Live

The Long Suffering Husband and I are now both over half a century old, our children are grown up, and we are left contemplating the meaning of our lives.

It's a peculiar time; the end of your reproductive years. You've lived at least half of your life (probably).  The first part of your life was spent learning, growing and stuffing enough knowledge into your head to survive.  The second part was about earning money, working and building a nest.  The third and longest was about children and then there is no instruction manual.  What next? You look round at people your age and older, desperate for role models.  "Who do I want to be like?" you ask yourself.  Our society is set up to sneer at all older people, except David Attenborough, obviously because he is like a God but we can't all be David.  I don't travel well, am not that keen on the smell of animals and don't like the cold.

"Do you ever feel that our lives are just passing us by," the LSH asked.  I could hear my heart in my ears, sweat beading on my forehead.  Was it a coincidental menopausal hot flush or was anxiety setting in, anticipating him suggest we take up bungee jumping or sky-diving?  That's what happens to a lot of people our age: they are all suddenly running marathons or throwing themselves off tall buildings for charity.  I want to shout, "What about your knees?" but I can see the appeal of feeling useful.  The other group are buying villas in Spain and planning a long life of nothing but sun and wine (actually sometimes they're the same people). I don't drink wine and have no desire to learn Spanish or be an ex-pat.

"We just need to get out more," he said, "Especially you.  I worry that if I suddenly drop down dead on the golf course, you'll be on your own."
"But I'll have my books," I interrupted.
"Hmm, yes books, but you'll not talk to anyone.  You'll only leave the house to go to work and walk the dog. And if the dog dies, you'll probably get cats and when you drop down dead no one would know and when they break in because of the smell they'd find that the cats had eaten half your face off."

Gulp.

So we went out.

Not far.

And I had a secret book in my handbag, just in case.

We went to a gig.  Real, live music with real jobbing musicians, who are making music because it's their passion, not because a record company (are they still called that?), a TV show, or Simon Cowell tells them to. Obviously, they still want to make a living - everyone needs to eat but the music comes first.

It's easy to think that unless something is in London or on the TV it's not worth seeing but that couldn't be further from the truth. Live music is so important.  It's important enough for the government to have put on the music curriculum for children under seven.

How most schools are supposed to get access to a range of good quality live music has baffled me for a long time.  You would think that with this addition to the curriculum there would be a budget to pay musicians to come and play or to take children to concerts but if anything the budget seems to have been cut. A friend of mine persuaded the local music hub to start a project where she and a group of other musicians went to schools, played some music and allowed the children to try out some of the instruments.  It was a popular thing and then the budget was cut further, the music hub started to charge schools £100 per visit and because a primary school music budget is about 50p the scheme ended.  (Whoops, sorry, I got sidetracked on a rant.)

So, anyway, live music.  It's important but even grown ups with lots of money aren't listening with concentration and understanding to a range of high-quality live music.  I know all the excuses: it's too expensive, all the best gigs are in London, which is just too far, don't like classical music, why bother when you don't even listen to the piped music in the lift, it's easier to just stick on Spotify or Amazon music, who needs music when there's X-factor?

Luckily, there are still people promoting high quality live music and I know some of them.  I've known the folk from macTheatre since our children were first in primary school.  I had just been involved in a PTA fund raising panto (I say involved but somehow managed to write, direct and act in the thing, which is amazing as I don't have any of those skills) and this lady came up to tell me how good she thought it was.Embarrassed, I gabbled on about how she should join us next year and how of course she would be able to do it because if I can then anyone can.  She was polite and smiled and surprisingly kept talking to me.  A week later, I wished the ground would open up and swallow me, as it turned out she was a professional card carrying actress. Although we became friends I still cringe at the memory every time I see her.

One thing I know about musicians is that they often go to drama school and so  macTheatre have many contacts, especially as Barrie spent some of his early career dabbling (his word, not mine) in folk bands and last night they were promoting a concert by Charlie Dore and Julian Littman.

I wasn't sure about going.  Folk isn't my favourite genre of music.  I knew that Julian Littman is a member of Steeleye Span and I bear a grudge, as they have made teaching the proper Latin pronunciation of Gaudete quite tricky.  Some child will always find their version and announce that you don't pronounce it veer-gin-ay after all. I needn't have worried, though because good quality live music is always brilliant, even if you'd rather be listening to a Mozart Aria, a scat singing jazz artist, or a thrash metal band.

Julian and Charlie are quite a team.  Their voices blend beautifully together and both have such an effortless pure tone, which is amazing for people who have been singing professionally for nearly 40 years.  As the concert progressed I realised what a treat we were being given.  To hear a live performance by artists who have been writing songs, not only for themselves but for others, such as Celine Dion, Paul Carrack and Jimmy Nail is very special.  When they sang Ain't No doubt we were in no doubt about their brilliance.  Charlie is not only a very beautiful woman but she is funny.  Her latest songs have been inspired by reading her partner's New Scientist magazine, which she doesn't really understand.  She explained that Pheromones were there to help us find a partner who could be a kidney donor and neutrinos were just particles, like breakfast cereal,  passing through space looking for love.  Then she floors you with a heart of butter and the language takes you to another place.  This is all delivered with humility so that when they are about to perform Pilot of the Airwaves they just say, "You'll know this."

Although it took some effort to go out but I think I will do it again. The LSH has agreed that live music might be the way to go to stop our lives passing us by.

The Devil Has my Soul

I feel as though I've sold my soul to the devil.  I was never going to abandon real books;  I love libraries and the feel of a proper book but I've done it.  I have sold my soul to the devil and am the owner of a Kindle.

In my defence, I didn't buy it for myself.  The Long Suffering Husband has wanted to buy me one for years, thinking of all the suitcase room when we go on holiday (at least 6 books a week, depending on size, take up quite a lot of space) but he hasn't dared because of my usual rants on the subject of real books and libraries.  He was very nervous about his purchase and paced the floor watching me, while biting his bottom lip as I unwrapped it.  The fact that they now have a back light so that you can read under the covers at night without waking anyone else up was the thing that had made me mention considering getting one.

I have become one of those middle-aged women who doesn't sleep.  Like most of my friends, I wake at 3 or 4am with 'stuff' running through my brain.  I hear the birds start their dawn chorus, noisily and excitedly chirruping about the start of their day, which is too early for most humans and then I hear them go suddenly silent as though the most enormous bird predator has just entered the garden before a  brave robin tweets, first once then twice, encouraging the rest to decide that they are safe and the day can really begin.  I've never been that worried about not sleeping, I was always quite happy to lie there and mull things over, make notes on my bedside 'brain-dump' book with a too blunt pencil.  I have a little book light but I don't always turn it on, so I can never properly read the rubbish I write at 3am. I threw many all-nighters at college (sitting up talking - not studying - we were much less conscientious in the eighties) and read all night many times when I was still at school (The first I remember was Anne Frank's Diary), while still coping the next day.  But recently, I've been waking with nothing to think about and it has been quite difficult to read under the covers without waking the LSH.

It was a lovely surprise and a very thoughtful present.  He needn't have looked so nervous.

If I didn't like it quite as much as I do then I wouldn't feel quite so guilty but I love it.  It's light and easy to use, apart from one moment when it nearly flew across the room as I tried to work the technology.  Yes, I do miss turning pages, it doesn't smell nearly as good as a book and I'm quite worried about what I'll do when I want a bath (I think it might be dangerous to read a Kindle in the bath).  But I like that it remembers where you are.  I like to be able to download a sample of a book to read before you decide if you want to buy it and I like that you can read books that are not yet in paperback for a reasonable price.  I agree with the LSH that I will have an amazing amount of space in my luggage and may be able to go away with more than a spare pair of knickers and a toothbrush in future.

The first book I have on my Kindle is Miranda Road by Heather Reyes.  It was a bargain at £1.75 and I was hooked from the free sample.  I'm really enjoying it so far, it's a story told from a mother and child's perspective and it's the first book I've read in a long time where the characters are truly believable.  They feel like people I could actually know.

Having sold my soul to the Devil you would imagine that there would be a price to pay.  I never imagined that the price would be three full night's sleep in a row.  I was so looking forward to waking in the night and reading easily, under the covers;  I couldn't wait for the next page but on the first night I slept all night, the second night I slept for a solid 12 hours.  Last night I did wake up, briefly.  I thought, "Great,  I'll just get my book," and the next thing I knew was that it was 8.30 and the dog was whining for a walk.

Those Foreign Books Coming Over Here and Telling us their Stories

It's been quite a depressing few days.  What with the Farrage barrage and the Times revealing that Michael Gove intends to change the English Literature GCSE syllabus, so that children no longer study books that aren't English it seems as though everyone in the UK (except those that I actually know to talk to about these things) are terrified of anything 'foreign'.

I know I'm naive about politics but I will never understand how only about 1/3 of the eligible population vote and when they do they vote for a party whose only policy seems to be to not want to be part of the council they've just been elected to.  It seems as though they won the votes of the poor, the uneducated and the tabloid readers (according to the BBC) by instilling fear of foreigners.

I wasn't going to write about politics so I will stop now but the book thing is just something I couldn't avoid writing about and I have quite a bit to say (just warning you) and my thoughts are confused.

 I love books and I get quite upset at the thought that anyone can think a book is bad.  Especially, a book being bad because of the nationality of the author. It worries me.  I think of Nazi Germany where Hitler banned anything that wasn't German and burnt books.  It didn't really work too well for him in the end.  The Germans only had their German music but we could listen to anything, so we corrupted theirs (Lily Marlene and Beethoven's 5th spring to mind). Maybe burning books stopped people reading but it didn't stop them remembering or telling other people about what they'd read.

On the other hand I don't really mind if they change the English Literature syllabus.  Pupils study a small number of books and most never actually read those books.  They read little bits and discuss those little bits and if they run out of time to finish reading in class they watch the film.  I know this because my son's English teacher told me that it really 'wasn't necessary' for him to read the whole book.  Would my son's life be any worse for not answering questions about 'To Kill a Mockingbird'?   The truth is that I think it's a great book and I think he should have read it and reading it might change his perspective but I think he should have read lots of books.  In fact, he did decide to read the whole book (the day before the exam!) and the act of reading it in one sitting has convinced him that reading is a good thing to do. I do worry that if a boring book is chosen to replace it then children like him would not get turned onto reading.

Choosing books because they're English could be very confusing. Could books by English authors set in foreign countries be on the curriculum? What about books written by British people who are living in another country? Or books about the UK written by people from other countries? We don't really know what Mr Gove is thinking because the details are vague but we do know that he studied literature at University and has confessed to hating Of Mice and Men. He is entitled to his opinion and as a widely read person he will be able to prefer some books over others. I'm not surprised at his dislike of this book, which don't fit with his personal ideology. I didn't like Alan Hollingsworth's Line of Beauty for the same but opposite reason.  I wonder if he is banning these books because they are too left wing?

I sort of hope that the political leanings of the books is the real reason for their removal from the syllabus. The alternative is too horrific. If only British things can be taught in schools then no more chemistry (periodic table invented by a Russian, Mendeleev), we would have to teach that the earth is the centre of the solar system or that the world was flat. Driving would be a bit tricky as I'm sure Karl Benz wasn't English and we'd have to get rid of the roads that those pesky Romans brought here. 

I'm sure people who set the exams will be widely  read and will be able to find books by British authors that will annoy Gove just as much. If not I have a few suggestions.

1. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists Robert Tresssel

2. Hard Times - Charles Dickens

3. Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy

4. How Green was my Valley - Robert Llewellyn

5. PD James - the Children of Men

6. Living - Henry Green

7. Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury

8. Wuthering Heights - Bronte

9. The Time Machine - HG Wells

10. The Hired Man - Melvyn Bragg

11. Peaches for M Le Curee - Joanne Harris.

12. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley

13. 1984 - George Orwell

14. A Room of One's Own - Virginia Woolf

15. The Golden Notebook - Dorris Lessing.

Actually, after 15 books off the top of my head he probably should just ban all books. Books are dangerous - they could give people ideas!

And just to prove how confused my thoughts are on the subject I start to wonder if Gove has done us all a huge favour. He's got us talking about books. People are reading Of Mice and Men to find out why he hates it so much (all most of us can remember is a big, not very clever man who accidentally squishes a mouse). To Kill a Mockingbird has shot up to number 9 on Amazon's best seller lists and it has given bookstores a marketing hook.

Also, I don't think it matters what people read. Gove is a bit of an intellectual snob when it comes to books. He is quoted as saying, "You come home to find your 17 year old daughter engrossed in a book. Which would delight you more - Twilight or Middlemarch?" I've read both and would probably say that Twilight was more gripping (annoying but gripping) and while Middlemarch is certainly a very well written book it is a bit old fashioned. Both stories have women who give up their own self for a man, so I probably wouldn't be too thrilled about either but I would just be happy that she was engrossed in a book, making up her own mind and forming her own opinions.


Note:  Since writing this blog I have read Michael Gove's piece in the Telegraph and it seems as though the whole thing was made up.  http://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/educationnews/10857079/Michael-Gove-attacks-fictitious-claims-he-has-banned-US-books-from-schools.html

Existential Angst

It's not the first time I have suffered from existential angst, that feeling where you can't see the point of anything. This time it has been triggered by terrible weather (Yes, I am that shallow and that's probably part of the problem), being stuck to the sofa, reading too much and having reached an age where nothing new seems to happen.

The first time was a classic.  I was about 15and my life was an endless round of uninspiring lessons, exams and pointlessness.  I wasn't a very sociable 15 year old, I didn't have a boyfriend and spent a lot of time looking out of my bedroom window at rain, listening to the charts, the Hairy Eyeball Show on the local radio station and writing to Terry Wogan about traffic cones and magpies. Margret`Thatcher was the prime minister, we were in global recession and constantly told in every assembly that there were no such things as good jobs for us and that we would have to retire before we were 50 (hahahaha). We were living with the spectre of a nuclear war, leaflets called Protect and Survive were delivered through letterboxes, advising us to hide under tables and stock up on tinned food.  A house I walked past on the way to school had begun to build a proper nuclear bunker.  I read too much. PE lessons, lunch and break were spent in the library, where I would work my way through the newspapers, the beano, New Scientist and Good Housekeeping magazine (the beginnings of an ecclectic taste). After a few years of this Raymond Briggs brought out his wonderful cartoon book and I was devouring all the dystopian fiction I could find. I didn't go on any CND marches because I believed the propoganda that your name would be on record for ever after and I already thought there was no hope of getting a job.

There was another serious episode before I had children when I was working in a bank but I think working in a bank will do that to a person.

This morning I woke early and sat in bed reading twitter and online newspapers and when I couldn't take it any more I started reading The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.  This was a mistake, to read a book about a bunch of teenagers with terminal cancer didn't lift me.  As I read, I realised that the world is in crisis again and it struck me that life really is about ever decreasing circles.  

I read about the History curriculum and Michael Gove's insistance that every academic who disagreed with him on the subject was a 'Marxist living on Planet Red'.  Then I started to get the old eighties paranoia again as I realised I would be on the 'people to round up and shoot come the revolution list' because I had googled Marxist parties in the UK. My reason for this search was that I believe Mr Gove to be deluded.  If all these top academics were Marxists then I would have surely heard of a Marxist party in the UK and I hadn't.  In fact I can't find one on the internet.  There is a Communist party of Britain, who fielded a total of 6 candidates in the 2005 election and has approximately 900 members, although their ideology is largely Stalinist.  Personally, I think History isn't a linear subject, it's a spiral (ever decreasing circles).  The reason existential angst doesn't happen until teenage years is because before then it is impossible to reaslise that you've heard it all before.  Children must relate all history to themselves, without this ego-centric view it won't make any sense to them.  It's only when you reach an age where you've seen it all several times before that you can truly appreciate history for what it is. Michael Gove also claims that people are against his History curriculum because 'learning the facts about a war might, God forbid, make them grow up to vote conservative.'  No wonder he wants to change it, if he thinks it would have that much influence.  Most people I know are against the History curriculum because they think children will find it boring and no one learns anything when they're bored. I didn't like History at school, the corn laws, colouring in a map of the world with lots of pink to show the empire and the poem for the Kings and Queens just didn't really interest me.  When I grew up I found History novels (more importantly Her-story novels) and museums that told me about the people and how we could learn from what has happened before, maybe but only if we are very clever and most of us appear not to be. 

Willie, Willie, Harry, Stee,
Harry, Dick, John, Harry Three,
One-To-Three Neds, Richard Two,
Harrys Four-Five-Six... then who?
Edwards Four-Five, Dick the bad
Harrys (twain), Ned Six (the lad),
Mary, Bessie, James the Ken
Then Charlie, Charlie, James again...
Will & Mary, Anne of gloria,
Georges ( 4! ), Will Four, Victoria,
Edward Seven next, and then
Came George the Fifth in 1910...
Ned the Eighth soon abdicated,
So George Six was coronated,
Then Number Two Elizabeth...
And that's all, folks (until her death...)!!

 I'm just grateful that he doesn't think that the music curriculum can change voting behaviour.  

I also read the sad story of Lucy Meadows.  Her life destroyed.  Speculation that it was caused by the press who were determined to get a story, a photo, a quote.  They followed her, went through her bins, tried to pay family friends and enemies for a negative view and apparently refused to publish anything nice.  This doesn't surprise me.  Her life is a story that interests people and unfortunately people don't really want to read nice.  Nice is boring.  I have just finished reading The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry and it struck me that even the unremarkable could suddenly find themselves the subject of a story the press are interested in.  Post-Leveson nothing seems to have changed for ordinary people who suddenly find themselves at the centre of something that is totally out of their control.  I do not want Press regulation and I do not think Richard Littlejohn (who wrote a negative piece about her in the Mail) should be sacked.  It would be nice if they followed the code of conduct they already had but it seems to me that most of the distress is caused by so many people trying to 'get the story'. And there are more of those people around.  I was reading about bloggers who do not have to follow a code of conduct or abide by any laws.  These bloggers are not like me.  They are not silly women who write down their life and opinions, who wouldn't dream of contacting anyone for a story, but are people who masquerade as journalists.  People follow them and their views change people's opinions.  I was listening to Guido Fawkes on the radio who said that no one could prosecute him anyway because his site wasn't even registered in the UK.

In the acknowledgements of John Green's book he says that his book isn't about real people and that we should be happy to appreciate made up stories. He is right, His-story, Her-story, My-story, Your-story, they are all important.  So I have a plan that I hope all my friends and family will help me with if the press ever get interested in my boring life.  I want everyone I know to sell stories about me.  I want them to make things up, to make me more interesting than I am.  The more money they are offered the wilder and nastier the story should be.  I wouldn't deny any of it.  Photo-shopped pictures should be sold for exorbitant amounts and then we could all have a laugh.  People should ring me up and have bizarre conversations and leave odd items in my bin for me.  Then I could ignore all of it and get on with my life.

I hope the weather improves soon, so that this existential angst can lift and I can go back to blogging about cupcakes, knitting and planting potatoes.