I was at Liverpool Street station the other day, only to find myself greeted by a sea of topless men. It was quite exciting for a Monday morning. I wished I’d put on some more make-up.
They were all shapes and sizes, ranging from twenties to fifties, I’d say. Some had paunches and slumped shoulders, others were toned and ripped (is that the word?) – standing proud. Look at me proud. And I did look – I couldn’t help it – they were right in front of me…
When I was younger I wished that I could have brown hair, be called Sarah, and have a father who drove a Ford rather than a series of flash cars that made everyone look at us.
I also wished that one day all my freckles would join up so that I would, hope against hope, get a tan like my friends did.
‘How long would it take for it to happen?’ I’d ask mum. ‘If I spent a week on the beach? Or a month? Or a whole summer?’
‘Marianne, it doesn’t work like that. And anyway, we’re in Ireland. We’ll be doing well to get an hour of sunshine,’ she’d say, while we sat on Ballybunion beach in the wind and rain, eating sandy egg sandwiches.
‘But what if we moved to Australia?’ I’d beg. ‘Could it happen then? And would my hair go blonde? If I used lots of lemon juice? And could I change my name to Melanie, or Sarah?’ Continue reading
Well, this is awkward. I want to get back in touch because I miss you but it’s been so long I feel embarrassed. You’ve become like the friend I keep meaning to call but weeks pass, then months and then it gets too hard to pick up the phone.
I’ve been waiting to have some good news to share but that hasn’t happened and so I guess I’ll just tell you what’s been going on in general… if you’re interested that is…
And if you’re not, I completely understand.
But for those still reading… what’s been happening with you? How are you doing?
Me? Oh… well… you know… LIFE’S BEEN A SH*T SHOW!
Oh, yes! A proper, start to finish car crash!
The book? What’s happening with the book? Er… do you really want to know? Really? OK…
Last night I met an old friend from university – we went out for thai and got very very drunk on natural wine. It’s supposed to be better for the hangovers apparently and makes you feel worthy while you are getting obliterated. Jane works in the food industry so she knows all these things.
Anyway. We got worthy drunk and she turned up with roses and macarons for me. After dad died she sent me a text message that was so sweet I keep re-reading it to cheer me up. I might actually get it framed. It’s about how lovely I am. Ha!
Anyway, anyway, we ate food, got drunk and then ended up in some random rock basement bar dancing. It was gorgeous. We hadn’t done that since we were in our twenties. And it’s a shame. I’m realising that this is what life is about. Dancing with people you love, chatting, hugging, laughing, eating and drinking.
Two weeks and three days ago my dad died. It was unexpected. At about seven in the morning, he jumped out of bed and collapsed on the bedroom floor. Mum called the ambulance but they couldn’t revive him.
He’d had a massive heart attack. He was 67.
When I say it was unexpected – it was as unexpected as it could be for a man who had five heart bypasses when he was 47 and had spent more time than most on the cardiac ward of Frimley Park hospital.
But after lots of false alarms our guard had gone down. Over the last few years he seemed healthier than he ever had been. He’d been to the doctor just a few days before and been given the all clear.
So it was a shock, but then at the same time, not really.
I bumped into an ex-boyfriend of a friend of mine last Friday night.
He had been going out with my friend while I was in the early, exciting, jump out of planes, do stand-up comedy and naked modelling stage of the blog – and he’d witnessed a lot of the craziness/excitement up close. It was lovely to see him.
‘What’s happening with the book?’ he asked. ‘I’ve been looking on Amazon. I even tried to get on Brazilian Amazon to buy it.’
‘Is there a Brazilian Amazon?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know, I kept getting links to the rainforest,’ he said. ‘But what’s happening? Can I buy it? Is out yet?’
I’ve been thinking today about how important encouragement is.
The word ‘encourage’ comes from Old French word ‘encoragier’ – which means ‘make strong, hearten’. And who on this planet doesn’t need that?
I don’t care how independent and strong we may try be, we all need encouragement from time to time. A friend saying ‘You can do this’, ‘I love you’, ‘I have total faith in you,’ can make the difference between you giving up or keeping going.
I am so beyond lucky to have friends who are doing this for me at the moment. They have faith in me, even when I don’t. They keep me going and keep me trying. They are my cheerleaders and my safety net.
So I guess I was just thinking about how we make more difference in people’s lives than we might realise; saying a kind, supportive word to someone who is struggling in the office might stop them from going into the loos and crying all lunch hour. A teacher encouraging a pupil might change their whole life.
Often we think that it goes without saying that your colleague is great at their job, or that your friend is lovely and will find the love soon, but nothing goes without saying. Always say the nice thing. Even when you’re feeling grumpy and hard done by and don’t feel like you have kindness to spare, say the nice thing.
Let’s all try to encourage each other, to remind each other that we are great and even if life feels like a giant old sh*t show, it will, get better. It really will. Just by getting up every morning and trying our best, we are all, in our own small way, winners.
Love to you all.
I think you are GREAT.
Mx
This year, as I do most Christmases, I watched Bridget Jones’ Diary on the telly (while eating cheese and drinking whiskey). And this year, as I do most Christmases, I shed a little tear when hot lawyer Mark Darcy tells Bridget that he likes her. Just as she is.
‘There are elements of the ridiculous about you,’ he says in typical bumbling Rom Com style. ‘Your mother’s pretty interesting. And you really are an appallingly bad public speaker. And, um, you tend to let whatever’s in your head come out of your mouth without much consideration of the consequences… But the thing is, um, what I’m trying to say, very inarticulately, is that, um, in fact, perhaps despite appearances, I like you, very much. Just as you are.’
I like you very much. Just as you are.
What a line.
It’s 27th December and it’s rainy outside and I am in my pyjamas for the second day running. I am lying on the sofa, watching telly and making my way through a box of Milk Trays, on the grounds that we’ll all be better off when they’re gone and the only way for them to be gone is to… eat them.
You know the logic.
Just when I think I can’t eat any more, I do. Oh well. It’s been nice.
The whole Christmas has been nice. Everyone behaved themselves. We ate, drank, read some crap cracker jokes and then fell asleep. I think that post lunch nap (coma) on the sofa on Christmas day might just be my favourite part of the year. Dead to the world, there’s nowhere else you have to be, nothing you should be doing.
It’s like being in a little bubble. Real life can’t touch you.
About eight years ago I was in TK Maxx with my best friend, Grainne, looking at towels. She picked up a giant hot pink one and asked me what I thought.
I liked it.
‘Would it look good in the cottage?’ she asked.
‘Definitely’ I said.
Grainne was hoping to buy an old cottage on the West Coast of Ireland, near where she grew up – and even though no cottage had yet been bought we had decorating it in our heads ten times over.
All our conversations now revolved around the pros and cons of marble versus slate, wood compared to tiles, original fireplace versus wood burner…