Day 605: Fireworks

Feeling inside out and strange today after a proper altercation (a rare thing in my world), and subsequent calmer conversation that left me inside-outed, puffy-eyed and tired. 

I noticed the flowers on my walk from my flat to my sister's house. Roses delivering on scent, elderberries black like artery blood, curry plants pungeing their sweet stink at passersby. Buddleia working it on the smell front too. Another (nameless) flower on a bush with its subtle, dusky colours, making promises of musky-rich treats, really as bland as toast. And glorious, decadent fuchsias, all sex and bravado, showing off their shape.

A lovely day with the family - my niece and nephew delight me in completely different ways and the way they interact is wonderful to watch too. He is very kind to her most of the time, and playful. He as huge amounts of brain. Want to learn about experimenting? Just watch him. And he's a brilliant teacher too. He showed me how to write a computer program and his style, the way he let me do it, checked for understanding - he blew most of my schoolteachers out of the water, and many professional trainers too. He's nine.

She is three and naughty-funny-willfulasallshit. She has a very sweet face and lots of charm, a very grumpy face and lots of challenge. She gets her way a lot. She is a force. I would like to see her be a huge performer... she certainly is now. 

I'm grateful for sweet friends and warm connections, for Edinburgh fireworks seen from my window and for this pub, open very late, allowing me to write. 

Day 604: WoW

Like this, only older and with
a dinosaur book

A little boy upstairs in the National Museum of Scotland reading a dinosaur book with his eyes huge with wonder throughout. Reading intently. In my mind, thanks to his expression, I saw a cartoon thought bubble above his head with one word in it: wow!

The Scottish Museum itself - a huge, beautiful space, full of balconies and stuffed animals. The Natural History section thrilled me. I tried to like the artefacts, but it's the taxidermy that gets me every time. Hello, glass-eyed lizard and posed macaque. Hello, aardvark with massive toes. Hello, red kite (another wow), kestrel (teeny - how do we ever even see them!), fat snake and 'flying' smoky shearwater. I loved them. There's no explaining it. 

Book-chat, coaching calls (x3 today - ace, brilliant, ace, and GOD, my coach is good). Good people, good food, good times. Arthur's  Seat this morning, briskly and blusterily. Views around everywhere. Breathtaking. Speaking of which, I've been noticing the things that take my breath from me and make my heart beat a little bit faster. The top balcony of the Scottish Museum did it, looking down over the suspended sharks and whales and other floating fish; the huge wave on my desktop steals my breath every time with its mass. There must be more. 

The news, this morning, that I WILL be doing my first TEDx talk in October. The excitement and the niggly fear and thrill of that. Time to get a move on. Time to dance.

Day 603: The Human Loire

Silky doesn't cover it. This morning's water was like the smoothest of caresses with cold in its blood. It washed into my pores and through my skin. It made itself me and me it. It's at its best like that. I'm in the belly of it, the basin, all pelvic, of the pond.

When I get into the water those first thirty seconds or so, I think 'how will we do this later in the year? how?', It's only August, still. The water is 16 or 17 degrees and still I feel its bite.

Yesterday's kingfisher didn't reappear, but there were other birds. A preening mandarin male with a rolling black-white eye. I watched him wobble but keep his dignity as I made waves by swimming past. A coot washing herself, shivering the water off her back. I watched it roll, again and again, in glistening white globules, penetrating nowhere, and still she dipped and shrugged. It was like walking into a dressing room or the shower block at a campsite: everyone was getting ready, doing their little intimate preeny things without so much as a glance to either side.

 

Yesterday, I had my tea cooked for me. How nice. And I had a skype with that Cuphead (a lot of laughing) and a call with that (Esther) Lilley Harvey (laughing, considering, weighing up) and a fabulous chat with FiSwe on her hands free. Today, an unexpected chat with Little Jean and my morning swim with Ruth, plus emails, texts, exchanges... so much good.

Up at the flat, the Clowns have left me flowers and a great big alien object called a DriBUDDi (capitalisation intentional, to do it justice). Lovely Danny Scott said that the last time he was here, the place was full of costumes. Red Bastard wears a gimp suit, if I remember rightly, stuffed with stuff. I'm not sure what the Loafs wore. It's a shame I didn't make it up to see their shows (or green-gimp-suited Stroid, The Human Loire, who makes me laugh without my having ever seen his show). But I had the choice and I took it, and I'm loving the quiet and the calm of here.

Thanks for good friends, good company, a clean and lovely flat, words in books and mouths that make me stop and think and FiSwe, who suggested this blog find its feet again. 21 days this time, every day. Let's do this thing. It's time.

Day 602: Love Stories

I flew to Copenhagen this weekend, to be there for less than 24 hours. I'm still within them now and already back at the airport, jostling bags, watching taxis pass, drinking in languages like stolen gulps of wine. 

Worth every second, it was, and every penny. Here's why. 

I met with Steen - the man with the best face in the world. He met me at the airport. In itself, that's a pleasure I think I've had only a handful of times, and this is one of very few times in the last ten years that I've been met by someone I know and love who's come there just for me, willingly and happily. What a joy that is! And god, we talked! There was so much to say and hear, so many great ideas and juicy-rich experiments to be done. Now to find a way, and now to do them. We need scientists, actors, strangers and a space. This is a project that needs to be done. Let's do it! And this is a man I'm proud to call my friend. It makes me do a little dance to know he is. That's better even than an airport meet and greet.

I came to Copenhagen to witness the wedding of my wonderful old friend Jochen and his fine husband, Geir. I missed our mutual friend's wedding to do something else that was very important to me  (and that I'm mighty glad I did, but still there was a cost I didn't understand). I saved the day with a larger-than-life cardboard penguin, rescued, with permission, from a shop. That's not the point, but thank god for him anyway. He stood in their living room for a fair while, watching over their marriage, I like to think, though I wasn't there to witness it. At the time, the whole concept of marriage as a positive thing was alien and untrustworthy to me. I didn't go to a wedding until I was 36, possibly 37, and even then, I didn't know the couple. I was an imposty +1 - a stranger witnessing a strange act - made no less strange by the fact that the celebrant and all the wedding staff, without the knowledge of the happy couple, had come dressed in togas to mark the village's water festival that happened to be sharing their big day. I remember, in particular, the woman doing most of the talking (it was in French), wearing a white toga and a big black bra, one side of which (I'll leave this to your imagination), was unencumbered by any touch of toga, which draped across the other side. Thank god for bras, I thought, and for a very understanding couple.


Jochen's wedding was much realler to me. Filled to the absolute brim with love and loved ones; a whole clan from Germany, a raft from Norway, some from Sweden, England, Brazil, even.. and half of Denmark's theatre profession (it was a Killing/Borgen/Bridge-fest - I learnt what little Danish I know from these people and their subtitles!). I learnt that in Denmark, the tradition is to lift up the groom, remove his shoe and cut the toe off his sock. The two grooms duly underwent this procedure. And when a lot of people tap their glass, the couple have to kiss. And that a hoorah in Denmark is three short ones (ra ra ra) a long one (rraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa) and then a short, very loud one (RA!). And that you have to dance before midnight. And everyone has to have cake, or the marriage is doomed. No pressure. 

Best spot at the wedding: a knitted Spiderman finger puppet... oh god! Completed with sewn-on web bits and a back 'skirt' - open at the front, so it looked like legs, but full length at the back, to keep it on the finger. Just brilliant. Its arms were like little caper buds (which reminds me - I ate Greg's capers and must replace them). Entirely ill-advised as far as spiderly climbing goes. Brilliant. 

 It was a beautiful, easy-going, love-filled affair. Without fail, people praised not only their beloved friend, but the shape of them since meeting the man they had just married. And this is the key... in the love stories I collect (and oh, I do), this is what I hear, again and again... that this person, for the first time ever, found someone with whom life was simply better; the relationship itself made sense, and the person they become when they're with their love is bigger, better, braver, more enriched. It's not a question of getting anything, as such, but giving, growing, learning, trying out. 

I love the Jochen that I see with Geir even more than the one who has always made me laugh with his delicious mean streak (pictures of me with Cheezl-debris clinging to my teeth, blown up to MASSIVE on a screen and narrated with wicked laughter, the constant search to create photos where Claire, our mutual friend of penguin fame, looks half the size she is - and she's already small). I love him more because I see him fattened up with love. Not actually fat, the opposite in face, but filled, and happy and doing things he'd 'never do' without the slightest touch of sacrifice (he did a speech that made us cry, he did a dance with Geir).  They may still live at opposite sides of the planet, but they love each other well and that's what counts. And now they're married. That counts for something too. 

I got the stories, too, from Javier, who'd travelled from Brazil, about how he 'knew' and from my politician-faced actor friend, whose name has already slipped, whose wife was met at Geir's theatre, and who changed it all for him. I've heard it time and time again, this story, told in different shapes and with different trappings and from this I know that though I've never felt that ease and rightness yet, it does exist. Maybe it's been there and I haven't noticed it. Whether it ever shows itself or not, from what I've seen, it's well worth waiting for... or if not waiting, then just not settling. It's all for good to work at a relationship - none of these love stories tell a perfect tale of constant ease and never arguing... far from it. But that it's different is a thing that every single one will say, with different words, and when it works, it works, and it's worth hanging out for, Spiderman arms or not.

Day 601: A Little Blast of Oblivion

I am now a diver. I dive in. I've gone from being very scared indeed and waiting hours (days, actually; weeks) and not diving in to being a bit scared and diving in within the count of ten. So far, the water has been warm and clement. Today, I felt the change. 

And what I've noticed is this: the dive is quite a thing. First, there's the tip, the point of no return. That's what has to have happened by ten. Then there's the hip lift (the lifeguards suggest it every time, and every time I do, my thighs, which tend to take the brunt, thank me). The hip lift, though, is beyond consciousness. I hear them say it and sometimes I feel that it's happened, but that time between tip and the water: nothing. 

 It's a little patch of blank, of nothingness. I have no way of making shapes of it. It just is. It's not long, but there's definitely a moment of oblivion. I told someone this and was asked 'is that good, or bad'. It's... it just is. I'm curious. I've never been a brilliant meditator. Moments of silence like that are rare. I'm curious what happens. Is it really a moment of black or is it terror - am I wiping out the experience of entering the water. Have I made it up? I don't know, I really don't, but it's new, and in that, fascinating.

Spiritual practice is on my mind, or lack of it. Ritual. Form. Community. More on that to come. 

Day 600: Good Eggs

Such pumpkins

Yesterday, someone I respect a lot asked me if I had lots of friends I could talk about deep stuff with, meaningful stuff, not just work and things that can be bought? My answer, now I've had even more time to think about it: FUCK, YEAH.



Yes. How lucky am I? I have so many wonderful people in my life and with all of those really, really important to me, whom I consider friends, I can talk about what matters. In fact, it's a condition. If we're going to be friends (not just acquaintances), then talking about shit that counts is in. A ban on that's a deal-breaker. 

People on the tube tell me about the stuff that's important to them, for goodness' sake! And I swear I hardly ever start it. So friends? Yes. That doesn't mean that I'm always intimate, or always intense, but god, I'm blessed. 

Such good eggs

So thank you, in no followy kind of order, and with some of the most important people missing, to you, Beec, Lilley, J, Emily, Daniel, Rob, Pud, Kim, Kate, Clubba, Clare, Macarena, Tola (when I see you), FiSwe, Cat, Mirjam, Caroline, Ruth - so much, Gaëlle, Greg, Face, Steve, J-P, Kati, Adeel, Laura, AnnaLevy, Bridget, SarahLonton, Heike, KingPrawn and god, so many more. Not all of you, all of the time, and each of us different in our relationships and our frequency, and each of you loved, respected, fucking unique and wonderful. You enrich my life.

Yes, there are things I can invite more of into the life I live - a community, for one, and more, of course, and people who are not always scattered all over the world, or if they are, that I scatter myself more often. But you lot, and the others not written now, for reasons, I'm grateful, and I love you.

Day 599: Hebe

Today I have been mostly crying a lot, for lots of different reasons, most of them fine. Here's one of the things that helped me with this. Megan Washington.

I'm moved by the visible whizz of her speech when she is on a roll. I'm moved by the rich caramel drawl of her singing voice and the water flow of it. I'm moved by her humour and the size of that there room. 

I'm grateful for sun and storms, a varied menu of weather served up on my balcony and in the big, wide sky above it. We watched a wall of rain walk in from Alexandra Palace. "You can't see it when you're in it." Even if you knew it was coming. Profound, we both agreed, as we talked about our relationship and how it isn't any more, and what it might (have) be(en). 





Alone, I watched the sun get warm in the sky and kiss it with bridesmaid's apricot tones. I watched grey-deep-blues become the backdrop for a single cloud, whites give way to greys and greys to whites. I've heard leaves rustle with wind and watched them bend with rain. I'm seeing the night come in, gently, at its pace.

I'm grateful for honesty and yoga, difficulty and warmth, fading flowers and fire-bright ones and a self-effacing hebe, standing on my balcony, promising to be beautiful for ever without the slightest hint of a brag. 

Day 598: Turtle + Lettuce = ...?

Me

Today, for the first time, possibly not for the last, I was offered (and given) a free cappuccino and a croissant, hot off the tray, in return for pretending to be a turtle. 

I was at posho Citizen M, a boutique hotel in Southwark, to meet a coaching client. I was well dressed and professional, but I had my sequined turtle purse with me. That sounds like a Profanisaurus-worthy euphemism, but it's just a coin purse. I explained what I believe to be true, which is that it was given to me by a friend (Clubba, Face, Beec? - I can no longer remember who) because I LOOK like a turtle. 

My reward

They laughed and (politely) said 'you? no, you don't look like a turtle!'. I insisted that I did. They asked me to show them and I agreed, on condition that they brought me lettuce. The girl got my refund out (I'd asked if it was worth a free coffee) while the boy, who had been kissing her hair a minute before, flitted off to the kitchen and came back with a plate of mixed leaves and a colleague. 

I duly tucked my chin into my collar, rolled up my eyes, stuck my neck out and leant in for the lettuce, chewing with my tongue before descending back into my shell. They cackled; we all said we'd made each other's day; we agreed not to speak of it again. My client arrived and we had a good session. I am a grown-up and a professional. I have arrived. 

Speaking of turtles: ARSE! I bought a bike helmet yesterday, to replace the one I've dropped a thousand times. I WISH I'd seen this one first. 

Day 597: Fledermaus, Fledermaus, Fledermaus, Katze!

A castle in Germany. A hall. Sixty children. Thirteen adults. Three Fledermäuser, flapping and circling. They really were. Three (whole) bats flitting and diving throughout the morning plenary session. The announcements went unnoticed. Even the rather wonderful catsong* played second fiddle to the dip-diving bats. 

We got to touch one of those bats, who'd hidden in the curtains and had fallen down onto someone's chest earlier in the day. The place was amok with biologists (brilliant Claudia, see below), so they knew what to do so as not to hurt it. It was a little, furry honour, to stroke a bat, and then to see it fly off. Claudia had a bat-listening machine, that could pick up tiny sounds they make and amplify them. Secret batness going on all over that place, there was, just out of sight, just out of ear.

Another day of mask and impro, another new group. This lot are feistier, more confident, have done it all before. At the start of the week, I think this is going to be 'more fun'. By the end of it, I was sapped, drained, filled with new compassion for my mother, all those years a teacher with kids who just didn't really want to be there. How do you teach when discipline, getting stuff to happen, getting them engaged in the first place, is such hard work? How do you get the creative brilliance that you can see in them to be invited out when they're not really up for it? What's the deal? It's got me thinking. 

The first group, who were quieter, less sure of themselves, better behaved, played like absolute hilarity ninjas in their show. They listened to each other; they played big; they were loud and brave and magical. I had a tiny cry, so proud and happy for them, I was. They had such an nice time and made everyone laugh. The second show went down really well too, once it got underway... but that audience hadn't seen the first! 

It wasn't about the quality of the show (good/bad/funny/not) - many of that group were more confident, natural actors - it's about the energy and the level of good time they were having on stage and with each other. 

* Brilliant Claudia on the piano, who 'just wanted to play you all a piece', suddenly joined by adult son Niklas, sheet music in hand, who sang with proper Renaissance aplomb - beautiful melodies, one lyric: miaow) and his call-and-response sister, Miriam, who sang the same, deliciously. I had tears ready when the music started - so moving, it was.. .and then that. Still tears (I'm that way out) but happy ones.