The right shoes.

I’ve had an urge to write about shoes, this being an important subject to me of late, but turns out in not having time I have also discovered that being ‘right’ from top to toe is important. I will reveal what I mean.

I’ve been taking dance classes and in two of the classes a heel is required, in the other it’s trainers. On a Thursday I scramble across the city in sheep skin boots, you know the ones, actually make that slop across the city, because those particular boots will surely make you slope and slop. In the heeled classes I become a different person, the sloppy boots come off and the heel goes on at once making the legs longer, I stand taller, straighter, the toe points the hands are pretty and I smile. You can’t do a spinny, turny thing with out being a bit poised with heels on.  However in the trainer class I’m a bit clumpy and close to the ground, pointing a toe isn’t as easy and I just feel a bit less show girl and a bit more short- legged, shetland pony.

On the other hand a heel when a flat should be worn is also a disaster. While wadding through the mud in my snow boots to watch my boys play football I saw a young lady tip toeing through the mud, trying not to sink into the grass….in heels!!! Was she crazy? She looked ridiculous, impractical and just plain silly. A lengthend leg is just not necessary when watching boys play football, if it was I’d be the cheer leader for that, trust me!

My boss has a sign up in her office that reads ‘give a girl the right shoes and she can rule the world’. For me thats true, they change how I am and how I move and whilst I’m not saying they are everything, how many times have you heard someone saying that they have to have their feet right/warm/comfortable or they are just not happy? Bet you have at least once. I also recently read someone saying that their choice of shoes was the only thing they had control over at that moment in time. Although I am being lighthearted with this blogg, this statement resonnated with me. I can see that if your feet are happy, so are you and you have at least a little decision in this. Therefore it’s kind of important.

Which leads me to hair…I’ve so far had a reasonable relationship with mine, it does as it’s told and does it’s job adequately but lately it has rebelled which has caused me misery! No joke, I had no idea how miserable unruly hair could make a person. First of all it got thinner, which was scary, then it got grey almost over night but in one concentrated area. Then it became very damaged and split for the first time since..I’ve had hair. This would all be quite manageable but then the ultimate betrayal…I had a hideous reaction to hair colour….NOOOOO!!!! And there it is, all my insecurities laid bare for all to see.  we are talking roots, grey and damage. Thankfully I have a fantastic hairdresser who is trustworthy, understanding and experienced, therefore if she says it will be ok, I believe her. So my hair is much shorter and an odd colour (some might say stripey) while we are sorting this current crisis out. Yes I said crisis and yes I know how dramatic that sounds because to me it is a bloody crisis. Like feet if your hair is wrong, you feel wrong.  It is there for the world to see and you must learn to live with it. I used to say ‘it’s only hair’ but that was before choices were taken away from me. If I lost my hair it would take every ounce of femininity away from me, something I hadn’t even considered, so I am now respecting my locks, not taking the mickey out of bald men and may invest in some hats. As for the bits between the hair and the feet, they must fend for themselves!

Mental health and other family members.

I have a brother with a mental health issue, that is the extent of my expertise on this subject but it is one that is very much at the front of my mind since the government came up with it’s latest money saving wheeze..testing people on invalidity benefit and sending them back to work. Now we all know there are zillions of scroungers on benefits who have found their way into the labrynith of benefits clauses and got a big old pot full of money, but some people just can’t or shouldn’t work.

We used to have mental institutions, my first proper job was at St.Nicholas Hopsital and I loved it. Firstly that building was incredible, although if you’re living in your own hell that’s probably the last thing on your mind but any how it was gorgeous and cocooning and what ever they did or said was not the subject of a load of gobby teenagers on a street corner, having a good laugh. Now I can only speak for this hospital but the staff were amazing, friendly and professional. Those long term, for ever patients may not have been aware but they had the best possible oasis of care that was possible…then they closed it and created care in the community. I often wonder what became of those individuals who were thrust into the world, lets hope I’m being a pessimist and it was successful.  There is so littlefunding for mental health that anyone with problems has to wait a critically long time to see anyone in the field or sees a doctor who knows nothing about mental health..it’s far from ideal.

My parents have suffered immensley through this for many years, going from one crisis to another. They have watched their intelligent son go up and down on a black cloud of hell, coped with crashing lows, whirl wind highs, become experts on prescription drugs and remained calm when they have wanted to just throw in the towel and abandon the whole thing.  Thanks to them my brother is independent and has his own flat and although not by any means perfect, is coping with life in his world, but unfortunately he needs that benefit to live. He can’t work, although he has a degree and had a super professional high paid career in days gone by, this is not an option for him anymore and he truly has no control over that. Lets face it, the perfectly able are having a problem getting a job so it’s even harder if you have issues.

Just getting to the interview was a feat in itself but he got there, explained his history and went through his medical notes and all that jazz, we were very confident that they would see he was not pulling a fast one. Apparently not.  He was declared fit to work, forget your mental state and the fact you haven’t worked for 20 years and just going to the post office is a major achievement, you’ll be fine, off you go! And while you’re at it apply for so many jobs a week, and they can be hours away in Ipswich, Colchester, the world is your oyster, just get off our benefit system.

To his credit he has done everything asked of him and has had 3 interviews but what do you say when asked why you haven’t worked for 20 years and will you be ok? The lady who is quite literally on his case for getting him back to work obviously has no idea about mental conditions and he has dubbed her Herr Otto Flick, the Gestapo officer who tries to show as little emotion as possible, well you’ve got to laugh about it! The whole experience has brought him right down and he was recently explaining all this to his psycologist,and mentioned his dislike for this woman who was causing him such grief.  This caused a flurry of activity, social workers, health workers and even a visit from the police to make sure he didn’t have any murderous intentions towards this woman, who has been removed from his case.  He has assured everyone that he has no intentions of killing anyone, but after the initial hilarity of the situation had worn off, because it really is quite amusing, I was left feeling very annoyed that he has been put in this situation.

Unfortunately mental health has a stigma, it is an unseen, distasteful demon in so many peoples lives. You can’t just pull yourself out of it, although you do have to be willing to help yourself, in my opinion. Its not catching and there is no guarantee that you will pass it on to your children. I think there is also a fine line between brilliance and insanity. For once I’m not sure how to finish this blogg, and in a way there is no end, which must be how people with these kind of problems must feel…when and how will it ever end?

Friends…

Friends…should be easy, they are people who enhance and improve your life ,confirming your social place in society. Hmmm…well, nice theory but sometimes this is not always the case. So just walk away and make new ones I hear you cry. If only it were that easy my naive reader.  Let me fill you in on how it goes once you are an adult.

The friends you had at school may well still be your best buddies and if so, well done, weddings, divorce, giving birth and the rearing of children all take their toll, especially if mismatched. When you are sleep deprived and feeling like hell it can be hard to be jolly if your pal has already done that, is feeling ready to face the world again and worse still…has her figure back!!! Sadly my best friend lost her mother as I was having babies and I wasn’t the friend I should of been, we lost alot of years which I blame on myself for being a rubbish friend. If you can get through lifes major event and still be friends, you are on to a winner.

There are the friends you make out of necessity. You have left work, had a child and suddenly have no one about so you gravitate towards people in your situation. I met some lovely people this way, but I also met some ‘super mums’ who left me feeling like the biggest heap of crap ever.  One time we all went to a pottery cafe (sounding like a disaster already, isn’t it) I had a toddler and a baby. I should have just said “No, that’s insanity, I can’t do that, I’ll stay at home and hope for being up and dressed by the afternoon, thank you kindly”. But no, watching these women juggle 3 and 4 tiny children easily, fully made up whilst breast feeding and disgusing Nigella’s last offering, I felt I had to at least try, before children I was a capable woman, after all.  It ended in baby Alex screaming while I tried to get a bottle warmed (tut, tut, breast is best you evil chav) toddler Fin getting well miffed that the super controlling pottery lady wouldn’t let him express his artist flow by mixing colours and me going home and howling at how inadequate I felt.  I look back now and see they were not friends, they made themselves feel better by smirking at the blunders of others, and who needs perfection anyway?

Work always provided a source of friendship, you already had something in common and saw each other every day, fabulous! However if you do fall out or do something not liked…you have to face those people everyday and feel the full force of your rejection from the in crowd. On a plus side you don’t half get a lot done when no ones talking to you!! Every cloud…

And then their are the friends you meet through your children, your interests and hobbies. Now this is far more promising. One pit fall is the ‘already established friendship that invites you in’. It can be lovely but of course you are always a little bit of a spare part, but lets face it, with my track record my skin is thick. All is well if they do something with out you, but there may be tears if you are the one doing something with one of them.  You must be prepared to be used as a tool if they fall out, until they make up again, of course. And should you ever have enough and fall out with one of them, be prepared for a divorce type situation where everyone vows to be friends but eventually the two binded ones will drop you and stay forever binded.

Friends met through your hobbies are fun, but if different sex it can be tricky and deemed inappropriate, so you have to hope that their partners and families will like you too or it’s just no go pal!

I make it sound terrible but I have some wonderful friends. Our favourite couple Mr & Mrs B are amazing. We love their entire family, and always have a fun, stress free time.  The point being that i would rather have a small amount of time with one set of good friends than lots of meaningless friendships. While we all ignore small differences I would hate anyone to simply put up with me. I have one female friend, K, who has come an immense way with a personal issue and ironically is so busy helping others that we have little time together but when we do I value it.

Funnily enough the story of the friend who I wasn’t very good to has come full circle and after many years we are back in contact. I am nervous as I don’t want to mess it up, but when ever we have met it has been easy and relaxed and I have felt just like i did when we were 12. The good thing about all this is as you get older you learn from your mistakes and appreciate who and what you have.  I should also mention my best friend in the whole world, Kev. He is always there, he takes me warts and all and we laugh like drains about things which only we understand.  He is simply my best friend in the world and I am lost without him.

So although having friends is littered with potential problems, I would do anything for the friends I have and never discount a person without talking to them…they could be a fantastic potential friend!

Music and Friends

Music and Friends.

Music and Friends

Like lots of people music and friends have been the mainstay of my life although I am talent less in the music department. Only yesterday I was singing and the eldest son mumbled “Mum sounds like Susan Boyle” and on seeing my angry incredulous eyes “OK Emelie Sandes”. Other comments have included ” someone put that bloody cat out!”  I am hurt! Singing was my only chance to redeem my inability to coordinate what my eyes see on music and the jumbled message it send to my hands.

The problem is all my family are very talented. My Dad is especially good, he learned piano and organ young and played in churches every weekend.  It was to be his saviour and escape through the war as a evacuee and then when he was called up himself. I spent most Sundays as a child sitting on the organ seat with him, watching as be pulled out a knob here and pushed another in a smidge while playing two rows of keys and doing something like the foxtrot with his feet on the pedals.

Our family piano has been in my parents house as long as I can remember. Its sound quality is incredible, like liquid, velvety chocolate melting in a pan..but not chocolate, sound..oh you know what I mean! No plinkyness, just lovely wallops of felt hammer striking string.  We would open it up and experiment, usually having to stop a cat from diving inside and my mum shouting for us to be careful not to scratch the wood.  It’s still there, and still beautiful and my attempts to play it are still painful. This is further rubbed in the wound by my children, especially the eldest playing.

 

Both my brothers could play with ease including other instruments and my mother sang in the Great Yarmouth choral society. At around eight years old I went to the town hall with Dad and my brothers to see her sing ‘The Messiah’. We settled down and the sight of those ladies dressed so beautifully in black and white was striking but the wall of sound that came forth was the most incredible thing I’d ever heard.

I’ve had lessons, believe me, it was kind of expected when I was little but my teacher was a witch! She didn’t even stay in the room while I played. She would go to the kitchen next door to take out her rollers and cook and smoke and would just yell when she didn’t like the sound of something. I gave up as soon as I could, my mum looked sad, I was relieved.

 

My only saving grace against my siblings was my knowledge and memory of music. We played beat the intro for hours. They would play a tune and I had 5 seconds to name it, I was awesome, even if I do say so myself. I would then sing something as obscure and unknown as I could back, a bit like they do on never mind the Buzzcocks, and they had 5 seconds to get it. I would try and be as up to date on every song in the charts possible, taping the top 40 and absorbing the tunes so I was ready for that intro, if I couldn’t play I had to be good in some musical capacity, it was the family law! It sometimes turned nasty and I was whacked with a clarinet on one occasion. I can confirm that those reeds are painful. 

I wouldn’t have a clue now, as I like what I like and that isn’t in the charts anymore and I have long since given up on learning an instrument, content with loving and appreciating the abilities of others. But music still binds me to friends whether they be musicians or fans of music and that’s enough for me. 

Dancing Queen

Only 75% of the children my friend has taken out today have been her own and 50% of them are mine, quite frankly I think she’s mad! And I’m a little bit envious too.  I have never been someone who loves and adores doing childlike activities or can satisfy a hoard of children while baking a cake and producing a fantastic, clean, up to the minute environment while looking like a million dollars. One of those tasks exhausts me.  But she is with them now, loving every moment and I am so grateful to have a friend who wants nothing in return for doing this for me. She finds it relaxing, shes natural at it and although I adore my children, I’m just not.

Which leads me to wonder, what do I like and what am I good at, what does get me excited? Glamour and Dancing! Yep, hard to imagine by looking at me, but I love everything about it. The glitter, the glamour the sheer athletic ability of a great dancer, it fascinates me beyond belief. I loved it as a child when I had ballet lessons in a musty church hall with a very sloshed looking lady playing the very plinky piano. The dusky pink shoes with those gorgeous criss cross ribbons were so precious to me I longed for Saturday mornings where I would be transported to another world. Sadly the slightly dotty Miss Debbie told my mother I was too large to ever get any where, crushing my hopes of ever being the first prima ballerina from Great Yarmouth but I still carry on loving it. My mum and dad took me to the theatre to see every ballet going and I loved dressing up and using the opera glasses.The story was sometimes a mystery but it was the beauty and escapism of the whole thing that I adored.

These days I am the first one up to swing my pants at a party and anything danced based gets me excited. I have secretly started burlesque dancing, the ultimate in glamour and elegance. There is no ‘getting them out’ for this old lady but the strutting about in a gorgeous manner was made for me, if only I was 20 years younger, I would shout it from the roof tops that I have found my ‘thing’, and actually Miss Debbie I am totally fabulous.