Jane’s Beauty Tips meet Zanda’s Loo Roll

I was on Radio Suffolk on Monday night with the lovely Jon Wright. Gosh, how I love the radio! In the current climate, I didn’t even have to drive to the turreted palace which is Radio Suffolk HQ, but was able to slump on my creaky chair in the dining room and chat on the phone. Thanks Jon!

I was being positive, talking about the uplifting things we can all focus on. It would be so easy to look at what our world is going through at the moment and fall apart. Uncertainty, lack of control, strict social limitations – it’s not great. But – and it’s a big but, as my friend Clare always says - “How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.” Anne Frank said that. I hadn’t come across those words before, but as I sit writing on a bright sunny spring morning, they seem bang on.

I’ve decided not to tread water, not to mark time, not to ride it out. Before this happened, I had just about enough money and no time. Now I’ve got hardly any money but loads of time. I’m going to use that gift wisely. Yesterday, I paired a huge mountain of socks. There are five pairs of feet in this household, all with a myriad of different coloured coverings, and with the current warm weather, each sock has been lovingly washed and dried by moi. I discovered that laundry baskets have bottoms. I did not realise this. There is a vast green expanse in my bedroom. The carpet, I think they call it. “Hello!” I greeted it this morning. “Haven’t seen you for a while.”

Image by Pixabay

I’ve wasted far too much of my life worrying about what I look like and what people think of me. My friend Jane has had me crying with laughter every morning with her joke beauty channel. She’s a hoot. Her daily explanations of how to get her look parodies those po-faced YouTube videos brilliantly. They’re honest, funny and real. From peeling nail varnish to bobbly pyjama bottoms to rampant root regrowth, they’re hilarious.

My friend Zanda posted this picture on Facebook today. Funny but also touching. Sharing your loo roll really is the gift that keeps on giving. Big love to the Purins family who also made me smile today.

Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, join me in looking for the funny, the touching, the beautiful in our uncertain world. And remember those words from Anne Frank. Really. Wait not a single moment before starting to improve the world.

Sax on the balcony

It’s been quite a week. My last post managed not to mention the C word at all, instead looking back fondly at loud nights and sticky carpets. There was a sad lack of loo rolls and pasta in the UK this time last week, but as I write, we are now going back to the type of rationing not seen since the Fifties. Here at Big Word Towers, we are the proud owners of 8 actual toilet rolls, a couple of packets of kitchen roll and endless supplies of newspapers. One way or another, the five derrières residing here will make it through. And who needs pasta anyway?

But as I often say, let other pens dwell on guilt and misery[1]. There’s plenty to worry about, if we choose to, lots to question and second-guess. The truth is, none of us know what’s going to happen. As I write, I’ve just heard that all schools and colleges will be closing on Friday afternoon. This may mean that my last child at primary school won’t have a Year 6 play, reward trips or sit her SATS at school. Today, as I watched the children running around on the field playing football, swinging off the gym trail and rushing round in the bushes, I realised that this might be almost the last time for us. I’ve spent the last 13 years at that school and it could be coming to an end, abruptly, unexpectedly. In the grand scheme of things, however, this is not big news. I’ll feel a pang on Friday, but there are other more important things to dwell on.

If you turn your eyes away from scenes of people fighting each other in supermarkets for the last packet of tagliatelle, you’ll see heart-warming examples of community spirit, compassion and kindness. Last week, I heard a story on the radio that warmed my heart. A music teacher in Italy, confined to barracks as everyone is, came out on to his balcony and played, “Ode to Joy” on the saxophone to lift his neighbours’ spirits. You can see him here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vVmOuQMsrQM. In the last few days, Italians all over the country have come out on to their balconies to sing, play an instrument or wave and smile at their neighbours. The Italians are a fiercely community-minded nation, big on family, celebration and good food. La passeggiata, the traditional walk in the evening has been replaced by community singing and playing from balconies, and by the posting of encouraging messages.

Closer to home, I’ve been encouraged by the many Facebook groups set up in our village and nearby to help the elderly, isolated and vulnerable keep afloat at a very difficult time. Yesterday afternoon, I read a post on Facebook which made me smile and feel emotional all at the same time. The lovely Christina Johnston (you may remember her from this blog: https://bigwordsandmadeupstories.blogspot.com/2019/11/hitting-high-notes.html) is a self-employed opera singer. All her concerts have been cancelled until September. Rather than wallowing in self-pity, or letting fear rule her life, she has chosen instead to share her beautiful voice with others who can’t get out. She’ll be singing outside Mill Lane Nursing and Residential Home in Felixstowe this afternoon and then again in Ipswich. She has offered to sing outside any nursing home or establishment where elderly or vulnerable people are self-isolating. She sings like an angel and she is generously sharing her gift with those who are stuck indoors. Here’s a link to her singing – enjoy it and feel free to share. Beautiful things are rare in our world at the moment and they need to be celebrated. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8za2_4T00jM

The good has to outweigh the bad, or else who are we? What makes us human? As I was about to hit, "publish", another story of kindness popped up. Our local greengrocer in Woodbridge (that lovely one on the way to the Thoroughfare, for the benefit of local readers) is not only offering free local deliveries, but took on all the stock from the Friends' (PTA) group at a local primary school for resale, saving them from a massive loss. 

We don’t know what’s going to happen. These are frightening and uncertain times. But if we can focus on the good – the unselfish, the giving, the altruistic amongst us – we will get through this, together. 

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[1] Not my own line. It’s Jane Austen. But a quote from one of the classics adds such a touch of class to one’s blog, don’t you think?

A Middle-Aged Mother in the Mosh Pit

Pre-marriage and motherhood, a big part of my life involved going to gigs. When I worked at Exeter University in the late Eighties and early Nineties, we got the chance to buy reduced tickets for all kinds of performers. Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine (remember them?) Joan Armatrading, Lenny Henry, Jasper Carrott and many more. I still kick myself for not turning out on a wet Wednesday night to see Primal Scream. That was probably their last gig before they hit the big time. Sigh.

Once I got married and moved back to Essex, we went to even more gigs. It was brilliant. The Number 20 bus at the top of our road took us to Walthamstow Bus Station, then it was one stop to Blackhorse Road on the Tube to our final destination, The Standard, sticky-carpeted palace of cheap beer, loud bands and much enjoyment. We used to go with a huge group of friends, two of whom were in bands of their own. We’d have loud nights, resonant with riffs and riotous laughter, then we'd roll home on the night bus with our ears ringing and reeking of stale smoke. In the early Nineties, it was fine to light up anywhere you fancied and lots of people did. Ending up with a hole burned in your denim jacket was a badge of honour.

The same group of friends used to go to the Cambridge Folk Festival where we saw some excellent bands. I was known for my ability to get right to the front of the stage at any gig. I remember standing at the very front of Number Two Stage, gigantically pregnant with my first child while a very loud blues outfit (Robert Randolph and the Family Band) gave it their all. Here they are in action, just as good as I remember. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2DE9JO9Lo0w.

Such a dose of loud bluesy soul and gospel in utero clearly had an effect on my eldest son. Every afternoon at nap time, I’d put on a blues CD and watch him nod off. He once fell asleep in front of a 20-foot speaker at a festival. 16 years on, he is a massive metal-head, just as his father was when we met at Sixth Form Centre aged 16. He went to his first gig recently (at Brixton Academy – start as you mean to go on) wearing my husband’s treasured denim jacket, covered with patches and badges from all his gigs way back when.

Now obviously as his mother, I am a bit of an embarrassment to him and he’s shocked to hear that I used to live another sort of life before I had him. That said, we do have some great conversations about music and it’s been lovely seeing him getting into some of the bands I like. He’s introduced me to a few along the way too as well as joining a band of his own (he’s the drummer).

A couple of weeks ago, he came back from work and mumbled, “Like, James’ band[1] is playing soon. I got some tickets. Do you want to come?” James is his boss.

The gig was at Old Jet, a music venue at the old RAF base near us. It’s probably one of the most inaccessible venues ever, but it’s well worth schlepping across the airfield in the dark. I was offered earplugs on arrival, but waved them away. Once we were in, the following conversation ensued:

Son: “Yeah, look, no offence, you’d better go and stand a long way away from me. I don’t want people knowing you’re my mother.”

Me: “None taken. I’m not standing next to you. It’ll cramp my style if I’m seen with a 16-year old boy.”

Son: “Oh. Right. Yeah. See you.”

Me: “Not if I see you first. No offence.”

Well, it was brilliant. I was right at the front, natch, with my middle-aged eardrums unprotected and ready to absorb as many decibels as the band cared to throw at me. And believe me, they were LOUD! 3 lead guitars, a bass and the drummer. It took me right back. Once it was all over, we rolled back to the car, across miles of unlit runway, our ears ringing. It was just like the old days. I couldn’t hear properly for three days. There was no chance of anyone burning a hole in my gilet with their cigarette, unless I’d gone up to them outside and specifically asked them to. Apart from that, and the lack of unexpectedly adhesive floor coverings (oh, and my tendonitis and achy knee) I felt 19 again.

As someone once said, “Where words leave off, music begins.” So let's leave it there, a middle-aged woman with ringing ears and a 16-year old with blood blisters on his fingers from a 2-hour drum practice session. That mother and son nearly 17 years on from the final gig of the night at Cambridge, still rocking out, albeit with a little more distance between them. But with a whole lifetime of earplugs, drum solos and sticky carpets to come.

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[1] They’re called Brigade. Check them out here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brigade_(band)

A load of old rubbish

I grew up in the Seventies. In some ways, it’s a miracle any of my generation are still here. Puffing on fags was widespread and no-one had any namby-pamby ideas about protecting children from second-hand smoke. Seat belts were a rather louche extra feature and our playgrounds featured high, steep slides, witch’s hat roundabouts that offered an exciting opportunity to injure yourself and of course hard concrete on which to fall. Apart from a huge graze on my leg from being dragged round by the roundabout on concrete and a few bruises from falling off swings, I emerged relatively unscathed from my Playground Years. If you had any sense, you hung on tight! 

That said, there was lots of good stuff around too. Drinks mostly came in glass containers which you took back to the shop and got money for. You could buy quite a lot with a penny at the sweet shop. Helicopter parenting was several generations in the future, so we all wandered around or went off on our bikes without anyone worrying about it. We lived by various government campaigns designed to keep us alive in spite of our surroundings.

The Tufty Club was big news, teaching us all road safety. “Never Go With Strangers” (made in 1971) was shown in the school hall. With a selection of dodgy facial hair, weird hats and smoked glasses, the actors in the film did a good job of making sure none of us fell for that old chestnut, “Come and see my puppies." The film makers even included some scenes in a Seventies playground, witch’s hat and all. Click here to go back in time.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEjnmhBJA1w

The Keep Britain Tidy campaign was also dinned into our heads. To this day, I cannot let rubbish fall out of my car, my handbag or anywhere else without running to pick it up. It was one of those things you just didn’t do, along with going with strangers and running out into the road. So, here is the question for this week, and it’s a genuine one. Please feel free to reply. When did it become acceptable to drop rubbish instead of putting it in the bin? I’ve witnessed so many people driving along, opening their car window and hurling their rubbish out. Why? Why would you do this? I simply don’t understand. Where do they think it’s going to go?

I’m writing this on Saturday 29^th February, a wet, grey, rainy day in Suffolk. What inspired me? A post by a friend on Facebook. You can see it on my page. A wonderful chap, Jason Alexander, has become a local hero with his social enterprise, Rubbish Walks. He doesn’t have to go out in the wind and the rain picking up other people’s cigarette butts and crisp packets, but he does just the same. The picture that inspired this blog was of him and his team, young and old, outside a shop in St Peter’s Street, Ipswich. It’s pouring, but they’re all out with their rubbish sacks picking up stuff that other people decided to drop. You can see Jason in action below with a staggering number of cigarette butts. He picked all those up with his hands. Imagine that.

Smoke if you must. Eat fast food in the car if that’s your thing. But please don’t drop the evidence on the ground, or hurl it out of your car window. It’s bad for the environment, it’s deeply disrespectful and it’s not fair that people like Jason should have to give up so much of their time cleaning up after you.

My generation were exposed to so much anti-litter publicity that I think we got the impression that dropping a sweetie wrapper was punishable by death. Granted, fast food was limited to Findus Crispy pancakes and the odd Wimpy, and there just wasn’t so much “stuff” around. There’s absolutely no excuse, though, for dropping litter. Let’s give Jason and his team a break.

You can find out more about Rubbish Walks here: https://rubbishwalks.co.uk/