Gone West... Life is Peaceful Here

I'm currently in Cornwall. On my own. I'm still working for clients. And I'm trying to write. Trying really hard. The beauty of being freelance is that I can work from anywhere really, as long as there is a good WiFi connection and power. I can go anywhere.

So I decided to trundle off to Cornwall because I am lucky enough to be able to stay here free.. And it is beautiful. I am situated in a tiny village called Kingsand which is on the Cornwall / Devon border of the South West Coast path. I can walk for miles and miles with beautiful views over the coast and cliffs. I have already seen at least thirty butterflies since I have been here.

It's kind of my safe place. My place of firsts too, I've been coming here for 22 years. I saw my first brawl outside a pub, I also saw a stripper here when I was about ten; it was someones birthday in a pub and I stood on an outside table to see what was going on. I think I first got really drunk here when I was 15 too.

On Courage

Another poem today. 

Courage 

"Have courage, my dear. Have courage, be brave;"

Words that slip into our psyches from childhood.

Through Disney films and fairytales

And scraped knees in the playground.

"Be brave, be a big girl for me, won’t you."

Fear, fear of the dark

And of monsters under the bed, or in our head.

Scared of characters from books

And dirty looks

From the coolest girl at school.

My sister hated dogs, I ran from clowns.

Still avoid the circus.

I am a big girl now, not scraped my knee in years.

But I’m less brave than I ever was, I think.

Scared of failure, rejection, not knowing what I want.

I run from confrontation, from an altercation.

From dates.

I am scared to feel awkward.

I’d say,

I don’t think I’m brave in any way.

Courage is a word I long for, a lion’s heart.

It’s easier for me to write my deepest thoughts online

Than it is to ask for what I want from someone.

Still scared of the dark and the monsters in my head.

Though unless you live where you fight daily for basic human rights,

Where your fears are hunger, violence, lack of freedom,

Unless you live this.

Unless your life is an extreme obstacle race.

Then facing ourselves is the biggest fear we ever face.

Have courage, my dear. Have courage, be brave;

Walk into the dark and see what’s there,

And love it.

That’s courage.

#The100DayProject, #100Daysof Writing, Day 14

Confirmation Bias Against Yourself?

I was reading the other day about a tendency in law, politics and science to "search for, interpret, or recall information in a way that confirms one's beliefs or hypotheses." It is called "Confirmation Bias, or Myside Bias" and it can be very damaging in legal cases and international decisions. Science Daily outlines how "decision makers have been shown to actively seek out and assign more weight to evidence that confirms their hypothesis, and ignore or underweigh evidence that could disconfirm their hypothesis."2

But what if we also do this to ourselves, how damaging can that be? 

I am talking about this in reference to people who are apt to self-criticism, depression, jealousy and insecurity, not to those - who in the opposite way- may seem to have overinflated egos. 

For, if we already walk about this earth with a certain set of beliefs, surely there is a propensity to reconfirm these to ourselves daily, every time something happens or someone speaks to us. And might this mean we become our own jailers.

Lost

I have decided after a dreamy ten day holiday to take part in the #100DayProject. There are various versions of this across the web and Facebook, but the general premise is a promise to do one thing everyday for one hundred days. I have decided to write. As a "writer" this may seem an odd thing to choose but I am in dire need of a writing habit that is not at the mercy of my creative spirit. I think comitting to this project will FORCE me to write something every day, however rubbish it is. For added help I will be using The Writer's Block by Jason Reuklak for those times when my head is empty.

I will be posting everything that is written here, so prepare to see A LOT more of me... and apologies if sometimes it isn't the most insightful prose.

Today my challenge was "Describe Your First Brush With Danger". This turned into a much deeper piece than I was expecting, but ain't that the way it goes. Anyway here it is. Day 1.

Lost

Being physically lost as a child is perhaps the most frightening thing in the world. Your heart beats quickly, the world seems huge, familiar paths and areas that you walk with your loved ones everyday suddenly transform into sprawling jungles filled with monsters around every corner. You jump, you jump as anyone approaches you as you have been told not to talk to strangers... you don’t know who to trust as your mother usually vets people for you. You tend to think more attractive people might be nicer to you, or kindly old ladies, but still, you are good and heed your mother’s words. Don’t move, don’t talk to strangers.

After walking around the small vicinity of the area in which you first found yourself lost, eyes desperately trying to make out a familiar figure, a red coat, the pitch of voice that calls you home, you sit down and you cry and this seems like the end of the world. This, the first danger you have ever felt, real true danger. Even as you remember the nightmares you have had in your bed, when your mother or father has come running, you scoff and become more tearful. When you had monsters in your head at night, you knew that they were always there to reassure you that these were just dreams and after hours of softly stroking your back and whispering calming words in your ears you believe them, safe in your home. Safe with your people.

But now they are nowhere to be seen. Everyone around you is a strange blank face and they all seem so large. Your mind flits between panic about how badly you will be reprimanded when they finally do find you and even more hysterical panic that they never will. You cry all the tears you have, until you know it is useless and then you sit forlornly on the ground waiting. You wonder what will happen to you now. Will you die soon or will one of those strange people kidnap you and take you away forever. You know not where, but you have heard such things.

Then she appears, an angel on the horizon that you almost don’t believe is walking, no running towards you. And she is crying. And you find yourself being enveloped in the familiar smell of cigarettes and perfume. The fear tension pours out of your body and the relief brings more tears. You are found.

**

Being mentally or emotionally lost as an adult is perhaps the most frightening thing in the world. Your heart in turn beats quickly and irrationally and then slowly and dully. The world seems huge and tiny at the same time, familiar streets and trains of thought seem both terrifying and full of monsters and that mind-numbing type of monotonous that is so alarming that it often makes you feel physically sick. You fear approach in this loss too, physical approach as this feeling of loss has turned you into a shell-less tortoise, a mole in the sunlight, shirking, blinking... diving for solitude. And also mental and emotional approach, because as fearsome as this loss is you are comfortable in it for now and anything or anyone that might try to tug you from it is highly suspicious and intrusive. Don’t move, don’t talk to strangers.

After walking around this small vicinity of your brain that your loss is comfortable with, you recognise all the familiar figures. They are all you or versions of you that you have allowed or other people that you have allowed, who echo back at you this version of yourself that you have approved. But these familiar figures don’t comfort you, they make you angry because they are why you are lost. This is the first danger, you have felt, the first real true danger, but this time you do not scoff at your nightmares, because they are part of your daytime. And your mind has given so much power to them that they have wrapped around your thoughts. And it is much harder to reassure yourself.

Your real people, your good people are everywhere to be seen. They are in photographs and in phone conversations, they are beside you every day, they are reassuring you, they are laughing with you, they are there. Yet, you are still lost. Even in the sea of familiar faces. You do worry about reprimand, because you are now an adult and adults are not meant to be lost, but it is ok because no one will know. You sometimes cry and sit on the ground forlornly. You do not worry about people kidnapping you... you think that might be a welcome break. You do worry that you have already kidnapped yourself. You know not where, but you have heard such things.

Then she appears, no angel at all, flawed in many ways, but she is familiar. Get up, she says, get up... we do know the way. We are not really lost are we? We have taken ourselves here and so we can get back. She is not crying, she is smiling and she is strong. I’m sorry, she says, I went away for a while, but you always knew I was here. Why are you not moving? Why have you not talked to some strangers? You are not a child. There is that familiar bossy yet placating tone and your fear is beginning to ease. It might take a while you realise, but you do know the way. You knew the way all the time really. Didn’t you. She did, she’s you. You are found.

Leading Our Own Life

Soooo... I've been a little quiet lately because I've been figuring my shit out, to put it bluntly. You might remember in a post I wrote about reading the signs that life was battering me a bit - or really I was battering myself. The thing is that I was working in a job for some great people, had been there for four years and I just wasn't feeling any joy from it any more, you know. It was becoming something that I had to get through every day and instead of waking up and thinking what can I achieve today I was letting the fear of change and failure crush me, standing still and curled up, feeling lower and lower.

I was preaching all this stuff on Instagram and in my blog posts about how to live your life but I wasn't doing it. I half-heartedly looked at other positions, but I knew it wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want to work for someone else doing the same thing. That wasn't why I was unhappy, it was because I wasn't using my best qualities. I was living a life governed by what I thought I should and it was destroying me.

On Fear Defining Us...

 

I didn't want to have New Years resolutions this year. A list of tick boxes that defines how I feel about myself when I read them the following year, older not wiser, still growing. Yes I'm still too fat and I haven't fucking read War and Peace OK

I thought of only two things that I wanted. Two words that don't have a Yes you have achieved or No you've failed, but are part of how I want to live better, every day. Nourish and Fear. (insert sarcastic comment here)

Nourish is about faking it till I feel it. Nourishing myself, my mind, my body, my self-esteem. I often struggle to love or respect myself, being the constantly self-critical yawnsome type that I am. My heart often beats to not-good enough, not good-enough, not good-enough.

It's hard to fake self-love is the thing because no matter the look you direct to the outside world, the little voices inside still chatter away. Irritants that they are repeating ones own shortcomings to ourselves, drowned out only by hard cardio, hysterical laughter or vodka.

Love, Please Read the Signs...

Have you ever had one of those days that pricks you, pinches you, pokes you around; life's not slapping you in the face, it's just cruelly teasing you like a small child would another, pushing your boundaries until you feel like crumbling up into the foetus position and weeping with the fatigue of it. I just had one of those days/24 hours and I hated it. I hated it mostly because my usual mantra is to rise above the angst and the first world problems and the stupid day-to-day shit. I like to play the part of positive and enthused even when I don't feel that even a little bit. Because I used to be a bit of a melancholy, cynic at times and I did not enjoy it one little bit.

But today.. Aah today got to me and I did not enjoy it. I wanted to cry and complain and beat my fists, beat away the feeling of not being good enough. Because surely it could not be my fault this prickly day. However, following a little bit (a lot) of thought and deep breaths, I realised this prickling, this poking by life is just it giving me a little shove, a little push, a little bit of a hard time..

Move it's telling me, move. There are things you're not happy with. You're ignoring some things. PAY ATTENTION to the signs, to yourself. 

If we listened to ourselves and our reactions to things daily, we would have a clear map of where we would be happiest going (joy is in the journey, you will always be on one). We'd have Google maps and City Mapper and Uber metaphorically routed out in our brains.

Why are we resisting, why are we angry, why are we upset? Think about yourself love, think about what you want.

When I get in these muddles, I try to think  like I'm talking to my best friend whom I love and respect and not myself who I often berate. It's part of what Zen Buddhism teaches really, be mindful, be mindful of yourself and the moment. Don't over react or rage or squash it. Zen teaches you to have a still mind. A balanced mind at all times, because external circumstances should not affect your happiness if you are truly balanced inside.

But whilst we are trying to gain a balanced life, a happy mind, sometimes we need to give into the tears and the anger and the frustration; let it roll over you, indulge in it for just a little bit and then asks yourself why and move forward... Make decisions. Eschew practicality for a moment and then think about what it is you really want out of life and if your current path is taking you there.

Because love, you see, as countless cliches claim, life is now and you are living it and if you have these things that we should all be grateful for every day, namely food, warmth, clothes, lack of real fear, literacy, anyone who loves you- thanks to Marc and Angel for that link- but if you have these things.. you don't need be facing daily taunting and teasing and struggles with yourself.

Put an ear to the ground, think and listen and make a new choice tomorrow. Change things that need to be changed to make you happy, because only you have the power to, love. Only you.

On Still Being An Inbetweener

Firstly I'd like to point out that the original series of The Inbetweeners started in 2008 when I was neither a teenager, nor male, however certainly identified with that late-teenage claw through life. Time was when everything was a potential embarassment or fuck-up and you really didn't know whether you were coming or going. Whether it was cringe-worthy encounters with the opposite sex, the endless quest for "cool" or the feeling of being slightly out of place in every possible situation.

I also identified greatly with the sentiment of the "Inbetweener", halfway between childhood and adulthood and not really sure if you want to be either. The thing is now in my *cough late twenties, I would have assumed that my "Inbetweener" stage was over and I'd be well into my adjusted adult phase where everyday life was a breeze and my problems were only important, real things like death and taxes.

I have since discovered that is not the case.

I Love You: Secret Theatre Show 5

Basically, I am not really sure what I am going to do when the Secret Theatre series is over and I don't even know when that will be because it's all secret and that. I have developed a full blown fangirl obsession with the shows and the company. It's a proper crush... After I saw Show 5 last Thursday, I proceeded to:

1).Tweet the Lyric immediately and asked them for the soundtrack so I could play it on my iPod on my commute

2). Google, Google, Google for signs of Show 6? And for news of the tour...

3). Stalk all the actors and actresses I could find on Twitter and try and find out which ones were single/might want to make new friends/would potentially slip me a tongue when pissed/stalkable in local bars as I only work in Chiswick. ;) #lol Because I love them all.

4). Also stalk the writers..as a writer and a wannabe playwright.. I need some of what they're drinking.

5). Work out when I could possibly see it again...

6). Dance to Proud Mary until I fell over

You see everything changed for me after Show 5... After I had been to see Show 3 and Show 4 (read the reviews, they are pretty sensible compared to this one) I knew I was a Secret Theatre convert and that now I had to see every one. I was even annoyed about the fact I missed one and two... (Though just mildly irked, now I am enraged).

 

A Series of Increasingly Impossible Acts - what Show 5 is otherwise known as - has left me all teenage and trembly and happy and light. It's not as emotionally powerful as Show 3 or as clever as Show 4 but it taps in to humanity and fear and failure and friendship and love. 

Show 5 is set in the Lyric rehearsal room and every night there is a different protagonist... a typical Secret Theatre twist which I believe (here is a tiny bit of sensible critique stuff here) must keep it alive and kicking every night, full of the energy of the unknown... The audience pick it out, so they can't even cheat... not that they would need to as they're all so talented (I told you, massive fangirl)

My protagonist was the fabulous Katherine Pearce (Kat) who I knew was talented and able to transform herself, from the previous two productions. In this, she was I imagine a played up version of herself. Everyone else was supporting in more or less roles. Everything centered round Kat and her trials, tribulations and difficult times in life and love and friendship. 

Some of the sketches were more narrative: sex, first kiss/ first date, falling in and out of love and being destroyed by it, cheating. Others were more metaphoric or symbolic: an obstacle course that was undertaken several times throughout the play at first alone and then helped by the whole cast; an odd sort of shrink session; a wrestling game involving fears and stripping. A shiveringly warming version of Sincerely by The Moonglows sung by Hammed Annimashaun, a dance to Proud Mary which I really had to force myself not to join in with... Each little excerpt bringing tears, laughter and recognition from the audience.

90 minutes shot by and I wanted more and I wanted to see all of the cast members take the protagonist role, because I felt like they were giving us a slice of themselves and a themselves that everyone in the company knew too. The Secret Theatre group have created something together.. and all these individuals have joined to create and perform it and they've got to know each other.

When I was a child and teenager, I used to be in all the school plays... used to love the rehersals, the comraderie, the thrill and then after the final performance for at least a week after I would cry and cry and feel miserable that I could never get that feeling back or work and act with those people again - not in that exact same circumstance... It was like a small piece of magic and then gone. Then after a week I'd forget about it.

I hope these lot never do.

Secret Theatre Show 5, The Lyric, Hammersmith

Now until May 29th


Here is the Soundtrack for Show 5


Here are The Secret Theatre Crew:

Nadia Albina @NadiaAlbina -

Hammed Animashaun @HamzDaActor

Cara Horgan

Leo Bill @SerpicLeo

Matti Houghton

Adelle Leonce @AdelleLeonce

Katherine Pearce @KattiAnn

Billy Seymour @SeymourBilly

Sergo Vares

Steven Webb @MrStevieWebb

Love them all <3

Images are (c) The Secret Theatre Group

Mean, Mean Girl: Lessons Learnt

Two weeks ago was the tenth anniversary of Mean Girls, a film which defined my late teenage years. I remember seeing it in the cinema and laughing out loud at the aptness of the observations and admiring Tina Fey's fearless humour. I don't remember anyone saying vagina in a teen movie before. Lohan was pre-rehab and Rachel McAdams had yet to be obsessed over by Ryan Gosling (who was he), no one knew Amanda Seyfried could sing. 

At our final school "prom"  when some friends and I were escaping from the five boys that had turned up (#allgirlsschoolproblems) and having a cheeky cigarette on a bench outside, I remember a girl from our year coming up to my two friends and I and saying after a while "You guys are kind of like the mean girls". 

I took this as a massive compliment. Who wouldn't want to be likened to those sophisticated American, follicly-gifted stuff of teenage dreams. In fact I don't think she was trying to mean.. And I don't think I was that much of a bitch at school. The truth though is that I loved been likened to attractive and popular girls, because despite my above-average conscience for a teenager, those things are what I strived for. I would have a very different attitude if someone said that to me now. I just don't want to be a Mean Girl any more, however much I might try and get down with the youth by talking about "ma bitches", on social media.

In reality, my generation learnt and in some cases (age 28), could still learn a lot from the truths of Mean Girls and this is perhaps why, it has stood the test of time unlike so many other "teen movies".

Here are the lessons that I learned:

1) "Calling somebody else fat won't make you any skinnier. Calling someone stupid doesn't make you any smarter. And ruining Regina George's life definitely didn't make me any happier. All you can do in life is try to solve the problem in front of you."

An early lesson for me... in fact one that, without sounding sanctimonious, I never really needed to learn. Perhaps this was because between the ages of 13-15, I was a full-blown geek/loser. I liked to read, I liked to do well at school revelling in the praise and the As. 

Reaping the usual teasing from this, I knew I never wanted to make anyone else feel like that. Why would berating and bullying others make you feel better about yourself. It is a quick fix that leaves one sick and regretful and possibly more insecure once the buzz wears off. This however is still a common tactic employed by the world over and the media in particular, mostly towards women. 

We need to solve our own internal problems, not try to drag others down to the lowness we may be feeling inside.

2) "Janis: [reading list the major cliques in high school] You got your freshmen, ROTC guys, preps, J.V. jocks, Asian nerds, Cool Asians, Varsity jocks Unfriendly black hotties, Girls who eat their feelings, Girls who don't eat anything, Desperate wannabes, Burnouts, Sexually active band geeks,

[a picture of herself and Damian come on screen]

Janis: the greatest people you will ever meet, and the worst. Beware of the plastics."

There are always cliques, though perhaps less pronounced than at the archetypal movie-version of an American high school and there are always mean girls.

Just remember, the only person who can really define you is yourself. Some people are always going to place a ring around your neck and label you as "xxxx", whether that is good or bad, but you know the truth. Avoid the mean girls if you can, but more importantly, respect who you are and what you stand for and you'll be fine. 

3) "Ex-boyfriends are off-limits to friends. That’s just, like, the rules of feminism.” 

Interesting definition of feminism aside, this is about honesty when it comes to men and women. Relationship are hard enough without worrying that one of your "friends" is going to make it harder. Having said that I don't believe that if you have let some one go to fly off into the universe without any issues that you should ban them from any relationships with your friends or acquaintances. However we should always be mindful of others and honest from the beginning. This way drama and hurt is usually avoided.

If you have no interest in someone anymore, don't stop them from being happy with another. On the otherside, don't assume someone is fine with you moving in on their ex without asking them. Basically this is another treat others how you would like to be treated, respect people. Weirdness will pass.

4) "There are two kinds of evil people in this world. Those who do evil stuff and those who see evil stuff being done and don’t try to stop it.”

I was not brave as a teenager, I struggled enough to stand up for myself, having been haunted by a few years of being branded a geek, so when I eventually emerged from it, my whole being burned to be popular and accepted and so I avoided any confrontation. I was never the bully, but sometimes I ignored "mean girl" behaviour from people I was dying to impress. Nowadays this won't sit with me and I'm actually far more likely to defend someone treating another badly than myself even if that means saying something uncomfortable to somebody I love.Essentially this is also a selfish behaviour as I feel restless and upset if somebody I know is behaving in a way that I feel is cruel or unfair to another.

This is not an excuse to barge into anyone's business mind you, in a busybody fashion a la half the cast of Made in Chelsea, it is merely about listening to yourself and speaking up for what you know is right. This happens at work, in our social groups and in world issues. 

Note the famous Martin Niemöller quote re: the ride of Nazism and the German intellectuals who ignored so much:

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out-- Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out-- Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out-- Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me--and there was no one left to speak for me.

God Mean Girls is so intellectual.

5) "On Wednesdays we wear pink"

Don't ever feel you should wear something just because everyone else does. With my sizeable arse, I should never have worn Bolts (that's a noughties reference - they are basically massive men's mechanic jeans which one would tie chains to) for example. Nowadays I stick to this... eg you will never see me in a drop waist dress, no matter how pretty they are... They are made for the more boyish of figure ;) 

6) "I know having a boyfriend might seem like the only thing important to you right now, but you don't have to dumb yourself down in order for a guy to like you." 

As a teenager, I really couldn't talk to men (boys!) at all, I'd simply smile and stay quiet until I'd had enough cheap white wine that I might pluck up the courage to flutter my eyelashes enough that one might tongue me for an hour before I had to catch the last train home.

I'd like to think that at the ripe old age I am now, that everyone should know this, but I'm not so sure. I couldn't act "dumb blonde" anyway these days as I'm far too loud and opinonated and I couldn't shut up enought for a man who wanted a pretty ornament.

I also often refer to this article Give it up Giggly by the talented Sam Leith in Tatler, he writes:

"They are appealing to a masculinity that finds the prospect of female independence scary. The personality she contrives to display is all about him: she's there to adore him, to be completed by him, to orbit him like a giggling pink satellite...Yet, as I say, simpering still works on feeble-minded men. So, ladies, if that's the sort of man you hope to hook, knock yourselves out." 

Personally, I don't want a feeble-minded man and I'd rather be alone forever than act dumb to score one of them.

7)  "Well, I don't know who wrote this book, but you all have got to stop calling each other sluts and whores. It just makes it ok for guys to call you sluts and whores."

I didn't comprehend the importance of this as a teenager. Calling someone a slut was a term of enderament or a jealous dig at someone who had probably had sex a couple of times when you were still a virgin. Again the all-girls boarding school didn't allow for any real "sluts".

Now I understand it as really being about the way that the entire world views women and trying to alter this with our own language. We shouldn't slut-shame or judge others or use derogatory language just because we may be having a jealous moment. If we do not know or care about the person involved then there's no need and we have no right to judge, if it is an acquaintance or god forbid a friend that we are calling this... we ought to accept that they are allowed to live their live however makes them happy even if we do not agree. And who makes you queen of the world. If they are not happy we should try to help them be happy. Walking around calling other women sluts, whores, bitches etc just affirms the ages-old female stereotypes that we work hard everyday to dispel. Think about it.

8) “Don't let the haters stop you from doing your thang."

Aside from the fact that Kevin G is a complete cult figure for the mean girl generation, along with the legendary Glen Coco, this final quote could be the most important. 

Teenagers are so led by disapproval, insecurity and the crowd mentaility. You have to learn that in life, not everyone is going to approve of you or help you or like you. Accept that. There will be those who criticise and mock and sabotage, get over it and get on with your path. Don't be a hater yourself either, don't be jealous or bitter or condescending.. move forward with your own life.

There will always be mean girls in the world.. and the ones that won't change will just get older and meaner and more bitter, so just breathe and ignore. You'll get further and be happier than they ever will.

My Mother's Loves and Me

Me and Mama, c 1991/2

Sunday, as the whole of the UK is well aware, was Mother's Day. Without wanting to sound cynical and negative, incessant commercialism has made this day somewhat themed around trite cards and cheap flowers and oh hell I must get home in time for lunch even though I have a terrible hangover. Pubs, restaurants and cafés are full to the brim of mothers carted out by weary fathers and sugared up small children clutching homemade cards, often granny is also in tow.

I spent the day sleeping very late, which I only seem to be able to do at my childhood home and then cooking an ok roast lamb following a lengthy discussion about timings for a shoulder in the Aga. 

Don't misunderstand me; I think Mothers Day is important to remind people to appreciate their mothers or mother figures. I think for children it is important and lovely for the mothers in question to see their babies' efforts and love. As we grow older though, Mother's Day is about something altogether different; at least in my book. 

At university, I wrote my dissertation on the themes of motherhood in the works of Mary Wollstonecraft and her daughter, Mary Shelley. The mysteries of motherhood have always interested me. I think how woman are in adulthood, how they are inside themselves and how they absorb and interact with their environment and the world is often down to the way their mothers or mother figures have raised and guided them.

My mother has taught me to love and live in so many ways that seem impossible to list and analyse. However, I have tried my best to describe the ten most prevalent things that I am grateful for, every day of my life.

1) Love of Nature

This took a while for me to admit. I was a rather bookish young child and a frightfully cerebral yet angsty teenager who preferred deep thoughts and indoors. Though I had a brief spell of wishing I lived outdoors with the animals as a younger child, I soon turned into a hermitty geek loathe to indulge in bonding with nature.

As I grew older and I learnt more, little murmurs of the exaltations I had experienced throughout my life seeped into my consciousness.

Then I studied the Romantic poets and I learnt about the sublime and suddenly what my mother had gently taught me all my life made sense.

Love of nature gives us so much as we move through our lives. From appreciation of transient beauty, of blooms that come and go to the awesomeness of the sky and the sea and the ocean, I am enthralled. I now delight in a weird nature programme as much as I would in a documentary on Sylvia Plath.

Devotion to nature  and the pleasure you gain from it both keeps one grounded and soars us to a god-like high in appreciation of the vast enormity of the universe and your small place in it.

2) Love of Making Things Beautiful

My mother is a bejewelled butterfly, an accessoriser, a decorator, a gardener. She will tie a ribbon on something at any opportunity, her dinner party tables are worthy of their own exhibition and she would be paid a princely sum for her interior design skills.

I, in turn, have always loved to make things pretty and look lovely. From the hours I used to spend making homemade cards as a child to the lighting of candles and decorating of walls that I enjoy now. There isn’t a surface in my house that isn’t filled with a piece of cheap pottery, a photo frame or a candle. At university, we couldn’t really afford expensive Christmas decorations so instead I bought rolls of cheap wrapping paper and papered our entire living room walls for a house party. 

I think it is all about one’s personal environment and creative endeavours being an extension of one’s inner self. I like things to look nice and to feel homely as an aesthetic welcome. That is something that I have definitely learnt from Mama, you can make people feel comfortable, safe and happy through the small details.

3) Love of Colour

Life is colourful, express yourself. Express the world. Don't live in the dark muted tones, you are only hiding. I remember my mother always telling me that people who wear black all the time look miserable.

Maybe that's sexy to some people, not to me.

4) Love of My Flaws

One of the hardest things in the world and something I still work on every day. That bookish child and cerebral, angsty teenager that I mentioned earlier was somewhat brooding and somewhat self-critical, indeed she still is. I spent a large part of adolescence not liking myself very much. It is only in the last few years really that I have learnt to think of life differently. To live life as the gift it is and not to berate myself constantly for the many many mistakes I make but rather learn from them and use them for good.

We will never be the best at everything, we will never be perfect. Perfection in fact is an illusion. Sure you could have skinnier thighs, a better paid job, a boyfriend, or perhaps you don't think you're nice enough or you don't see your friends enough... Turn off the inner voices and focus on living daily, being mindful of yourself and those you care about and come into contact with. If you can love the little things you will soon love the big things.

I succeed in this about 75% of the time, which I believe to be reasonably good. My mother is responsible for teaching me how to think like this or at least guiding me towards it. It has changed my life.

5) Love of the Universe 

If you can't take the hippy-vibes or are a die hard cynic.. you may want to look away now... I'm not going to write a big long speech here. I only like to talk about this to people who are open to it really.. it's all about the positive thoughts, actions and questions. The picture above says it all.. Again my mother introduced this way of thinking and I embrace it wholeheartedly..

6) Love of Positivity 

Dream, love, be kind to others, smile and think the best and you'll find that life can treat you quite well..

7) Love of Talking

I don't know what my first words were but I know that I sat at adults' dinner tables from the age of three talking nineteen to the dozen, with very astute opinions in many things.

All my school results would have remarks about talking too much, about distracting others who needed to listen more than I did... (there's the casual arrogance again)

Meanwhile, I would get irritated with my mother as she stopped to chat to someone in the school car park.

I still talk too much, I could talk all day in fact to those I love. Gab gab gab, nonsense, nonsense, nonsense. The weird thing is people who don't know me, may think I'm shy, because I don't necessarily talk before I have got stock of someone, of their boundaries, of their interests. You see, generally I talk to air my soul and sometimes you just don't want to do that with strangers.

Again, it was my mother who allowed me to talk this much rarely telling me to shut up or be quiet as many a parent are apt to... She once told me and a friend off for gossiping when we were about 17, but we were being mean. She rarely told me to shut up just to silence my flow of chatter... however irritating it may have been.

8) Love of Reading

People used to laugh at me when I was younger for reading so much. One girl even threw a book I was reading out the window. I was more irritated than anything.. I was at such a good bit.

Reading has honestly held my hand through every age of life, showing me so many various scenes and scenarios and characters and choices and events that I never felt alone or like there weren't a thousand different wonderful experiences to have in life.

I was never ashamed of being a bookworm even when I was teased for it. In fact I rather ridiculed the people that did not read. Wannabe-intellectual-snob that I was. How have they never experienced that pleasure.. I thought to myself. How sad.

My mother read to me for hours and hours before I could do it myself (that was not very long- I started young) then she read me harder books and then she bought me books and now we discuss books and swap books and sometimes I buy her books too. Reading is one of the things that I love most in life and so I am ever grateful for this nurturing from a young age.

9) Love of the Future

Never be afraid but embrace it and look forward to all the amazing things that are to come.

When I was a child, my mother used to sing to me in bed. My favourite song she used to sing was the famous Doris Day song, Que Sera Sera. It comforted me then, as it does now. Chill the f*** out, we can't see the future...

When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother, "What will I be?
Will I be handsome, will I be rich?"
Here's what she said to me

"Que Sera, Sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be"

When I grew up, I fell in love
I asked my sweetheart, "What lies ahead?
Will we have rainbows, day after day?"
Here's what my sweetheart said

"Que Sera, Sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be"

Now I have children of my own
They ask their father, "What will I be
Will I be handsome, will I be rich?"
I tell them tenderly

"Que Sera, Sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be"

10) Love of People who Touch Your Life 

Whether they are friends or family or lovers or flings or acquaintances or people you meet just once and smile at. People are what make your life great not things or achievements or anything else. Maybe this is obvious, but if it is most people don't act like it. Don't be rude to the checkout assistant or bus driver, don't whine for no reason or snipe at a friend because you've had a bad day. At least try not to.

I have felt entirely loved in every which way by both my parents all my life and I know I am incomparably lucky for this. So, I just try to reflect a little bit back at others.

Happy Late Mother's Day Mama x x x x

Others' thoughts...

I've been awful at writing recently. January is one of those months for me, full of friends birthdays and social occasions as well as the ubiquitous feeling that winter has been going on far too long... So, here's a tide-me-over post of a few rousing sentiments.. #iloveaquote.

Hope you enjoy.

Art conquers all..

Sometimes you've just got to own it..

And in anticipation of 2014...

Here's to the pleasure of writing...

A proper post coming soon....

Sshh... It's a.. Secret Theatre, Show 3 at The Lyric

Doctor, Governor, Journalist, Spiritual Helper

The Lyric in Hammersmith is famous for its creative and original productions of both old and new works. The recent buzz surrounding its new Secret Theatre series had not escaped me, but it was only when Show 3 begun that my usual theatre-date friend and I actually made an effort to book tickets. I apologise in advance if this review is a little rambling or discombobulated, it was that kind of night.

"Wear comfy shoes" we were told before. What? I was nervous. Although I love experimental theatre, anything that hints of audience participation tends to freak me a little, especially when there is no real description as to what the play is about.

I tried to find some reviews, but they were all rightly vague. I managed to establish that the Lyric had building works going on and you had to walk up numerous steps to where the play was being performed. Aaah I see. Health and safety and all.

When we arrived at the Lyric to collect the tickets, well in time for some pre-performance wine, we were told... "Meet in the foyer... 730... Don't be late, don't be late... We’ll leave without you."

Alright calm down... We sat right next to the foyer in the bar slurping wine and furtively checking our phones and glancing over to the approved meeting area "don't be late, don't be late."

Jittery already, our Sauvignon Blanc was interrupted by a theatre official (Captain of Health and Safety or some such) making an announcement in the bar.

 

The Governor and Warden

"You have to climb some stairs to get to the performance area, so if you feel you can't manage this, let us know, we will take you a different route... don't be late."

Cue thoughts of the future when we couldn't manage stairs. Perish the thought. Eventually we were ready to go and indeed we climbed up a fair few stairs before we reached the performance area. Oh ok we managed the stairs, we weren't late and we were numbed a little by our drinks. Now we could relax as we shuffled on benches - front row - cue more nerves from me.

The premise of the play as I saw it is capital punishment, authority, good and evil and a little bit of cause and effect. You are aware of the capital punishment issue from the beginning. It is clearly spelled out to you by the Governor of the Prison, attendants, journalist and others who are all there to watch an execution. It is clearly spelled out to you by the set which shows a lonely bed with a raised head and clearly not a friendly bed.

The Doctor

The first half is mostly amusing. As the Prison Governor is debuting her new form of the death penalty, an experiment which may be taken country-wide; the victim/criminal, Richard Sanger (Leo Bill) is an abductor, a rapist, a horrible man by all accounts. The rapport between the prison attendants is comical and the character of the watching journalist - though slightly obvious - is recognisable and easily disapproved of by any liberal theatregoer. The man who is meant to die, does not, cue more humour and a wonderful portrayal of a student doctor confused by his loyalty to his profession, morals and his career. Titter, titter.

21st Century wall still up we can take this, the audience I mean, we can take this, they're killing a man or trying to, so what... Yes, yes there's the politics and power scuffles and morality queries by all the players and yet still as the audience we are thinking aaahhh lovely yes, this is going to teach us about how capital punishment is not the answer. This is going to give us food for thought and great dinner party discussion. Great.  We are all waiting for the moral to be told to us and then we can forget about it and go home to our warm beds. And then something happens...

The rapist, though he has not died, has seemingly forgotten everything and therefore may be classed as mentally unstable and cannot be killed- laws as they are. It changes the judgement ruled. With a time limit on the success of the experiment, as the governor is set to report into the Home Secretary the next morning, she and the wardens and the doctor desperately try to force the man to remember what he has done so they can try to kill him again. By this point we are feeling uncomfortable, but there is still humour. They try everything they can, sinking to the depths of bringing in the identical twin sister of the murdered girl (Katherine Pearce) who has been sat in the execution viewing room. The governor gets her there through obvious psychological manipulation and she promptly faints.

The Criminal

Then they bring in the criminal's special-needs brother (Billy Seymour), who has also been in the waiting room. For a while he goes into spasms of joy and they embrace. Following some reminiscing on their childhood and some soft strokes and hugs from Richard, he admits he turned Richard in- he found the half-dead girl in the cupboard and turned his own brother in. He says his mother knew all along. We feel sorry for this poor, strange and certainly below-average intelligent boy and we even feel a little sorry for the neutered criminal.

Then suddenly whilst in his brother's embrace, Richard the raper regains himself, or that which he has never lost, that which he has only been faking and kills his poor brother on the spot.

He then launches into a ferocious monologue terrifying his rapt audience.

"He was lying you know, he knew all along. He had a go on her himself. He just panicked when the stupid slut died."

Cue more moral questioning from the audience as we know he speaks the truth.

On and on and on he goes, evil to the core as he threatens to kill various members of the team.

Then suddenly we leave them. Aware that dawn is breaking and the experiment has not worked. How will this end?

The lights are down and we hear the sound of a wall moving as the entire right hand side of the stage area is pulled back to reveal the theatre - or where the audience usually sit. We are on the stage. Rows and rows of blank seats stare back at us as we look right, feeling observed, feeling part of the whole experiment.

Then up in the circle, we see two of the guards sitting watching us. They are talking as-if outside the prison where media and protestors are waiting and apparently ambulances and police.

"I filled the syringes with water. I sabotaged it. I couldn't let this happen, I couldn't let out society regress." He speaks over the empty stalls.

"And now they are all dead” says the other, "what was the point. Your own selfish heroic cause; that was not the way you should have done it!"

Really that is all I remember. And then we, the audience filed out, numb from it. Too many questions, too much to think-over and no signposts to tell us what we should think. That I believe is a sign of good theatre.

What made the play so successful is not only the topsy-turvy, disorientating staging, but the class of the actors - particularly the wonderful Leo Bill as Richard who had us all thrilled, Billy Seymour played the part of his mentally disabled brother sensitively with no clichés and Cara Hogan as the governor has an alarming presence on stage- wonderful acting.

The music and staging was also extremely successful, each item, each chorus necessary not over-cluttered, forcing us to focus on the action.

I'm not going to pretend it was a happy experience, it was not. I laughed, cried and was horror-struck and afraid in equal measure. It took two bottles of wine afterwards for my friend and I to feel near to normal. But it was a powerful performance that I'd certainly recommend.

Roll on Show 4... Coming soon

More on the cast and crew here...

The Lyric, Hammersmith

Lyric Hammersmith, Lyric Square, King St, London W6 0QL

Images are all (c) The Lyric on Flickr