Sunday at the Cirque Soleil

If there's one venue I'd be happy to sit in without being entertained it is the Royal Albert Hall. I think it's wonderful - so large yet also so cosy. All that circular red feels like a womb. It would be a very crowded womb, but top class with all the gold trimmings.

On Sunday we had tickets for the evening performance of "Totem" by the Cirque Soleil. Anything by them is a big treat, but this theme of evolution was particularly interesting. The show, this time, got off to an unfortunate start as one of the acrobats in the opening sequence hurt themselves. I'd spotted a bad landing and thought "Whoops, that wasn't supposed to happen." A few minutes later paramedics rushed very gracefully to the curled up person who was eventually carried out in a stretcher chair, to applause from the sympathetic audience. I hope the acrobat is OK. The show continued and I really enjoyed the Native American sequence, just love that beat and enjoy listening to CD's of those deep rhythmic chants.

Musicwise, I have Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers to look forward to at the R.A.H. That will be another treat. You've got to have them, haven't you, the occasional big treats.

Live Rocking

Last Friday I was out enjoying myself and thought, in my enthusiasm, I must blog about this. If anyone is reading me, they can see by past dates that I’m not so hot at keeping blogging promises to myself! New Year’s Resolution was to blog more regularly – like must exercise more and ignore those chocolates left over from Christmas.

Back to January 6^th 2012, the place: Concorde Club, Eastleigh, the time: just gone 11pm. The event: Elkie Brooks singing to an enthralled audience. She sang a few songs I’d not heard before, which is good, as well her standard hits and some album tracks which I’ve always loved, e.g. Gasoline Alley, the opening song of the show. The band was excellent, particularly the sax player. There were numbers when they and Elkie really rocked, with a capital R. Amazing when you remember that the lady has her 67^th Birthday next month. I couldn’t help thinking about a friend the same age as me who has one of those tea towels pinned on a door – “You Know You’re Getting Old When ….”. You know the sort of thing, a list of ten negative (supposed to be rib-tickling, ho ho ho!) aspects of ageing. There’s a picture of a rocking chair. I’d rather look and listen to toe-tapping rocking and rolling, sing along with the young at heart.

So tonight I’ll raise a glass to that, and give a listen to the signed “Powerless” Elkie CD I acquired last Friday. I wonder what track 4 “Dancing On The Tables” sounds like?

Many months later ...

It just doesn't occur to me. I don't write diaries, tweet or facebook. I've been 'told off' for not having a web presence and know that, yes, I should be blogging. And help, after attending the book launch of "Wordfall", the 2010 anthology from Southampton Writing Buddies, I see on the page showing my photo and brief writing CV it says 'you can catch up with Glen on her blog ....'

How embarrassing! If anyone had decided to catch up they will see there's nothing to catch up with, completely out of date. So here I am, looking very shame-faced, and sitting at my new lap top. All this modern techno stuff, the touchy over-sensitive touch pad, though easier than my hyper-sensitive new touchy strokey smart phone. Mustn't complain, would not go back to the days of Imperial typewriters that needed muscles to lift off a desk or those huge house phones with the circular number dial that could trap your finger. Who would have believed you'd one day have a phone the size of an eye shadow palette?

IS THIS TOO MUCH CAKE?

Today I am not going to mention any achievement. Am blogging to say what a lovely lunch I’ve had. To be honest, I think enjoying how you’ve spent your time is one of life’s most worthwhile achievements.
What have I done? I’ve met a wonderful group of people. Just the journey was an adventure. Finding your way in the New Forest with instructions like “ignore the little white house on your left; a bit further on go through the opened gate with a big ‘Private’ sign. Follow this cart track a long way down, and you’ll find us in the last house on the right.”
This house had no name sign on gate or door, but it was the right one. The occasion? The six-monthly regional meeting of the SWWJ (Society of Women Writers and Journalists) I’d joined this organisation back in the spring and today was the first time I’d attended any of their functions. Everyone was friendly and welcoming and the good turn-out was a mix of ages. I first sat next to a young woman called Alli who wrote romantic comedy and had two novels published. The organiser was a lady in her eighties who apparently lived in a studio flat in Mudeford, very convenient when she was globe trotting and writing her travel books. The hostess and her husband were a couple of my own age. I loved seeing their framed snapshots on one of the many bookcases. A very proud dad with his seventies hairstyle cuddling his young children. Ah, those were the days …………..

A fantastic buffet lunch was provided. Oh, yum, yum. I ate far too much. Then it was impolite not to partake of some of the many puddings.

A talk followed. In fact, two talks. The Women’s Editor from the Bournemouth Echo (Nicki Findlay, I believe) brought along a colleague. She talked about her career path. In 1996 she thought she’d stay in Bournemouth for a short time then hit the big time in London. It never happened, a husband - then children came along, and she’s very pleased to be where she is. Ruth Oliver told us she came to be the Religious Affairs editor at the Bournemouth Echo and how she now does some freelance radio features for Woman’s Hour on Radio 4. We were impressed at her anecdote at how she went to a press conference at a WI Convention were Bob Geldof was the Important Guest, speaking on Fathers’ Rights. He was about to leave when she plucked up courage and walked up to the front, put her itsy-bitsy microphone towards him and asked “How is it emotionally, when you gain access to your children?” She played us the beginning of her recording: Geldof in his lilting Irish rhythm describing walking up the drive of the house which used to be his home, knocking on the door, and waiting, waiting, for his own children to open it.” He spoke to her for half an hour.

As I said, a thoroughly enjoyable and stimulating afternoon out. Sue, the hostess, insisted we take cake home with us. And now, I’m off out again. Really embarrassing, as a friend insisted on cooking for me tonight. Wednesday is the only night we can do, and we haven’t had a good old gas for ages. Trouble is, I’m still full up ….

Better late than never

‘Blogging might not be my cup of tea’ I said, and look –eight months have passed since I posted my one and only blog. Am told this is very naughty, lazy and certainly not moving with the times. So: I’ll try again.
In recent months I’ve had seven good things happen in the writing life. Yet it can be difficult to say it out loud. Comes down to having parents of a generation who’d been instilled by their parents that praise is a bad thing. I’m half expecting a wrap on the knuckles. “You bragging? We’ll soon put a stop to that.” Or “Modesty, dear, is becoming in a lady.” I’m told by today’s grandparents that children now are brought up in the other extreme and have no problem shouting from the rooftops “I’m fantastic!”
So, to acclimatise myself, I will continue to blog (regulary) and expose one achievement at a time. That’s a commitment to seven blogs and who knows what might have happened by the time I’ve made myself do those! Writers have to live in hope……

Hear me gently, this is my first time

Hullo, hullo, hullo – is there anybody out there? Yes, I’m a sad person who enjoys listening to Pink Floyd on my bedtime stereo. Though I’m not comfortably numb. Feeling very much alive now that the snow is melting, which means I can go out and meet flesh and blood speaking/singing people. Bliss. And at 61¾, do wake up thinking its good to be alive and well. Being housebound for nine days in the much- talked-about adverse British weather conditions, certainly gives you an idea of how lonely life can be for the constant housebound. My neighbour (86, I believe) rarely sets foot outside her door. She’ll sometimes stand there for a while if the sun comes out, breathing the fresh air in-between bouts of coughing. Always well-groomed and smartly dressed, always resourceful. Her Scrabble Club now come to her twice a week. You gotta admire women like that.

As for me: I am a virgin blogger. I’ve never blogged, rarely clicked on blogs. In fact, the word has just been added to my spell-check dictionary. Apparently everone’s doing it. As a writer, I’ve now been ‘nagged’ that writers must. The world has gone blog, blog, blog. What do you write about, when it’s going out there for the whole world to see?

But this month is a strange sort of silver anniversary. Twenty-five years since I decided to be a writer. If I’d known then what I know now, would I have been so optimistic? I can be proud of my achievements since then, but twenty-five years on ……? I’ve now been writing a year longer than I stayed married. That seemed a life time! This thought came to me this afternoon, whilst supping tea at Writing Buddies, now being held at Southampton’s inspiring venue –The Art House in Above Bar. Silver anniversaries merit celebration. Think I deserve a glass of wine.