Look, I am going to make a concerted effort to avoid the omni-present elephant today. It’s never-ending! I’m chasing humour …
Firstly, as I have mentioned before, I can see on Google Analytics where in the world my readers are. So it was that, of late, someone was reading in Azerbaijan! How amazing is that? The musings of Trish-Trash are reaching far-flung corners of the globe and, seemingly, translating! Then, I have readers in China – a constant – USA, Germany, the Netherlands, France … It does make me smile. Oh, but I have lost my reader in Azerbaijan, the last time I looked – was it something I wrote? Rhetorical question. No need for the collective response, in affirmation, I can hear in my head! What, too, of my 48 readers in Argentina who, last summer, all read Trish-Trash on desktops, apparently, between three and four on one particular day? Yes, yes, the mention of my appreciation of Jeremy Clarkson did the trick, I suppose …
I washed my hair today. Unbelievable but noteworthy! Why did I bother? Who knows, I suppose clean hair just adds a certain je ne sais quoi to one’s boring ‘uniform’. Actually, I tweaked that, today, too – the ‘uniform’, that is. I love my big, baggy jumpers – cashmere, of course. Oversized and cosy, topped off with a leopard-print scarf of huge dimensions … perfect! However, apparently, hiding beneath jumpers more suited to Big Daddy – infamous wrestler often on TV in the 70s, from Fife, I think – apologies! – only makes one appear the size of Big Daddy! Thus, today, I am modelling a Brora jumper from years ago – another life, another figure! Too many exclamation marks? One can never have too many.
So, the old Brora jumper it is, then. A lovat green – of course – I love the colour but it does cling to one’s physique. Am I ready – borrowing from the questionable words of Lady Macbeth – to screw my courage to the sticking place? In other words, am I strong enough to face what lies before me in the mirror?! Absolutely. I may remain forever young in my head but, sadly, the mirror knows the truth. Oh, well … What about Scott’s zoom classes? Becca, religiously, dons her gym attire, shifts the furniture and jumps around for half an hour – that’s only after delivering my large Gin upstairs to ‘my office’! To be honest, I might be more inclined to join the zoom classes if I didn’t have to change into lycra! In fact, the thought of disrobing in this house, at all, is tantamount to joining Scott in the Antarctic – no, not that Scott. I mean Captain Robert Falcon Scott whose fateful expedition in 1912 included Captain Lawrence Oates, he of ‘I may be some time’. Translated, it is absolutely baltic, in this house, as we struggle to survive with the heating morning and night only. I believe it could be warmer outside than it is in here! We sit beneath layers of clothes but, without resorting to gloves or a balaclava, the extremities turn to ice. So … for the foreseeable future, I shall continue to refrain from the zoom classes, rather choosing to partake of a large Gin! Actually, one thing, through all this, I have very definitely discovered my favourite Gin – Tanqueray – and it has nothing to do with the green bottle. Flavoured Gins? Like putting tinsel on a Christmas tree. Worse, we endured First Dates, last night, and one woman requested a glass of Rosé and Pepsi Max! If I had been the guy, I would have been straight out the bathroom window …
On the subject of bathrooms, I was reminded, today, of the code Becca and I share in describing a female one wouldn’t want to cross. The saying is, ‘I wouldn’t want to meet her in The Ladies!’. Perhaps harping back to the days of Cheryl Cole being charged with assaulting the bathroom attendant, or school and the lair of the bully, it is superbly evocative – and a label one wouldn’t choose to seek. If I told you to whom I was referring, chances are you would agree. All I will say is we were watching the Lunchtime News!
Positive things. Good things. Passenger‘s new album. Songs for the Drunk and Broken Hearted. I cannot praise it enough! Every track. Characteristically, understated and gentle, the simplicity of his words and music are courtesy of his enormous talent both as a storyteller and a musician. For Mike Rosenberg’s songs are just that: stories from the heart – which, unfailingly, touch the heart. We saw him many years ago, now – 2013, I think – at the Usher Hall in Edinburgh. Looking back, he must only have been 29. Help! Just him and his acoustic guitar, he could have been playing to an audience of one as he introduced each song, each with its own tale, and captivated us from start to finish. Becca, Manny and I were, all, emotionally fragile during that period in our lives and that concert holds a very special moment which I don’t think any of us will ever forget. Forever in my heart … It was the encore and who could not recognise Holes? Everyone was out of their seats and Manny – sitting behind Becca and me – came forward and, with his arms round us, both, we, three, sang the words, at the top of our voices, the tears streaming down our cheeks. That’s Passenger for you … The loveliest guy, too, by the way. Did we wait for him afterwards? Does a river flow into the sea? He came out, gave us all the best hugs, signed autographs, posed for photos and chatted as though a friend … he should be. I think he would like that!
‘Well, sometimes you can’t change and you can’t choose
And, sometimes, it seems you gain less than you lose
Now, we’ve got holes in our hearts, yeah, we’ve got holes in our lives
Well, we’ve got holes, we’ve got holes but we carry on …’
Passenger, Holes.
Nothing else for it.
This is Trish, signing off – without one reference to the ‘C’ word!
