Petrina Binney's Blog, page 71

Day #37 Ageing

Day 37 of things to be happy about and I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to get to the subject of ageing.

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I have known people, some of them lovely, some ridiculous, who have held genuine dread for certain ages.

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There’s a panic which sets in when someone realises the next birthday is… whatever it is. Some ages seem to come with very specific responsibilities. These responsibilities, as might be expected, are – in general – supremely dull.

I’m talking about things like council tax and mortgage repayments.

Perhaps I’m just lucky to have been raised the way I was because I’ve never really measured myself against anyone else. Not everyone falls in love the second Wednesday after they turn twenty-two, not everyone goes to university, not everybody buys a house.

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There’s no right age for anything. You can only do your thing, whatever that might mean.

And yet, I have known people who have had terrible fears about turning thirty, forty, fifty, etcetera, because of what it might mean.

In fairness, no one wants to turn etcetera.

 

Now, my next decent-sized birthday is forty. I’m not bothered. Frankly, I think I’m going to rock forty.

And weighed against the alternative, I have no problem with ageing like a paper bag.

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Day #36 Family Holidays

I am going back a way for this but some of the best times in my childhood were spent on family holidays.

We used to go to France a lot. My mother was a polyglot. She spoke English, French, Greek and Norwegian fluently. When she was in her early thirties, she bought herself a Teach Yourself Greek book, and immediately enrolled in the Intermediate class in the local night school, having decided that the Beginner class would be for people who hadn’t thought to buy a book.

When I was about seven, she’d taught me to count to ten in French on the ferry heading over to Brittany. Once on land, it turned out quite quickly that I was inappropriately dressed. It had been cold in Croydon and so I was head to foot in wool. In France, it was pretty warm, and so we went into a shop. My Dad didn’t have any of the language, and I could only count to ten, so my mother took control of the situation. It was an attitude that suited her well.

Calling over a shop assistant with a wave of her hand, she asked him, in a language neither my Dad nor I could understand, for a t-shirt for her seven year old daughter. The man looked at her for some time before she tried again. Pulling at her sleeve, I told her that I hadn’t heard her say “Sept” yet. It was then that she realised she was speaking Norwegian.

 

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A day or two later, we saw a crepe stall on the side of the road, and my mother, in her wheelchair and therefore unable to see over the counter, taught my Dad, by rote, how to place an order. She threw in a little bit of counting for good measure. He repeated exactly what she had said in the vain hope it was a language of some sort, but couldn’t quite manage the “s’il vous plait” bit so went with – “Un, deux, trois crepes er… please.” It was all a little bit “Thank you very much” in The Great Escape.

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My mother had a soft little idea that if we moved to France before I was twelve, I’d pick up the language in moments. Once I turned twelve, she figured it was too late and, not long after, we settled in Devon. I don’t say that Devon was the last resort. It was just that it seemed better to simply persevere with English at that point.

Okay. Day 36 of 365 Happy Things – Family Holidays.

Day #35 Magic and Wonder

Day 35, and we come to Magic.

Now, in part, I am referring to Paul Daniels, who was the mainstay of BBC magic in the 1980s, when it was Saturday night and I was paying attention. I have talked about the scariest of his magic tricks on this blog before. To precis it, there were huge concrete blocks, falling like dominoes towards a shed in which he was chained up. The blocks fell, crushed the shed, and I cried like a baby. Of course, he was fine.

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I’ve never wanted to know how the tricks are performed. I know this makes me odd. But I’m okay with not having a complete understanding of how sleight of hand works, how distraction works, how any of it works. I really couldn’t care less. I’m quite happy to stand, like a slack-jawed yokel pointing at an aeroplane, rather than know for certain that the card was halfway up his sleeve all along, and in the meantime, someone’s taken my wallet.

I have a weakness for magic, but I’d be useless if I was confronted with a street performer. I wouldn’t want to be the one to let them down. If asked whether or not such-and-such was my card, I’d just say ‘yes’ rather than shatter the illusion.

Exercise caution, my lovelies, because there’s a genuinely disturbing dream coming up…

I had a dream a couple of weeks ago that I was pulling out rather a lot of strung-together soft tissue and scraps of denim, like clown scarves, from one of my teeth. It was frightening, but, in the dream, I wound up tossing the whole heap out of the spare room window before my mother, played expertly by Connie Booth (Polly from Fawlty Towers, but as she is now), told me I should get them back, in case I needed them. I woke up both quickly, and confused.

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The thing is this: that wasn’t magic. It was a bad dream. But even though what I was dreaming was in no way possible, I still didn’t want to know how it worked.

It’s important to maintain a sense of wonder. Even when it’s weird.

Day #34 Candlelight and Poetry

Day 34 and the subject was going to be candlelight, so I’ll cover that quickly before getting onto the main news.

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Candlelight – pretty, atmospheric, makes everyone look younger, appropriate for both dates and birthdays.

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Okay, so, a friend of a friend is having a baby, and the mother has decided on a rather unusual way to celebrate the birth. She has collected up her buddies, and decided each of them can buy her little girl a book. Each of the books will be suitable for different ages in the child’s life, thus, her friends will be sorting out all manner of age-appropriate books for birthdays right the way through ’til the kid can vote.

I rather like it as an idea because it means the child will have presents from people from the time of her birth and so, even friendships that are stretched by distance will stay alive because of the books to come.

Here’s where I get involved.

The mother has asked each of the friends to write something in the flyleaf to wish her daughter a happy birthday when the time comes. And my friend, who is eloquence personified but not so hot on rhyming, has asked me to write a poem.

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If I sound a little overexcited, it’s because I am. This is the closest I’ve ever been to a commissioned work.

Happy Day #34 everyone.

Day #33 American Horror Story

I love a good horror. True, it makes me walk a little faster down the street, but I love what it does to my mind.

I once watched The Silence of The Lambs with a buddy who couldn’t bear anything even slightly scary or psychological. Looking back, it was an error.

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Every couple of minutes, she grabbed my arm and asked me what was going to happen next. I hadn’t watched the film in a year or two and, in all honesty, I couldn’t remember precisely, but good lord, she was insistent. Suffice it to say, she didn’t make it to the end credits. Don’t get me wrong. She’s still living.

She did leave the country, though.

I love American Horror Story. It’s amazing. Brilliantly written, impeccably cast, properly dark stuff. I think it’s fabulous not only for the recurring cast, who give it the old school repertory feel, but for the edge-of-your-seat twists and turns, and for the way the stories link into each other.

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There are some spoilers coming, so hold onto your hats.

I love the character of Ma Petite, played by Jyoti Amge in the fourth season. Amid all the horror and cruelty in the Freak Show, her character was filled to the brim with smiles and joy. I maintain the reason that Elsa Mars didn’t go off with Edward Mordrake to some terrible hell dimension was because the light in Ma Petite called her home.

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Of course, this does pull us back to Jessica Lange. You may remember the ode to her cheekbones on day one. And a lot of people slightly fell apart when she stepped away from the series and wondered if blame could be assigned to some of the newer members of the cast.

In all fairness, in the first season, they left Jessica Lange’s character alone with a murderous toddler, and in the second, third and fourth seasons, they killed her off. I think it’s worth taking a lesson here: if you want to keep someone, try not to push them away.

There are big scary themes, like racism, conversion therapy, hauntings, the dangers of difference in a conformist society, and the series does seem to be getting increasingly violent (don’t watch Cult just after dinner), but in the second season, Frances Conroy played the Angel of Death, and she was amazing.

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Frankly, when my time comes, if Frances Conroy doesn’t try to kiss me, I’ll refuse to go.

Okey-cokey, there you have it. Day #33, and I know it might not appeal to everyone but still – American Horror Story.

Day #32 Cheese On Toast

Day 32 and we come to one of the most comforting things that exists in life.

When confronted by an emotional half-friend on the doorstep in the early hours of the morning, there’s a reason why George and Mabel reach for the Worcester sauce, in book one. It’s survival mode. And that’s what cheese on toast is.

I don’t pretend to be fancy. I’m only talking about cheddar. Mature cheddar, of course, and a small lake of Worcester sauce, but it’s only simple stuff. Really, if the toast is semi-floating, that’s perfect for me.

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We’ve got some weather at the moment, and I’m pretty certain that cheese on toast will save me from starvation while we wait for the snow to melt. I know, if I was a halfway competent driver, I’d be able to drive on slush. As it goes, I’m competent enough to know that getting up the hills that surround my house with a tiny engine and frost which coats the inside of my windscreen is a step too far.

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I’ll wait it out with cheese on toast.

Day #31 Michael Gambon

When I grow up, I want to be Michael Gambon.

In the meantime, I will happily remind myself of his performance in ‘Quartet’ and his character, who spent pretty much the whole film in a dressing gown, barking at people.

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I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. If we don’t dream, we die.

I read somewhere that all people can be divided into the characters in The Wind In The Willows, and it’s a great way to find out, quite quickly, whether you’re going to get along with someone.

In the article, it suggested that this would be a brilliant means of predicting the course of a romantic relationship, but I think it can be extrapolated into friendships as well. If, for example’s sake, you’re Toad (frivolous, happy, with no concept of consequences), you’re going to struggle with Mole (timid, kind-hearted but very little confidence).

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And maybe that’s why I like Michael Gambon so much. I see myself as a mix of Badger (cantankerous, disappointed, fiercely loyal) with a smidge of Ratty (kind, jolly, just looking to enjoy things).

And that’s the sort of character Michael Gambon tends to play: me.

So, there you go: Day 31, an entire month of Happy Days resulting in Michael Gambon.

Day #30 Hugs

Hugs: The most important of all things. People need contact. I am the unofficial Legion Hugger. I am only unofficial because I’ve yet to get T-shirts made. That time is coming.

Of course, I know there are people who can’t stand hugs. I can see that people have their own definitions of intimacy, and perhaps a hug is a step too far for some. I get it, and it’s for their sake I’ll have T-shirts made. Better to warn them who I am. But from my side, one of the best things in the world is a hug.

I recently showed ‘The Children Act’ at Movie Night. Now, watch out because there will be spoilers.

 

There’s a point where Emma Thompson is encouraging Fionn Whitehead to leave, completely. She can’t have him around, she doesn’t want any communication with him, no calls, no letters, all that stuff. And as the lad is walking away, hanging his head and feeling lousy, she goes to give him a peck on the cheek. He turns his head at the last minute, and it turns into a kiss.

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It’s brief, but not blink-and-you-miss-it brief, and it’s a great moment in the film. My Movie Nighters were shocked to their roots, but it was an important scene, because the lad is alone. He has nobody. As much as the relationship is confused and complicated, everybody needs contact.

And this, I think, is the danger of going without hugs.

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I’m lucky, I live with dogs. I never have to go more than a few minutes without attention. I’m rarely allowed in the bathroom alone.

There you have it: Day 30 – Hugs.

Day #29 A Sense of Belonging (Stools)

I’ve been working at the Legion for nine years. Those of you who read this blog regularly already know that.

And I’m not going for the sympathy vote here, but I’m never entirely sure whether they really want me there. It’s a weakness in me, and I really am trying to work on it because, frankly, even I find it tiresome.

Here’s where we reach the positive: my boss bought a stool over the weekend, to help me reach the top shelf in the cellar. We have another barmaid who’s also not much over five foot tall but, when Dave brought it in, he said it should help me.

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So there you have it – no one invests in a stool for someone they would like to see leave. So, day 29 – A Sense of Belonging (Stools).

Day #28 Baby Axolotls

Now, a couple of months ago, Aimée and I babysat a pair of axolotls. I’ll admit, I didn’t know a thing about the creatures, except that one of them had lost a foot at some point. It had grown back. The pair lived in a separated container with minimal fuss and a couple of tea cups on their sides, which, presumably gave them some sort of entertainment/hide arrangement.

Word came through a day or two ago, that these axolotls have had babies. How sweet, I thought.

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Then I saw a picture. Even sweeter.

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They can have anything up to a thousand eggs at a time. Holy lord.

Anywho, some years back, I heard an old edition of ‘Just a Minute’ with Kenneth Williams. I love ‘Just a Minute’, and Kenneth Williams was a particular favourite for – let’s face it – everyone. The subject he had been given to talk about for a minute, without hesitation, repetition or deviation (I take it we know how the game works) was Quetzalcoatl. All I remember from the show are the words, “Quetzalcoatl was an Aztec deity…”

A little further research in the last few days has led me to the discovery that Quetzalcoatl means ’the feathered serpent’. I don’t know about you, but I think it would be a wonderful name for a baby axolotl.

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There you have it – day 28 – baby axolotls.