Time’s a tickin

I can’t believe my terrible luck in my quest to find my birth family.  Every day I see via Adoption-related Facebook groups, adoptees finding their family and I can’t help but think why not me?

I don’t know the percentage of adoptees who have successfully found their birth parents but from my perspective that percentage is pretty damn high and therefore I belong to a small group who may never find their birth family and that thought just breaks my heart.

Over the years the many searches that have ended no further in front have left me more rejected, deflated and beaten and I resolve to end my search and I manage to stay away from any form of searching for varying periods of time but one thing or another always draws me back and each time with a new surge of positivity.

Maybe I’ll hit the jackpot this time around!

The last time I got that surge of positivity is when I submitted my DNA through AncestryDNA.com which happened around October 2015.  Through this DNA test I did uncovered my heritage and many 4th cousins including more distant ones.  At least with my results I am fairly confident some of my forebears came from County Clare and County Kerry in Ireland and Midlothian in Scotland and that’s good knowledge for an adoptee.  What I didn’t expect when I started down the DNA path is the hours I’d spend over the months to follow trawling through distant cousin’s ancestry trees, sending tonnes of emails, making lists, making trees with possible great-great-great grandparent leads.  It’s literally sucking the time out of my life. I’ve spent a good 3 months off work in 2015 as well in 2016 trying to find that one lead that could break the case. I check my ancestry DNA match results at least 6 times a day in the hope that a close cousin will activate their DNA test. And as another Monday morning rolls by where I’ve spent the first couple of hours searching through Ancestry DNA matches trying another tactic I thought about through the night I can’t help but wonder what I would be doing if I wasn’t adopted or if I just didn’t want to know.

The adoption system has denied me so much and I try not to think about it, being adopted is who I am, it’s my lot in life and maybe, just maybe, I’d be lost for a cause if I wasn’t adopted.  I try not dwell on the possibility that I’ve spent so much time and energy on this quest that I haven’t allowed myself to uncover and nurture other talents or passions but I have to let those thoughts pass by as I have to let many dark thoughts pass.  I’m lucky in a way that I can let go of those dark thoughts because so many of those affected by adoption haven’t been able to and the consequences have been dire.

The thought of never looking into the face of my birth mother drives this quest and I realise as each day and year passes the face I may eventually see will be through a picture because as each year ticks by the likelihood of finding her alive diminishes.  So many questions run through my mind when I think about her.  I long to uncover her story because her story is mine and it’s the reason I’m here now writing a blog about a quest that may never end as long as I live.

I know this post sounds bleak but please know that I’m one strong cookie and at the end of the day I have a couple of weapons I use to get me through this adoption cesspool – my humour and my family and when combined these two weapons keep me sane. Yes we as a family can glean a joke and a laugh out of any situation and I’m thankful for that because these weapons are my coping mechanism.

Kate’s mate

When I was little girl, we lived next door to my maternal Nan and my Auntie (we called her ‘Dig’). Dig worked at a nearby factory.  Every day around 7am and again at 3pm the factory whistle screamed the start and end of the working day and everyone in town would hear it.  When the afternoon whistle blew, I knew that Dig would be home soon and I would run next door to my Nan’s place, stand on the gate and wait for her to come walking up the lane.  On most afternoons before I was old enough to go to school and on weekends I would help Dig with household chores such as gardening, chopping wood, and anything that needed to be done around her and my Nan’s home.  Tammy was the family dog for most of my childhood and she was always hanging around us to keep us company while we worked away in the garden. 

Dig would always say as she walked up the lane towards me, standing on the garden gate – “Kate sat on the garden gate, waiting for her little Mate”.  For Dig’s 80th Birthday I finished her little ditty with the following poem to celebrate the most memorable and wonderful time of my life – spending it with my special Mate.  I knew when I wrote this poem that one day I would read it at her funeral, that day arrived on the 11 May 2016. 

Kate’s mate

Kate sat on the garden gate
Waiting for her little mate
Up the lane she’d come each day
Kate would scream a loud haray

Soon as Mate walked through the gate
She was working with little Kate
Chop the wood and stack the pile
Gather veges once in a while

Then Nan would say its tea time
And Kate would duck next door
Until tomorrow arvo comes
And Kate came back for more

The weekend came
And Kate would know
That back to work Mate didn’t go
And Kate would start the game

Kate snuck next door and jumped in bed
And Mate would wake and shake her head
Get up, get up little Mate
We’ve got to fix the garden gate

Nan would cook em breakfast
And they’d go outside to work
They’d mow the lawn and trim the trees
Til Tammy went beserk

Monday came, the whistle blew
And Mate went off to work
Come 3 o’clock and Kate just knew
Where she would have to lurk

Kate’d be on the garden gate
Waiting for her little Mate
Soon as Mate walked through the gate
She was working with little Kate


 Loved forever, forgotten never!

It’s the Law

You’d think I’d be all over any changes to Adoption Laws and Regulations but apparently not, so it was a surprise to me when a fellow adoptee told me that an adoption law has been updated and now allows adoptees access to birth father details IF they were recorded at the time of the adoption.  I assumed all along that my birth father’s name wasn’t recorded as it wasn’t included on my  birth certificate or any other information I’ve applied for over the years.

It’s like a bloody onion peel, little by little over many years a bit more information is allowed to be drip fed to us.  I feel like a spoon fed baby.

The new Adoption Regulation 2015 which came into effect 1 September 2015 is as follows:

The new regulation requires an adopted person to sign an undertaking that the adopted person will not contact a person who an information source reasonably believes to be the birth father of the adopted person (the putative birth father) or a relative of the putative birth father if the information source supplies information relating to the putative birth father to the adopted person.

Through ignorance I didn’t know there was still a restriction on providing a birth father’s name in the first place.  And let me be clear, his name- my birth father’s name MAY NOT BE RECORDED ANYWHERE and I’m assuming this to be the case because nothing has gone my way since my journey began for over 33  years ago and I’m not expecting it to change now.

Anyway, immediately after hearing this news (like IMMEDIATELY) I was onto the Department of Family and Community Services who explained what forms I need to complete, including a form I need to sign away my right to contact the ‘putative birth father‘ if his name is recorded. She explained to me if there is a name provided it doesn’t mean he is my birth father (I did know what putative means).  I explained to her that through the many DNA related Facebook groups I belong to, not a month goes by where someone who’s not adopted finds out their father isn’t really their birth father – so I was fully aware IF any name is provided it may not be my birth father.

So here I go again another long wait,  12-14 weeks apparently.  Each time I do this I do so with much less enthusiasm but with much more patience which is a trait I certainly wasn’t born with. I’ve been beaten too many times on this journey but I find the resolve to dust myself off, pick myself up and just go forward albeit with a heavy heart.

I can’t help but ask myself, if I wasn’t on this journey how would  I fill my time?  Answer:  I try not to think about it!

Here is a link to the full Adoption Regulation 2015 under the Adoption Act 2000.

Nothing to do with luck

I’m a member of a few closed Facebook groups that provide a forum for adoptees to ask questions or tell their stories but more importantly where they can vent.  It’s forums like these where adoptees feel safe in knowing they won’t be judged or patronized and it is a place where it’s very unlikely you’ll hear the same old bullshit comments we all hear from non-adoptees.  And this week’s post is no exception when the topic of conversation was around being told one is lucky for being adopted, usually in reference to the adopting family.

Firstly, it’s not luck that brought me together with my family, more than likely they had their name on a waiting list for some time since 7 years previously they adopted my brother.  On the other hand a young women found she had an unwanted pregnancy and put her name on a list so as to adopt her baby to another family. At some point throughout this process someone from the adoption agency went through the waiting list to see which family was next to receive a baby – and the match was done.

I wouldn’t call that luck, I’d call it paperwork!

I could say I’m lucky that my family didn’t turn out to be arseholes. I had a loving caring and close family and was never told I was different or didn’t belong, it just was’t mentioned.  I do know this wasn’t the case for many other adoptees and that is sad.

In my experience when someone says that I was lucky to have such wonderful parents in the context around adoption, they are usually trying to be sympathetic to my plight – that being my search may never have an end.  I would rather they give me encouragement or at least say the whole damn business sucks, because it does.  I don’t want to hear how lucky I am or how lucky my parents were to have me because in order to have me they lost three babies – that’s not lucky, that’s tragic.

I’ve thrown the “I’m lucky to have had a fabulous family” line out many times and in the context of the topic of my adoption so I guess I’m hypercritical when I call others out for the same thing so I guess my hypocrisy highlights the mixed emotions that comes with adoption and those mixed emotions can dance around simple words such as ‘lucky’.

Lucky is a great word, and it’s free for everyone to say and I like to think I am lucky and my family are lucky but not because of my adoption for every other reason – we live a good life surrounded by good people – family and friends, we love, we laugh and we cry together as one.  But when we talk about adoption everyone needs to be mindful that adoption is blanketed in raw emotions so using a relatively simple term such as ‘lucky’ can be harmless for some but poison for others.

My awesome family

It’s that time of year when it’s my official duty as a grandmother to attend end of year dance concerts.  This year was the first concert for  Mr 5yo Charlie and for Miss Tildy (aka Matilda) this was her 6th concert – not bad for a 7 1/2 yo.

Calling it an ‘official duty’ may imply my attendance at these events is under sufferance and now that I’m years into attending these events it’s safe to say on the most part it is under sufferance because to see my grandchildren perform, and don’t get me wrong I love to see them on the stage, one must sit through endless dances of the other children.

This year I had the pleasure of suffering through 2 dance concerts. First up was Mr Charlie.  Charlie, although very much a little macho man, enjoyed dancing in the background at his sister’s dance lessons since he was old enough to sway his little hips. He even joined her dance company as soon as he was old enough – around 3.  However, it wasn’t long before he decided dancing was for girls and refused to go.  We suspect he was teased at day care and was shamed out of it – at least this is the most likely reason we could think of because this was the only interaction Charlie had with other children other than his mothers friends’ children and his seven girl cousins. And although Charlie’s dad Rhys is very much a beer and sport’s man, he could see the benefits of Charlie learning ballet – balance and coordination would certainly help Charlie’s future soccer career.  So Charlie’s sudden refusal to go wasn’t from his Dad.

Fast forward to the beginning of this year (2015)

My daughter Kristy heard of a boys only dance class at another dance academy near their home. In actual fact it’s a 5 minute walk between Tildy’s dance academy and Charlies such is the popularity of dancing in the area.  So Charlie joined the all-boy class and hasn’t looked back.

I love the idea of my grandson dancing and to see him on stage performing was a hoot. He truly took on the character of his two dance routines. He made damn sure he was front and centre on stage and he also make sure his face reflected the character he was performing.

Maybe there’s an element of truth that my birth uncle was an actor!

Tildy on the other hand performed in 6 dance routines reflecting the 6 different styles of dance she learns. Next year she wants to do another dance style to bring her grand total to 7 different  classes. We were trying to encourage her to take on a team sport such as soccer and for a time she was rather keen but she’s had a change of heart and is insistent on doing another dance which incorporated gymnastic routines.

Given my and her mother’s inability to do a simple floor tumble with it being an accident, I dare say the genetics are against my little Tildy but I”m confident her determination will break through that genetic disability.

Which brings me to the point of my story

It’s always at events like these that I really miss my Mum and wish she was enjoying the moment with me. I reminisce back to Kristy’s first dance concert when she was 3yo and Mum proudly watched her granddaughter performing two dances, one in a little monkey outfit and the other dressed in an old fashion swimming costume.  From those thoughts I imagine my birthmother watching her great grandchildren – surely she’d be proud of her heritage as I am.

I don’t think she’ll ever meet me let alone her grandchildren or great-grandchildren and that’s sad because she’s missed out on meeting some pretty amazing people. And that goes for my sons Josh and Ty and Josh’s soon-to-be new addition to the family – a daughter due in March 2016.  And Josh’s partner Lauren, who comes from a talented dance background, will ensure in years to come I’ll be sitting in the audience suffering through endless dance routines of other children to see my little granddaughter dance into my heart.

I might not find my birth mother alive but I certainly hope that one day I’ll find half-siblings or close cousins and possibly aunties and uncles.  Regardless of who I meet, I want them to see how wonderful my family is – their blood. How pretty OK I’ve turned out and how lucky they would have been to have had us in their lives.

Adoption isn’t just about finding a birthmother or birthfather, son or daughter, it’s much bigger than that. It’s family traits, gifts and talents. It’s heritage, it’s genes, it’s bloodline. It’s a blossoming branch on the ancestral tree.  It’s a story of a families evolution.

I can only hope that one day I’ll find my little family’s place on our rightful ancestral tree, know our heritage, our genes and our bloodline and I also hope that one day I can share my awesome family with the family I wasn’t given the chance to know.


Swimming in DNA

Ethnicity estimate1It’s been a while since I’ve written a blog – a very long while.  A few years ago I was well into this blogging thing, then the findingannewatkins.com website was born and not long after died a decommissioning death.  Around the time I decommissioned the website, I decided enough-was-enough with the topic of my adoption BUT then I decided to send my DNA to Ancestry.com and here I am, drowning in my, and other people’s DNA.

I’ve been a member of Ancestry.com for some years now, I’ve completed my adoptive family’s family tree as far back as the records allow.  I’m also an avid viewer of ‘Who do you think you are’ and was enticed by the DNA related adverts, so I checked it out. As luck would have it there was a sale on the test and being the cheap-scape, I completed the form, paid the reduced rate and waited for my DNA kit to come in the mail.

After about two weeks I received the kit.  I spat in the tube, carefully packed my precious DNA and sent it off.  The information provided with the kit said the results would be ready in 6-8 weeks.  I was pleasantly surprised when I received an email two weeks later informing me that my results were ready.  This meant I could login to Ancestry and activate my DNA test results.

The first information I saw was my ethnicity estimate.  I was expecting to see predominately British with a splash of Western Europe. But low and behold I’m 59% Irish.  I was of two minds about this information:

  • Firstly, this would likely indicate I originated from poor Irish stock either brought to Australia in chains or through the free settlement deals of the mid to late 1800s as the new colony needed men to work.  I’d always dreamt I was the bastard child of a British aristocrat.
  • Secondly, wow Irish – I love their accents and I certainly approve of their dry and mostly cutting sense of humour and of course I too love a drink or more – many more, I digress!

Ethnicity estimate-matchesThe other information, and the most important, was the DNA relationship matches of which I had 37 4th cousins (figure raising steadily).

Wow, I have blood cousins! I would never have thought I’d ever find another person who share my DNA besides my kids and grandkids- how exiting!

My first task was to find out what a 4th cousin looks like, not in the physical sense but how am I related to a 4th cousin?

It’s important to note that DNA doesn’t know the concept of cousins, a cousin match is just a way of describing the amount of DNA shared between people. A 4th cousin could mean we share a great-great-great-grandparent (3rd GG), more or less. To put this into context – everyone has  32 x 3rd GG (ie. sixteen sets – refer to figure below).

Tracing a family tree and uncovering great grandparents is moderately simple if you know where to begin which is usually with yourself, your parents and/or grandparents.  To go beyond grandparents gets a little tricky but still doable. It’s not until you reach your 2nd GG that the information starts drying up so researching 3rd GG is getting into the late 1700s/ early 1800s and the records are well and truly scarce.  To add salt to the wound, the Irish records are mostly none existent as many records were lost in fires or through the English occupancy – just my dumb luck!

To understand my dilemma, my starting point is to find  a common set of 3rd GG I share with any one of my 37 4th cousins.  Of course this task made all the more difficult since I don’t have a starting point as in a name as it’s most likely that the name of Watkins given by my birth mother is false.   So needless to say when I stare at a cousin’s family tree it’s anyone’s guess as to which set of 3rd GG we share.  To top off my dilemma, very few of these cousins have a family tree in the first instance and those that do don’t go beyond 2nd GG.

In order to find a common relative, I need to find several 4th cousins who share the same 3rd GG, meaning their 2nd GG would be a siblings to each other and so would mine – confusing isn’t it?

Ancestry.com didn’t provide tools for finding matching cousins until now, however, it’s still not a useful tool.  In the meantime I’d sent a few emails to various cousins and one or two of them suggested I upload my DNA results to a free service called GEDmatch.com. GEDmatch.com – is a service that allows you to match with people who have had the DNA tested from other ancestry sites such as 23andme and FtDNA (Family Tree DNA).  GEDmatch is for the more serious DNA researcher and it appears that’s what I need to become.

After I uploaded my DNA to GEDmatch and waited the obligatory 24 hours, I received my unique ‘Kit’ number, this helps in the various searches you can perform on the website.  You can also find people who match your kit as well as other cousin kits.  I can even run a test that predicts eye colour, which was spot on in my case – bloodshot – at least that’s the colour they have been every since I received my DNA results.

Since uploading my DNA to these sites, I can’t count the time that has been consumed running diagnostic tests, contacting cousins, scouring ancestry trees and running test after test.  I’ve had help along the way from cousins. One cousin who understands DNA suggested I check out a possible 3rd GG by the name of Hayman. The Haymans immigrated from England to New Zealand and some moved to Australia in the 1800s.  His suggestion was based on a shared cousin relationship between three people, me being one. He knew this other cousin shared the Hayman’s as 3rd GGs so the likely conclusion was I too shared the Haymans.  This means I need to identify which of the Hayman’s children are my 2nd GG and down the line I go.

How hard could that be?

My joy was short lived once I knew Mr and Mrs Hayman had 20 children – 20!  OMG, kill me now!  One of these 20 children MAY BE my 2nd GG and if I knew which one I’d have to find out which of their kids was my 1st GG and there are 72 to choose from – YES THAT’S RIGHT, 72!

Needless to say my job is definitely set out for me and this research is only based on someone’s calculated guess which in all likelihood is wrong.  Regardless, I press ahead with endless hours of searching trying to find some glimmer of hope, some correlation between the search results and the information provided by my birth mother, any information that seems to make sense.  I go to sleep thinking about the search. I wake up at 3am thinking about the search and I wake up in the morning thinking about the search.

I really am swimming in my own DNA.  However, it seems on most days that I’m drowning in it.  And today is no exception!

My parents

Don’t be confused as to who I’m referring to when I say “my parents”.
They were the ones who brought me home from the hospital.
They were the ones who loved me unconditionally.
They were the ones who taught me right from wrong.
They were the ones who never made me feel like I didn’t belong.
They are the ones who I miss with all my heart.
I love you Mum and Dad – Forever your daughter!

My parents
My parents – Bede and Daphne

Daphne and Bede were married on March 24 1945, just before World War II ended.  They started dating before the war commenced.  Their story is an enduring one.  A story of love, loss, heartache and joy.

Dad died at 58 when I was only 20. Mum died ten years later at 65, I was 30.  I never got the chance to talk to dad about his story let alone my adoption. He died thinking that both my brother and I didn’t know.  The sad truth is, we found out as a result of him dying.

As for mum, my beautiful wonderful mum, she was an emotionally fragile woman and it wasn’t until after her death that I uncovered more of mum’s story, a story she wore in silence and a story I want to share.

He’s got mail, we’ve all got mail

I know I’ve been quiet for a while except for one teasing Facebook status update that was a little premature because I hadn’t digested the news and at that point it was still very surreal….

I was notified by phone by the Benevolent Society’s Post Adoption Resource Centre (PARC)  to say they have contacted a man they believe ‘could’ be my birthfather.  I was flabbergasted for several reasons:

  1. A man?  How could this be so, I never gave them a name, only the details my birthmother gave at the time of my adoption.
  2. I only ever put my attention to finding my birthmother, not my birthfather. Not because I didn’t want to know who he was but he so much older and the likely hood of finding him alive diminished as every year passed.
  3. He’s from one of the wealthiest families in Australia (although I had never heard of him).

PARC did tell me they haven’t actually spoken to him. After two letters and a follow up phone call they were contacted by his Lawyer who told them he refuses to help PARC with enquiries.

PARC said  it’s now up to me to contact him as I’m not bound by any privacy issues, and I did, I sent the following email.

Hello Mr X,

I’m writing to you in the hope that you can help me find a women of interest to me, a woman who gave her name as Anne Watkins in 1960/61 and whom is my birth mother. However, it appears she as given a misleading surname but I assume Anne is her first name or middle name.  Thankfully, Anne provided in-depth information about herself and of my birth father.

My search for Anne commenced  immediately following confirmation that I was adopted, I was 21. That search has continued for over 32 years but in that time I have concentrated my efforts mostly on Anne but over the years with more information becoming available through changes to Legislation and the internet, more information has come to light about my birth father and this is why I have contacted you as I believe you can help uncover some of the missing pieces, especially about Anne.

Firstly, a little about myself:
I was born in Camperdown NSW on the 9th January 1961 and immediately adopted by an amazing couple.  My father died when I was 20 years old and my mother when I was 30.  It was my father’s death that resulted in the confirmation of my adoption as certain paperwork was found.

“I must add here that my search is not about replacing my parents, I adore them and miss them terribly. They provided me with a wonderful childhood.  But as an adopted adult not knowing who gave me life and my genetic makeup leaves a very large gap in one’s life and that can only be filled by knowing who and where one comes from (as cliché as that sounds, it’s very true).  Not to mention every time I meet with a Dr I’m asked about my medical history, it upsets me more and more as I get older.  And the most disturbing fact is that the older I get, the older my birth parents get and the chances of meeting them diminishes with every year.  I have always envied anyone who can look into the face of a relative and recount a common features or talent. Although I can do that with my children and grandchildren, I don’t know where those features or talent came from.

Please be assured this email has not been prompted because of your prominent standing in the community but a genuine plea for help in this matter.  Please respond to this email or you can call me on [mobile number].  I’m happy to come to Melbourne to speak to you personally if that is what you would prefer.

It’s not everyday you get to write an email like this so I find myself reading it every now and again wondering if I could have said more or less.

If he’s not my birth father wouldn’t you think someone, anyone, including his Lawyer would call to tell PARC they have the wrong man so they can turn their attention elsewhere?   But no, after a follow-up phone call asking his secretary if Mr X received my email, I received the following email from the Lawyer within 10 minutes:

Dear Ms Leigh,

I have been notified that you contacted the Mr X  this morning making further enquiries. Can you kindly refrain from contacting or trying to contact Mr X any further.

As I have previously advised you, Mr X cannot assist you.

We trust that you will now direct your enquiries elsewhere and not endeavour to contact Mr X again.

Firstly, Mr Lawyer, I’ve never been told he can’t assist me because this is my first email and maybe he can’t assist me – but why didn’t he tell PARC he can’t assist because it’s not him.  From what PARC told me, he refused to assist – two very different things in my book.

My reply email to the Lawyer

I find it rather curious that Mr X is getting his Lawyer to relay
this email when it’s a personal matter not a legal one. And I have
never been informed by Mr X that he cannot help me.

And the response:

Dear Ms Leigh,

I am not going to quibble with you.

Kindly leave Mr X alone. If you persist any further in trying to contact Mr X, then it will need to be treated as a harassment matter.


Really? Harassment?  Not to mention his condescending comment about not quibbling with me. I’ve only sent 1 email and 1 follow up phone call, that hardly constitutes harassment.  He must be counting the letters and phone calls from PARC.

What is surprising me the most is that I had no qualms calling my Brother’s birthmother uncovering her secret after 58 years.  I even found his half-sister on Ancestry.com and Facebook,  although it wasn’t me who contacted her and spilled the beans on her Mother’s secret – so why am I so worried about doing the same in my own case, after all what do I have to lose?

You’ve got mail

I recall saying at some stage that the Finding Anne Watkins website was setup as my last hope, long shot, stab in the dark chance at finding Anne Watkins but in reality I lost hope in finding her about 10 years ago because at that time I’d been searching for over 20 and I hadn’t uncovered one piece of information that lead me to her, or anyone else for that matter.

All roads have led to nowhere when it comes to finding Anne Watkins. Needless to say when I received the following email from a researcher at the Benevolent Society I got excited for about 5 minutes.

I hope all is going well for you. Just wanted to let you know what’s been happening. About a month ago I sent a letter to a person I am following up. I did not hear back, so I sent another today by registered mail, person to person. This means I should either get a notification that the letter has been signed for, or it will be retuned as having gone to an old address. This letter is to a person I am hoping could provide some information so it is a looooong shot.


I have also emailed a number of odd places for tiny pieces of information but these have so far been unsuccessful. I will let you know if anything comes of the letter. I am expecting that the letter may not be well received so don’t keep your hopes too high. I will continue to do what we can here. I hope you are hanging in there. Let me know if I can support you in any way while we wait.

I can say with confidence that nothing will come of it. You could say that is just my way of arming myself for another let down or maybe I have a sixth sense about the whole situation. In reality I can’t believe I missed something in my search.

I wish I could be more like my brother who doesn’t care too much for the whole adoption thing. I asked him while having lunch with him and my sister-in-law if it bothered him that he replaced a baby, he said it didn’t bother him at all. This seems to be very common response amongst adopted blokes especially the ones around my age. Or are they just covering up their true feelings in good old Aussie bloke fashion?

Regardless of the outcome from this mysterious registered letter, I’m intrigued as to whom this person is that may provide more information and why wouldn’t they be receptive? So many questions rolling around my mind and I understand they can’t give much information until they know more or nothing if it’s a dead end. If it does come to a dead end as expected, then that’s probably the nail in the coffin. If I can’t find her and the experts can’t find her then she needs to find me and thinking about that just raises 100 more questions starting with ‘what if she’s dead?’.

Farewell yee thongs

Today my dear friend our 6 month relationship takes a new turn. I can no longer spend all day with you. I know we’ve had fun over this summer, we’ve walked many miles together, we’ve frolicked on the beach, we’ve painted together – I even have a few drops of paint to remind me. We’ve walked over rocky hills and you’ve even supported me when I’ve had to make a mad dash somewhere – I overlooked the blister you gave me because I knew how hard those dashes were on you.

I wore you out to dinner and I apologised for hiding you under my long dress but I couldn’t bare to cheat on you with an uncomfortable pair. But alas, from today I have to let go of our long days together but we can still be together in the morning and the afternoon, we can even spend the odd lunch together.

As much as I’d love to wear you to my new job, you know how those corporate snobs are,  all tottering around in their high heels. But don’t worry I’ll never give in to them, they are cold and heartless unlike your comfortable selves.

I can’t even wear a long dress to hide you but don’t despair I’ll hide you in my bag during the day and I’ll look in on you every now and then just to say hi and maybe a quick cuddle but in the not so distance future, I’m sorry to say that we’ll have to take a longer break from each other as the days will get colder but it won’t be long before we can be together again next summer.