London bloody London

This weekend I went to London to see Take That. This blog is not about the concert (another blog entry I think). This blog is about travelling around London. Now I would be the first to admit that I am not well travelled, I am not very experienced at travelling or very confident. I usually drive and as long as I either know where I am going or have a confident navigator beside me I am absolutely fine.

This weekend I went to London by train. The train from Norwich was fine - I travelled first class, something I had never done before and enjoyed the luxury of a reserved seat and the train being on time and not very full.

When I got to London my friend JC was meeting me to get me across the underground, something I wasn't sure I could do alone. Now I know I probably couldn't have done it alone. Everywhere was so busy and so hot and so crowded and so bloody unfriendly. Trouble is I am by nature a people watcher, I can't help it. I have always enjoyed watching people and enjoy making us little stories about them in my head. Maybe that's the writer in me. On the London underground looking at someone feels like a terrible crime. People don't look at each other, they don't register each other. Most are wired in to some electrical devise, or reading and others just look up or down but not at each other - oh no, not at each other.

The journey back from Wembley on the Saturday night was the worst - it was so hot and so full of people and stupidly I thought that we would all still be singing Take That and living on the high of yet another excellent concert. But not silence, no eye contact, misery. Hundreds of people packed in like sardines, lots of body odour and wind and big fat arses (and thats coming from me). We had quite a long journey to get back to our hotel. I felt very sick from the smells and the heat and the jerky train. I felt very sick indeed. Getting off that train was like leaving the dentist on your worst possible visit - something you had to endure and hold your breathe and get through.

I sat in my seat imagining my favourite place, walking on the beach with my dog, breathing in the beautiful sea air, looking across the endless blue sea, watching the sun reflect off the sand dunes in the distance, seeing the fluffy clouds race across the blue sky and feeling the light spray from the sea caress my face. I even remember thinking that even the wettest, coldest, windiest day on the beach was a hundred times better that sitting on this bloody awful train with strangers.

I am glad I went. I am glad I got through it all but have to say I can't understand why anyone would want to do this day in, day out and how lucky I am to live in my space, near the sea, with beautiful clear, clean air.

Passionate TV

Firstly, excuse the photo of Anne Robinson - I am not a fan of her style and never will be - but I am a huge fan of this program My Life in Books. It is a half hour program shown on BBC2 at 6.30pm where famous people (I am careful here not to use the word celebrity because I feel they are not celebrities but people who have become famous for lots of reasons, not just TV but politics and writers etc. They come on the show and chose books that they love and talk about them; introduce them to the audience and in away introduce themselves to the audience.

There has been a wide variety of people on the show who have all been interesting and have all had something to say. I would be a liar if I said I wanted to read all the books that they recommended but certainly there are many that I would like to read; many that I have already read and many that I wish I could read (different from wanting to read because some of them seem like books I would struggle to get through but wish I had the stamina).

I have found the writers particularly passionate (well I would, wouldn't I) - they talk about books in language that I use, with the passion that I feel. They hold and smell and caress books in the way that I do, and remember the characters and plot like they are old friends. They talk about the memories evoked by reading this book and how they changed their lives or how their lives where changing when they read it. They talk about memories of family, of lovers, of children, even of world events and politics. They talk about love.

I record this program and watch it at least twice - just to feel the joy of the reader - the joy of their language - their joy for books. I feel that this is my program, this is something that I can totally connect to and love (not so much on the TV for me like this anymore).

I hope the BBC keep this program (maybe once a week). Its OK if it is on at a later, even obscure time, those of us who love it will find away.

The program is part of World Book Year (Week?) and has made me think about which books I would talk about on the program - so here is my list of My Life in Books (in no particular order).

The Colour Purple by Alice Walker - I studied this book and though to some it may be obvious this is the first time anyone told me that Jesus may not have been white, he was not the white man with beard and long hair that I had seen on the cross all my childhood. It made me think about what faith was really about - how we all fit in the world of God. It made me think about status and position and pain and suffering and survival and love. It made me think and for that I will always be truly thankful.

The Sea by John Banville - I love this book because of the way it is written, the pure beauty of the writing - I read it with just pure jealously and wishing I could write words this beautifully. I have to say I never really loved the main character, not sure he is really that nice a person, not sure I totally thought the plot and storyline were brilliant but all that is forgiven for such beautiful words. Just to read with pure envy and admiration is an amazing experience.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig - I read this book when I was a teenager and loved it, I guess maybe I wasn't totally sure what it was saying, that I didn't have the knowledge or experience to truly understand his words, but I read it again whilst I was at Uni and really understood why it had impacted on my so much. A basic story weaved around a philosophy for life, a philosophy of loss and love. I tried to explain this book to my college classmates and failed dismally - something I will always regret.

Rebecca by Daphine Du Maurier - I am not really a huge classics fan, really not into the angst and annoying women of many of the Austen, Bronte clans but I love the second Mrs De Winter. (Think that is right???). I love her outsideness, how she lives in the world she feels she doesn't understand and doesn't fit with. Her gentle soul that is so easily hurt and bruised but yet in the end is strong. The wonderful picture of the awful first wife, written so well she appears in the readers mind like some awful beautiful witch, the weak husband, the wonderful scenery and house. I revisit this book often to remind myself of its beauty.

The Essential Spike Milligan - I love Spike Milligan, I particularly love his poetry. I wish I had got to know his work when he was alive, had been able to watch him on TV and explore his older work. I didn't. I read his poetry as much as possible, I buy anything of his I see second hand and am trying to get a full catalogue of his work (particularly his poetry). It makes me laugh, it makes me cry, it makes me think about so much. To me he was so underrated, possibly so misunderstood by his peers and certainly be later generations. I think readers will return to his work in the future and see something new, something wonderful. That it what I see.

Amy Johnson Queen of the Air by Midge Gillies - this is a very personal book and one which I will never forget. Amy Johnson flew with my grand father - we have family photographs of them together and family stories of their relationship! I never really knew who she was, and still might not (this is a biography) but read this book to see if I could understand how my grandfather got to fly planes, what got him there. It was so interesting and I searched the pages for what might have been a clue to him, a mention of him, a feel of him. (There is a piece that might be about him but I can't tell and the author was unable to identify this man either - that I believe is a story for the future). This book is well written and interesting and helped me try to understand a man I never knew, who died in his plane crash in 1936 but has always seemed so exciting to me.

At the end of the show they are asked which book is their guilty pleasure, which of these would they take on holiday if they could only take one. Of course I would take them all but I suspect my guilty please is the Spike Milligan because he can evoke some many emotions and I can see something different each time I read them.

There are many more books I could list here (the obvious omission being Harry Potter) but these are the ones I have chosen here and now.

I would love to know what your life in books is, what is your little list of books and why? Care to share?

Dix

The Case of Matching Underwear

Firstly I start this blog with a massive apology. JC I fully and completely apologise. I was wrong (as I often am ) and you should take absolutely no bloody notice of me in the future or ever again!!! Well certainly when it comes to clothing advice anyway.

When JC and I first became friends she used to say that she only wore matching underwear (sorry for putting too much info out there JC but need to for this blog!) and I thought it was well, very anal. What did it matter what was under you clothes as long as they were clean and comfortable. But I was wrong.

Recently I have purchased a couple of sets of matching underwear - nothing expensive and from Adsa but pretty and feminine. And there is the rub - wearing matching underwear makes you feel pretty and feminine. It makes me have that little smile inside when I think about it. I don't even mind too much at looking myself in the mirror in them. I think about my pretty underwear and I think about sex (in a good healthy way - I hope) and I think I am pretty, I am a women. This then leads to other positive thoughts. I do have a voice, I can have my dreams, I can get a job that I want. I have value. All from £9 worth of underwear you ask. But yes, it works for me.

As I walked the dog on the beach this morning, in my matching underwear (and believe me my dog walking coat, Deputy Daug hat and big black boots are not sexy at all - just warm) I thought about my mum who always used to tell us to wear clean underwear in case we had an accident. And it was a nice memory and made me smile. And then I smiled as I thought about my pink flowered bra and matching pants (even though I wanted to pull them out of my bum - I managed to ignore the impulse -well you do have to have some class even on the beach and anyway someone is always watching when you think you are alone).

So what have I discovered, that a simple thing like matching underwear can make me feel better, better about myself and then better in the world.

Matching underwear can help me be 'fortified by optimism'.

What I want to learn in 2011 is that the little things can make life alright.

The little things can make life good.

The little things can make life worth living.

Life has its ups and downs (2010 has felt like lots of downs and not enough ups) but I have learnt in January 2011 that wearing matching underwear can make me feel good. That wearing matching underwear can make life feel good. One little lesson for the month to help the world seem easier. Gotta help - hasn't it??

Dix

ps obviously I look nothing like the picture on my blog - it is just an illustration (and anyway I have never worn a thong although I am told they are comfy - think I will give them a miss for now, perhaps an experience for later in the year??)

What a nice day

At last some sunny weather. I can take the dog for a proper walk and enjoy the sunshine. Is is just the British whose mood is so affected by the weather, I suspect it is the human race as a whole. Probably in really sunny climates the rain makes them happy.

I am off to my cleaning job, not the most exciting but it helps towards little extras in life like holidays and going to concerts etc.

Not much to say really - just glad to be alive.

A walk on the beach

I take my dog for a walk on the beach nearly every day. Every day that weather allows anyway. Today was a beautiful day, the weather was really warm for October and it was really warm. The sun shone straight accross the sea, above the offshore windfarm on to the beach, so brightly it was blinding.

A walk on the beach always calms me down and makes me aware of the awesome power and beauty of nature. Somedays there is just me and the dog and it feels wonderful. Most mornings I meet a growing number of people who walk on the beach daily, some with their dogs, others just for the exercise, people like Neville, and Busters dad, the lady who always wears a coat even when it is sunny, the man with the equally barking dog, Colin, Ben's dad, the lady with the elderly golden labrador who always calmly ignores my dog and keeps plodding on.

Today as I was walking along I suddenly got a really strong smell of smoke. There was no smoke, just an incredibly strong odor. It felt so out of place, like it shouldn't be there, it shouldn't be poluting this wonderful sea air. And where did it come from. I guessed, correctly as it happens, that it came from the cliff top (dune top) but it was so strange to have such a strong smell with no smoke. You really can have the smell of fire with out the smoke.

And it made me a bit angry - I didn't want it to be there - I didn't want this human smell to be poluting my seaside, my sea smelling shore with the cleansing air and powering tides.

When I walked up the cliff to make my way home I found the source of the smell, builders clearing a derelict house that will be better cleared and tidied but even this did not make me glad to have fire smokey smells on my beach.