Hopefully, this will also be a diary of the adventures, calamities and travels of two people, who found each other in 1990, got married in 1992, blended two sets of offspring into one family, and will provide grandchildren with an insight into one set of grandparents, who were not there all the time. It might also provide the answer to the question "Why doesn't Nanna remember my birthday on time?" For the reader, I do remember, but the days slip past and are so full of things to do and the Birthday Person knows I do send the Birthday Wishes eventually.

To our nieces and nephews, this will explain why we are those strangers who occasionally visit.

The Wanderlust Bug may bite one day, and you know, there will be another home far from your own, wherever we are. Our door is always open We have done trips overseas many times, but this time we decided we would like to spend more time and live in the places of our travels, instead of keeping an eye on the clock and the calendar The reason we are doing is this, is not have regrets later in life and sigh "If only we had done..........". I miss my family and wish they could be with me. This part of our many journeys started with Kent's retirement early this year. After his thirty two years service with two Navies, our time had arrived. Our journey started with sadness; Kent's father passed away unexpectedly ten days after we arrived in England, he fell and broke his hip, and because of other medical complications he did not survive. What was to be a reunion became a funeral. The first month was spent doing what officialdom required and was an introduction to the English way of life. The local Council practically dictates the way a person shall live and die. Coming from a country that encourages an individual's independence from bureaucracy, I found it to be stifling dealing with various council officers. An aside for the Australian part of the family - now I know where the term a' Whingeing Pom' comes from, and it's not what was on the convicts shirts as we have been led to believe, it's because everything is organized for them and without the support blanket they have in England, they find it hard to become a free thinker. Maybe I am being cynical, but this is a Welfare State, everything from the cradle to grave is organised for them. During chaos of the first month, we house hunted and finally found the little house in Scawsby. Our tenancy is at the best tenuous because the owners want to sell, but in the meantime are happy to have us as tenants. It also gives us the freedom to move on when we wish. Originally we were going to take two years out for this trip, but I have a feeling it will take longer.

A promise made to our family is to return home for Christmas in 1999 will be kept; but I have a feeling some of them will join us for part of our journey.

To keep our life as normal as possible, we packed up the furniture and our belongings, so home can be set up wherever we are.

A book could be written of adventures with officialdom and the old fashioned bankers of England. The chapter on the English banking fraternity should be titled "While I look down my nose at you". A tip for beginners; if you are from Australia and New Zealand, get your banking facilities organized from there, because you will not get a cheque guarantee card, English Credit Card or the equivalent of an EFTPOS card if you have not resided in England for at least two years. It doesn't matter that you have a good banking record, or have letters from your bankers at home. The English Bankers will tell you if and when you will be allowed to use their facilities. We had to fight for a cheque-book and as for a joint account, that took a bit more effort.

Do not fail to pay your Council Tax. It doesn't matter if you rent, you still have to pay the Council Tax on the property. It is not included in your rent and to add insult to injury, you pay Water Rates to the Water Board. In this area you are charged for 95% of your water rates as Sewage Rate. They calculate that you send 95% of the water back to the sewer so you pay for that privilege too. When I get home I will not complain how the Council Rates are struck. Ned Kelly is alive and well in England.

The people are very friendly and helpful. Using England as our base, we can venture into Europe and the Continent. I have seen things I have read about and now I am able to indulge in my passion for Falconry.

Conisburgh Castle is one of my favourite places. In my imagination I can see my husband's ancestors helping defend it. The Keep stands guard over the area and when you enter it, you can hear the whisperings of voices coming back through the centuries . I stand in the courtyard, with a Hawk on my arm, surrounded by the remains of the castle walls, imagining what it must have been like back then. This is the castle where Sir Walter Scott set his story of Ivanhoe. He used to see the castle ruins on his journeys to London.

Entering York Minister is a journey to another Realm. I stood spell bound. The stained glass windows filtering the afternoon light: walking over the ancient burial crypts: translating Old English and Latin into the language of today: entering the many chapels; discovering a niche with an ancestor's name on a Plaque of Remembrance, evokes a sense of also belonging to this ancient land.

Lincoln Cathedral, with a choir and orchestra during rehearsal, is awe-inspiring; to read the legend of the Lincoln Imps and walk the ancient streets, my senses are working overtime. Being able to enter the Chapels dedicated to the Armed Services, all with the Battle Honours of disbanded units laid up, and to read the Honour Rolls of men who came from lands so far away, lay down their lives for King and Country brings the ANZAC tradition to life.

Bradford is an industrial town. Forget the idea of chimneys belching black smoke everywhere. The sky is blue and the air is clear. The streets are clean. To water the hanging flower baskets in the city centre, a draught horse pulls a dray, on which a water tank is placed. The ladies water the hanging baskets, while people talk and pat the horse. A sense of the ridiculous appeared while driving along one street. An Indian Restaurant located in what would have been a house in the early 1800's. The house was built in the fashion of the workers cottages of those days. We walked the narrow inner city streets, while the modern world of transport, sped past on wide ring roads that encircle the town. We are going back to discover more of Bradford and the hidden delights.

Whitby Abbey stands majestically overlooking the town. Walking past the graveyard of St. Mary's Church, you can let your mind wander and imagine the swirling mists of time coming in off the ocean and hearing the sounds of mariners, the creaking timbers of the ships as they come alongside. Walking the cobbled streets, looking into windows of houses built long ago, and to visit where James Cook served his apprenticeship. All the books I have read are coming to life. I can even see the Vikings raiding the Abbey. I indulged my passion for strawberries on a summer's day. A waffle smothered with strawberries and fresh cream will always evoke memories of Whitby and walking along the waterfront.

I stood near the Royal Oak in Sherwood Forest and while there had the myth of Robin Hood explained. I was disappointed to find that if he did exist, he came from near where we are living now; but the stuff dreams are made of go on.

To grow roses here is something I have always wanted to do. The colours seem more vibrant and the perfume stronger. I am growing my favourite New Zealand roses in the garden. Sexy Rexy seems more pink; Deep Secret is darker and the perfume heavenly. I would love to find Aotearoa and Auckland Metro and see what they would be like in a Yorkshire garden. Another indulgence is growing Asters. I have never seen so many different hues. The cornflowers help my garden to look like Fairyland. Wherever we have lived, we have planted gardens and hopefully, those who live in the houses after us, will enjoy our labours of love.

We have found our plans are changed by circumstances beyond our control. Sometimes the original plot gets lost. 20 August 1999 There has been a gap of nearly eight months since I have last worked on this diary. So much has happened and I feel I can finally start to put my feelings into print. We had a very quiet Christmas after moving into the new house.

Kent was retrenched on 18 December, so we decided to have Christmas at home and regroup. The New Year dawned peacefully and knowing everyone would be enjoying themselves in the Southern Hemisphere, we were enjoying the crispness of a Northern Hemisphere winter. E-mails had been exchanged and everyone was up to date with current events. I returned to work after the Christmas Break, Kent pottered around the house, getting the gardens in order and redecorating the house. On returning home on the 6th January, I checked the voice mail, to hear a message from the police in Queensland. Just the thing that comes out of the blue. We tried to return the call twice without success and decided that it couldn't be anything untoward. We had just settled to sleep when the phone rang, answered and it was police, breaking the news that Neil had drowned. It was like a dream, the world turned strange and I had to wake Kent up and tell him that his youngest son was dead. Life seemed to go on automatic after that. There is a numbness, you know you are doing things, but it isn't you. I had to check the emails again, because Neil had been touch with me only two days earlier requesting addresses in Brisbane. Phone calls made overseas, arrangements to be made, the list went on. I was accused of being in it for what I could get out of it by Alan, Kent's eldest. I was trying to get things in perspective regarding travel insurance, repatriation of Neil to New Zealand, what help could be expected and to be called a f………. bloody bitch was more than I could take. Eventually we had to get our solicitor to intervene. It has been a very sorry time and I will not forget the words Alan spoke. Others tried to meddle and cause trouble at the same time. How can people be so mean and nasty at a time when people are most vulnerable? There are still days of darkness, but through it all I can see Neil's big wide grin, so much like Kent's and I know his life, although short was spent doing what he enjoyed. Since Neil's death, neither Peter nor Alan has been in touch with Kent. I am not going out of my way to stay in touch with either of them. Thank goodness for our friends and family who were able to offer comfort from so far away. Kent and I have a strong relationship and faith and I am sure this has helped us cope. Kent went through a period of unemployment and about June things started to brighten up for him. He got a couple of short-term contracts and then the JOB was offered in June. So he is happily working away with his electronics.

Kent was approached about going out to Oman, but he decided to stay in England for a while. We are moving closer to the base, but will take our time regarding finding a house down there. It is a beautiful part of the country, with thatched cottages, country lanes, a river flowing slowly through the meadows and life so laid back. I have my dream house, but a dream it will remain. It is Grade Two listed Georgian cottage, whitewashed, thatched roofed and of course a rose garden. Isn't it nice to dream? I finished at Kelly's in March. I needed the respite having worked on and off for the last few months. It has given us the time sort ourselves out and to smell the roses again. A short trip to hospital with anaphylactic shock last week and of course enough steroids to help build the strongest person in the world have also added to the spice of life. Tests are being done to try and sort out the allergen causing these attacks. This is the fourth time I have a reaction like this and a cause has not been found to date, so another attempt wont go astray.

We have revisited Whitby; it was a glorious day. To stand on the headland where the Abbey is and look out over the North Sea and just rethink history is marvellous. That particular day the Legends of King Arthur were being re-enacted in the Abbey grounds. It's great to cheer the hero and boo the villains.

I discovered the story of the Life Boat that was pulled overland to rescue a crew of a sinking ship in the 1800's. I had heard the story but thought it was folklore. It was true. To see where other maritime disasters have occurred along that coast and the lives saved by the Life Boat crews. The story of the Rohilla is one such rescue. According to the stewardess on board, after she was rescued, it was scarier than the first time she was rescued from a sinking ship. That ship was the Titanic. She lived to an old age and died peacefully.

Burney has returned to Australia to live, so again, one of us remaining on the other side of the world.

Purdey the Persian Cat entered our lives this year. I was feeling like fostering an elderly cat, so we went to the RSPCA. We saw some characters, one eyed Toms, elderly old girls and to make a decision was hard, so we decided to leave it and have another visit. The phone rang one day and they asked if I would be interested in raising three orphaned kittens. Life got busy again. After two weeks we were able to return the kittens to be rehomed. While there we had another look at the moggies and couldn't decided between a spicy old ginger Tom or this laid back black and white old lady. While we were talking the phone rang. It was the owner of Purdy, threatening if the RSPCA wouldn't take her; she was going to be destroyed. According to the owner, this was a problem cat. The cattery was full to overflowing and nowhere to house this cat. Kent and I went down to the house and claimed the cat. She was matted, bruised and thoroughly defeated. She travelled home in my arms, submitted to being shaved and generally seemed to be at peace. She was supposed to be wild, peeing everywhere and nothing but trouble. I am sure we got the right cat. Purdy has been a delight since day one. Her coat has grown back; she is quiet, has a streak of adventure and is so full of love. She disappeared for ten days. That time was spent locked in a neighbours wardrobe. None the worse for wear with that adventure. I wired the fences in the garden to keep her from going through; she hasn't wised to the fact that cats can jump. If you can't go through a fence, you don't. Purdy's motto, not mine.

Lady, the ten year old little terrier next door, produced a litter of five puppies. One puppy now lives on the other side of us. Lady visits her through wire on the fence.

We have to get down to the Castle to check on the birds. This is the month they are at their flying weight. The winter fat has been starved off them, so now they earn their keep with display flights.

The Pilgrim Fathers who settled in America came from this area. The Pilgrim's House at Scrooby is about ten miles from here. So I am off on another journey of discovery into the past.

A Roman Treasure Trove has been discovered on a building site two miles from here. The Coroner has decided that the owner of the land can claim the reward. He was digging to place foundations for his new home, when the trove was discovered. He now says it will pay for his new house. Old coins and jewellery are being discovered all around here and you must declare it, then a decision is made who is the rightful owner. Generally it is returned to the discoverer, who can either donate it to the Government and get a substantial reward or you can keep it and sell it if you want. If I keep digging in the garden I might just find a piece of history. Coins dating back to pre Civil War (English) are also being dug up. Generally the families buried their money before the Cromwellian Army came to town, in the hope that it could be located after the event, but with the passing of time the treasures got lost and now people are reaping the benefits of that ancient time.

There is a village called Swineshead in Lincolnshire. It's name originates form the Olde English word Swin meaning Landing. Which then translates to Landing at the head of the river. It's claim to fame: King John was poisoned here and yes he died. The church is over a thousand years old, but by the masons who travelled the country doing pilgrimage. The church has been added to over the centuries, but the Medieval craftsmanship survives to this day. The stained glass windows are from a later period, 1500's. The village was first settled by the Romans, to be followed by the Vikings, and then the Normans. The streets are ancient and the houses both old and new stand side by side. So if you are passing a strange named town or village, it pays to stop and find out the origin of the name as well as discovering the history.

August 27 1999 Another Bank Holiday as it is called in England. With four days ahead of us it was decided to head for Bridport in Dorset. The journey was taken out of curiosity and as a trip into the past for Dianna, my on line friend in Texas. Her ancestors came from there before emigrating to America. Dianna had given me her family tree, so having a reference our search back in time commenced. Kent, not being an early riser, finally opened his eyes to the aroma of coffee. It was after 9 am before we shut the front door for our four hour journey. Down the usual motorways heading south. Plenty of caravans, but none holding up traffic. We were making good time up to Taunton. Not knowing which way to come off the roundabout we headed in what we thought was the direction to Ilminster. At a very olde world village of Norton Fitzwarren, we pulled over to the kerb. It was decided to consult the BIG road map and not the route finder. Kent has a habit, when he prints the route finder off, he does not unfold all the directions, so we are using a very abridged version of HOW TO GET THERE, of course without a map. We discover we are heading north instead of south and are going to end our journey in a place called Minehead. Nothing for it, turn the car around and go back to Taunton. This time following the road map. Everything is going great until we miss a sign post, never mind we'll follow the map and the local signposts from here. We were supposed to heading for a village named Chard on the way to Crewkerne from there the next place is Misterto and then Bridport. We are going across country we try to follow the local route. We saw some of the prettiest scenery for a long while. Trees have overgrown the road and it is so dark, then emerge into brilliant sunlight. By tenacity we reach Crewkerne and from there following the signposts, we arrived at Bridport. I was expecting a small village, so typical of the area. The main street was busy. The old buildings have been restored and mostly converted, but there is no sign of a sleepy village. We park in a lane off Tannery Road. I get out being anxious to start exploring. I decided to walk up the lane and to my amazement find we are actually in St. Michael's Lane, the place were Dianna's great great great grandfather lived. Not only that, I was standing in front of the cottage. It has the name Rope Cottage on a plaque on the door. After walking around the main part of the town, we have afternoon tea at a place Hardy's. It is another converted hotel. I asked the staff if they know where the old cemetery is. One of the lasses is into history and she was a gold mine of information. Two cemeteries are our main bet. We head off for Walditch. It is the closest to Bridport. Find the graves of last century, that took a bit of time. Reading the headstones, even more of a challenge. Most of them had fallen over and the ones remaining in place, had eroded with time. We took pictures of the area and then headed for Symondsbury another part of the family history. The village is very tiny, with narrow lanes and ancient houses. A witch is supposed to buried in the Churchyard, but we couldn't find her grave. The graves have been turfed over, the majority of the gravestones, have fallen over and are placed along the fence wall and on the ground under an ancient oak tree, so again we were unable to locate anything. On memory of the churchyard is particularly poignant. A little boy aged five is buried there, his gravestone is replica of Thomas the Tank Engine. On our homeward journey, we decide to stop at Sedgemoor (the site of the Rebellion of the Pitchforks in 1628?). Getting out of the car, I discover that my bag is missing. Of course everything is in it. Nothing for it, we have to head back to Bridport, over an hour with good driving time. We arrive back after 7pm, hoping that Hardy's is open. It is, and yes my bag is there. One beer, a Long Island Iced Tea, a conversation with a local at the bar, we start the journey home. We stop at Sedgemoor again, to have supper and take in the battle scenes depicted on the walls of the dining area. There are the original swords, pikes and armour mounted on the walls. The days of James the Second and James the Duke of Monmouth were bloody. Not far from here is also the site of the Battle of Boswell. I discovered that there is a place called the Wookey Hole. I thought Wookies were aliens (Star Wars). Maybe, just maybe, the Jedi and Luke Skywalker have touched down. I know the true story of the Wookey Hole, do you?

Before I forget, this summer our garden is thriving. The roses are magnificent. I have added a few more to the collection and the rose I planted in memory of Neil, is a golden yellow. It has bloomed continually, it has only had two buds at time, but each one is precious. Dark Secret hasn't stopped blooming and the other rose is Blessings. It also is coming into a third blooming. The Gladiolis were better than last year, as were the tulips. Sadly the hanging baskets haven't done well, but what can you expect, when they keep falling off the wall. The Rowan Tree is growing and is now as tall as me. The Flowering Cherry Tree has come to halt in the growing process. Plenty of leaves but not much height. Still the garden is looking good and everyone comments on it. Wherever we live, we always leave some trace of having lived in the place. Our gardens are that memory and I hope the next people who live in this house , will enjoy the gardens.

It seems a long time since adding anything to this diary and so much has happened.

Plans have been made for our move to Brampton, so sadly I am leaving my three storey dolls house in Balby. I have made new friends and been privileged to share my life with a family of travellers. Life is never dull in their company.

Great excitement - June and Barry are arriving. Vicki and Craig are getting married in Scotland at Hunterston Castle, the Hunter family's ancestral home. I will be able to share the sights and act as a guide on day trips for them.

The wedding was magical. Vicki wore a medieval style dress and Craig wore a kilt in Hunter Tartan. We stayed at the castle and despite what Kent thinks, the place is haunted. Nothing sinister, just ancient beings sharing the past. we explored the grounds, discovered the walled garden, picked heather for the bridal flowers. There is even the 'Hanging tree' or the son of the same tree in the grounds. The wedding ceremony was held in the Great Hall, with Pauline's dog curled near the fire, as hounds down through the centuries have done before him. Visiting the Big House in the castle grounds, seeing ancestral portraits hanging on oak panels, really evokes the senses and with my sense of history, I imagine the balls held there in days gone by. The time with June and Barry was so short. In case you forget, June and I went to primary school and shared in the mischief of growing up. It's great to have friendships that last a life time.

We also have another cat. A beautiful snowy Persian. She is another rescue cat. I spend a lot time grooming both cats and they have sorted their boundaries out. I plan to buy Kent an Ocicat for his birthday and have been in touch with a breeder.

Kent has chosen his Oci, not one, but two. So that is his Christmas present as well. We will introduce the boys to our girls when we move house after our holiday in Barbados.

Barbados, can it be Paradise? Our flight was the flight from hell, not that bad, but bad enough. It was late leaving and on arrival in Bridgetown, it was decided our luggage was going on a Carribean cruise without us. it took over four hours to convince officialdom and the Reps from Airtours that I was serious about not leaving airport without our luggage. Some of the others, gave up and went to the hotel. One lass, was upset, as she getting married the next day and her wedding dress was in the luggage that customs decided was for the ship. I became unpleasant and eventually our luggage was released. One black mark for the reps from Airtours. It got worse. The rep at the hotel was conspicuous by her absence. I eventually got my hands on a complaint form. If you don't complete the paperwork, your complaint isn't considered. The actual holiday was fantastic. Swimming in the warm waters, lots of food, long walks down the road, with the locals stopping and offering you a lift, riding on the local buses, with reggae music blaring, exploring the market places and Christmas Eve spent with like minded people. Christmas Day was unusual and so laid back. We had a visit from Father Christmas and his very big helper. before I forget, where in the world is the statue of Nelson with both eyes? We chatted with multi millionaires tying their yachts up in Bridgetown Harbour. We'll talk to anyone. It was a fantastic holiday to end a traumatic year.

Life is hectic, arranging the move, starting a new job - me, and of course planning to move the roses and other precious plants from the garden. It's sad saying goodbye to everyone.

1999 is at an end. Please turn the page for more of the diary.