Dancing in public (part two)

Yesterday, I left London ("Urgh! Why?" I hear you all ask). I've come north to see the friend I did a lot of travelling with years ago. We haven't seen each other for years so I decided it was time to make the trip. He met me at the station and there was lots of hugging and catching up. We found a lovely Italian restaurant and I had an amazing fish skewer thing which had swordfish, scallops, prawns and cherry tomatoes on them.



Unfortunately, I only remembered to take a photo once I'd already tucked in.

I finished up with a ristretto, because my 'coffee habit' is going ok now.

We were a bus ride from my friend's flat so we popped into a bar first and each got a cocktail, as they don't taste too alcoholly (I don't like the sharp taste of most alcohol, hence being a non drinker). We then went to a 'cool' cafe where lots of cool kids were jiving to the Super Mario theme tune.....

On our way to the taxi rank, we passed a bar we'd come to last time I was up and decided to go in. As we entered, our feet stuck to the alcohol-covered sticky grotty floor. Immediately, I knew it was that type of place. You know. That type of place.

We ordered drinks and lingered by the bar and watched the dancers. And it was brilliant. One woman, with badly dyed frizzy blonde hair, was giving it everything, hindered only by the fact that she was in her late forties and extremely out of place.

My friend and I, with our two cocktails on our systems to prevent the usual awkwardness on the dance floor, were ready to join in slightly. We bobbed rhythmically at the side, laughed and joked, reminisced about times abroad, sang along, pointed to the overly drunk people, dancing so vigorously that they almost fell over.

After a while, my friend stopped dancing, looked at me and said, "Laura, I can't do this anymore." And we left.

Even though we had had something to drink and danced a little, we didn't actually want to go tearing up the dancefloor. I'd previously thought that it was the lack of alcohol blocking me from getting into the spirit of things. But I don't actually think that anymore. I think it's because it's just not what I do. It's not part of my social activities to get drunk and dance like a maniac anymore. And that's ok.

I think I'll stick to dancing in the front room to the music channel.

An afternoon of Pi

Yesterday, whilst heading out of the house, earphones in and audiobook playing, I had plans to go for a long walk as I was at a good bit in Aldous Huxley's Brave New World. I'd get an hour or two of listening in and it would be great. I also really love walking when it's cold. I love the crispness of the fresh air and how the river looks in the bright sunshine. I had a fabulous afternoon ahead.

Then Danda called, five minutes into my walk.

"Do you fancy going to see a film?" he asked.

"Alright," said I, my dedication to my original plan immediately disappeared. "Life of Pi is on and someone told me it's really good."

As we approached the cinema and were asked for the small fee of a million pounds (or thereabouts) for the pleasure of seeing the film, Danda said.....

"So the film probably won't be that interesting. The Life of Pi? It's simple, isn't it? You make it, you put it in the oven, you bake it, you take it out, you eat it."

Ah Danda, ever the witty one.

And actually, the film is really good. I read the book when I was a student at Glasgow University briefly. I then read another book by Yann Martel, called Self, as I was doing a module on my English Literature course called 'The Self.' I always remember that module because my friend Jamie and I thought it was hilarious to call it 'The Shelf.'

Anyway, I'd loved the book of Life of Pi. I even referenced it in essays that were about completely different things, as much as possible. I loved the section about how he trained Richard Parker. I loved the episode with the flying fish. And I loved the funny meerkats on the island.

I was really glad the film was so good because it was just how I would want it to be, had I thought about how to make a film out of such a fabulous book.

If you don't know the basic premise, it is this - Indian zoo keeper and family decide to move to America, they are taking the animals with them on a boat, the boat sinks, one boy and a handful of the animals survive on a lifeboat. What's not to love?! Go and see it if you get a chance.

And now I am off for a walk and to listen to Brave New World. I wonder what will distract me today?

Things I have said to famous people whilst making them coffee

Simon Callow

Now you must bear in mind when reading this, that I had not had a television since leaving home when I was 18 and had not really been absorbing anything I did watch, even then. This is attested to by the fact that I have no idea whether I have watched loads of really classic films that I'm guessing I probably did watch at some point in my childhood. That is my defence.

This incident happened about six years later, when working in a little coffee kiosk in a train station.

A man came in one day and got an espresso and an orange juice. His face looked really familiar. When he left, I asked the others if they recognised him. One was Portuguese and the other Polish and they hadn't recognised him at all. I'm not sure how well he is known outside the English speaking world but neither knew his face.

The next day he came in and I decided to be brave and asked him.

"Sorry, I don't mean to sound over familiar but I recognise you from somewhere and I can't think where. Are you off TV?"

Yes. I said that. Those exact words - "off TV." Are you off TV? Like some chav who can't speak properly. Me. I said that. To Simon Callow.

Simon.

Callow.

What an insult.

He good-naturedly said, "Well, some of the things I've been in have been shown on television, yes."

After he left, a poster on the station wall caught my eye. A poster for a pantomime showing at the nearby theatre. The man was on the poster! I quickly googled his name on my phone and realised, with a sinking feeling, that it had been Simon Callow. The famous Shakespearean theatre actor, Simon Callow. Yes, him.

And I'd asked him if he was "off TV."

The next time he came in, I apologised and he was lovely and gracious about it, obviously. He asked my name and every time he came in, most days for the next few weeks, he always popped his head round to where I was tucked away making coffee and said, "Hello,Laura."

Thank goodness he was so nice about it!

Gita from Eastenders

This one is from the same coffee job. A lady had been in every day for a few days and I had a real feeling that I knew her, or had known her, from my childhood in Liverpool. Now Liverpool isn't the whitest place in the world but in comparison with London's ethnic make-up, you just do notice people of different ethnicity a bit more because there are fewer of them.

This lady obviously had an Indian background and a slight Indian accent and, for some reason, my first thought was of my Maths teacher at school, who was also of Indian origin but had a Liverpudlian accent. So the picture didn't match exactly but I couldn't think of anyone else Indian I had known during my childhood. Other ethnicities, yes, but not Indian.

But she was really familiar so I knew I knew her somehow.

"Hi, I hope you don't think I'm being rude but I feel like I know you somehow. Did you ever live in Liverpool, I grew up there. Have you taught before?"

"No, I've never lived there. I was an actress about ten years ago though. You might have seen me in something?..."

It started to dawn on me and my face started turning red.

"I was in Eastenders. My character was called Gita."

And there it was. That was how I knew her. My mum used to watch Eastenders so I'd been peripherally aware of her via TV. And then, years later, I'd seen a face that I knew from my childhood and asked her if she used to be my Maths teacher! What a let down for someone who spent a significant amount of her life doing a job she presumably loved, being recognised at the time and being in a well established television series which has won awards. Then you go for coffee ten years later and someone says, "Did you used to be my teacher?"

Big fat fail by Laura. Oops!

1st January

As it's Wednesday, I'm handing over to my guest blogger again. Enjoy!

I know it might seem a bit odd to be writing a blog about New Year’s Day well after the year’s started but it’s an interesting subject so I thought I’d do a bit on it. Now you know that whilst many folks around the world call Jan 1^st New Year’s Day, there are of course many other New Years with a different date which are celebrated: Chinese, Vietnamese, Sinhalese, Tamil, Mayan, Telugu, Thai, Hindu, Islamic, Ethiopian etc. Each has its own reason for the date it uses.

What is interesting for us is that New Year’s Day has only been on 1^st Jan since 1752; it’s been in use for just 261 years. It was then that the Gregorian Calendar took over from the Julian which dated right back to Julius Caesar in 46BC. In order to make that change they had to “lose” 11 days from the Julian to bring it into line with the new one: this meant that 2nd September 1752 was followed by 14th September 1752. I wonder how you would feel if say on Feb 1^st this year the government said the next day would be dated 13^th Feb; you’ve suddenly aged by an extra 11 days – or have you? What do you do if you keep a diary? What about if you rent a property? Do you get a rebate? What about if you went on holiday for two weeks starting on say 1^st Sept 1752 - when do you go back to work?

The change also brought in 1^st Jan as the date of the New Year. Before 1752 Britain used 25^th March (the Vernal Equinox) as New Year’s Day. For example, the date of say 24^th March 1710 was followed by the date 25^th March 1711; and for any year prior to 1752, it that was the usual practice. For those of you who pay tax in the UK the losing of those 11 days (in Sept 1752) causing the date then to jump forward meant a jump forward from the original New Year (25^th March) by those 11 days (Mar 26,27,28,29,30,31, Apr 1,2,3,4,5). And that is why our tax year runs from 6^th April one year to 5^th April the next. Following the papal bull of 1582, some countries adopted the Gregorian Calendar immediately whilst others did in the years following; actually eight countries had introduced Jan 1^st as New Year’s Day prior to 1582. UK took 170 years to come into line. So now you know.

What about significant events on 1^st January? History has a many but we’ll check out just a few:

45BC – The Julian Calendar comes into being.

1502 – Rio de Janeiro was discovered by the Portuguese. It is believed that Amerigo Vespucci was an observer on this expedition. In 1507 a German map maker named the southern part of the continent America. América (Portuguese & Spanish) is the female form of Amerigo; the words United States of America were first used in the 1776 Declaration of Independence by Thomas Jefferson. Other interpretations & etymologies, of the name America, do exist so if you’re not persuaded by this one you can easily find an alternative.

1781 – The first all-iron bridge opened. It crossed the River Severn near Broseley Wood in Ironbridge Gorge, Shropshire. It cost £6,000 then (over £1 million today). Abraham Darby III, a third generation Quaker and industrialist, promised to pay any shortfall over and above the original estimated cost of £3,150. He was in debt until he died 10 years later, in 1791 aged just 41.

1856 – Van Diemen’s Land was officially named Tasmania. The first name was in honour of Anthony Van Diemen (the anglicised version of the Dutch name van Diemenslandt), the governor of the Dutch East Indies. It was him who’d sent the explorer Abel Tasman to the area and he is the origin of the present day name - Tasmania.

1962 – The Beatles Audition at Decca Record Studios in London. The group, then, consisted of Lennon, McCartney, Harrison & drummer Pete Best. The record company had also auditioned Brian Poole & The Tremeloes and following the sessions decided to go with them and not The Beatles. Brian Epstein, the Beatles’ manager, was told, “guitar groups are on the way out, Mr Epstein". Bizarrely the same guy who told Epstein this did in fact sign The Rolling Stones on the recommendation of a certain George Harrison! How about that? (In case you were wondering why people were working on Jan 1^st back then, the date did not become an official Public Holiday in England until 1974 so it was just a normal working day.)

So there you have it. Happy New Year folks.

Two year anniversary

Today is two years since I got the biggest shock of my life.

Two years since being driven by a worried Danda at 2am to hospital with stomach pains.

Two years since having an unreasonable number of doctors look in places I would never have dreamed they needed to look!

Two years since I was stuck all over with needles which would live inside me for next six days, leaving me tiny scars that are still visible today.

Two years since a lovely kind doctor approached me with the terrifying news that he'd have to stick a tube down my nose and to my stomach to empty it.

Two years since being told I was next in the operating theatre and waking up hours later, literally stapled back together.

Two years since the every day functions of life were torn from me and I needed nurses to wash me, a tube to feed me and a catheter to wee.

Two years since being put on a geriatric ward and becoming a delirious TV addict with access to self medicating pain killer.

Two years since developing a fear of food and living off a spoonful of mash a day.

Two years since I became unable to stand for more than a few seconds without being exhausted.

Two years since telling Danda, "I don't wanna go a walkies."

And two years since I thought things were falling apart.

But they didn't. Wonderful things happened. Friends and family were all mixed together and stuffed into a cubicle during visiting hours and it was brilliant. I would never have invited that combination of people to be together anywhere but I had no control over this and it turned out really really well.

Danda visited every day. Every single day. Every available visit. Twice a day. Him and my brother paid for vouchers so I could watch the TV or make phone calls, which I did. I made long rambling morphine-induced phone calls where I babbled and sniffled and sobbed and raged.

When I tried to understand the logic in what had happened to me and needed someone to blame or hate, everywhere there were people ready to support me and let me rage at them and at everything.

When I hobbled down the road for a cup of tea at the deli, fellow customers came to sit with me, bought me lunch, kept my spirits up when I felt low.

The doctors who repackaged my wide open scar every day were supportive and kept up constant chatter while I looked in horror at my insides on show!

And while it would be an exaggeration to say the process was a good one or that I'm glad it happened, if it had to happen, I had the best possible experience of it.

And now, right now, where I am in my life at this minute, I can't remember ever feeling this great. Things are just lovely. I don't have the anxiety of the teenage and early 20's years. I don't have the indecision of university years. I don't have to always ask myself 'what I'm going to do with My Life.'

And things are nice now. Very nice. I cook. I bake. I eat. I write. I read.

Two years ago, I thought I'd be angry forever over what happened to me. But I'm not. I'm just very happy and chilled out.

The Laura, the Danda and the panettone (part 2)

As the Wicked Witch of Banarnia Bread land sped into the distance, Danda turned to Laura, shrugged and said, "Well, that was a bit wierd. Shall we go back through that door into Pembroke Lodge and get some tea?"

"No, Danda," said Laura. "We must rescue these panettones from this awful spell, for it to be always panettone but never cake o' clock."

"Well, what flavour are they? I'm not bothering unless there's an amaretti one."

"Yes, look. Here's one. But we won't be able to eat it unless we beat the Wicked Witch."

Then, from among the panettones, a small rabbit appeared, nose twitching.

Mmm, dinner, they both thought. I wonder if I could find some duck fat to confit it in, thought Laura.

"Follow me," it said, leading them to a small clearing in the panettones. "The Wicked Witch will soon be beaten. They say Maplin's is on the move."

They both felt wonderfully excited, frightened and yet happy. They knew something brilliant was about to happen.

"Maplin's?" Danda asked. "The electrical goods store?"

"Yes," said the rabbit, gravely. "There's mass reductions and sales in all their stores. They're relocating to Teddington."

"Teddington?!" exclaimed Danda. "That's great. They'll be just down the road. O, that's amazing news."

All three of them stood for a while, considering this news.

"Anyway," said Laura. "How are we to beat the wicked witch?"

"O, that? I haven't the foggiest idea," said the rabbit. "You?"

They all looked at each other, puzzled.

"How about we just give her a punch up the throat when she next skips by? We'll know it's her from the stupid bells she wears on her wrist."

The plan decided, they waited behind a large stack of panettones. Next time she skipped by, the rabbit stuck out a foot, tripping her up. They tied her down with some of the packaging ribbons from off the panettones and tickled her till she was hoarse from laughing, had wet herself and the laughter had turned into whimpering tears. She lifted the spell and told them where the nearest tea shop was. As a parting gesture, they gave her a punch up the throat and threw her bells in the bin.

They proceeded to the tea shop for cucumber sandwiches, mini Bakewell tarts and cups of refreshing builders tea.

They took home a panettone and spent the next few days eating it. They soon discovered that it was a never ending panettone and lived off it for the next ten years, until they both had severe problems with obesity and thought it might be time to stop.



The End

The Laura, the Danda and the panettone

Once there were two people whose names were Laura and Danda. This story is about something that happened to them when they went away from London to Richmond Park during the afternoon because of the fabulous tea that was served daily at Pembroke Lodge.

They parked up and went for a little walk around the lodge, trying to be clever by entering from a little door that not many people knew about. It brought them to a room near the customer toilets. It was quite dusty and there was lots of furniture covered with cloths. They realised they had come in the wrong side door and, looking back towards it, saw a 'Keep Out' sign.

Worried, they made for the door but heard the sound of kitchen staff carrying plates, approaching the door. They panicked and looked around. There was another exit on the other side of the room.

"Quick!" said Laura.

"Just a minute," said Danda, who was drawing a massive picture of a willy in the dust on a cupboard door. "Ok, where should we hide? In this big wardrobe?"

"No, just come through this door, Danda."

They hurried over, opened the door... And were greeted by the sight of hundreds of panettones. Hundreds. As far as the eye could see. All flavours. Chocolate. Amaretti. Traditional.

Unwilling to share this hoard, they closed the door behind them and looked at each other in wonder.

"If only there were a cup of tea to be had," Danda wondered aloud.

There was a jingling of bells and a tall woman approached, skipping. She had a bracelet of bells around her wrist.

"Hello strangers. And welcome to the land of Banarnia Bread. Here you shall have all the panettones you desire. But you shall never be able to eat them!" And she cackled with evil laughter and sped off.

Someone's got to stop her, thought Laura and Danda.

Tune in tomorrow to see if Laura and Danda can beat the baddie and have their cup of tea and panettone.