How does the song go, ‘Nobody told me there’d be days like this’? This has been one of these! Nature is angry and the wind has been unrelenting since the early hours. There’s something about wind. I have never liked it, somehow respectful – nay, frightened of its power. The power to destroy – and more than one’s hair!
Hair. The word impossible comes to mind. Let’s face it, from a personal experience, hair has always been a hit or a miss. I think some might agree that there is always that miniscule window between hair cuts when one looks in the mirror and is pleasantly surprised! That moment one would like to freeze; when one wishes one could put one’s momentarily perfect hair on a stand thus preserving it for tomorrow. Just me? Without fail, I come to, the next day, looking as though I have been on a long car journey with my head stuck out the window! Or perhaps I have, merely, been visited by little green men in my sleep – remember the ones who were stuck in Tiger Lily on the futile search for intelligent life – whose mission it has been to mess up my hair? Gosh, the mind boggles – at the way my mind boggles! Suffice to say, my hair now takes an inordinate amount of time to wash and dry (to say style would just be inappropriate) as it is so long and unkempt. Wholly unsatisfactory and not a good start to the day – and that was before I ventured out into Hurricane Take That!
That’s the wind covered – and my increasing hair anxiety – so back to my delightful day! I have to tell you about the weirdest thing … I follow Jack Savoretti on Instagram (what sentient female wouldn’t?) and, throughout lockdown, he has been posting his rendition of one of his favourite songs, daily. Sitting at the piano in his living room, which could – or should – be mine (I’m talking about the décor, not that I should be married to Jack – although, obviously, I wouldn’t say ‘no’!), he gives a little update on how things are going and, then, a backstory as to his choice of song. Many, I have loved and his expertise on the piano, deserving of applause. Always associating him with a guitar, what I would give, now, to be able to read music and just sit down at the piano and play my favourite songs … I should have practised all these years ago. I should have listened to Miss Reckless. Yes, that genuinely was the name of our piano teacher!
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, Jack … Checking my Instagram, this morning, he had just posted his latest, and final song: Thank You for Being a Friend. Apparently, he used to watch The Golden Girls with his mum. Fitting finale. Meanwhile, I hadn’t turned the radio off and it was, then – while listening to Jack – that I recognised the familiar beat in the background. Turning Jack down, sure enough, it was Andrew Gold singing Thank You for Being a Friend! Only slightly out of synch, what were the chances?! How spooky is that? Where are those little green men? Is it lucky? Does it mean I am going to win the lottery? Maybe it is just a message from above saying Thank You for Being a Friend. I’ll take that.
I haven’t been to the beach for a couple of days. I miss the solace. Instead, we went to check on the storage containers housing furniture from Lyndhurst and other precious memorabilia. Not much fun seeing much of your life in storage. Hard to let go, though, and too much a part of me. That yurt is going to have to be pretty massive!
Stopped off at Marks to get supplies and collided with many people in the aisles. All pretty farcical, really. Popping into the local Tesco, last night, there was a very self-important guy at the door giving instructions as to when and who could enter. Becca and I were not permitted to shop, together, as we were from the same household. Fine. He, then, shouted after me as I failed to observe the arrows and went down one aisle instead of up! At least he felt important. Little things.
So, a mixed day, really, and a reminder of the importance of the weather. We have been so blessed with the glorious sunshine of the past weeks and, thus, the sudden change has been a stark reminder of reality; how tired we all are and, dare I say, how anxious. No matter how strong, such a dramatic change in circumstances and daily life – not to mention the incessant scaremongering of the media – is, at the very least, unsettling. The future is unsure; the palette, one of many different hues. Nothing for it but to keep going forward aware, once more, of what really matters.
Escapism. An absolute must. As that man who thinks he is an island, across the way, continues to attach himself to his power drill between the hours of 7.32am and 10am, I prefer the more genteel pastime of reading. Never one for fiction – other than the classics – biographies and real-life are my preference and, over the past few weeks, I have been working my way through books I received for my Birthday and Christmas. What a sorry lot, thus far! Anne Glenconner’s Lady in Waiting was wholly uninspiring and, as of now, I am ploughing my way through Julie Andrews’ Homework. Not much better. Sometimes, it’s like meeting a celebrity one admires and being, sadly, disappointed. Thing is, once I have started a book, I have to finish it. So annoying!
It is interesting, though, how all these celebs can, somehow, just morph into best-selling authors. Biographies, children’s books, novels, the lot. You name it, they can write it! Well, I beg to differ. Spellcheck there may be but words are like notes and even playing all the right ones just isn’t going to work if they’re in the wrong order!
‘Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.’
Anton Chekhov.
This is Trish, signing off.
