On Sunday I went shopping with Lemon Cake Lady!
It was a rare treat for us both, a day out without small people to distract, exasperate and de-focus us.
De-focus isn't a word. I've just made it up so I just looked it up and it doesn't exist but it sums up how I feel about shopping with a toddler. The boy will sit in his buggy for about an hour tops before he wants to get out and run somewhere in a variety of different directions! I find I spend most of my time describing everything to him with as many adjectives as possible. I go into colour, texture, taste and smell to keep him amused and stimulated around a store.
This doesn't aid browsing on my part. You can't browse with a toddler. You can't deliberate over purchasing a present for someone for example. You can't weigh up price verses quality verses colour verses style. You can't try anything on. You can't think!
In short you can't focus.
You have one hand on the buggy whilst dispensing raisins out at regular intervals with the other, one eye on the keys he's holding to keep him quiet making sure they don't get flung into a clearance bin never to be seem again, and the other eye on the clock because it'll soon be time for his nap, lunch, bum change or the car park is about to go over 2 hours and you'll have to re-mortgage your house to afford it!
So the prospect of a days shopping without our boys made us both, quite frankly, giddy with excitement!
When I picked Lemon Cake Lady up she was her usual controlled and organised self, sorting out her boys requirements for the day with his grandparents. When she got in my car however she was like a women possessed! She had a proper funny five minutes of screaming, giggling, delirious delight at "having a day off"!
I knew how she felt. I was already high from my fifteen minutes of fame that morning, something that was compounded later when I went into a WH Smith's to look at the paper and saw myself smiling back. I had a copy at home but somehow seeing it in a proper news agents made it all the more real.
So as you can imagine we were like a couple of school girls on the last day of term. This was the Mum's equivalent of being allowed to wear your own clothes and bring Connect 4 into school. I had vouchers I'd been saving since my birthday in April and Lemon Cake Lady had cash on her. That makes it sound like she doesn't normally carry cash. She does. She's not like the Queen or anything it's just that since we both went back to work part time, after having our boys, having money for shopping trips has been something of a thing of the past.
We reflected on this when we stopped for pizza after the shops shut. Time was when one or other of us would've called up and said "I'm bored. Shall we go shopping?" and we would've hopped on a train and just maxed the credit cards out because we could. We had money and the freedom to just go out for the day without the military operation that is arranging child care. We took it for granted.
So maybe now that's why a day off, going out with a mate shopping and having a bite to eat is so much sweeter. Both the time and having the money to do it is hard earned and all the more rewarding for it!
And what did we buy?
Presents for our boys! What else.....
Tuesday, 12 July 2011
Sunday, 10 July 2011
The One with the Finished Article
It's been a crazy 48 hours!
By 8 am this morning hubby had been up the shops and got two copies of The Independent on Sunday and I'd been interviewed on local BBC radio.
I've had texts, tweets, Facebook messages and e-mails all day to congratulate us on our bravery and say what a great piece it is.
The response has been overwhelming.
So this is it! Random Woman makes the national press in all her glory. Pages 14 and 15 of The Independent on Sunday.
Page 15 seems very apt somehow.
After all this would appear to be my 15 minutes of fame....
Enjoy!
http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/theatre-dance/news/naked-fury-why-calendar-girls-are-going-into-battle-2309903.html
Saturday, 9 July 2011
The One with the Photo Shoot
Well I can safely say I've never done that before!
I was once asked if I wanted to be a Page 3 girl! I was 16 years old and on holiday with my parents. I was wearing a leopard print swimsuit and a straw trilby hat! It was the mid 1980's but even that doesn't excuse the fashion faux pas that made me look like a cross between John Taylor from Duran Duran and Bet Lynch!
Needless to say I declined the random guys offer. He probably wasn't even from The Sun and anyway I was going to be a serious actress thank you very much and I didn't need to take my clothes off for my art!
Today I did!
Today I stood topless with my modesty hidden only by a combination of upright piano, fake sunflowers and a glass of wine.
We were in the theatre we perform in regularly and I've whipped my clothes off backstage for a quick change but I've never stood with it all hanging out in the glare of the lights before.
Driving there I was a bundle of excitement and nerves. I had more make up on than was good for me and my hair was straightened within an inch of it's life. I noticed I hadn't had time to paint my nails. I panicked! Then it dawned on me that if the readers of The Independent on Sunday noticed my shabby fingers nails there must be something wrong with my boobs!
I could tell that the others had butterflies too. When I pulled up most of them were outside having a crafty smoke!
There were seven of us ladies. All brave, beautiful, amazing women who love the theatre and want to raise money to help fight cancer, leukaemia and lymphoma.
One of our number lost her husband to cancer a year ago this weekend. She stood shoulder to shoulder and, literally, breast to breast with me. I was proud of her and all of us and honoured to be beside her.
As we shed our robes, tits and bum gags tumbled out of our mouths and laughed filled the empty auditorium.
The freelance photographer was a warm, lively lady who seemed impressed that we had found a venue with a piano and as it was a theatre, lighting was already in place. She said she usually pitches up to these jobs and finds that only a couple of people have turned up and no one knows what's going on!
We were consummate professionals. Well apart from all the jokes, wine drinking and giggling!
It felt wonderfully liberating to stand semi nude in the theatre and in three of the girls cases completely starkers!
I don't like my body. I never have. Which is a shame because my mind turned to that 16 year old on the beach. Back then I thought I was fat but in reality I had a cracking little figure, all boobs and bum and a tiny waist.
You don't realise what you have until it's gone.
Since having the boy I've not been able to look at myself in the mirror let alone let anyone else see my sagging breasts, stomach rolls and stretch marks.
Taking that robe off today was a big step for me. Bigger than I realised.
So this afternoon wasn't just about publicity. This was an early rehearsal for a year and a bit away when we will stand there for real, without a stitch on, and a paying audience in attendance laughing and crying and hopefully having a great evenings entertainment, all for a good cause.
I don't know who I'm playing yet but it doesn't matter, all the parts in this fantastic play are great but more importantly the cause is great and all us ladies who bared all today and the ones who couldn't make it, but will bare all next September with us, are great.
So today, despite the hang ups about my post pregnancy body, I took my top off and I'll keep taking it off if it means one day we can find a cure for these terrible diseases.
I may not be 16 anymore but it's still my body and I'm proud of it.
I was once asked if I wanted to be a Page 3 girl! I was 16 years old and on holiday with my parents. I was wearing a leopard print swimsuit and a straw trilby hat! It was the mid 1980's but even that doesn't excuse the fashion faux pas that made me look like a cross between John Taylor from Duran Duran and Bet Lynch!
Needless to say I declined the random guys offer. He probably wasn't even from The Sun and anyway I was going to be a serious actress thank you very much and I didn't need to take my clothes off for my art!
Today I did!
Today I stood topless with my modesty hidden only by a combination of upright piano, fake sunflowers and a glass of wine.
We were in the theatre we perform in regularly and I've whipped my clothes off backstage for a quick change but I've never stood with it all hanging out in the glare of the lights before.
Driving there I was a bundle of excitement and nerves. I had more make up on than was good for me and my hair was straightened within an inch of it's life. I noticed I hadn't had time to paint my nails. I panicked! Then it dawned on me that if the readers of The Independent on Sunday noticed my shabby fingers nails there must be something wrong with my boobs!
I could tell that the others had butterflies too. When I pulled up most of them were outside having a crafty smoke!
There were seven of us ladies. All brave, beautiful, amazing women who love the theatre and want to raise money to help fight cancer, leukaemia and lymphoma.
One of our number lost her husband to cancer a year ago this weekend. She stood shoulder to shoulder and, literally, breast to breast with me. I was proud of her and all of us and honoured to be beside her.
As we shed our robes, tits and bum gags tumbled out of our mouths and laughed filled the empty auditorium.
The freelance photographer was a warm, lively lady who seemed impressed that we had found a venue with a piano and as it was a theatre, lighting was already in place. She said she usually pitches up to these jobs and finds that only a couple of people have turned up and no one knows what's going on!
We were consummate professionals. Well apart from all the jokes, wine drinking and giggling!
It felt wonderfully liberating to stand semi nude in the theatre and in three of the girls cases completely starkers!
I don't like my body. I never have. Which is a shame because my mind turned to that 16 year old on the beach. Back then I thought I was fat but in reality I had a cracking little figure, all boobs and bum and a tiny waist.
You don't realise what you have until it's gone.
Since having the boy I've not been able to look at myself in the mirror let alone let anyone else see my sagging breasts, stomach rolls and stretch marks.
Taking that robe off today was a big step for me. Bigger than I realised.
So this afternoon wasn't just about publicity. This was an early rehearsal for a year and a bit away when we will stand there for real, without a stitch on, and a paying audience in attendance laughing and crying and hopefully having a great evenings entertainment, all for a good cause.
I don't know who I'm playing yet but it doesn't matter, all the parts in this fantastic play are great but more importantly the cause is great and all us ladies who bared all today and the ones who couldn't make it, but will bare all next September with us, are great.
So today, despite the hang ups about my post pregnancy body, I took my top off and I'll keep taking it off if it means one day we can find a cure for these terrible diseases.
I may not be 16 anymore but it's still my body and I'm proud of it.
The One with the Interview for the National Press
My phone rang yesterday morning at work.
It wasn't a client or a customer, it was the director of the amateur theatre group I belong too.
"The theatre have been on the phone, a journalist from the national press wants to talk to someone about us doing Calendar Girls. I think they may have picked up the story from when you were interviewed on BBC local radio. You're better at that sort of thing than I am and anyway you're our publicity officer, you'll do it won't you. They'll be ringing later today."
I coughed and spluttered into my tea.
"Errr... yeah go on then."
A few minutes later a journalist called Kate from The Independent called. This was serious stuff! I started to tell her about our production. I've been interviewed on local radio loads of times but never by "Fleet Street" (I know no one is in Fleet Street anymore but it's an iconic expression for national papers isn't it). I was very nervous and more than a bit cautious.
The whole story started a few months ago when several local amateur dramatic groups applied for the rights to put on Calendar Girls next year. The London producers want to break the world record for the amount of amateur groups to do the show in one year. As a result the rights are limited to September 2012 to September 2013 and no groups are being refused a request to perform, regardless of how many other groups may also be doing it in your area, or even at the same time.
The reason for this is to raise as much money as possible, as half the performing rights from each show go to the Calendar Girls Leukaemia and Lymphoma charity:
http://www.beatbloodcancers.org/calendar-girls
Some larger groups are used to exclusive rights for many of the musicals they perform and are slightly "miffed" that, with this straight play, they are not the only group to get permission and are not even the first in the area to be doing it!
Personally our group think this is a charity event not a competition. It's not about who can do it first or have exclusivity it's about raising money to get rid of this terrible disease and I for one would go and see the show a thousand times if I thought it could help to find a cure for cancers. So we are going to carry on with our performances regardless and raise as much cash as possible for not on only the Calendar Girls charity but a local hospice as well.
This seems to be news worthy, not only for local BBC radio but now the national press!
I felt the interview was going well. I looked over at Byron opposite me. She smiled encouragingly as I spelt out the name of the local village where we rehearse.
Then Kate dropped a bombshell.
"Would you be happy for someone to come and take a picture?"
"Well.. errr..yes... what you mean Calendar Girls style?"
"Yes. We are also interviewing the original Miss February from the WI, Angela Baker, so we'd like to have a picture to mirror her one, you know, at the piano."
I remembered the one!
"Would you be happy to do that?"
"I'd be happier with a few of us to be honest, not just me. When do you need this by"
"It's for this Sunday's paper. So later today or tomorrow!"
What!!!!
"Ummmm... I'll see if I can rally a few of the girls together then."
"Oh and we need a venue with a piano. Can you arrange that? Let me take your number and the picture desk will contact you later"
In the end the girls and our local theatre have all come up trumps. The chap is even coming to open up for us and he's on holiday bless him. So this afternoon seven ladies, including me will be baring, nearly, all for tomorrow's Independent on Sunday!
When I got off the phone Byron, Ken and Barbie all asked how it went.
I told them about the photo shoot!
"Well at least it's not for The Sun!" they said
Oh indeed the News of the World! After all... they have my mobile number now don't they and you have to be careful when your a celebrity darling...
Ha,ha.... I'm beginning to think the biggest thing in this picture amazingly won't be my boobs!
It'll be my head!
To be continued.....
It wasn't a client or a customer, it was the director of the amateur theatre group I belong too.
"The theatre have been on the phone, a journalist from the national press wants to talk to someone about us doing Calendar Girls. I think they may have picked up the story from when you were interviewed on BBC local radio. You're better at that sort of thing than I am and anyway you're our publicity officer, you'll do it won't you. They'll be ringing later today."
I coughed and spluttered into my tea.
"Errr... yeah go on then."
A few minutes later a journalist called Kate from The Independent called. This was serious stuff! I started to tell her about our production. I've been interviewed on local radio loads of times but never by "Fleet Street" (I know no one is in Fleet Street anymore but it's an iconic expression for national papers isn't it). I was very nervous and more than a bit cautious.
The whole story started a few months ago when several local amateur dramatic groups applied for the rights to put on Calendar Girls next year. The London producers want to break the world record for the amount of amateur groups to do the show in one year. As a result the rights are limited to September 2012 to September 2013 and no groups are being refused a request to perform, regardless of how many other groups may also be doing it in your area, or even at the same time.
The reason for this is to raise as much money as possible, as half the performing rights from each show go to the Calendar Girls Leukaemia and Lymphoma charity:
http://www.beatbloodcancers.org/calendar-girls
Some larger groups are used to exclusive rights for many of the musicals they perform and are slightly "miffed" that, with this straight play, they are not the only group to get permission and are not even the first in the area to be doing it!
Personally our group think this is a charity event not a competition. It's not about who can do it first or have exclusivity it's about raising money to get rid of this terrible disease and I for one would go and see the show a thousand times if I thought it could help to find a cure for cancers. So we are going to carry on with our performances regardless and raise as much cash as possible for not on only the Calendar Girls charity but a local hospice as well.
This seems to be news worthy, not only for local BBC radio but now the national press!
I felt the interview was going well. I looked over at Byron opposite me. She smiled encouragingly as I spelt out the name of the local village where we rehearse.
Then Kate dropped a bombshell.
"Would you be happy for someone to come and take a picture?"
"Well.. errr..yes... what you mean Calendar Girls style?"
"Yes. We are also interviewing the original Miss February from the WI, Angela Baker, so we'd like to have a picture to mirror her one, you know, at the piano."
I remembered the one!
"Would you be happy to do that?"
"I'd be happier with a few of us to be honest, not just me. When do you need this by"
"It's for this Sunday's paper. So later today or tomorrow!"
What!!!!
"Ummmm... I'll see if I can rally a few of the girls together then."
"Oh and we need a venue with a piano. Can you arrange that? Let me take your number and the picture desk will contact you later"
In the end the girls and our local theatre have all come up trumps. The chap is even coming to open up for us and he's on holiday bless him. So this afternoon seven ladies, including me will be baring, nearly, all for tomorrow's Independent on Sunday!
When I got off the phone Byron, Ken and Barbie all asked how it went.
I told them about the photo shoot!
"Well at least it's not for The Sun!" they said
Oh indeed the News of the World! After all... they have my mobile number now don't they and you have to be careful when your a celebrity darling...
Ha,ha.... I'm beginning to think the biggest thing in this picture amazingly won't be my boobs!
It'll be my head!
To be continued.....
Thursday, 7 July 2011
The One with the Ice Pack Down My Pants!
My back has gone again!
Not as bad as last time and I at least have a stock of emergency drugs in the cupboard, so I am mobile of sorts but lifting the boy isn't easy and I have resorted to stuffing one of those blue ice blocks you put into freezer bags, wrapped in a tea towel, down the back of my knickers.
Alternating hot and cold seems to help, running about after an over excited boy waving a tambourine with abandon at his music group this morning, doesn't!
I am amazed at how well the boys language and speech is coming on and even if he can't always answer me he understands a lot of what I say and ask him but, "Please don't play me up today, Mummy has a bad back, is in pain and likely to keel over at any moment" seems to have escaped his comprehension.
We had a bad night with him, he woke up at 2 am screaming, wanting to go out in the car, wanting me to read him a story, wanting to play and finally wanting a full 7 oz of milk to even get him to be quiet let alone go back to sleep!
Then this morning he was like a whirling dervish at Jo Jingles up and down like a yo yo and running away from me at every turn. I tried in vain but I could feel the back twinge everytime I had to get up and chase him across the room. It was swelling up and the burning sensation started to spread in the lower back. This wasn't looking good.
Jingles is very structured and although it's not the full on Joyce Grenfell "George, don't do that" sketch from the 1960's it can be rather "prim" at times.
The boy doesn't do "prim"!
Today my back doesn't do the boy!
So pass the ice, both for my back and my son. Anything to cool them down!
And if there's any left, some in a large G&T wouldn't go a miss either.....
Well I need something to wash the pain killers down with don't I!
Not as bad as last time and I at least have a stock of emergency drugs in the cupboard, so I am mobile of sorts but lifting the boy isn't easy and I have resorted to stuffing one of those blue ice blocks you put into freezer bags, wrapped in a tea towel, down the back of my knickers.
Alternating hot and cold seems to help, running about after an over excited boy waving a tambourine with abandon at his music group this morning, doesn't!
I am amazed at how well the boys language and speech is coming on and even if he can't always answer me he understands a lot of what I say and ask him but, "Please don't play me up today, Mummy has a bad back, is in pain and likely to keel over at any moment" seems to have escaped his comprehension.
We had a bad night with him, he woke up at 2 am screaming, wanting to go out in the car, wanting me to read him a story, wanting to play and finally wanting a full 7 oz of milk to even get him to be quiet let alone go back to sleep!
Then this morning he was like a whirling dervish at Jo Jingles up and down like a yo yo and running away from me at every turn. I tried in vain but I could feel the back twinge everytime I had to get up and chase him across the room. It was swelling up and the burning sensation started to spread in the lower back. This wasn't looking good.
Jingles is very structured and although it's not the full on Joyce Grenfell "George, don't do that" sketch from the 1960's it can be rather "prim" at times.
The boy doesn't do "prim"!
Today my back doesn't do the boy!
So pass the ice, both for my back and my son. Anything to cool them down!
And if there's any left, some in a large G&T wouldn't go a miss either.....
Well I need something to wash the pain killers down with don't I!
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
The One with the Writers Cafe
There's a big arts event going on locally at the moment and last night, down at the new university building, they had a writers cafe where people could go along, read their work and share it with like minded folk. It was free to do so.....
I went!
I figured if I really do have pretensions of being a writer I'd better start getting my stuff out there, making new contacts and, to use a phrase I detest, networking... pauses to rinse mouth out after filthy modern business speak!
I was very nervous and earlier in the day nearly chickened out,
"No one will want to hear my ramblings. Anyway it'll be full of geeks and spotty youths who write science fiction" I protested to hubby.
"No it won't" he said "Don't be so judgemental and negative. Go on, go!"
The idea was you wrote your name on a piece of paper, they popped them all in a tin and pulled them out at random. If your name was called you got to read a sample of your work for five minutes.
I arrived, with mild trepidation, but in good time to get a seat at a table by myself. I wasn't alone all evening, which I was glad of, but to start with I didn't want to be the one who had to say, "Is anyone sitting here", to a complete stranger. When I'm nervous I can trip on my words and I wouldn't put it past me to say, "Is anyone shitting here" instead.
I bought a bottle of water from the snack bar and found a table at the front. Less furniture to negotiate my hips round should I be called up. Up here for thinking, down there for falling arse over tit!
It was a humid night. My palms were clammy and my mouth was dry. I took a sip of water. Better. I went to put the change from my purchase in my purse. I dug around in my bag. I'll get a tissue to wipe my hands on. I pulled out a sanitary towel by mistake. No one noticed. I quickly stuffed back in.
This wasn't going well.
I looked around me. Everyone seemed so sensible and serious. They were all "proper" writers with poetry and short stories. Not random blog posts. I checked what I'd brought with me, " The One with the Painted Nails" and The One with the Last day and the Physio".
I text the NCT girls.
"I'm at a writers cafe event to hopefully read some of my blogs. There's a lot of very earnest looking people here. I'm not sure they're ready for my post on fanny physio!"
Several of my friends text back with words of encouragement. One of the girls said "You'll be fab. Everyone loves a good fanny story!" I laughed. I felt more relaxed. This is going to be ok. I'll just judge the tone of the evening after a few readers and see how they go down. I have another post with me if I think tales of my peeing myself on a regular basis will be too much for their delicate soles.
It started. "And the first name is... "
It was me!
I was first on!
Oh shit!
Shall I read one, two or all three? I don't know how long they last. What happens when the five minutes is up? Does a klaxon sound or does a hook appear from the side of the stage, curl round your neck and yank you away musical hall style?
Well baptism of fire, for me and them. I started with the painted nails post and then it was hello meet my minge!
They tittered, they laughed, they smiled and looked appreciative. Suddenly my short introduction about myself and how I came to write this blog, my two posts and my five minutes were up. Thankfully there was no hooter or hook. I just smiled and said thank you very much for listening.
There was applause. It was all over. I'd set the tone of the evening! Blimey! Anything goes after that.
And anything did!
That's not to say the work was crude, either in tone or style. It was a fantastic variety of pieces. Poetry, short stories, extracts from novels both published and unpublished, humorous, sad, thought provoking, rude and well.. frankly random.
Some of it I can't pretend I understood to be honest, some of it I loved and one piece, a poem on IBS, moved me, in more ways than one! The lady next to me had written a short story I really liked and in one of the breaks, I plucked up the courage to tell her so. It ended abruptly and left me wanting to know if the person in the car ploughed into the river or turned around and went back to work. People came over to me and asked about blogging. A professional author handed out promotional book marks. People used them to write my blog address on!
I had a long chat with a chap from Yorkshire who's novel intrigued me and I could see it being made into a detective drama on TV.
The range of work astounded me and all of it fascinated me. I realised how much I love language. All language. Whether it's used correctly or not it's an amazing tool to communicate, inspire and entertain.
So this morning I feel buoyant by the experience and I'm so glad I went. There was talk of other events later in the year and perhaps even reading our work on local community radio. Maybe this networking lark isn't as poncey as I first thought.
And did we get through the night without any science fiction?
The last reader of the evening was a jolly looking man with a long grey beard and a happy smile,
"My piece is like The Only Way is Essex meets Terry Pratchett." He declared.
I smiled to myself. I knew it!
It was actually very good and had a tag at the end using the word cock and you can never underestimate the comedy value of the word cock!
If science fiction made me laugh then language is indeed a very powerful thing.....
I went!
I figured if I really do have pretensions of being a writer I'd better start getting my stuff out there, making new contacts and, to use a phrase I detest, networking... pauses to rinse mouth out after filthy modern business speak!
I was very nervous and earlier in the day nearly chickened out,
"No one will want to hear my ramblings. Anyway it'll be full of geeks and spotty youths who write science fiction" I protested to hubby.
"No it won't" he said "Don't be so judgemental and negative. Go on, go!"
The idea was you wrote your name on a piece of paper, they popped them all in a tin and pulled them out at random. If your name was called you got to read a sample of your work for five minutes.
I arrived, with mild trepidation, but in good time to get a seat at a table by myself. I wasn't alone all evening, which I was glad of, but to start with I didn't want to be the one who had to say, "Is anyone sitting here", to a complete stranger. When I'm nervous I can trip on my words and I wouldn't put it past me to say, "Is anyone shitting here" instead.
I bought a bottle of water from the snack bar and found a table at the front. Less furniture to negotiate my hips round should I be called up. Up here for thinking, down there for falling arse over tit!
It was a humid night. My palms were clammy and my mouth was dry. I took a sip of water. Better. I went to put the change from my purchase in my purse. I dug around in my bag. I'll get a tissue to wipe my hands on. I pulled out a sanitary towel by mistake. No one noticed. I quickly stuffed back in.
This wasn't going well.
I looked around me. Everyone seemed so sensible and serious. They were all "proper" writers with poetry and short stories. Not random blog posts. I checked what I'd brought with me, " The One with the Painted Nails" and The One with the Last day and the Physio".
I text the NCT girls.
"I'm at a writers cafe event to hopefully read some of my blogs. There's a lot of very earnest looking people here. I'm not sure they're ready for my post on fanny physio!"
Several of my friends text back with words of encouragement. One of the girls said "You'll be fab. Everyone loves a good fanny story!" I laughed. I felt more relaxed. This is going to be ok. I'll just judge the tone of the evening after a few readers and see how they go down. I have another post with me if I think tales of my peeing myself on a regular basis will be too much for their delicate soles.
It started. "And the first name is... "
It was me!
I was first on!
Oh shit!
Shall I read one, two or all three? I don't know how long they last. What happens when the five minutes is up? Does a klaxon sound or does a hook appear from the side of the stage, curl round your neck and yank you away musical hall style?
Well baptism of fire, for me and them. I started with the painted nails post and then it was hello meet my minge!
They tittered, they laughed, they smiled and looked appreciative. Suddenly my short introduction about myself and how I came to write this blog, my two posts and my five minutes were up. Thankfully there was no hooter or hook. I just smiled and said thank you very much for listening.
There was applause. It was all over. I'd set the tone of the evening! Blimey! Anything goes after that.
And anything did!
That's not to say the work was crude, either in tone or style. It was a fantastic variety of pieces. Poetry, short stories, extracts from novels both published and unpublished, humorous, sad, thought provoking, rude and well.. frankly random.
Some of it I can't pretend I understood to be honest, some of it I loved and one piece, a poem on IBS, moved me, in more ways than one! The lady next to me had written a short story I really liked and in one of the breaks, I plucked up the courage to tell her so. It ended abruptly and left me wanting to know if the person in the car ploughed into the river or turned around and went back to work. People came over to me and asked about blogging. A professional author handed out promotional book marks. People used them to write my blog address on!
I had a long chat with a chap from Yorkshire who's novel intrigued me and I could see it being made into a detective drama on TV.
The range of work astounded me and all of it fascinated me. I realised how much I love language. All language. Whether it's used correctly or not it's an amazing tool to communicate, inspire and entertain.
So this morning I feel buoyant by the experience and I'm so glad I went. There was talk of other events later in the year and perhaps even reading our work on local community radio. Maybe this networking lark isn't as poncey as I first thought.
And did we get through the night without any science fiction?
The last reader of the evening was a jolly looking man with a long grey beard and a happy smile,
"My piece is like The Only Way is Essex meets Terry Pratchett." He declared.
I smiled to myself. I knew it!
It was actually very good and had a tag at the end using the word cock and you can never underestimate the comedy value of the word cock!
If science fiction made me laugh then language is indeed a very powerful thing.....
Friday, 1 July 2011
The One with the Lunch Hour
Everyone assured me that one of the perks of going back to work would be that you get a proper lunch hour. Time all to yourself, which is not something you can always count on at home with a hungry toddler, in need of constant entertainment!
I've been back at work 5 months now but this midday oasis of calm has yet to materialise!
Twice a week I seem to spend this precious hour running around sorting out errands, buying birthdays presents or doing the weekly shop. Not once have I had to time for a quiet kip in my car or to read a book or magazine.
I guess it's an indication of how busy all our lives are. BTB I used to tear around in my lunch hour doing all kinds of jobs and making sure no birthday presents or cards were forgotten, so why, now I have the boy, should life be any different? Of course I usually find doing a Friday "big shop" or navigating the town a lot easier without the boy in tow so I can see why I do it.
Until today!
Today I had business in town. I needed stuff from Boots, M&S Dine in for £10 deal and most importantly a birthday present from the Early Learning Centre for the weekend. With travel too and from work I get 45 minutes to buy what I need too and get back on the bus, that work provide two days a week, to take us back to the outskirts of town where our office is. The bus is a perk. I love the bus. The bus keeps us all sane and in M&S sandwiches twice a week. But if you have a lot to do you have to plan your shopping and your route very carefully to optimise that three quarters of an hour.
The three shops I needed are reasonably spread out but nowhere is that far away in our town so it was do-able.
Or so I thought until I encountered the hoards of people clogging up our main high street!
Now I'm a fairly good humoured person, as you know, but I was like an angry bull, charging around the streets. It's a good job none of my stops involved a china shop! The main reason for the hold ups were dithering, doddery elderly people. Don't get me wrong, old people have just as much right to shop as I do, just not in my lunch hour! I'm not discriminating here, I feel the same way about caravans, they can travel where they like as long as it's between the hours of two and three. In the morning!
I'd visited the ELC first so for the rest of the time I had a rather large bag of bulky outdoor toys with me. To carry it across the main square I slung it over my shoulder, Dick Whittington style. In Boots this was ok (hardly surprising really if I looked like Dick Whittington) but in Marks and Spencer's I may as well had "bump into me and throw me dirty looks" written across my forehead.
Whilst trying to search for a birthday card I was ram raided with a trolley and in the food department I was shoved, shunted and generally shifted out of the way. I know £10 for a meal with wine is good value but this isn't the last supper, there's enough to go round people, have a bit of patience. I got looks that said "How very dare you be carrying a big bag of cumbersome toys you purchased earlier when all we have on us is our pension books, an old lady purse and a coupon for £2 off a home perm kit". Three times I was barged into with not so much of a word of apology, excuse me or kiss my artichoke!
It was then I realised that people are much more polite if I have the boy with me in the buggy. For a buggy they'll get out of the way or at least cut me a little slack negotiating corners. For a harassed mum in her lunch hour without her kid there was no such luck.
So tonight, when I got in from work, I bundled, boy, buggy and hubby into the car and we went to Sainsburys for our weekend groceries.
The boy, fuelled by blueberry biscuits, sang and laughed. People smiled and waved back. It was altogether a jollier atmosphere and a pleasant experience.
Never work with children they say but shopping with them, at least for now, may not be a bad idea....
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