the thought of living a Derby and Joan existence with Bear was a pretty unappealing prospect and having failed to 'escape' on the previous occasions when I'd walked out, I decided to plan carefully for a new life in France.

It took the best part of a year to arrange things but on October 6th 2002 I left home and started a new adventure across the Channel. You can read about it in the Dear Diary section.

In view of the various parties I'd never had I was looking forward to having a good bash to celebrate becoming 60.

It was not to be. Despite having promised various friends that he was going to spring a surprise 'do' for the occasion, Bear found his best excuse yet and arranged his knee replacement operation for the week before my birthday.

Needless to say, he was in hospital on the day and when I went to see him that morning (it was a Sunday) he threw a card at me and deliberately avoided saying Happy Birthday. I didn't stay long.

In his defence, it should be said that the next day he was completely out of his head, talking about seeing black insects all over the wall and suffering from high blood sugar. (He has type 2 diabetes).

Of course, the nurses didn't know he was gibbering nonsense, and as he took his own sugar levels with his English meter they didn't realise there was a problem.

When I alerted them, his cache of sugary treats was whisked away and he was subjected to loads of tests and a strict diet. As he had been extremely bad about eating sensibly this came as a quite a shock.

Because of this little setback he stayed in hospital for a fortnight instead of the usual ten days so the rest of us had a pleasant 'holiday' from his bad moods.

And the birthday? Well, CC and Jay cooked a lovely meal at home and we celebrated in a relaxed and stressfree atmosphere.

On Saturday I turned 65 and enjoyed a really lovely weekend thanks to family and friends.

With a bit of prodding from CC, Bear bought me the whole set of DVDs for Upstairs Downstairs, but what I  appreciated most of all was the fact that he remained incredibly sweet tempered the whole time!

Yvette invited us for cake and champagne in the afternoon and then Jay cooked a delicious meal of carrot and beetroot soup followed by  cod in provencale sauce and rounded off with the most beautiful chocolate gateau I've ever seen - or tasted - which came from a very good patisserie in town.

Coffee was accompanied by a 25 year old Armagnac - a present from CC and Jay - and then we ALL  played Trivial Pursuits until well after midnight.

Bear won and I came second but we realised that our sets of questions are terribly out of date. We'll have to get some new ones.

As for presents, I've never been so spoilt.  My friend from Athens sent this wonderful display of flowers and Yvette gave me a trinket box, an ornament of a cat and Dewey, by Vicki Myron - the true story of an abandoned kitten who was adopted by the staff at a library - translated into French.

Our friends from the next village gave me some hyacinths nicely arranged in a hanging basket, my neighbour popped in to present me with a cat themed manicure set and matching notepad and pen, Bear's elder daughter sent me some handcream, (she always remembers my birthday - bless her) and, as well as the wonderful armagnac, CC and Jay gave me a CD of Mozart's Horn Concerto.

You'd think that was enough of a celebration wouldn't you, but it continued on Sunday, in a way, because it was the Christmas Repas des Anciens.

When we left at quarter past twelve I was still feeling  very full from the previous evening and rather regretted that I'd accepted the invitation for the meal.

However, once we had arrived and kissed or shaken hands with everyone there was quite a long wait before the meal began.

First came the champagne and nibbles, supplemented by slices of pizza.  The starter was salmon in sorrel sauce, followed by the Trou Normande - sorbet with mirabelle brandy -  and the main course was venison accompanied by apple and cranberries, sprouts and dauphinoises potatoes. Then came cheese (brie) with lettuce and desert consisted of individual raspberry charlottes.

Coffee was served with tarte au sucre, a local confection of round brioches liberally coated with sugar.

This year's entertainment was a couple who, between them, sang and  played accordeon, saxophone and keyboard with a 'canned' accompaniment. It wasn't bad, but they weren't as good as last year's performers and they were far too loud

Bear and I were among the first to leave at about 6 o'clock but no doubt the dancing went on for another hour or so.

I have to say it was the best birthday weekend I've had for many a year but, even today, I'm still feeling incredibly full!