Friday, 25 February 2011

The elephants in the room

So love that expression - the elephants in the room. The big issues that remain undealt with, unspoken. I tell you, so many elephants in my rooms it's no wonder that I'm being suffocated by the biggest herd of all - the past. Those elephants tickle me with their trucks at very regular intervals, especially on Tuesdays when I head off for my book keeping class. They're with me at the bus stop, queuing in a nice straight line, waiting for the No 50 bus aka the elephant bus. Another thing that elephants never do is forget, and I have been cursed with an excellent memory. Not the sort that remembers useful stuff, just all the crap that floats about in the back of the brain. Who was wearing what at some teenage party in 1977, who gave me a funny look in 1973, and that sort of stuff. Useless, pointless stuff that only makes me unhappy and eat more crisps.
So , back to the No 50 bus. It takes me down memory lane. Well, the South Circular, actually, and up a bit of the A24. It takes me past the road where Bob Geldof and Paula Yates lived, past where I went to secondary school, past the houses of people I used to know, past the common where I played hockey, treetrunk legs under a swishing blue sports skirt thundering up and down the pitch, past where I first went to school - in someone's house, believe it or not!- so that when the elephants and I get off at the pub where I drank as a teenager, Laura Ashley skirts spread out on the grass, I'm in need of a rescue remedy drip! Talk about my memories serving me far too well!

One day I met the mother of someone I was at school with. When I explained where I was going, she looked me up and down, as only Italian ladies can do, and told me that I was too old and too busy to be messing about with courses! Took me some time to recover from that one.

And it gets worse. The college is no refuge - there are more elephants in that classroom! They deal with other aspects of my life and I have to watch myself very carefully. But thats enough for today.

Why can't they just stick to leaving their paw prints in the butter?

Thursday, 24 February 2011

In these shoes?

As a musical interlude, I offer this - I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Shoes. Ah shoes. What do I wear? MBTs (novelty comedy sports footwear that hasn't reduced my cellulite - only reincarnation will deal with that) Campri Snow Boots from Sports Direct for dog walking, some Geox shoes (more novelty footwear - this time with breathing soles! Perfect for the menopausal woman) And that's it, really - anything with a heel would give me altitude sickness, and since I never wear skirts anyway, what would be the point?

Yet Clarks calls to me with its Siren emails, enticing me towards the online store - coo coo (forget that - isn't that the dove from above??) and recently I bought these -

Alright, I know, for you shoes experts it's not much, but it's a start. Haven't worn them yet - may try them at my next book keeping class next week for a trial run.

I've also taken a fancy to these

I actually had a look at them around Christmastime when out with my husband. At the sight of me picking them up, he started hyperventilating and telling me that it wasn't my sort of thing. Cue woman beating man on head with heel of shoe........ I may need them to go with this -

or even this

I know, I can dream. After all, I'm more likely to be sitting in the cafe on Tooting Bec Common instead of a bar in Guadalajara. Distinct lack of powerful horses on the Common despite the bridle path.

Wednesday, 2 February 2011


Hello everyone - long time no blogs! don't know why, really - goodness knows I've always got a lot to say for myself! I've started thinking about angels (cue communal groan from everyone). Well, anyway, I have, especially about this one:

I tried to copy the picture, but my grasp on technology being what it is, you'll have to click on it yourselves to see it in its full glory!

It's a huge statue in pink alabaster by Jacob Epstein called Jacob and the Angel. it used to be in Tate Britain, but now it's been moved to Tate Liverpool, so I will have to travel further to see this marvellous angel. I'm not bothered about Jacob - he was a dishonourable character as far as I'm concerned. But the angel - oh! A magnificent creature. He's holding Jacob up after wrestling with him all night and finally dislocating Jacob's hip. It really is my favourite piece of sculpture, hidden away for years at the top of a staircase in Tate Britain. He was really my very own guilty pleasure. Funnily enough I think I met him recently - not with the wings, and the flowing locks and the pink alabaster, but definitely the face. I didn't realise at first, but then it dawned on me, the resemblance, after a visit this weekend to the British Modern Sculpture exhibition at the RA. I remembered the angel, and then it struck me who this particular person reminded me of. I'm sure only I can see it. And I certainly won't be telling them about it.

One thing leads to another and I've recently rediscovered this, by the blessed Madonna -