Finding that silver lining

Just at the moment, Mr Namasi and I are facing some really significant life challenges. Each one daunting on its own, but when they gang up like this, it can be somewhat overwhelming. Just to prove that I'm not exaggerating, our list of challenges includes (but is not restricted to):

• Mr Namasi has been unemployed since December when the company he worked for folded, and I don't earn nearly enough to make ends even wave at each other
• When we at last found a buyer for our house, the sale fell through at the very last hurdle - we've already gotten rid of much of our furniture and started packing
• Our presence in a post-Brexit UK is not guaranteed.

I'm sure you get the picture. Things are pretty bleak. And yet, and yet...

We've introduced what we call 'austerity budget' and have cut corners all over the place. We've had to do this before and, as before, somehow it's fun. Planning meals together, choosing cheaper everything, and buoying each other up with the make-do mentality and the fact that we're in it together. Something as mundane as a chocolate bar becomes a real treat, and we appreciate the little things so much more.

I recently came home from work to find that a friend-and-colleague had popped a chocolate bar into my handbag. I gave it to Mr Namasi, because it happened to be a Boost and he needed one.

A friend treated me to a Sunday roast dinner out, which was such a blessing.

After a protracted battle with HMRC, who kept sending me letters to say I owed them money, in spite of the fact that they had already confirmed more than once that this was not the case, I finally spoke to someone who was able to stop the regular letters. This person was also able to tell me, that not only did I not owe them any money, but they owed me £100. Mr Namasi and I had foregone birthday presents due to budget cuts, and I decided that we would split the money and each buy ourselves a £50 gift.

As part of the ongoing downsizing project, I've been advertising some of our belongings online, and a few of them have sold. It's just £10 here and £15 there. But those little windfalls feel significant when they're dropping into an empty cache in a way they wouldn't have done under normal circumstances.

And then, of course, things go wrong - things you just don't have the budget for. The glass turntable plate thingy in the microwave broke clean in two. Normally, we would just buy a new one. On the austerity budget, we repaired it with superglue. So far, so good. We feel good about our resourcefulness.

Our tumble drier broke down - the spindle holding the drum in place sheared clean through. We can't get by without one so, with sighs of resignation, we called a man in to repair it. He discovered that our tumble drier is a recalled model. He waived his call out fee (incredibly generous of him) and arranged for us to have a brand new tumble drier for less than his call out fee would have been.

The friend who supplied the Boost bar, has also supplied other little blessings: a can of coconut milk here, an 8-pack of my preferred soft drink there. Things that I would normally buy without even looking at the price tag, and which have now been cut on the austerity budget.

Another friend gave us tickets to a live comedy act. A night out that we wouldn't even contemplate at the moment.

We find ourselves more determined to find the upside to every situation, to look for a reason to be glad.

Something that happened not to us, but to a friend, is an illustration of how the most unlikely things can turn out to be blessings in disguise. She found a lump in her breast and went to see the doctor, as you do. The doctor was pretty sure it was nothing nefarious, but sent her for a mammogram anyway. The mammogram confirmed his suspicion that the lump was of no concern. However, they found early stage cancer in the other breast. Apparently, it is pretty much undetectable at this stage other than on a scan. This makes for an excellent prognosis. Hooray for the lump.

So now our house is back on the market. There is no furniture in either of our sons' ex bedrooms. One of them is doing duty as a storage space for the stuff I'm looking to sell. Our lovely double length garage used to house gym equipment and a lovely XBox gaming space - it's now full of boxes, some packed and some empty. There are no pictures on the walls. There are half-packed boxes in most of the rooms. My lovely studio in the loft, with the best views in the house, is full of stuff from the attic-space, which is in the process of being sorted. It is nowhere near the lovely home it was when our previous buyers saw it. The sight that meets prospective buyers right now is far less inviting. But we've already had one offer, and it was a smidgen higher than the offer that fell through. And viewers are still coming. Maybe the failed sale and the resultant flirtation with financial ruin will result in a better price than before?

Mr Namasi, my wonderfully pragmatic, phlegmatic husband has made an occupation out of job hunting. This is the first time he has been unemployed for more than a couple of weeks, and the job market is not kind to the over 50s.

He has a daily routine of checking his emails, following up on new job alerts, making phone calls, reaching out to his network. He has been pouring himself into the task with the same sort of dedication and commitment that characterises the way he has approached every aspect of his life: previous jobs, marriage, parenting, sport, volunteering commitments... His resilience inspires me.

As we speak, he is en route to an interview in London. If the potential employers had been a fly on the wall as he prepared for this interview and spoke about how life would be if he got this job (at a lower salary than his previous role), they would have hired him on the spot. I just hope they are able to see his sterling qualities in the short space of time they get to spend with him. And maybe he will land a role that fits him like a glove, holds his interest and allows him to grow and develop.

Maybe this time of unemployment will also prove to be a blessing in disguise? I have to confess that at the moment, if this is a blessing in disguise, the disguise is a pretty impenetrable one, but I'm standing hopefully by for the Great Unmasking.

On deciding what sort of girl I want to be

In 1978, I was refused a bank loan to study mechanical engineering at university. Physics had been both my strongest and my favourite subject at school, particularly the mechanics curriculum. I have always had a knack for understanding how mechanical things work, and wanted to make a career out of designing machinery.

When that door was closed firmly in my face, I went to drama school instead (as you do) and passed my studies there with distinctions.

What sort of girl was I? Was I the sort of girl who did 'tomboyish' things, or was I a dramatic sort of a girl?

I don't think I ever really even thought about it, until a few years later. 1983, in fact.

I was getting ready to drive the 600km from East London (the one in South Africa, not England) to Durban for a holiday.

One of the things I needed to do before I left was service my car. So I pulled it up onto the lawn where the ground was level, and changed the plugs, points and condenser.

That done, I placed a pan under the sump and undid the sump nut (with some difficulty in the confined space). I wasn't sure that the pan was big enough to hold all the oil, so I brought my knitting out onto the front porch to keep my hands busy while I kept half an eye on the draining process. I was trying to finish a pullover to take with me for the trip.

A passing car pulled up onto the kerb and a man stepped out. He told me he had driven past a short while earlier and seen my backside sticking out from under the bonnet. Now he was driving past again, only to see me knitting. He couldn't tell what sort of girl I was, he told me, in an accusatory tone of voice. Apparently he would have preferred me to be either the butch sort of girl who wielded a plug spanner and understood the basics of the internal combustion engine, OR the sort of girl who made her own clothes. His tone of voice implied that he had the right to his expectations and that I somehow owed it to him to be one thing or the other.

Fast forward 34 years and I still haven't decided what sort of girl I am to the satisfaction of people like that random passerby in 1983. While I no longer service my own car (it's the electronics - I like electronic devices and know how to 'drive' several different types, but I don't understand their inner workings the way I do mechanical devices with moving parts), I am equally happy wielding a power drill and a crochet hook, operating a table saw and a sewing machine, making a lacy shawl and a hall stand. I watch rugby and chick flicks. Shoe stores and hardware stores are equally appealing to me. I coo over kittens and drool over drill presses. I feed the yarn and fabric stash and can't resist (yet) a(nother) wooden pallet to add to my collection.

So what kind of girl am I? I'm the sort of girl who doesn't feel the need to be one sort of girl. I'm the sort of girl who has a wide range of interests and not enough hours in the day to pursue them all. I'm the sort of girl who thinks that if you want me to make up my mind what sort of girl I am, you can go and...do something unpleasant to yourself.

That's the sort of girl I am.

After a long silence...pleading for a little less dissing

I have been uncharacteristically quiet for some time, I know. I had my Mom to stay for six weeks, and we spent that time exploring garden centres, visiting coffee shops, going birding and doing the Daily Telegraph cryptic crossword puzzle every day. Things I just don't to do very often because I don't know anyone locally who shares my interest in any of these activities, and - apart from the DT crossword - doing them alone just makes me sad.

When she left - after a couple of false starts, because she flies staff rebate and has to go on standby - the Black Dog took full advantage of the void and moved in with me for a bit.

But I am on the mend.

Since we last spoke, my younger son has moved out of home into his very first flat. Now Mr Namasi and I are rattling around in this overlarge empty nest and using words like 'downsizing'.

Also...the Rio Olympics. Isn't it exciting? Team GB is currently second on the medal table. This little island is doing very well for itself. Usain Bolt is delivering the goods as expected. 'First ever' medals are being won for countries with small populations and large challenges (like Kosovo), and it gets, erm...very dusty in homes all over the world as we watch the victors hearing their anthems being played. And let's not forget the first ever Olympic gold medal to an African American swimmer, in a wonderful 'in your face' to a history of exclusion of black swimmers from local swimming pools until relatively recently. Of course, as a South African expat, your friendly upsycho is delighted at the world record breaking win in the 400m by Wayde van Niekerk.

But what's with all the dissing that's going on? Gabby Douglas's hair has made more of an impression than her gymnastics, for Pete's sake! What the heck is that about? One competitor refused to shake hands with his opponent after their judo bout (and got sent home for his trouble) because they have different religions. One victor failed to place her hand on her heart during the anthem - shock horror. Commentators are being ludicrously sexist: attributing women's wins to their male coaches; making comments like 'she swims like a man' (seriously?!); and calling Simone Biles the next Michael Phelps ("I'm not the next Michael Phelps, I'm the first Simone Biles."); completely overlooking the fact that the Williams sisters have won more than one gold medals than Andy Murray (an oversight Andy Murray was quick to point out).

I don't get it. I find the athletes breathtakingly admirable. Their discipline, dedication and skill are remarkable. I don't give a rat's ass what Gabby's 'edges' (whatever they may be) are doing. Or that x person's body isn't flattered by her (and it's usually a her) clothing. I reckon they're all pretty damned amazing, and I can't wait to see what happens next.

Before (cat not included)

I try to counter the negativity with a positive attitude to my work. I'm also participating in a FB meme: posting five positive things about each day for five days.

After (sans cat)

Most of the projects I'm working on at the moment are commissioned pieces. I try to pour love (oh hush!) into what I do, and I hope that it shows. I hope that the clients feel that the investment in their chair/patio set/dog grooming parlour has been worth it, when they see them gain a new lease on life.