Growing Up Too Fast?

Now, don’t get me wrong – we all have to grow up sometime.   Having a said that, a couple of things that have happened recently make me question why some parents do the things they do where their children are concerned.

I am fortunate enough to go to my fair share of gigs.  This has been the case for most of my adult life.  Just lately there seems to be a breed of parent who take their kids to gigs.  I’m not talking about family-themed picnic/gigs in the park type events but rock concerts.  I don’t have any children but I’m sure that if I did, I wouldn’t feel the urge to take them to see the likes of Motorhead, The Cult and The Manic Street Preachers – well, at least not until they’re old enough to drive me there! 

The first time I noticed a little ‘un at a concert was at a Motorhead gig.  The poor lad was about 9, looked bored stiff throughout the entire support act and then actually SLEPT when Lemmy and the lads took to the stage, being carried out by his somewhat bewildered dad at the end of the night.   Similarly, at a Cult gig, a guy had his daughter with him and she looked none too impressed at the thunderous guitars and Ian Astbury’s wailing (which I love, by the way!).   And just this last week at a Manics concert, two kiddies standing near us with their parents – on a school night – looked dead on their feet as James Dean Bradfield and Nicky Wire made our ears bleed.

It’s not just the volume and lateness but more the interaction between band and fans.  All of the 3 acts mentioned above spattered their sets with their  fair share of bad language  – all in good humour and aimed at an adult crowd, It just makes me feel uneasy at little innocent ears hearing, via a fifty million watt PA system, words which they really needn’t know until a bit later in life. 

I’m also uneasy about how some children are allowed to dress.  Yes, clothing manufacturers are partly to blame, but seeing pretty little girls wearing hot-pants and crop-tops in the summer  is just very, very wrong.    In the States, junior beauty pageants are a multi-million dollar industry – children as young as 5 plastered in make-up, their hair dyed and piled up high, teetering on a catwalk in kitten heels.   It’s just vulgar. 

We all grow up eventually (or so I’m told!)  Just let nature and time take their course.

Exercise Epiphany

So when did THAT happen? 

One minute, there I am sitting in front of the tellybox 7 nights a week slowly getting wider.  Then without prior warning I’m thrust into a world of doing stuff!

Stuff!  Me!  Swimming, weights, walking, Yoga, Zumba, dancing  ….. even hula hooping – and I have to say I absolutely love it and feel so much better for it too.

Of course, the exercise means I can still eat and drink the occasional naughty thing too.  Yes, visualising a large glass of red wine or two really helps you to move through the pool and notch up those feel-good points in the calorie bank:  although, obviously don’t drink the wine in the pool as it would only dilute it, and who wants their wine mixed with chlorine!?!?

Fifteen weeks in and the “eating plan”, combined with the exercise and a healthy dose of Positive Mental Attitude are really working.  20lbs lost, BMI almost acceptable and clothes size reducing - it’s lovely being able to buy High Street clothes now from regular High Street shops.  The charity shops are going to benefit too – the pile of “Big Girl” clothing is ever-increasing:  when there’s a bag full, it’s going ……

I've not paid a penny to any slimming clubs this time round.  I wish I'd done this years ago - I'd have saved a fortune instead of giving it to Weight Watchers / Rosemary Conley / Slimming World (delete as applicable ...!)

If I can do it, anyone can!

PMA all the way!

x

Time Please!

Apologies for the lack of blog updates lately – spare time has been somewhat absent, but all for good reasons ……

The healthy eating thing (I hate the word “diet”!) I told you all about back in January is starting to really notice.   I’ve now lost 17lbs and dropped 2 dress sizes and have had some kind of exercise epiphany:  maybe it’s all the fish I’m eating that’s making me so agile in the swimming pool!  Also loving my weekly yoga session – and it’s certainly not for wimps ........

( .. and yes, I can ....!)

My home study is thoroughly enjoyable too:  I’ve now submitted 2 assignments – the first one passed with really positive feedback and I’m fairly hopeful of a similar result for #2 (I should know by the end of this week). 

The first assignment was basic human physiology and anatomy.  It’s amazing what our bodies do to protect us and keep us functioning – complex machines doesn’t even come close!  Assignment 2 concentrated on the digestive system and how we process our food:  not exactly lunch time reading but certainly eye-opening nonetheless!

The Better Half is introducing me to the pleasures of The Lake District later this month.  Walking boots and comfy socks have been purchased and I am looking forward to attacking The Old Man Of Coniston and a few beers to celebrate my mountaineering achievement afterwards!

Yes, life’s busy but good.  I can almost feel the long, hot Summer days just around the corner .........

Brain Time!

Having taken the plunge and decided to launch myself headlong out of my professional comfort zone to retrain for something completely different, I was made to wait 10 days by those meanies at the college for my study materials.  But at long last, aforementioned study materials have now arrived so it’s time to Retrain My Brain!

I know the path to starting my own business is going to be a long one, and there will be twists and turns along the way.  I have a lot of work to do and (judging by the course materials) much learning to take on board.  I am going to have to be disciplined and give myself realistic deadlines if I am to achieve my goal of becoming a qualified Nutritionist. 

Without exception, everyone I have confided in prior to taking the plunge has given me their utmost support (thank you – you know who you all are!) and the positivity (and realism!) of those who know me best is making me even more determined to succeed (as opposed to suck seed, which is what birds do ….!)

The Nutrition course is just the first step of my great adventure.  Come September I’m hoping to enrol on a course with real live people (not a distance learning experience) to gain a Diploma In Counselling. 

So, pencils sharpened, notepad and biro at the ready …. I’m going in.

Wish me luck – I may be some time!

x

 

Where Does It All Go ....?

When you have your hair cut, you can see the evidence of your mission as the hair drops to the floor (and down your back!) at the mercy of the stylists’ scissors.  You can see the hair being swept up by some poor long-suffering sweeper-upper and disposed of.  Or sold to a wig makers perhaps ….

But when you diet, where does the weight go as you shed those unwanted pounds?  You don’t wake up in the morning and leave 1lb of blubber in bed, you don’t wash it away in the shower, or shave off a layer of lard as you get ready for work.  It just disappears, like magic! 

The same can be said for “Magic Pants” – without them, your outline may resemble the Michelin Tyre Man.  Don a pair of Magic Pants and hey presto – svelte and Kylie-esque in an instant (this of course assuming you can get into the bloody things in the first place!).  Although admittedly one has to be careful with Magic Pants:  the wobbly bits can have a tendency to roll over the waistband, thus giving the impression of some bizarre “I’m wearing a rubber ring under my outfit” outline, or at the other end of the garment, circulation to the legs can quite easily be cut off without the wearer realising – until you stand up and can’t feel your legs!

So, five weeks into the diet and half a stone lighter ….. but where does it all go!?!

x

Ranty Pants I

Well, I feel a stint in the ranty pants coming on.  A bit random, but a few minor irritations.  Please feel free to add your own to the list …..

• Fresh fruit and veg:  cucumbers/peppers etc really don’t need to be wrapped in cling film.  Likewise, apples and bananas do not fall off the tree covered in stickers telling me what they are! 

• To the skanky ones at work:  can’t you read?  The signs in the communal kitchen ask that you kindly clean up your crockery and cutlery after use.  That’s not an invite to dump it into the sink until someone else gets so fed up looking at it, that they wash it up for you.  Likewise, please leave the tea towels straight and stop nicking my coffee – buy your own!

• Recruitment Agencies:  you promise the earth and then deliver nothing.  You ring with “the ideal opportunity” for me, build me up and then close the door.  Or you contact me with the most bizarre job openings for skills I do not possess.  Did you read that CV you asked for?

• Recruiters in general:  how on earth you can find it justifiable to leave an applicant hanging around for 3, 4, 5 weeks without any contact is beyond me.  Surely, when you read my application you must have had an inkling as to whether I’m a yay, nay or maybe.   Communication is a great tool.  Use it!

• When you become a parent, do you lose your own identity?  Why do people ring a radio station to warn the nation of a traffic hot-spot, only to go by the name of “Bens dad” or “Annies auntie”.  

• The AmericaniZation of the English language.  It’s not called the English language for fun y’know!  Bloody Microsoft have got a lot to answer for.

And breathe ……..

x

Ramblings, Rants and Writing .....: All Change?

Ramblings, Rants and Writing .....: All Change?: "Those of you who know me are well aware that over the last year I’ve made many changes to my life, all of them good, and I wouldn’t change o..."

All Change?

Those of you who know me are well aware that over the last year I’ve made many changes to my life, all of them good, and I wouldn’t change or undo a single thing.  Personally, I have never been happier or more confident than I am now.

Life in the Midlands is different:  I’m getting used to being addressed as “Bab” and the fact that roundabouts are called "Islands" in these parts.  I’m even cool with the “weekend surrogate mum” bit – or daft big sister as I prefer to think of it.   A biggie for someone who never wanted children, I can tell you!

The only blip on my happy horizon is that I am really struggling to find the perfect job:  I’ve come oh so close on many occasions to landing the PA role that’s out there somewhere.  I know I am a bloody good PA but do I really want to screw myself up with a never-ending stream of applications and interviews, followed by the inevitable rejection phone call, thanks to the internal candidate/one with industry specific experience?

So, at the age of 42 I am seriously thinking about a change of direction.  Retraining.  Starting again.  Something different.  Something for me - and the opportunity to help others whilst hopefully carving out a successful new career.

It will mean a lot of home study whilst still working full-time (unless we win the lottery!), I’ll have to be dedicated and focussed, and most importantly, I will have to make sure I promote my new qualification once I’ve achieved it - but I feel really positive that this is the right thing to do.

I don’t want to say exactly what it is at the moment (although some of you may know already) but I know in my heart of hearts that if I don’t do this thing now, I will never do it and will live the rest of my days yearning for what might have been, and a head full of unanswered questions. 

Am I finally growing up? 

Watch this space ……!

There's Something About Christoff ....

Love him or loathe him, there’s no escaping him.  For me, there’s something oh so likeable about Chris Evans that deserves a blog all to itself!

I remember with a fond smile and slight cringe my first meeting with Mr Evans, or to give him his affectionate handle, CLP.   As he made his entrance into the phone room at Radio 2 during the Children In Need 2009 Music Marathon I was taken aback by how tall he is.  And slender.  And not as ginger as one would expect.  I then proceeded to totally embarrass myself, as he addressed me “Hello Deevs” I replied “Oh f**k, you know who I am!”

A lovely easy-going fella with time for his fans and a naturally approachable aura, Chris shares his life with his fans via his Radio 2 blog – the ultimate ‘share’ moment had to be when his blog was merely a photograph of his newly-pregnant wife’s scan photo.  No words needed to accompany the image – Chris and Tash were entering into the realms of parentalism!

After his “wilderness years” his return to prime time radio with the Drivetime Show proved that Evo still had it.  Doubters were won over, new fans increased the RAJAR figures and Chris accompanied the nation on their drive home.  There were times I actually drove slower, or took the longer route, purely to hear more of Drivetime.

Now we have Mr Lambie Pies for breakfast:  his upbeat, easy-going yet lively manner making him the perfect start to the day. I defy you to listen to an entire show and not have anything positive to say about it …. go on, I dare you …!

His love of life shines over the airwaves – I’m sure many of us would just love to go out for a pint with Chris.  He’s that kind of guy.

Ever the professional, I shall never forget his Tweets on the night one of the original bloggers, Jane, left us for the Great Shoe Shop In The Sky.  He wanted details.  He wanted to know what WE, Jane’s friends  wanted HIM to do on HIS show the following morning.    And yes, he did us, and Jane, very proud with a dedication for our lovely friend and some words so beautifully composed he had the entire blog population blubbing onto their toast. 

And now we have extra Christophe Lambie Pies portions via The ONE Show.  For a show which was in danger of sinking, he gives the lead into the weekend a kick up the arse and then some:  you can see the nervousness on the face of his co-presenter, not quite knowing where the sometimes manic Evo is going next.

Yes, there’s been ups and downs, but Chris, if you ever read this – thank you for the music, for being there and for sharing.

And I promise not to cuss when next we meet!

Deevs

X

Dear Nan ....

Dear Nan

As you turn 89 today, I can only imagine what you have seen and experienced during your 88 years on this planet of ours. 

How did you cope before the invention of television, mobile phones, package holidays and Tupperware?  The halcyon days of unlocked back doors, and the kids playing out in the street as one big happy community – not reliant on electronic gadgetry, batteries, chargers or 24/7 cartoon networks! 

Did you ever, in your wildest dreams, think that man would walk on the Moon and everyday normal people would be able to experience supersonic air travel? 

You’re on your 4^th Monarch, and have lived through 23 British Prime Ministers. 

You fought for your country during WW2 – even with my wild imagination I can’t see you armed with an Ack Ack gun, defending the South Coast, but I know that you did as you have given me your war medals, something I will forever cherish. 

You enjoyed a long and happy marriage to granddad, and mothered 3 children.  You have 4 grand-children and one great-grandchild.  You worked and kept house, looking after your brood, always there for your girls until one by one they fled the nest to make homes of their own. 

Throughout my childhood you entertained me, introduced me to the delights of Jimmy Young and Terry Wogan and sometimes you took me to work too!  You even taught me how to make pastry (although your gravy was never as good as the legendary “granddad gravy”)!

You’re not as agile as you once were, and your hearing needs a bit of help these days but to me, you’ll always be My Nan, a role-model, matriarch and all-round lovely lady.

Happy Birthday Nan!

Once A Durannie .....

I can’t believe it’s been 30 years since Duran Duran released their debut single, Planet Earth.   What was it about the boys from Brum that floated my boat from the tender age of 12 and a bit?  And what’s kept me listening, 3 decades later?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f9nmqViKOwE 

Yes, I can honestly say Duran Duran changed my life.  It was lust at first sight and my ears liked what they were hearing.   Suddenly, my first love, Bob Geldof, was cast aside in favour of 5 pouting poseurs who really, truly couldn’t dance to save their lives.  But they were FANTASTIC!!

I treasured that C90 cassette with their self-titled debut album.  So much so, I had the album on BOTH sides of the cassette so that I could just turn the tape over and play it again. 

A teenage obsession was soon in full flow.  Every single penny of my pocket money went on Duran Duran:  from the likes of Smash Hits, No1 and Melody Maker through to tiny articles in the Radio Times when my heroes were appearing on some BBC show.    Every inch of my bedroom walls and ceiling were plastered in pictures of these 5 enigmas – until my mum commented how easy it would be for spiders to drop from behind the giant John Taylor, clumsily Sellotaped to the ceiling directly above my pillow ……

Odd jobs were undertaken to earn extra pocket money, and trips to Athena to browse the latest range of Duran Duran posters were planned with military precision. 

Oh how I loathed the little girl on Jim’ll Fix It who had written in asking to be “rescued” from school by Simon Le Bon.  Why didn’t Simon turn up at MY school, and rescue ME from maths on horseback, dressed as a Knight!?!?   Probably because I never wrote to Jim’ll, that’s why. 

My collection of VHS tapes grew: every snippet of every show Duran Duran appeared on, every video airing on Top Of the Pops, every interview – from Saturday Superstore to The Tube.  I hung on their every word, soaking them up, absorbing their wit and wisdom like a sponge.    Had it not been for those Q&As in Smash Hits, I’d never have thought to listen to David Bowie, Roxy Music, T Rex and  Talking Heads, to name but a few. 

I’ve seen Duran Duran in concert three times:  the 1983 Seven And the Ragged Tiger tour, then again in 1989 on their Big Thing tour (still one of my favourite DD albums) and most recently, I was lucky enough to be at The Forum in Kentish Town in October 2003 to see their original line-up reformed, marking 25 years of all things Duran Duran.   I’ll be there again in June, this time in Manchester, lost to the outside world for a couple of hours, in the zone.    

Every show different, every show amazing.  And Simon still can’t dance …..!

I may not be that 12 year old girl in pedal pushers and a frilly blouse any more, and my obsession has been downgraded to DEFCON 4 from it’s previous DEFCON 1 status, but for me, it’s definitely a case of Once A Durannie, Always a Durannie!

Deevs

3 Feb 2011

The Mad Woman Within

We’re a funny old lot, us human beans, don’t you think?  One minute we feel invincible – ready to take on the World and its big brother at the drop of a hat, the next, unable to face anyone or anything for fear of rejection or humiliation.

I first suffered with depression in 2003. Everyone around me could see it creeping up, slowly taking hold.  Colleagues at work warned me to slow down, take stock, but I knew best.  Well, I thought I did until the morning I woke up and quite literally crumpled in a tearful, messy heap just wanting to run and hide from everything.  My GP put it down to work-related stress, signed me off and told me to be a selfish madam and do things for myself for however long it takes.  My husband (now my ex-husband) referred to me (jokingly) as “my mad wife”, and still the tears flowed. 

Eventually the salty-eye juices subsided and things returned to normal.  Until 12 months after my first “episode” when once again, the shaking returned, accompanied by self-doubt, self-pity and the lowest case of low self-esteem.  This time round, my long-suffering GP prescribed time off and anti-depressants.  Strangely, the thought of becoming one of the Prozac Generation depressed me even more.   The “Mad Wife” was back. 

By the end of 2005, and after coming to terms with the sudden death of my lovely dad, the happy pills were a distant memory and I’d taken the steps necessary to shake off my malady:  basically given myself a bloody good talking to, baked a lot of cakes and most importantly, changed jobs.

I fear depression is always going to be with me in some way or another, the difference now though  is that I recognise the signs:  the lack of sleep, the dips in my attitude towards myself and loved ones, the comfort-eating and yes, the tears.   I felt this way as recently as 2 weeks ago but with the support of lovely friends and my fantastic partner, I’ve been able to climb out of the pit of despair before it really sucked me into its bleak void. 

Right now, I feel amazing.  I’m grateful for what I’ve got and love life, so go on World, chuck whatever you like in my direction and I’ll hurl it straight back at you!   

x

Wolf Child In Wolves …..

It’s not very often that I get excited about a gig.  Don’t get me wrong – I enjoy going to gigs and am fortunate enough to go to my fair share, but the prospect of a midweek date in Wolverhampton with one of my rock idols really had me by the jugular and despite a bout of tonsillitis, nothing was going to stop me seeing The Cult in action.

Inside the venue, Wolverhampton’s Civic Hall, the atmosphere was strange.  No real buzz that precedes many gigs but an array of people across a broad age spectrum (quite literally 8 – 80), patiently waiting for Ian Astbury and his band of merry men to take to the stage.  And at 9.15 pm on Wednesday 26^th January they did just that.  And then some …..

Formed in 1984, The Cult have something of an extensive and impressive back-catalogue with which to fill 90 minutes or so.  However, as Ian Astbury informed us, this was not a “jukebox, same old, same old” kind of tour.  There’s new material – learned especially for us apparently, which was well mixed in with a spattering of Cult classics. 

Astbury’s fascination of all things Navaho was clearly evident, with ear-splitting whoops and yelps throughout, and a back-drop showing films and imagery of Indians and Shamen on their reservations.  There also seems to be a Tibetan thing going on somewhere – maybe he’s trying to give Bono a run for his money?

Despite the new material having a calming influence on the crowd, the moshers moshed their way through the older material, and I have to admit to being relieved at having a seat up on the balcony, pleased to be “middle aged” for once!   And a quick calculation that She Sells Sanctuary was released some 26 years ago really did me no favours in the fossil stakes – until Astbury pointed out that “we need more middle aged rockers, go home young people!”   I’ll have a pint of whatever he was drinking throughout the 2^nd half of the gig, please!

It’s obvious that the band have spent far too long in the States, with Mr Motormouth’s Bradford roots and accent long since gone.  There’s also something of the Jim Morrison in Astbury’s performance – something that the surprising last song of the night confirmed – a fantastic cover of The Doors’ Break On Through, ironically one of the stand-out songs of the night for me. 

A great gig, ear-splittingly loud, full of energy and hair-flicking, with heaps of layered jangling guitars courtesy of the legendary Billy Duffy.  Yes, The Cult still have it, for sure!

Set List

Everyman and Woman Is A Star

Rain

Horse Nation

Sweet Soul Sister

White

Saints Are Down

Dirty Little Rockstar

Nirvana

Ghost Dance

Film Video interlude

Embers

War

Go West

Wild Flower

Until The Light Takes Us

She Sells Sanctuary

Love Removal Machine

Encore:

Rise

Spiritwalker

Break On Through (to the Other Side)

Calorie Counting - A Pointless Exercise?!?

So, yesterday was Day 1 of Counting Calories.

Now I’m no stranger to dieting, having spent (or invested?) a small fortune on Weight Watchers/Slimming World/Rosemary Conley over the years but I am really struggling with straight-forward calorie counting. 

It’s just so complicated ………

When following the Weight Watchers plan, I can drink as much tea and coffee as I like (provided I count the milk), and Marmite has no WW Points at all, so if I feel the need, I can bathe in the stuff (not literally, you understand!)   Who knew a cup of tea has 23 calories and I now have to count Marmite!  What’s that all about!?!?

Even the healthy stuff eats into your daily calorie allowance, and who wants to waste their daily allowance on the healthy stuff?   On Weight Watchers it’s all FREE – Pointless.  Priceless!!!!

I’ll give it a bit longer, but can see a calorific dividing line appearing at ChezNic:  one of us counting calories and one reverting back to the comfort blanket of good old WW Points.

And once this bout of tonsillitis has left the building, I WILL be back in the pool – the more lengths I do, the more wine I can drink on a Friday night .....

Now there's logic!

x

Grumpy Old Woman ...?

As life guides me through me through my 40s, I’ve noticed that I’m not as patient as I used to be.  Daft little things set me off and wind me up for no reason whatsoever, things that not so many years ago would have washed over me unnoticed.

I’ve never really been a fan of driving.  Don’t get me wrong – I’m glad I can do it as it gives me independence to do my own thing, but other drivers’ manners, (or lack of them!) just makes me seethe.  You know the ones – they don’t feel the need to indicate at roundabouts as, naturally, we all know where they’re going, they never raise a hand in courtesy when you let them in or give way to them, and the worse culprit of all – the cigarette end being thrown out of the drivers’ window.  UGH!!!!

And don’t get me started on “Yoof Culture”.  What on earth are some parents thinking, letting their offspring out amongst the general public with their trousers hanging halfway round their bums and their pants on display for the world to admire?!?  Young girls, out on the town wearing next to nothing and 6” heels in the snow?  GET A COAT – or better still, stay in!!!!  And when I was a whipper-snapper I’m sure I couldn’t have afforded a top-of-the-range mobile phone either!

On the subject of phones, and their users, what makes these egotistical eejits think that I want to hear Tinie Tempah or N Dubz when I’m queuing in Tesco?  Surely you can live without this ear-shattering crap for the time it takes you to go into a shop?  Have you not heard of headphones?  If you feel the need to pollute the air and my ears, can you at least play The Smiths.  You might learn something from Mozza!

So, does this make me a Grumpy Old Woman, or just a bit of a Mardy Mare? 

Answers on a postcard please ……… x

The Tracks Of My Years

I guess we can all break our lives down into segments:  years chunked together, shaping us as we develop and learn more with each passing day.   Music has always been massively important to my life.  Growing up in a pub the jukebox was ever-present.  Whilst school friends were busy playing hopscotch or discussing the antics from the latest episode of Black Beauty, I was more interested in what would be the number one song come Sunday evening with the chart rundown – tape recorder at the ready, naturally. 

My parents used to own a mobile disco – part and parcel of the pub lifestyle, I guess, and oh so very 1970’s it was too!  There were certain songs that would be played at every function and at the end of the night, or “chucking out time” when the disco was fired up in the public bar.  If I listen hard enough I can still hear the opening piano chords of the Moody Blues Go Now.  I can see my dad, larger than life, playing Mein Host, singing the chorus of Go Now to the regulars as he cleared the bar, turfing the punters out into the cold night air, leaving nothing but dozens of dirty glasses and ashtrays full to the brim.  I used to earn pocket money by cleaning out those ashtrays, and still get up for school in the morning.  

I had a happy childhood, if sometimes a lonely one, given my status as an only child.  So to be able to either take a friend on holiday or go away with a friend and their family was a real treat not enjoyed by many kids in the late 1970s/early 1980s.  The excitement of a week spent at Butlins Holiday Camp in Clacton on Sea in 1982 with my friend Gerry and her family was almost too much to bear (not least for the fact that I was mad keen on Gerry’s big brother Fran!)  An entire week spent milling around the funfair, entering dancing competitions in the clubhouse and finding out just what it takes to become a Red Coat.  It was on this holiday that I heard the album Dare, by The Human League – still one of my favourite albums of all time, some 28 years later.  The Things That Dreams Are Made Of sang Phil Oakey, as we danced our hearts out, trying to impress the lads with flick-head haircuts.

I suppose me teenage education began in July 1983, on the day my dad walked out on me and mum.  Growing up overnight doesn’t even come close!  The number one song in the charts on the day dad left was Paul Young’s Wherever I Lay My Hat (That’s my Home).  How apt!  All of a sudden we had to learn how to earn a living – studying for my O Levels in between office cleaning jobs and “homework” from the man in the white van who used to come to the house, leaving cartons of brochures in the hallway for us to stuff into envelopes.  Not bad for £3.50 a thousand – still, it put money in the meter! 

Despite the shock and hurt of dad turning his back on us, the summer of 1983 was one of the best summers of my life.  Long hot days spent in the park, ghetto blaster never far from earshot, taking turns to go to the little shop for the ice-poles – a bargain at 2p a time.  1983 was the summer I went to my first ever Radio 1 Roadshow – again, Clacton on Sea playing an integral part in my right of passage to adulthood.  Picture a gaggle of over-excited teenage girls, singing and dancing their way to Clacton on the train, the other passengers no doubt tiring of K C & The Sunshine Band’s Give It Up.  I should imagine David “Kid” Jenson is still recovering ……..!

And so to 6^th form.  The freedom!  Study periods!  A common room!  A hi-fi in the common room!!  It was just all too much.  So many new people to get to know, new subjects to study and a veritable feast of fun to be had.   You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) sang Dead Or Alive.   I think that that 12” single was actually glued to the turntable on the common room hi-fi, but I wasn’t complaining!

It was during my time at 6^th form that I began to have dark leanings.  It started with my clothes:  the pastels of the previous summer took on a darker hue until I only ever left the house wearing black.  Black hair soon followed, with black make-up not far behind.   Yes, welcome to Gothdom!  A can of hairspray would last 2 days and my hair crimpers were my best friend.  She Sells Sanctuary by The Cult is where it all began, and is one love affair throughout my life that has never ended.    Despite the onset of near middle-age respectability, my inner Goth is never far from the surface.

At the age of 20 I found myself working behind the bar at our local pub.  A truly local pub for local people.   Welcome once again to the jukebox  - that gizmo on the wall which, if the punters got it right, could increase bar takings and make or break a Friday night.  There was the cool crowd in the corner, the ones that everybody wanted to sit with but only the elite few were allowed into the inner circle of coolness.  Golden Earring’s Radar Love was an ever-present aural backdrop, courtesy of The Cool Crowd.  Imagine my immense embarrassment (and inner delight!) at being surrounded by The Cool Crowd at closing time, being serenaded to The Righteous Brother’s You’ve Lost That Living Feeling in a Tom Cruise/Top Gun kind of way.  Priceless!  

In 2008, the year I turned 40, I went to my first ever Arsenal match at The Emirates Stadium.   It was the run up to Christmas and the atmosphere was amazing.   Before every kick-off at The Emirates, The Wonder Of You by Elvis Presley is blasted through the PA system – and to be in the stadium, as the teams for the day were read out, and then to sing along to The Wonder Of You at the top of my voice as the Gunners ran out onto the hallowed turf was just the icing on the cake.  We won that day too.  Bonus!  

Fast forward 12 months to December 2009, when I met the love of my life.   It was very apparent, very quickly, that the love of my life wasn’t the same person I had been married to for the last 13 years.   After just 2 meetings we knew we had to be together and on New Year’s Day 2010 I left my husband and planned my new life in The Midlands – having spent all of my 41 years thus far in Essex and Suffolk.    As divorces go, mine was wonderfully amicable, and mercifully quick in its finalising. 

Now, with my wonderful man, my life feels alive again:  we go out, we laugh, we share.  And in August 2010, at the V Festival, we danced together in a field.   Apparently there were some 30,000 or so other people in the field, but as Paul Weller told us You Do Something To Me live on stage, we were alone in that field, looking into each other’s eyes, lost in the moment.

Yes. Life’s good, and I’m a lucky lady.

Welcome!

So, here we are - my first Blog post.

It's a bit self-indulgent yes, but I intend to use this space to ramble a bit, rant a bit and share some of my writing with you.

Whether you know me or not, I hope you enjoy my musings.  Please feel free to leave any comments, questions or things you want to discuss.

Onwards on upwards!

Deevs
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