Two Teds are better than one?.

I was adopted when I was three months old. My new mum died when I was nine, and dad went and did the same thing just before my eighteenth birthday. I'd never been that interested in finding out more about my birth mother, but years ago, Peter was working in London, very close to where the old public records office was at Somerset House. Unbeknown to me, he'd spend all his lunch breaks trying to find my mother. Eventually he did, and I met her. She lives in Wales, but had gone to London during her pregnancy, to save her family the shame of an illegitimate baby. It was a very uncomfortable meeting. I've never really thought about the nature/nurture thing, but it was freaky to meet this woman, who should have been the most important influence in my life, and feel nothing at all, except how weird it was, that we were the same size, had the same haircut, and were wearing identical clothes apart from the stripes on my shirt were blue and hers red. She wouldn't tell me anything about my father, but asked me not to try and find him. How could I, I didn't even know his name. That was the end of that, and I didn't give it another thought for a long time, until I was diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer. Suddenly, I was faced with the fact that I might not be quite as immortal as I'd always assumed. Peter and I had divorced, and he had gone home to live in Australia, while I'd stayed in the UK raising our two daughters. Once I'd got through the surgery, and begun chemo, it became important to try and find out more about my birth family. I joined a site that aims to help people build family trees. I had so little information, apart from the names of my birth grandparents, and mother, that I didn't hold out any hope, which was just aswell, because I didn't hear anything for years. During those years, the girls finished school, I remained in remission, and Peter came back to the UK, and we remarried. Then out of the blue, I got an email from a man in Canada, who had been researching the family name. He sent me as much of the tree as he'd completed, and said I had an aunt in Kent, and an uncle in Wales. He suggested I contact the uncle, as that was where he'd got most of his information from....he even gave me this uncles phone number. After a few days mulling it over, I decided to call the number, and the phone was answered by a very softly spoken Welshman. It turned out he is my birth mothers brother, and knew nothing about my existence, or that his sister had even been pregnant at that time. He told me my mother had been dating a soldier called Stewart, who was a piper in a Scottish regiment stationed near their home town, and that shortly after the regiment returned to Scotland, my mother moved to London for a number of months, before returning to Wales, marrying a man, and giving birth to another daughter the following year. I could have talked to this sweet man for a long time. If I'd known him as a child, I think he'd have been my favourite uncle, but I doubt I will ever meet him, or even speak to him again. My uncles name is Ted....funny old world, innit?

The other Ted, was in disgrace today. He'd eaten his second laptop cable in ten days, and I was seriously planning a one way trip for him, to Battersea Dogs Home. I mean come on, I'd just found a nice Ted, did I really need two of them in my life? I decided to take pain in the arse Ted out for a walk, and my great big, stupid, clumsy, lolloping lump of a Spinone made my cheeks ache with laughter, as he played with his mate Oscar, the Manchester Terrier. For today the trip to Battersea is on hold, but I've saved the route plan to bookmarks, and will bring the page up everytime he wanders in here with that look on his face.