​‘We talked and we found who we didn’t like which I always find endears me to people – if we’re linked by people we loathe.’   The inimitable Sir Billy Connolly talking about Judi Dench.
I have had that quote scribbled on a piece of paper for ever, always intending to include it somewhere just because it appeals to me.  So Glaswegian, it’s the honesty – and I know exactly where he’s coming from!  I think Billy Connolly would be one of those people whose friendship one would have to very much earn.  Intelligent, discerning and secure in himself, his friends will be hand-picked; selected – for life.  Have I left it a bit late?
Slightly random?  Uncertain just exactly what to write about this week, I started to look through my pile of papers beside the computer denoting quotes and topics worthy of opinion – of which there are many.  No common link, I remind myself that Trish-Trash affords me carte blanche to write about anything and everything so bear with me as I do a bit of ‘tidying up’.
Feeling rather like the living dead, this morning, perhaps I should start with a synopsis of my weekend.  No sleep involved, the highlight was going to see Del Amitri at the castle on Saturday night.  2018, a throw-back to the hot summer of 1976 – excepting the evening of Saturday, 21st July!  What were the chances?  It didn’t actually rain but … no matter.  Worth every shiver to be in that magnificent setting as the light faded, lost in the world of Justin Currie & Co.  Songs which stand the test of time – even more beloved now – courtesy of lyrics powered by the writer’s sensitivity and his obvious love of the written word.  Often poetic in nature there is, however, no detracting from the musical genius which sets them free. 
Justin Currie being Justin Currie, likes to be different.  Normally, one would expect the most popular song to be the encore.  Expect away!  Having seen him on four occasions now, he often starts with the favourite: last time, The Last To Know and, Saturday night, Be My Downfall.  I like his style.  I’m only sorry that I cannot post photos on this site – a momento of a happy night shared with Becca and Manny, eternally grateful that I introduced them to Del Amitri!  Should I mention that our last visit to the castle was to see Donny?  Maybe not.  A long time ago – the night of the webbed toe – it was nothing if not an experience.  Donny, a dream as ever, has no idea that his fans make a disgruntled football crowd look tame!  Funny thing is, I’ll bet each one of them once dreamt of becoming a Mormon en route to their idol … thankfully for Donny, the Mormon religion forbids alcohol and smoking.
‘It is a cynical world we live in; a cynical world.’   Tom Cruise in Jerry Maguire.  
Not ‘a topsy-turvy world’ at all and I have referred to that line many a time in recent weeks.  Thank goodness, then, that I was alerted to my mistake.  Home alone, once again, my life gained new meaning when I discovered that there is now an entire Sky channel dedicated to Tom Cruise.  Thank you, God!  Jerry Maguire.  What can I say? My favourite.  Everyone’s favourite and a reminder to the male species that the real way to a girl’s heart is to love children – and have them love you back.  Like animals, children have a radar for the good guys.  Can’t but help to look like Tom Cruise, though …  So, now, my challenge is to avoid the television to which, it is highly likely, I shall become glued.
Moving on.  My bedtime reading, at the moment, is The Diana Chronicles penned by Tina Brown, journalist and former Editor-in-Chief of Tatler.  Most books on Princess Diana, whilst lacking in any literary value, are most certainly gripping fuelled, of course, by the very real tragedy to which we all bore witness.  This one is no different.  However, I have been haunted by the following lines; little more than a collection of words belying the power of the English language:
‘It hangs now in its glass case in Althorp like an artefact from Miss Havisham’s attic, Exhibit A in the museum of a dead dream.’
Diana’s wedding dress.  Miss Havisham.  A ‘dead dream’.  What is it about these two words?  The alliteration?  In my mind, the repetition is as though two bullets fired from a gun ending, at once, the cherished idyll of an innocent, yet damaged girl.  The words, themselves, are a tragic juxtaposition; a toxic combination affording no survivors.
There is an exhibition of some of Princess Diana’s dresses on at Kensington Palace at the moment.  Definitely worth a visit.  No wedding dress, obviously, but several rooms full of iconic, unforgettable outfits displayed in glass cases each with an accompanying photograph of the Princess and a date and description of the event to which it was worn. 
‘There are loads of movie stars and celebrities but there will be only one Diana.’  
Elizabeth Emanuel, Fashion Designer.
The word is haunting.  Instantly recognizable, her ‘going away’ dress and jacket, the famous tweed ensemble worn on her honeymoon at Balmoral, the midnight blue velvet dress she wore when she danced with John Travolta at the White House … all there behind glass ‘worn’ by lifeless manequins.  She was much slimmer than I thought.  Tall, athletic, I imagined that she would have a swimmer’s physique but her dresses tell otherwise.  I remember being amazed at the size of Audrey Hepburn’s shoes when we saw the exhibition at Christies.  Just another reminder that the camera is only a version of the truth.
We were the last to go round the exhibition before the Palace closed for the evening – no surprise there, then – but the silence only served to transcend time.  The final exhibit had next to it the most beautiful photograph of Diana in Angola in 1997.  She looked so happy.  Poignantly, the manequin displayed the trousers, shirt and protective vest she wore as she walked the path cleared of landmines in front of the world’s media.  That iconic outfit remains in the possession of William and Harry.  So, too, does her ‘going away’ dress and her honeymoon jacket and skirt.  I found it touching to see which ones her sons have kept: perhaps the ones which meant the most in her personal story; a fading yet tangible connection to their beloved mother who just happened to be a princess.
I have had a chaotic day filled with hedge trimmers, tree fellers and a painter, all characters in their own right and more names on the list of pre-orders for my forthcoming book!  Turns out Grant is a Del Amitri fan and had also been at the castle on Saturday night.  More interesting, however, was his story.  Graduating from Edinburgh with a First in Engineering, he moved into electronics and the field of the microchip – there, he lost me!  Anyway, suffice to say he was a bit of a whizz and travelled the world earning a six figure salary with a mortgage to match.  No life, failed marriage, he gave it all up in January, re-trained as a tree feller and couldn’t be happier!  Work and pressure are no longer all-consuming – and neither is money!  He is now doing something he loves and working with friends he has known from school.  Result.  There is a book in that, Grant, and I’ve got the perfect title: Message for Manny.
As I refill my glass – with water, of course – I reflect on a good day.  Here’s to the simple life … and to Billy Connolly!
‘Never trust a man who, when left alone with a tea cosy, doesn’t try it on.’
This is Trish, signing off.
Unchecked – Go for it, Pop!