I've spent a great deal of time over the past few months deciding where the girls and I will live once the house is sold. There are many reasons to stay where we are, but at the same time, many reasons to move on and start afresh.

I left my hometown 20 years ago, in search of brighter lights and bigger streets. But I have never really been able to settle anywhere, and feel uncomfortable in calling another place "home". My increasingly frequent trips to visit my sister, who still lives in our hometown, have made me realise that home is exactly where I left it, all those years ago. Every visit

I keep having this recurring dream. I am in the middle of the North Sea, it is night time, and all around me is pitch-black. The water is freezing, and there is only the sound of the sea. I am treading water, but the sea keeps pulling me under, I am sinking.

I wait for someone to come and rescue me, but I do not hear the sound of the search and rescue copter, or the coastguard's vessel. They will come soon, I say to myself, someone must know where I am. Still I wait, fighting the waves as they attempt to take me with them. Still, there is no-one to save me. I am exhausted, and the cold water

I found a "memory box" the other day, it contained various photographs, newspaper cuttings, cards the children had made me and everything to do with my wedding. There was my tiara, the wedding cards, the guest book, the dried flowers from the cake. I smiled as I sorted through it all, recalling memories long forgotten.

I remember how happy and excited I was on my wedding, and how much in love I was with the man about to become my husband. If someone had told me then what the future held for me, for us, I would have laughed. After all, this man told me every day he loved me and that nothing