tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19064559235764655302024-03-12T23:56:42.497-04:00LA Not So Confidential - jacistephen.com Welsh journalist and broadcaster Jaci Stephen takes a sideways look at life in the USA, with all the fun, strangeness and, along the way, heartache, that her nomadic, transatlantic existence brings her.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger396125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-65661522962267030402021-03-21T21:02:00.004-04:002021-03-21T21:06:13.090-04:00Covid Smugness - the New Pandemic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiSCmSKVDh658hmeosCQFLLN4oh_OTAW8YsZlkzUmqgRQGGbouDE0RUpy4j8ZSdOO4Y96JBrZ2YXKyF1ay-HXcpuAE3FOJYHlfIDH2tCgE5UX3o4sXFuEohqC_kTJUoqClePpryiF232s/s800/d41586-020-01048-7_17843652.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiSCmSKVDh658hmeosCQFLLN4oh_OTAW8YsZlkzUmqgRQGGbouDE0RUpy4j8ZSdOO4Y96JBrZ2YXKyF1ay-HXcpuAE3FOJYHlfIDH2tCgE5UX3o4sXFuEohqC_kTJUoqClePpryiF232s/s320/d41586-020-01048-7_17843652.webp" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;">There are many areas of life during Covid that have highlighted the essential goodness of humanity: kindness towards others, compassion, the tireless, selfless dedication on the part of essential workers. But the pandemic has also highlighted an aspect of the human personality that not even Covid can suppress: smugness.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As the virus has developed through its various stages from its arrival to the glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel, people have not been able to help themselves competing for the accolade of doing better than their contemporaries. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Here, then, are the Seven Ages of Pan:</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">1.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Denial. Haven’t had it, won’t get it. These are the people who, from day one, did not recognize the pandemic and were wont to utter the words, “I never get sick,” “I’m not fat,” “I’ve had my flu jab,” “It’s all a con,” et al. Worst advocate: President Donald Trump, who said, early on, that it would go away overnight and it would be “beautiful.” For the record: Trump caught Covid, and the virus didn’t go away. He is fat, however.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">2.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>First Wavers. The people who survived it and lived to tell the tale. Most smug in this group are the “It’s not as bad as they say,” utterers, who immediately began booking their holidays to Italy, only to be turned away at the airport.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">3.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Antibody separatists. Insufferably smug. After been tested to see whether they have had the virus, they are thrilled to discover that they have the antibodies and are probably immune (though the jury is out on exactly how long for: some say three months, others ten years). Every time someone comes within a foot of them and screams in terror, they say, with a very satisfied smile: “It’s fine, I have the antibodies.” Fear of eating indoors? You must be joking! “I have the antibodies.” Fancy coming round for dinner? “It’s fine, I have the antibodies.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">4.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>First Jabbers. Smugness was raised several notches at this stage with those who were first on the list to receive a vaccination (and I am NOT including our health workers and first responders here – they deserved to get the jab first and are way too busy to be smug). “I’ve had my first jab” replaced “I have the antibodies” as the smug phrase of the time, taking the limelight centre stage as the antibody separatists reluctantly took their place in the wings. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">5.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>First Jabbers – My country’s better than your country. Easily the most competitive stage, with an unprecedented level of Brexit-style smugness. “You waited how long? In my village, I was in and out in two minutes.” When I told people that I took 8308 steps and walked 3.8 miles for my first vaccine at Manhattan’s Javits Center yesterday, the response was like a rundown of every Olympic 100meter sprint since time began. “How long? That sound horrendous! I was in and out in 9.8 seconds” and the like. I DON’T CARE! The Javits Center was on target to vaccinate 8995 people yesterday, and I’d still rather be living in Manhattan that anywhere in the UK. Yes, anywhere. So, you can stick that smugness where the virus doesn’t shine. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">6.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>First Jabbers – Feeling Fine. The initially united camp of those receiving the first vaccination has quickly split into two, with the people who suffer no side effects lording it over those whose after-effects include aches and pains, fever, headaches, fatigue etc. etc. “I was fine, drank a bottle of wine immediately afterwards,” “Went for a run,” “Wrote a book” – the implication is that those who suffer side effects must be weaklings who are never going to make anything of their lives if they spent it whingeing and bigging up every twitch and chill they endure.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">7.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>First Jabbers – My vaccine’s better than your vaccine. “Which one did you have?” “Moderna.” “Ooh, that’s a shame; they say that one’s not as effective.” “Pfizer, apparently, it’s the best.” Newest kids to the smug block are the Johnson and Johnson devotees, who will require just one jab instead of two. In the US, they are also rolling out a program to administer them door to door for people unable to leave the house. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">So, that’s where we’re currently at, but as people are now starting to receive their second jabs, I sense we are entering a whole new era of smugness. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I’m already in training. “You have to wait how long for the second? Six weeks? That’s odd; my second one’s in 21 days.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And, for the record, I had Covid (and it wasn’t that bad – yes, I know that’s not the case for everyone; stay with the joke here), I survived it, I had the antibodies, I’ve had my first jab in the best country, I’ve had no side effects, and I opened a bottle of wine after having the Pfizer vaccination, which really is the best.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">So there.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Smug, or what?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-1563747578794731562021-01-29T14:20:00.001-05:002021-01-29T14:21:45.799-05:00Not the American Dream<p><span style="font-size: medium;">EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED TO ME THIS WEEK – SO, I…</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">1.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Gained a pound – in weight, and also on the stock exchange, where I feel I am no Elon Musk.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">2.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Watched snow falling. Then watched it melt. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">3.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Bought a ton of Clinique cosmetics online and yet still don’t look like Emilia Clarke, who is advertising their new serum-based foundation. I was caught the same way (many times) with onboard shopping on Virgin Atlantic, when Eva Longoria was advertising Estée Lauder mascara in the magazine. I continue to look nothing like her, either. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">4.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Did some much-needed FaceTime (not the Clinique sort) with family and friends.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">5.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Bought a ton of Bobbi Brown make-up, as I could see no celebrity endorsement and would not spend the rest of the week being depressed because I don’t look like Emilia Clarke.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">6.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Watched three episodes of Russell T. Davies’s Channel 4 series, It’s a Sin. I’ve been saying for months that Covid has reminded me of the Eighties and Aids – in particular, the conspiracy theorists and lack of government information. The drama has hit the zeitgeist. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">7.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Went house shopping online to Croatia, Valencia, Barcelona, Paris, the Gower Coast, Bordeaux… I couldn’t afford anything, so I stayed in and opened another bottle of wine.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">8.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Vacuumed the blackheads in my nose with my new device that has finally cured a lifelong blemish. I used another battery-operated device to shave the hair from my upper lip, which makes me a dead ringer for a German dictator every morning (can’t name him, because algorithms pick up on the name and put me on the naughty step, assuming I am a sympathizer). </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">9.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Spent a sleepless night worrying about how I would spend the Mega Millions lottery if I won it. Plastic surgery to make me look like Eva Longoria topped the list. For the record, I didn’t win.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">10.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sent off my forms to audition for the US version of The Voice. I’m not joking.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">11.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Spent a sleepless night worrying about whether I wanted to spend months in Vegas when I get my residency there, after winning The Voice. Sometimes, I think I worry too much. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">12.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Had lunch with my dear, and mega-talented musician friend, Emiliano. We managed just an appetizer before the outdoor dining in NYC (indoors at 25% returns on February 14th) started to give us frostbite. I think I started calling him Melania, owing to the difficulty of uttering so many syllables in sub-zero temperatures. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">13.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Went to the Roosevelt Bar (in Hudson Valley Food Hall), my local in Beacon, NY. Felt so grateful for indoor dining upstate, even at just 50% capacity. There was also live music on Wednesday night. I am grateful for every atom of normality at the moment.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">14.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Thought I might buy a dog.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">15.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Decided not to have a dog because I could well be 79 when it dies if it lives as long as our others did. Heck, it could end up having to organize my funeral. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">16.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tried to follow the stock exchange drama unfolding with Reddit and Robinhood. The latter seemed not to have done their homework, as they ended up giving more to the rich.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">17.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Watched the pound rise to its highest against the dollar in three years.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">18.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Watched the pound go down against the dollar again.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">19.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Wrote a novel.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">20.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Lied about having written a novel. </span></p><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-60241736502330667692021-01-16T15:25:00.004-05:002021-01-19T23:23:16.117-05:00Sex and Death - What Else Is There?<p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0oH-5ep1g79nPry8bu26J5kJyYxWGpl8n2JLgz119POXqv2LvJZGHfU8DwurZr0TTtOZDARWpxLlE27c6OrI9ePWgaZUrWkz-8KI7YjQc2RZi1_MGdg3bQXAs4WOVlLQsn1ozc6Kv7os/s448/AAAABQcRMhm-FI1TIt29oM1-yUbupNymUyOdZ_GLbs_mpvc7_Oam915PcSn_ZsJNfwnV-ROCx0qRy_LdI1jIk_GeowhPmaWX2T4Bbp7nI69yf2bE2FXv.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0oH-5ep1g79nPry8bu26J5kJyYxWGpl8n2JLgz119POXqv2LvJZGHfU8DwurZr0TTtOZDARWpxLlE27c6OrI9ePWgaZUrWkz-8KI7YjQc2RZi1_MGdg3bQXAs4WOVlLQsn1ozc6Kv7os/s320/AAAABQcRMhm-FI1TIt29oM1-yUbupNymUyOdZ_GLbs_mpvc7_Oam915PcSn_ZsJNfwnV-ROCx0qRy_LdI1jIk_GeowhPmaWX2T4Bbp7nI69yf2bE2FXv.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">What is it about a global pandemic that brings out the love of murder in people?</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I know that the TV and movie-watching audience has always been fascinated by the subject, but it’s still interesting during lockdown that on the UK channel ITV, the two biggest hits in recent months have been Des (about the serial killer Dennis Nilson) and The Pembrokeshire Murders (about the serial killer John Cooper) or, as I now like to call it, the Pandemicshire Murders.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">At the other end of the spectrum, viewers have gone wild for Bridgerton (created by Chris Van Dusen), the first production from Shonderland’s Shonda Rimes (executive producer), who also brought us Scandal and Gray’s Anatomy. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Having signed an exclusive deal with Netflix for an eye-watering sum, she must be thrilled with the response, as must Netflix.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s not your average costume drama. It’s very, very funny, with a great cast, and Phoebe Dynevor and Regé-Jean Page (as Daphne Bridgerton and Simon Basset) bring to the sex scenes a chemistry that has even elderly viewers reaching for a cold flannel (trust me: I’ve talked to them). </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">In our current climate, it’s the escapist fantasy we all need, although it’s clear that Julia Quinn, on whose books the series is based, is no Jane Austen. Think more Barbara Cartland with bigger breasts - ginormous, to be honest; there are scenes where you think the entire Himalayan range has dropped in for tea.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">There’s not even a whiff of death, but both ends of the spectrum tell us very basic things about the viewing public, and probably human nature in general: at the end of the day, all that really matters is sex and death. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The beginning and the end. </span></p><div><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-44650014158518897922021-01-15T14:00:00.002-05:002021-01-15T14:01:40.612-05:00Hold Fast - in the City That Never Surrenders<p><span style="font-size: medium;">The phrase “the city that never sleeps” has never rung less true than during the pandemic, particularly during the early stages, when NYC was the epicenter of the crisis. But even while it appeared to be in a deep slumber, I liked to think of it as just dozing. Resting. And, this being New York, I was never in any doubt that it would wake from its slumbers. It is the city that never surrenders.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Just as we saw after 9/11 and Hurricane Sandy, this is a place in which people really step up in times of crisis. Even in normal times, in six years of living here I have discovered nothing but kindness in a city in which people really do look out for each other. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I have never come across the alleged rudeness of New Yorkers; step off London’s Heathrow Express at Paddington Station after landing in the UK – you’ll meet more rudeness in minutes than in a year of being in NYC.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Broadway is dead and, as a result, the surrounding bars and restaurants are suffering big time, too (and it’s not just in the city). Constricted to outdoor dining while the rest of the state enjoys indoor hospitality at 50% capacity, it’s a struggle to attract customers as the East Coast temperatures plummet.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And yet… and yet… owners have not only stepped up to the mark but well over it.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Take my local hostelry, Hold Fast. Smack bang in the middle of theatreland on 46th and 9th, it was opened in 2017 by partners Shane Hathaway, Jason Clark. and Jason’s wife, Kiara, and is a regular haunt not just for theatre goers but locals. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It responded quickly to takeaway menus, including themed cocktails relating to the crisis (I particularly liked one named after the New York State Governor, Andrew Cuomo). </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">When indoor dining briefly resumed last year, I had my birthday dinner there. They have a good choice of wines (including excellent European ones – highly unusual in NYC - and the food menu is ever-expanding and changing. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">My current favorites are the burrata in a tomato sauce, and the three-bean chilli (it is compulsory to order food with drinks in New York).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">They have transformed their outdoor space into a safe, socially distanced dining area, complete with screens separating tables, and heaters. Even in January, it is surprisingly comfortable.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Now, they have launched the most extraordinary initiative to help artists, over 50% of whom found themselves out of work when the entertainment industry shut down.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s called Hold Fast to the Arts and asks people to support the performing arts to sponsor an eligible individual’s dining experience at the restaurant.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Brilliant. With a minimum $40 sponsorship, it ensures not only the chance to eat out for those struggling financially but sends them a message that people really care and that they remain a part of the community, even though they are unable to perform. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">We are holding fast in a time of crisis.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">You can read more at holdfastnyc.com/holdfasttothearts and, if you’re in the area, do pop by. It is the most welcoming place in the city, and the creativity with which Jason, Shane and Kiara have adapted their skills (Shane is also a fabulous photographer and has taken some incredible shots in this bizarrely transformed environment) is both admirable and heart-warming.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">If you can contribute something, great; if you are in need and would like to be a recipient of a meal, don’t be too proud to say so. All details are on the website. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">We’re all in this together.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">#HoldFast</span></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-55822352499671405282021-01-07T13:16:00.001-05:002021-01-12T12:50:15.316-05:0060 Things Not To Do After 60<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinGtFLbvg_i4mww7g-ZZNWgja7yi2Eu578_QIejjQ2Z0KLx09Lzo4E_Ky0GFOYpkuOSHGMTlSh2S0KPkuk-YReRv6x65-Qlb-ZbCQqVWNMpwIgm5uK1ytf6SpJefjKKFlb0AI87G9p7Jg/s600/depositphotos_84234556-stock-photo-colorful-paper-mache-number-on.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinGtFLbvg_i4mww7g-ZZNWgja7yi2Eu578_QIejjQ2Z0KLx09Lzo4E_Ky0GFOYpkuOSHGMTlSh2S0KPkuk-YReRv6x65-Qlb-ZbCQqVWNMpwIgm5uK1ytf6SpJefjKKFlb0AI87G9p7Jg/s320/depositphotos_84234556-stock-photo-colorful-paper-mache-number-on.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-large; text-align: left;">DO NOT...</span></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;">1. Regret anything. You’re too damned late and you’ll be dead before you get the chance to put it all right.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">2. Queue, unless you can blag your way to the front. Anything you want to see is on the telly or in a book.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">3. Try to understand men. Stop. You never will. They aren’t just from Mars; they are from another solar system yet to be discovered by real humans.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">4. Get your tits out for the lads. You should have stopped doing that 20, or even 30, years ago. No one wants to see them anymore.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">5. Believe in God. He ain’t there.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">6. Drink and text. You can’t hold your alcohol as well as you used to, and you have never got to grips with your iPhone touchpad screen.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">7. Run up an escalator that is going down. You won’t make it. Trust me on this one #paramedicsalert.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">8. Get in touch with exes on social networking. They really have moved on. You should, too.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">9. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Take up ice-skating. Are you nuts?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">10. Tell the doctor how many units of alcohol you drink. They really do know that 13 means 30 (plus).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">11. Tell anyone that William Hartnell was the best ever Dr Who.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">12. Sleep on the sofa because you can’t be arsed to walk 10 feet to the bedroom.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">13. Be lazy, drunkenly heading for the bathroom in the middle of the night. The white telephone table in the hallway only looks like the toilet; you have several more feet to go.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">14. Think that topping yourself is the answer to everything. You’ll never find out whether it really was.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">15. Lose touch with your oldest friends. They’ve stuck with you this long, so you can’t be all bad.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">16. Talk to yourself on the street. Nobody likes a loony.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">17. Think you will ever be rich. You won’t. You have left it way too late.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">18. Have Botox. You will look like a pastry case with no filling and people will wonder why you are smiling when they tell you their entire family has been killed in a plane crash.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">19. Buy a dog. It could well outlive you and probably have to be put down once it has paid its respects by urinating on your grave.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">20. Get married – unless there is loads of money, loads of sex, or a Green Card in it for you.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">21. Take advice from people. They are only ever talking about themselves.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">22. Think that life was so much better when you were poorer. At least you get to cry over a glass of champagne now, rather than tap water.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">23. Wear a bikini. You will just look like an underdressed tree trunk.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">24. Think you can make someone fall in love with you. They will or they won’t. It’s that simple. And that complicated.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">25. Start looking up every ache and pain on Google, or you will think you have five minutes to live.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">26. Check the gray in your pubic hair. It will really depress you.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">27. Check the gray in any lover’s pubic hair; that will depress you even more.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">28. Believe a 20-something year old when they say they are attracted to your maturity. For “maturity,” read “no strings-attached leg-over.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">29. Go platinum blonde in an effort to look younger. You will only end up looking like Myra Hindley’s less attractive sister.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">30. Contemplate any relationship with a man unless he is one who will put out the garbage.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">31. Accept lifts from strangers. You never learned that one, did you?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">32. Try to win a goldfish or coconut at the fairground. You never did during the first five decades of your life, so what makes you think your luck is going to change now?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">33. Buy a gun. You will only end up using it and end up in a box six feet under, or on Death Row.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">34. Say that you aren’t going to cry the next time you watch ET. You will. Keep a very large bucket next to you at all times.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">35. Watch Titanic. Life really is too short for that. And you know the ending anyway. It sinks. See? I’ve saved you the trouble already.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">36. Believe anything anyone ever tells you about penises. Especially men. And lesbians.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">37. Trust the soothing voice of a pilot when he says you are experiencing “a bit of turbulence.” You are closer to death than you know.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">38. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2c29; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Go to bed angry, if you're single. There is no one else there. You're on a hide into nothing. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">39. Ever try to help the police with their enquiries. You’re a suspect. You probably did it, but have forgotten.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">40. Start watching the Columbo marathon – because it never stops, and life as you know it will be over forever. You will even start wondering if this is what you should have been doing your entire life</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">41. Say the C word in the USA, or, if you speak Russian, the P word. “Prick,” however, is apparently perfectly acceptable.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">42. Breast-feed in public. Especially if you don’t have a baby.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">43. Start wondering if you are gay because you’ve never been married. You opted quite early on which side of the Penis vs the Furry Cup argument you were on, and there has been little evidence to prove you were wrong.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">44. Give up your seat to anyone on public transport, no matter how old, pregnant or infirm they are. You’ve been through shit, too; you’ve earned your spot.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">45. Try to rescue anyone appearing to be in trouble in the sea. They are waving, not drowning. You, however, will drown.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">46. Keep checking your phone. He hasn’t called. Never will.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">47. Think too much. It’s never got you anywhere.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">48. Lend anyone money. Borrow to your heart’s content, but don’t lend.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">49. Get into debt. Oh, too late.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">50. Start making lists of how your life has changed since hitting 60.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">51. Use a battery-operated device to shave your face and eyebrows when you've been drinking. You will end up looking like a turnip.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">52. Attempt to read Salman Rushdie again. You failed many times before. At this age, you will definitely be dead before making it to page 10 of any of his books.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">53. Cry yourself to sleep. You are dribbling into your pillow so much these days, you will be woken by your head thinking it is going down with the Titanic and nursing two baked potatoes under your eyes.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">54. Spend time with anyone who begins a sentence "You're gonna find this funny" or "You're gonna laugh at this." You won't. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">55. Think you can become a web designer. Life - your life, certainly - really is too short. The only thing you have time for is to choose the font for your coffin lid. Pay an expert. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">56. Try to pull out a stubborn champagne cork with your teeth. You won't have those teeth for much longer; enjoy them while you can.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">57. </span><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(42, 44, 41); color: #2a2c29; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Stand on your office chair with wheels to change a lightbulb/smoke alarm battery. It will not end well. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">58. Go hiking alone. You will end up stranded for days on a mountainside, having to drink your own urine until the rescue services arrive.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">59. Tell young people that everything was better in the olden days; in the 21st century, they already know that.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">60. Worry about a global pandemic killing you off; it'll never happen... Oh, wait...</span></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-87986961482770381912021-01-06T10:29:00.003-05:002021-01-06T10:32:22.825-05:00Olive and Mabel - Canine Superstars<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeFuyDu8fZo0hv3Fai0Fo3vTYelXUWesHzFtuXs7GksnB21CpHEKlUlj9hBL5NfOWJoC7igDV8054r12VGGoC6j7sclL8BAXQ2VuJvi0aM2X20Kp39TqJx8YIZejyUTFGZwiNb_auJtX4/s790/olive-and-mabell-crop-hb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="790" data-original-width="502" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeFuyDu8fZo0hv3Fai0Fo3vTYelXUWesHzFtuXs7GksnB21CpHEKlUlj9hBL5NfOWJoC7igDV8054r12VGGoC6j7sclL8BAXQ2VuJvi0aM2X20Kp39TqJx8YIZejyUTFGZwiNb_auJtX4/s320/olive-and-mabell-crop-hb.jpg" /></a></div><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px;">They are the internet stars of lockdown. A seven year old black Labrador named Olive and a three-year old yellow Labrador named Mabel. As humans the world over struggle to come to terms with the new normal of living under the constraints of a deadly virus, the canine duo continues to entertain us through their videos, courtesy of owner Andrew Cotter. Eating, playing, frolicking in water, even just sleeping – we cannot get enough of the dogs who have made headlines across the world. Spain, Germany, Canada, the USA – presenters, reporters and newscasters have given thanks for the joyous respite in a world in which there is currently very little to laugh about.</span><p></p><p><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px;">And now, published at the end of 2020, there’s a book – Olive, Mabel and Me, featuring stories and photographs of the world’s favorite canines, along with Andrew, the Walt Disney of the operation.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">Andrew is a freelance sports commentator, whose day job came to a halt when the virus put paid to sporting activity. Like so many whose income hit the pause button, he turned to other activities and took solace in his two faithful companions, adapting his commentating style to report on their day to day lives.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">It began simply enough: filming the dogs eating, with a voiceover analyzing their different techniques as they raced towards the finishing line that was the consumed meal. Quickly, it went viral, and the follow-up video Game of Bones quickly amassed ten million hits on Twitter – and counting. Today, Olive and Mabel are international superstars, in no small part due to Andrew’s wry humor, brilliant observational skills, and an affection for and understanding of these two adorable creatures. No one is more surprised than he at their phenomenal success.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">“It was just that absolute oddness of time that people were so focused on needing a laugh or something to distract them from all the seriousness that was going on; people were also more focused on the internet and social media, but I had no idea it was going to take off like it did.” Ryan Reynolds, Hugh Grant, Dawn French – celebrities the world over joined in the chorus of approval; lyricist Tim Rice, also an avid dog lover, even re-wrote the lyrics of Don’t Cry for Me Argentina as a homage to the dogs.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">For Andrew and his long-term partner Caroline, Olive and Mabel have been central to their coping in lockdown. “I’m not someone who goes to parties or the pub anyway, so it didn’t bother me initially, but then as it goes on and on, you realize that no matter how misanthropic a person thinks they are, we all need social interaction. I think it would have been very difficult without the dogs, and they are therapy, even if they’re just sitting beside you and you’re stroking them; you have that little anchor of normality, and you can lose yourself in the silliness of dogs. They are also very empathetic creatures and instinctively know when you’re feeling down or happy.”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">It’s not just at home that Olive and Mabel have been delivering their unique brand of therapy; Andrew has been inundated with thousands of messages, e-mails and letters of thanks from people telling him how the dogs have helped them in their isolation and stress. “That’s been the most extraordinary and gratifying part of it. You see what it’s meant to people just to have a laugh. They might tell you of a terrible day and say how much it meant to laugh for even 90 seconds. I had one letter from someone who said their mother had dementia and she took so much joy from the dogs. I’m not sure why I did the videos or continue to do them, but when you get a response from somebody and know you are making a difference for even just a short time, it’s humbling.”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">As a private person and someone who admits to lacking social skills, can bearing the weight of others’ problems feel too much? “I don’t want to say it’s overwhelming, because there are people being truly overwhelmed by a horrible time at the moment. You have to stop yourself and say I’ve got it pretty good compared to a lot of other people and you have to keep it in perspective. You want to do something for every single person, but you can’t because there are 5000 messages coming in, so you pick up a few and hope that you made a difference.”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">Having grown up around dogs, it was inevitable that Andrew would have his own and, when the BBC moved its sporting operations from London to Manchester, he and Caroline moved to Cheshire which, with its closer accessibility to the countryside and the Scottish mountains, made owning a dog a more viable option. He recalls being totally besotted when the picking up the puppy. Having considered different breeds, they decided upon a Labrador because, as Andrew says in the book, “They are just outstanding dogs . . . relentlessly optimistic and friendly, good tempered and handsome. Slightly greedy, that’s all” (just watch Olive, the gastric equivalent of Usain Bolt).</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">Four years later, they decided to have a second dog, and along came Mabel, the same breed but a very different creature altogether. “As puppies, the differences are less clear, because all puppies are mildly idiotic. Mabel, however, is still very puppyish and she’s always wagging her whole body. I don’t know how many times Mabel wags her tail in a day, but it must be over 10,000 times – her 10,000 steps. Actually, it’s probably 10,000 even before 10am.” Both names were chosen because Andrew likes dogs with two-syllabled (‘easier to call them’) human names, especially older sounding female ones.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">Olive is not a great tail wagger and Andrew sees his own personality as more akin to hers. If Andrew finds something funny, he says he might raise an eyebrow. But then Olive is more of a barker, Mabel a talker and more clingy. Both dogs love the outdoors and especially trips to the solace of the mountains, Andrew’s other great love; it’s nevertheless an area of life that reveals the very different personalities of each dog. “The weird thing about Mabel – well, there are many weird things about Mabel – is that she seems, quite often, as if she’s worried about it. She’s worried about things in general – probably about everything she’s read in the papers. She’s much more often to be found around my legs, whereas Olive will be off wandering. Olive is also a natural destroyer.”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">Did Olive feel usurped by her younger companion? “Initially, it was what always happens when a new dog is brought in: this is not normal. I’ve had this whole place to myself for the last four years and now this thing has come in. But within a few days they were getting on famously and playing together.”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">As the younger dog, Mabel looks to Olive for guidance, but is not averse to branching out on her own. “They’re not allowed to come upstairs unless invited, and whereas Olive will wait patiently, Mabel will invite herself up, creeping like a Ninja and just appear with a look of I know I’m not supposed to be here but I’m risking it anyway. But then if Olive wants something, she’ll take it. In this room, there is only one dog bed and if they both want to join me, Mabel will stand around, about to take the bed, and Olive will just come in like a missile, take it and curl up with Do Not Disturb air. Olive is also slightly calmer. She can be on her own slightly more easily than Mabel, who has no grasp of social distancing; she just likes company and is a little bit concerned for humanity.”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">The chapter of the book titled Irrational Beasts hilariously outlines other differences between the dogs. Neither likes the vet (and they both now know how to spell it, having clocked what VEE-EE-TEE means), and Olive has an aversion to certain surfaces – especially the VEE-EE-TEE’s floor. She also dislikes mechanical objects in the sky and other people on a mountain. Mabel, bizarrely, doesn’t like the beeps of a GoPro camera. </p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">The warmth with which Andrew talks about his dogs and the limitless love he has for them is as palpable in the book as in conversation; but how does it differ from the love one has for humans? He thinks long and hard before answering. “You feel very protective. Dogs have many, many abilities, but they are still totally dependent upon us for care. I can’t bear the thought of them being in distress or pain, or whatever it may be, so I suppose that’s the feeling.” </p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">It’s also there by the bucketload on his YouTube channel, where he posts the videos. They look effortless, but there’s a lot of work in the fantastic editing, done by his friend and colleague Tony Mabey. They have also attracted thousands of requests from people asking him to do commentaries on aspects of their own lives – including one request from a car wash company, wanting his dulcet tones to promote their business. </p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">His beautifully timed delivery and tone make it clear why he is also a first-class sports commentator (one person, oblivious to Andrew’s day job, wrote to suggest that he ought to try his hand at being one). His ability to imbue Olive and Mabel with human-like qualities is also so heartwarming, it’s easy to understand their instant popularity. Having quickly moved away from sporting style commentaries, he started to put the dogs in situations the rest of us encounter in our everyday lives. </p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">The Company Meeting is hilarious – Olive sitting calmly and wagging her tail upon hearing that management say she’s a very good dog, Mabel’s job under threat because of lack of focus and “the inappropriate stuff with Kevin the Doberman from accounts” (every word Andrew chooses is perfect: “If only she didn’t get such good results,” he sighs, in relation to Mabel’s attitude). Another sees the pair engage in online dating and lying in their resumes Andrew is examining online: “And you starred in the stage version of Marley and Me’ he says, incredulously, to Olive. “As what? As John? What, the owner?”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">Since lockdown has eased somewhat, the trio have taken to long hikes in the mountains once more, places where Andrew is most at peace. Although not a religious person, “Quite often, in the mountains,” he says, towards the end of the book, “you don’t have to believe in anything to find something.”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">It is impossible not to feel a sense of awe in these descriptive sections that take the reader on adventures with the trio; they make you want to grab the nearest hiking boots, buy a puppy and head for the hills. “We all feel shut down at the moment; it feels crowded and claustrophobic, and the chatter is constant, whether you’re hearing the news or reading the papers. I wanted the book to be an escape, not just into the world of dogs, but an escape into that quiet silence as well . . . just wide, open mountain around you – and maybe just a dog.” </p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">Ownership of any pet inevitably brings with it the knowledge that you will outlive them. In many wonderfully written, tender and poignant moments in the book, there is the underlying dread of enduring that loss, but “It is the deal we strike and the pact we make” and, ultimately, “Everything is the better for them.” He says that from the moment he had Olive as a puppy, it was tinged with sadness that it wouldn’t be permanent. “I wish I could have you forever – but that’s just the difficulty of having dogs. You’re always thinking this is going to be too short, but they’re just getting on, doing dog things, quite happy with life.”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">He wouldn’t describe himself as a miserable person, but there is an exquisite melancholy in the book’s conclusion, reflecting on the bizarre and difficult year the world has encountered (“the peaks unclimbed”). It is a time, however, in which he has undoubtedly benefited from the dynamic duo – the “stability and normality” they have brought to life in uncertain times. “We’re all at a bit of a junction, aren’t we, and who knows which way it’s going to go. But I’m feeling optimistic. The curve of human development is up and although we’re in a bit of a trough at the moment, eventually we’ll come out of it and be on the way up. So that’s my Labrador thought for the day.”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">So, if he were to do an Olive and Mabel style commentary on himself, from the outside looking in, right now, how would it go? There’s a long, contemplative pause. “Hmmm. Here’s this middle-aged man, slightly confused, seems a little bit grumpy but desperately trying to pick things up and find a bit of work, and there he is going to his dogs once again. Why? I don’t know, but he needs them, they need him and it’s a symbiotic relationship and they can’t be without each other. And who knows what the future holds. But I think as long as he’s got Olive and Mabel, they’re going to be all right.” </p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">Woof woof to that. </p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">Olive, Mabel and Me is published by Black & White Publishing, $21.49 (US), £20 (UK)</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(61, 62, 64); color: #3d3e40; font-family: "Noto Serif", serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto; transform: translateY(0.4145em);">Tune in to Olive and Mabel at mrandrewcotter on YouTube, and keep up with @mrandrewcotter on Twitter</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-18594599054178002322021-01-05T12:27:00.002-05:002021-01-12T13:18:47.794-05:00Donald Trump: The Orange Blob From Outer Space<p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; transform: translateY(0.4145em);"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZxqp9WYix_HN8ZRhEkCEqYpZoRJ-m6zQEdJD2wvXOhkuGY_wcqCyUoojLq1joTXz4q9qYFedocPSJpPc-1VAfP8fWeqeRHosL1v-VBZ3VSg6Pn8WhblhpNIVX_a6gvDXhCeKm7JKpiPc/s1296/donald_trump_4_h_15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="730" data-original-width="1296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZxqp9WYix_HN8ZRhEkCEqYpZoRJ-m6zQEdJD2wvXOhkuGY_wcqCyUoojLq1joTXz4q9qYFedocPSJpPc-1VAfP8fWeqeRHosL1v-VBZ3VSg6Pn8WhblhpNIVX_a6gvDXhCeKm7JKpiPc/s320/donald_trump_4_h_15.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; transform: translateY(0.4145em);"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>The Blob. A horrid orange lump of an alien comes from outer space to wreak havoc upon the lives of a small rural Pennsylvania town. The 1958 science fiction-horror film (re-made in 1988) was distributed by Paramount Pictures as a double feature with I Married a Monster from Outer Space. Prophecy?</span><p></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; transform: translateY(0.4145em);"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Sixty-two years later, it’s hard not to think the film was exactly that. In 2016, the orange blob was elected President; Melania found herself married to it. We have been living that double feature for four years.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; transform: translateY(0.4145em);"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I decided to come to America on the eve of my 50<span style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 0; position: relative; top: -0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;">th</span> birthday, November 4<span style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 0; position: relative; top: -0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;">th</span>, 2008, which was the day Barack Obama was declared the next President of the United States. I so wanted to be part of history; to live in a progressive country that had the foresight to elect a black man to the highest office in the land. I cried tears of joy and, just weeks later, found myself in Los Angeles at the start of an adventure that sees me still here 12 years later.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; transform: translateY(0.4145em);"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">In 2016, I found myself sobbing in a bar as the election results were announced. The orange alien had descended and was among us. In the film, the blob grows redder as its power increases and, since Joe Biden was announced as the winner, the orange one’s redness has increased to the extent he looks as if he’s on the point of self-combustion. If Covid didn’t get him, his internal anger eventually will. The heart can take a lot of beating from external forces; what it can’t sustain is being its own punchbag. </span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; transform: translateY(0.4145em);"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I recall seeing The Blob in 3D – the first time I had ever been given 3D glasses to wear in the cinema – but nothing could have prepared me for the three-dimensionality of the past four years. Can this be real, I have asked myself over and over, reading Trump’s deranged rants as he conducted foreign policy on Twitter? Did he genuinely not care about the American people as they faced the terror of Covid, the monster blob, whose chief job was maybe to take out the lesser blob (and succeeded)? Did he really refuse to recommend mask-wearing, say 13 times that the virus would just go away, and it would be “beautiful” – then have the audacity to say that the development of a vaccine happened on his watch? No, Mr Blobby: it happened in spite of you, not because of you. </span></p><figure class="wp-block-image size-large" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 1em 40px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-705" height="174" loading="lazy" src="https://i0.wp.com/jacistephen.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/11/th-1.jpeg?resize=286%2C174&ssl=1" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; height: auto; max-width: 100%;" width="286" /></span></figure><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; transform: translateY(0.4145em);"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">But now, there is hope, and we can look forward to that future feature: Return to Outer Space. We’re not quite there yet. At the end of The Blob, the creature is frozen and transported to the Arctic, and Dave says that although the monster is not dead, it will at least be stopped. “Yeah,” says Steve, “as long as the Arctic stays cold.” As the blob is lowered onto an arctic ice field, the superimposed words “The End” morph into a question mark.</span></p><p></p><div class="sharedaddy sd-sharing-enabled" style="box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; margin-bottom: 30px;"></div><p></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 2.25em; padding: 0px; transform: translateY(0.4145em);"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Climate change could yet see the orange alien descend upon us yet again. </span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-76680729318999893642021-01-03T00:21:00.005-05:002021-01-03T00:22:30.592-05:00Love, Loss, and Gratitude<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> The cliché goes: “It’s always around Christmas.” </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Illness. Death. Heartbreak. But the truth is, “it” is around us just as much every other day of the year – and especially so in 2020; it’s just that at Christmas, it feels more poignant because it’s a time when we are all supposed to be feeling jolly with the yo-ho-ho-ness of it all – and this year, it was hard to summon up the tiniest yo-ho. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Christmas in adulthood is inevitably different from how we felt as children; it doesn’t mean that we are incapable of joy, but pleasure comes tempered with the knowledge of corresponding sadness.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I lost my father just after Christmas in 1990 and my mother in April 2019. During 2020, many other friends lost a parent, and so many others the world over lost loved ones to Covid. Death felt like the unwanted guest at the festive dinner table this year.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It is hard to think of anything new to say about the one thing that every living creature has in common. We are all born, and we will all die - there you go, another cliché, but no less poignant for its being so.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">But it is in times of loss that we find comfort in clichés: they are a uniting force in a world that continues to separate us in so many ways. Clichés are the emotional levellers: the things that strip us to the core and reveal that, at their deepest level, our raw, primal instincts are the same: we want to love and we want to be loved, and the thought of either being taken away is, at best, painful; at worst, unbearable.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The manifestation of those two primal urges leads us into all sorts of difficult territory - desire, jealousy, insecurity, paranoia… I could go on - but when we lose love, it hauls us back to the heart of the matter: the very beating of existence, physically and emotionally, that defines us, independent of the social mores and other “stuff” we find ourselves heaping upon it to make life more difficult than it need be.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Because, as better people have said, in superior clichés from those I am managing, love is all. Corinthians 13 tells us everything that love should be, in its purest form, but it’s pretty unsustainable in the modern world. But, when the physical body of a loved relative or friend departs, one is left with that very spirit, the essence, of love - at least, if you have been lucky in the people with whom you have encountered it. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">We may delude ourselves in sugar-coating the less than savory aspects; we may hide our grievances and guilt in shadows we might not wish to revisit for many years; we may lie to ourselves and others about life, death, and everything in between. But in that moment of departure and what it entails, we become as babies once more, especially when that death is one’s mother: the being who brought you into the world; the person who, literally, gave you life. You really are on your own now; the umbilical cord severed.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">At the end of a very difficult year, this wasn’t quite how I imagined wishing everyone a happy 2021, because, in these unpredictable times, we really can’t gauge anything, least of all happiness. So, I’m going to change it slightly and wish you all a Loving New Year. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">For me, 2020 was a year of some great stuff, some less than good, to say the least (most people would say the same, I suspect); a time in which I learnt a lot and, I hope, shared knowledge I have been lucky to glean, with others. It was a year in which I was often great fun and, I have to be honest, at times a right pain in the ass. A year in which my friends loved me for the former and forgave me for the latter - and in which I, too, loved and forgave them for both, too. It was a year in which we had to give everyone a wide berth.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Because we’re human beings. That’s what we do. We mess up and we repair. None of us sets out to do a bad job, and the fact that we end up doing so at times doesn’t really matter; it’s how we put it right that counts. And the people who love us know that. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And so, my sincere condolences to my friends who have lost people dear to them this year, and my thoughts and positive vibes go out to the many people I know face ongoing difficulties with treatment for their various illnesses; you are braver than I could ever be.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I am blessed having you all in my life, and thank you for your patience, kindness, acceptance of my eccentricities (even though, to me, I am the most normal person on the planet, obviously). In this year, more than any other, thank you for the music of laughter.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I send you all the love I have for the year ahead. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Read more at jacistephen.com</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-55492468311310573272021-01-02T15:10:00.004-05:002021-01-02T15:17:35.391-05:00I Could Have Prommed All Night - Why I Loved The Prom<p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3eY5YMVsLgh8Gi0PJjiYmqQ2jPBOtm_iI3Oox8pTydteOPtw6PDp6yAiGtOZuPnzer7iCWlPEGQMYrkmmnYQFrlC2EPcPJIcC2cyK0WYrFmUWetoIZ8LQ4zR2IKi9OAMUTXFUlp_sqrk/s305/ems.ZW1zLXByZC1hc3NldHMvbW92aWVzL2QzNTMxNDUyLWM3NmEtNDk2MS05Y2I1LTBmZGRkMGI4MGU5MC5qcGc%253D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="305" data-original-width="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3eY5YMVsLgh8Gi0PJjiYmqQ2jPBOtm_iI3Oox8pTydteOPtw6PDp6yAiGtOZuPnzer7iCWlPEGQMYrkmmnYQFrlC2EPcPJIcC2cyK0WYrFmUWetoIZ8LQ4zR2IKi9OAMUTXFUlp_sqrk/s0/ems.ZW1zLXByZC1hc3NldHMvbW92aWVzL2QzNTMxNDUyLWM3NmEtNDk2MS05Y2I1LTBmZGRkMGI4MGU5MC5qcGc%253D.jpeg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />For the first hour, I was hooked. When a movie has the title I’m Thinking of Ending Things, and the opening voiceover begins with a character saying precisely that, you’re kind of interested. I made it to a little over half time when, quite frankly, I was thinking of ending things. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The road trip taken by boyfriend and girlfriend Lucy (Jessie Buckley) and Jake (Jesse Plemons) seemed longer than the road. I doubt there’s a road in the world capable of accommodating the conversation that went down in that vehicle (Wordsworth? Really? You could walk the length of the Great Wall of China and not finish reciting his work). I just about managed the journey to the Jake’s parents’ house in the middle of nowhere; but having to endure it all the way back again? </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I won’t even try to explain the movie, but if you’re into pervy killer caretakers, suspicious basements, Alzheimer’s, snowstorms, and the musical Oklahoma! then this one’s definitely for you. Enjoy.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">For me, though, it was a huge relief to turn to The Prom, and it made me glad I had decided not to end things. The arsenic is back on the top shelf, although I have heard it might have to come back down for Nomadland which, although apparently wonderful, has put all my friends on suicide watch. I may yet want to end things.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">But back to The Prom. Based on the Broadway musical and directed by Ryan Murphy, it’s a real feelgood movie from Netflix. I loved it. Uplifting, joyous, great music, fabulous performances; it was just what I needed to bring me down from the ledge - not just from the previous movie, but from 2020 as a whole.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Its detractors have criticized the straight James Corden being cast as a gay man; others have criticized the fact that his character, Barry, is a stereotypical gay – a theatrical actor (pronounce that as act-awwwwww), with a skill for transforming lesbians into swans through his make-up and costume skills.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Personally, I love Corden’s performance and found it no less stereotypical than every other character in the movie, not to mention the plot; that’s the point. It’s a play within a play – the four leads are like the Rude Mechanicals of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream: they are all stereotypical and, as actors, stepping out of their normal roles into the second play that is someone else’s story. They are performers who, within the second play, find themselves reflecting on the reality (albeit a false one) they have created in the main drama of their lives. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">There’s the egotistical, handsome Trent (Andrew Rannells), the girl-who-never-gets-the-part Angie (Nicole Kidman), and the selfish, ego-driven diva, Dee Dee (Meryl Streep, in magnificent form). Stereotypes, all. And all the more glorious for it. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As for a straight man not being allowed to play a gay… for gawd’s sake. Corden is a huge talent, whose singing and dancing is in top form, and he also brings depth to the character’s evolvement. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s called acting. Straights should be allowed to play gays without being admonished for it; anyone should be allowed to play anyone if they are right for the part. Where do we go next, if this ridiculous logic continues to prevail? Ban the likes of Hugh Jackman from something like The Greatest Showman because he’s never run a circus? Consign the entire 10 years of Frasier to the scrapheap because gay David Hyde Pierce played Niles, a straight man sexually obsessed with a British woman? </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">So, I am not going to feel guilty for loving The Prom, on either front.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Stereotypes exist in real life; that doesn’t mean they can’t, or shouldn’t be, represented. Well over 50% of my friends are gay men and, yes, a lot of them working in the acting profession and/or theatre are stereotypical (so are a lot of my straight friends, come to that). So what? </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And actors act. It’s what they’re paid to do and what we pay to watch. There’s a truly wonderful speech that Dee Dee’s love interest, Tom (Keegan-Michael Key), delivers about exactly that, and it delivers the third dimension: the person outside the play, watching the play within the play, and that character inadvertently becomes the director of both, and dictates both outcomes – he’s the hero (and he’s black – there you go!). It’s a very clever device and one that has been overlooked amid the outrage. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">So, until you can find me a man who can turn water into wine, who would absolutely nail the miracle performing part of the audition, I’m happy to carry on seeing anyone play Jesus. Yes, even James Corden. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Read more on jacistephen.com</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-18654968253116051102021-01-01T14:33:00.007-05:002021-01-02T15:24:20.098-05:002019 Wasn't All Bad<p><span style="font-size: medium;">To be honest, 2019 was a far worse year for me than 2020, but then the past four haven’t been great. I lost Mum in 2019 and that pretty much made it one of the worst years imaginable, despite the many stresses that had been related to, and that preceded it (yes, 2018 was right down there with the worst of them, too).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I lost quite a few friends to Covid, and others through different causes; I saw friends and family lose the people closest to them; I watched a US election in despair as the narcissistic creature who is not worthy of the office still refuses to acknowledge defeat.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">So, I’m going to focus on some good things that happened during 2020 for which I am so grateful and that would never have happened, had this ghastly plague not been visited upon us.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">1.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I started to talk in ridiculously over-the-top Biblical language such as “this ghastly plague not been visited upon us.” But it got me looking up what might have been worse, had we lived in Old Testament Egypt. Here goes: water turning to blood, frogs, lice/gnats, wild animals/flies, livestock pestilence, boils, thunderstorms of hail and fire, locusts, three-day darkness, death of firstborn. Try finding a vaccine for that little lot. We don’t know we’re born. See (inadvertent joke about the 10th plague)? You’re feeling better already and it’s only January 1st.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">2.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In July, I took up residence in Beacon, technically a city, but more of a town, 90 minutes outside Grand Central on the train. The journey itself is a joy, and I’ve met some wonderful people, particularly in the Roosevelt Bar in Hudson Valley Food Hall, where owner Marko and his family, in addition to several others, have become friends. I love having more space than in my city apartment and I enjoy commuting between the two places. I have had to learn to love green things, like grass and trees: not easy for someone for whom a lettuce poses an existential threat.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">3.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I brushed up on my French and started to learn Italian and Spanish (again). The Italian has been going quite well; the Spanish less so. But given that I lived in Spain for 10 years and got no further than “taco” and “Don’t kill the f*****g bull!”, that’s hardly surprising. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">4.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I touched base with friends I haven’t spoken to in years – decades, in some cases. Life takes us all on such different routes, but it’s good to discover that the things you liked about people when you first met them are still there. And I healed wounds with others, not least through the realization that we waste too much time sweating the small stuff.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">5.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I made new friends, mainly through Facebook, which has been my comfort and joy through so many tough times. We have all shared so much, good and bad, and I have met with more kindness than I could ever have dreamed of. True, I had to sack some people who became rude or aggressive and picked on me and/or my friends, but there’s nothing wrong with separating the sheep from the goats. It’s in the Bible, so it must be okay! And I ended up with more sheep (I think they were the goodies).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">6.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I’ve spoken to my brother Nigel and his wife Kim probably more than we have in any other year. I love them both so much and am incredibly lucky to have them in my life. It’s been tough since Mum died and having someone so close who has been going through the same thing has been of invaluable comfort. It made me think how tough these things must be for single people with no siblings.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">7.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I started my own website, thanks to Jayne Gould, a brilliant designer who I met when we first worked on the London Evening Standard in the late Eighties. She is truly amazing, and I learn so much from her every day. Her main task is to stop me pushing buttons, buying up domains that I am convinced are going to earn me my fortune. I’m not sure she signed up to be my internet life coach, but she carries out that task extremely well. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">8.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I’ve always loved cooking, but I did even more and took it to my YouTube channel, Jaci’s Box – another addition to my internet repertoire. I just love talking to a camera, but then I already knew that. I once did a TV show for which I was required to live a healthy lifestyle for two weeks. On day one, the director left me with a dozen VHS tapes, as I was required to deliver my feelings to camera every night. She made me promise over and over that I would comply, because most people forgot, or were reluctant to do it. On day two, she turned up, and, having talked my way through the night about anything that took my fancy, I proudly handed over the pile of tapes – all 12 of them. “They were for the fortnight!” she cried. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">9.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I made a huge decision to give away most of my belongings that had been lying in storage in Cardiff. Yes, there are days when I regret it, mourning for the beautiful china and glasses that Mum bought me, the expensive furniture, the presents that friends and family gave me for special occasions. But it was the right thing to do: it’s the past. That was then; this is now. The items have gone to good homes and have helped out young people starting out in life. It’s as it should be: stuff needs to breathe and enjoy life, too.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">10.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I will never again underestimate the benefits of overstocking on toilet paper. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Happy 2021, everyone</span></p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Read more at </i></span></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">https://jacistephen.com</span></h3><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="" border="0" class="placeholder" height="240" id="33150f08d6fba" src="https://www.blogger.com/img/transparent.gif" style="background-color: #d8d8d8; background-image: url('https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/i/materialiconsextended/insert_photo/v6/grey600-24dp/1x/baseline_insert_photo_grey600_24dp.png'); background-position: 50% 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat; opacity: 0.6;" width="320" /></span></div><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-9658591172036833772021-01-01T13:56:00.016-05:002021-01-12T10:47:06.365-05:00Hallmark's Easy Guide to Christmas Love - All Year Round!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNt1bVSHUn7AEaSSttkuAkkHHslirKiJKB7CKXEhQbCrOiW-VfoQtnGyQAKQ-9YeEGpEzPllyeuNn0Nqr9E5gWQxw47bsIjfxK3g67SvxDIj21eOJG_IL-tmMEwGenBur7qbhYwqnplrk/s304/shopping.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="304" data-original-width="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNt1bVSHUn7AEaSSttkuAkkHHslirKiJKB7CKXEhQbCrOiW-VfoQtnGyQAKQ-9YeEGpEzPllyeuNn0Nqr9E5gWQxw47bsIjfxK3g67SvxDIj21eOJG_IL-tmMEwGenBur7qbhYwqnplrk/s0/shopping.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Enough is enough.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Hallmark has announced that it is to show Christmas movies all year round on Thursdays. God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen – seriously, please; I’m begging you. Give it a rest.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It was bad enough when they started showing them on their Movie Channel on Thursday nights last August; next, when they started showing them on an endless loop in October.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It was bad enough when they started showing them on their Movie Channel on Thursday nights in August; next, when they started showing them on an endless loop in October.</span></p><div><span style="font-size: large;">And then, to add insult to injury, festive movies commandeered the Hallmark Mysteries channel.</span></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Gone were my nocturnal treats Murder, She Wrote and Hart to Hart; I was thrust into the worst hell imaginable – non-stop jingle bells cheer. Who was the monster who came up with Wizard’s lyric “I wish it could be Christmas every day?” </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">No, I don’t. One day is bad enough, as it is.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s hard to believe that there are so many of these movies. I’ve yet to see one twice, which leads me to the conclusion that they are making at least a dozen more while I sleep. The formula is so simple, I know I could actually write them in my sleep.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Here’s the general gist of them and the essential ingredients:</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">1.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Small town. Heaven forbid that any of the characters might have experienced life in a big city; that would make them think twice about the only single person arriving in said town and wondering if they could do better if they moved to LA.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">2.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Forget a big city: no local has ever been anywhere, done anything, or set foot on a plane; no one has ever seen, let alone read, a book. Hence the excitement when fresh meat arrives – always on a bus, to give the stranger an air of “normality” (or to protect their identity, because they are, in reality, a multi-millionaire and not wanting to attract the town’s gold-digger - the rival to the key love interest and always a nasty piece of work who gets their comeuppance).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">3.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The small town is always snowed in at Christmas. Forget finding romance in LA; unless you can don a bobble hat and scarf in freezing temperatures, love will always elude you.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">4.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There is only ever one available, single person in the whole vicinity: a woman or man whose life is unfulfilled: generally, a widow or widower with a cute kid and, just for fun, a terminally ill relative. The kid still believes in Santa, hoping that he will bring the ultimate Christmas present – a new mom or dad.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">5.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The single person is absurdly handsome or attractive: the men usually have dark hair; the women always have long hair. They are all very white. Of course. Apart from the occasional mail man. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">6.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The single person lives in a ridiculously large mansion. How they can afford it remains a mystery, especially on the income from a nondescript job in advertising (it’s always advertising or teaching) that requires them never to see clients, go to an office, or pick up the phone. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">7.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Enter single person number two: a man or woman who, for no particular reason (usually that same nondescript job in advertising) rolls into town, disillusioned with life and nursing a broken heart. A veteran returning from war with PTSD (and/or an injury – both is a bonus) proves especially attractive for the one lady who hasn’t had sex in three years but is sure she can resurrect that battered, war torn organ. When she does, there will be a baby (but not yet – don’t jump the gun… which is probably what she said to herself before she did just that).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">8.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The couple meet and are instantly attracted to each other but have a dark secret that is revealed on Christmas Eve, thereby ensuring that everyone has a potentially disastrous time.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">9.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A visit to the ice rink where no one ever falls over proves the catalyst for the couple to iron out their differences, while the cute kid plays Cupid and thanks Santa for giving him/her the best Christmas ever. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">10.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>All the handsome, single men are obviously gay: something that always passes the heroine by, but not viewers, for whom shouting “He’s gay! Stop wasting your time!” makes the whole ghastly Hallmark viewing experience worthwhile.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And there you have it! Happy viewing!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b>Read more at https://jacistephen.com</b></i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-62350173207878727222020-10-05T12:47:00.002-04:002020-10-05T15:33:53.914-04:00HOW TO BE . . . A COUNTRY BUMPKIN (PART II) IN AMERICA<p class="p2" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">Okay, part II of my new life as a country bumpkin. </p><p class="p3" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">I haven’t taken to wearing dungarees, chewing on straw and belting out Tammy Wynette numbers just yet, but my country living is still in its infancy and there is a lot to learn.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p3" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">To be honest, the motivation that led me to seek solace away from New York City was unexpected. As an adult, I’ve lived in cities all my life, in several countries. I love the flexibility that city life offers – of restaurants, night life, people. Coronavirus and lockdown changed all that, and NYC in particular feels less safe. Crime and violence have increased to such an extent, I no longer feel at ease on the streets where I once happily wandered home from my local bar at 4am (always the last order at the food truck en route). Being seated six feet apart from people when dining gives me a sense of isolation that often reduces me to tears. I am very lucky to have work and my health; despite having been sick, I now have the virus antibodies – and yes, I know they don’t necessarily last, so I err on the side of caution. I was just ready for a change of scenery, and one that didn’t involve a trek to the airport for a long flight to the UK or LA and being trapped at Minneapolis airport for eight hours.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I still have my apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, but since moving to Beacon, I spend less time in the city. Being in the country brings so many benefits but is not without its stresses, too. So, here’s a follow-up to the last blog, at a time when I am learning how to adapt to this vast change of lifestyle.</p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">1. There are no 24-hour stores in which to buy a pint of milk for my essential morning cup of tea. It is quicker to find a cow and pull on its udders it than wait for Key Foods to open</p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">2. Everyone knows who you are and where you came from within a week. In these isolating times, it’s rather comforting. “Oh, <i>you’re </i>English Jaci,” I get in tones that might mean “Great to meet you”, or “So you’re the nut job we’ve been hearing about”. It seems churlish to correct people on my country of origin, and nobody understands it anyway. I can spend a 45-minute ride to the airport with a taxi driver, painstakingly explaining the geography of the UK, only to arrive at my destination with a parting: “So Wales is the capital of England?” Whaddever.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">3. People are breathtakingly nice here – so much so, that I think they must be bag snatchers, just warming me up for the big SWAG descent. In the city, I take all my belongings to the rest room, just to be on the safe side – the only downer being that the waiter thinks I have left, and I return from the rest room to discover he/she has thrown away my dinner.</p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">4. Unlike most people, I’ve never found NYC that expensive. You have to know where to go, what deals there are to be struck, both spoken and unspoken, and this applies pretty much to every bar and restaurant when you are a regular. By comparison, the country is extortionate. I talked about upstate NY in Part I, but here’s a more detailed breakdown about my visit to Hudson, a lovely town further up the valley, where the cheapest hotel room available was $884.80 – for just two nights! SIX HUNDRED AND NINETY SIX POUNDS. A meal for two of us, with tip, was close on $300, and we didn’t even have a bottle of wine, just a couple of glasses each. I know I am repeating myself, but I’m still in shock. The story is that with the mass exodus from NYC, everyone has put up their prices, although locals tell me it’s always been this way because the assumption is that visiting New Yorkers are the ones with the dosh to throw around.</p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">5. Hiking. Everyone’s a bloody hiker. I’m not. I walk a lot, usually miles a day, but I am not going to head off into the hills in a pair of worn leather boots, nursing a water bottle. Neither am I desperate to hear anyone’s tales of having done that. Unless I can see a Marriott by standing on a small box, I have no interest in the prospect of being trapped on a mountainside, away from civilisation and having to drink my own urine until the rescue services arrive.</p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">6. Alcohol in my local wine shop is close on double the price of what I pay in NYC, where I have 15% off at my local store, Grand Cru, and 30% off on the delivery order I make online with Union Square Wines. The latter recently did a deal in which they offered free delivery anywhere in New York State. I ordered so much to be sent to Beacon, they must have thought all their Christmases had come at once. The number of boxes in my apartment also made it look as if all my Christmases had come at once. All 61 of them.</p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">7. Conductors on the Metro North line I take to and from Grand Central Station are so polite and friendly, I think they must be in league with the SWAG snatchers. When I show them my barcoded ticket on my iPhone, I expect them to whip it from my hand and jump from the moving train, leaping for joy at their latest stash.</p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">8. Restaurant staff are equally polite. After just one visit to my local Italian, Brothers Trattoria, I was greeted like a long lost relative – “JACI! MY FRIEND!” – and even though neither of the brothers is Italian, I greet them with the enthusiasm of Don Corleone after a successful hitjob. </p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">9. The Hudson Valley continues to astound me with its beauty and, with fall upon us, the changing colour of the leaves warms my heart at what is and has always been, my favourite season.</p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">10. Where do I celebrate my birthday next month? That’s the big question. Most of my friends are in the city, but my new local, the Roosevelt Bar in Hudson Valley Food Hall is such a joy, I’m tempted to celebrate in the country. Country bumpkin or city girl? Decisions, decisions.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0px 36px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-65304041521599885652020-09-28T21:17:00.008-04:002020-09-28T21:48:58.851-04:00HOW TO BE . . . A COUNTRY BUMPKIN (PART I) IN AMERICA<p>
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Name="List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Closing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Message Header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Salutation"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Date"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Block Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Theme"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
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</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="background: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So, before I upset people
from rural areas who might assume I am calling them unsophisticated and stupid,
I am not. I have met dozens of unsophisticated and stupid people in the many
cities in which I’ve lived or visited the world over; I grew up in the
countryside (actually, bad example: the headmaster at my junior school told me
that unless you were wearing glasses by the age of seven, you were destined to
be one of life’s failures. I started wearing them at 50, you four-eyed twat).</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="background: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Interestingly, 'bumpkin' was
originally the name that the English had for the Dutch, whom they portrayed as
small, comic and tubby. Now, that sounds far more accurate, at least in my
case. Despite my having lost 10lbs in weight during lockdown, I still have
quite a round middle, I am still only five feet tall, and I am still hilarious
(although I suspect the phrase means being laughed at, rather than with. That’s
ok, poke fun at me at your peril; my pen really is mightier than your sword will
ever be, you lily-livered lummox – if you just had to Google lummox, you really
need to get thee to a sword-sharpener, pronto).</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="background: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Under normal circumstances,
I’m not very good being surrounded by greenery; even the lettuce section in a
supermarket has me running for cover behind the mushrooms. I love the Seine and
the Hudson that are the heart of Paris and New York City, respectively, and have
now lived for equal amounts of time in both (seven years – and still counting,
in the case of NYC). I crave late nights, meeting people from out of town
(bumpkins), and having the widest choice in food, drink and ambience. In
essence, I like to live life in a Lights, Camera, Action kind of way (I have to
be the star, by the way; back of the queue, bumpkins).</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="background: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Coronavirus and subsequent
lockdown changed all that. Initially the epicenter (US spelling with that word
now – live with it) of the virus, the state of New York was brought under
control by stringent measures that, although tough, were largely adhered to and
pushed the state, in particular the City, right down to the bottom of the
infection and death rate chart.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="background: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But the civil unrest that
came following the death of George Floyd has made the City feel less safe;
also, hotels being utilised to house the homeless brought a whole new set of
problems. I have utmost sympathy with the dispossessed and disenfranchised in
any society, but these hotels have become, in some part, safe havens for people
who, at night, go out to hound diners forced to eat outdoors, or anyone just
out for an evening stroll. Times Square is a hideous theatre of hypodermic
syringes. I’ve been harassed for money and have been verbally attacked for
being white (never small, comic and tubby, funnily enough).</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="background: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So, I started to look for an
escape in upstate NY – a place I did not know well, having visited the smallish
city of Beacon just three times. I returned to take another look in July.
Indoor dining had already resumed (NYC doesn’t get it until Wednesday this
week, and even then, at only 25% capacity), people largely obeyed the
compulsory wearing of masks, and life had returned to some semblance of
normality. </span><span style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="background: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I decided to split my time
between NYC and Beacon. I’ve spent the past 25 years living in at least two
places at the same time and while I know it’s an extravagance, I prefer to
spend my money on that rather than on clothes, shoes, et al. I am not good
staying in hotels, where loneliness consumes me, and the number of people who
die in hotel rooms, either by their own hand or by accident is never a surprise
to me.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="background: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I need my nest . . . well,
nests . . . and so installed myself in Beacon, in two-bedroom, two-bathroom
apartment (much cheaper than my place in NYC and $1700pm cheaper – though not
so cheap when you decide you need both). I have a balcony with a view of the
Hudson, the same as I have in Manhattan, and am slowly adjusting to the pace of
country life.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="background: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My life has changed in oh, so
many ways, and this is going to take a follow-up blog to be able to tell you
how. But let’s start here, with just a few thoughts about my new country life.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="background: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1. There are no single,
successful, heterosexual men looking for a Dutch-like small, comic and tubby
woman of a certain age, just as there were none in NYC, Paris, Wales, London,
Marbella, Los Angeles. I am fast running out of continents and have now,
officially, given up.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="background: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2. Why would I go apple
picking? There is a thing called a supermarket, where they wrap fruit in bags
for you, thereby allowing you more time to spend at the bar not picking apples.
And I hate apples. Well, maybe hate is too strong, but they seem to take a lot
of effort: peeling, getting the maggots out, de-coring them. It’s why I never
got into drugs. How can anyone be arsed to go through the palaver of rolling,
sucking, injecting, or whatever they do? A ring-pull on a can of Stella is as
much work as I ever want to put in of an evening.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="background: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">3. I am even more of an
All You Can Eat Buffet for insects in the country than I am in the City. In
NYC, mosquitoes munch on my ankles; in the country, the mosquitoes can’t get
near because of the fleas that seem to have a lease on everything if it stands
still long enough.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="background: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">4. Everything in the
country is stupidly expensive, with upstate NY taking advantage of the mass
exodus from the City and charging people stupid money: the cheapest hotel in
Hudson last weekend came in at $484.80 – for one night. Dinner was between
$200-$300 for two, with just a couple of glasses of wine, not even a bottle.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="background: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">5. Enjoyed train journey
back to the City.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="background: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">More thoughts to follow in
Part II. Right now, too busy peeling apples.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="background: white; color: #4c4c4c; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<!--EndFragment--><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-42502591641206263132020-09-18T13:15:00.005-04:002020-11-16T23:48:38.728-05:00SERIAL KILLERS AND DOWNTON WITH NOODLES<p> </p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px;">You can never find a plumber when you need one. And then, what are the chances, when you have a blocked drain, that an expert turns up and uncovers evidence that you’re a serial killer.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The irony in this story is that Dennis Nilsen, the subject of Des (the nickname Nilsen gave himself), is the person who calls in the drains man, claiming the bones of a takeaway are the guilty party in the blockage. It’s all over when the police ask, ‘Where’s the rest of the body?’ and Nilsen says, ‘In the cupboard.’ Suffice it to say they didn’t find a side of fries.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Based on Brian Masters’s book, Killing for Company, the three-parter begins by painting a picture of Britain in 1983 and, in particular, London, where the streets are full of vulnerable homeless who have come to the city in search of a better life. Some of them might have found it, had it not been for the seemingly ordinary civil servant working in Kentish Town Job Centre, picking up boys and men in bars and taking them home to strangle or drown them and tend their corpses. An estimated 20 victims met their gruesome ends in his two apartments.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">This is a true horror story that David Tennant (Nilsen) makes all the more chilling in his extraordinary, understated portrayal. The calm and ease with which Nilsen initially speaks with the police is downright creepy in Tennant’s performance: the fixed stare, the ego quietly enjoying being centre stage, his bizarre relationship with Masters and what might be written about the crimes. ‘I just don’t want those poor men exploited,’ he says, during their first meeting. ‘I’m here to comprehend,’ says Masters.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It’s a long time since I read the book but remember being struck by what, as a gay man himself, seemed to be Masters’s morbid and, at times, almost salacious fascination with Nilsen’s world. It is a great read, though, and one that delivers a far deeper, more complex exploration of the subject than the drama, which to me should have focused more on the perspective from the biographer’s point of view, rather than that of the police. </p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Despite the fine acting performances, the cops’ story is just one of missed opportunities, bungled investigations and a result that saw Nilsen convicted of only six murders. Unable to agree, the jury had to deliver majority verdicts, which makes you wonder who was roped in for jury service back then. How much more evidence did they need? Did they really think Kentucky Fried Chicken was the underlying problem?</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Why did Masters continue to visit Nilsen for ten years after his conviction (Nilsen died in 2018), and did he come any closer to comprehending what the police never stood any chance of doing? Read the book – it’s as fascinating an insight into the biographer as it is into the killer, but in the drama feels more like an adjunct to the story rather than the pivot of it. At least the drains man has his 15 minutes of fame when he poses for the press; I bet he never had to sign on at Kentish Town Job Centre.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It’s yet to be revealed what The Singapore Grip is in the drama of the same name, but if you really want to know, ask a gynaecologist (let’s just say Brian Masters won’t be the definitive voice on this).</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Based on J G Farrell’s 1978 novel, it takes place in the early 1940s. Singapore is under colonial rule, the British are about to surrender to the Japanese army, and Charles Dance is running around half-naked.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I never thought I’d be seeing so much of Mr Dance’s naked torso in my lifetime. Recent pictures in the press have shown him frolicking in the sea with his new Italian producer girlfriend, 20 years his junior. Now, here he is again, tending his roses as Monty Webb, who for some reason needs to be topless and in a sarong. Expect the Charles Dance Christmas calendar this year.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The drama is very ITV Sunday night: Downton accents, pretty women, and a bit of racism thrown in for good measure. Webb takes in Vera Chiang (the proverbial mystery, possible dodgy foreigner, played by Elizabeth Tan), when she is threatened with deportation back to China. Quite why he does this is anybody’s guess, but her first action upon arrival is to rush towards the torso. She doesn’t get much chance to do anything else, because Webb has a stroke and dies.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">There’s the proverbial villain in the form of Joan (Georgia Blizzard), a nasty piece of work and daughter of Webb’s equally villainous business partner, Walter Blackett (David Morrissey). Webb’s son, Matthew (Luke Treadaway) now inherits daddy’s fortune, so Webb is in cahoots with his daughter to get them hitched.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">How could it all go wrong? My guess is that Matthew will fall for Vera, which will be one in the eye for that uppity Joan. </p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Downton with noodles.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It’s watchable enough, but gripping it is not. Not in the Singapore sense. </p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Or the Dennis Nilsen sense, come to that.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-52359263798981611042020-07-03T14:13:00.000-04:002020-07-03T16:01:00.470-04:00MAKING UP<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The smallest, and usually the most unlikely thing, can set me off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Like everyone else, I am finding it tough under Covid-19 restrictions, but now with a US travel ban in place, I am finding it harder than ever. I live by myself, I have relatively few friends in New York, and, while I love my apartment, I’m finding it tough not to be able to go to the gym or enjoy my daily swim.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I look at properties online, fantasising about where I might buy a place. I buy things I never knew I didn’t need (yes, you read that right) from Amazon (but then isn’t that what it’s for?) and spend subsequent days sending them back when reality hits home. This week, I splashed out on cosmetics from Laura Mercier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I’d been on Zoom, chatting with a friend, and commented on how lovely her skin looked. Having been a Clinique, Clarins, Estée Lauder and, more recently, a Maybelline girl (that’s what pay cuts do to you), I decided to try the Mercier foundation my friend swore by. Well, two foundations, to be precise – the matt and the luminous. And a concealer. And a powder to conceal the concealer. And a powder to hide the luminosity of my shiny nose when the blackheads decide to emerge from the camouflage of foundation. Oh, yes, and a face powder to cover it all up. And an eye shadow, because suddenly, the fifty I have in my make-up drawer suddenly all seemed the wrong colour. My friend thought I also needed a primer, but as I have three I have never used, I resisted. Still, $236 (with the 15% first time buyer discount – a bargain!) for 30 seconds’ work on the internet wasn’t bad going.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I went to call Mum to tell her about the new make-up I’d discovered. A beautician and hairdresser at 16 when she left school, Mum loved her cosmetics. She was always exquisitely turned out, in her clothing, hair and make-up, and she was always on the lookout for something new that might hide the increasing number of lines on her face. “Can you see any difference?” she’d ask me, having ordered the latest new miracle cream she’d seen advertised on TV (I swear she kept the shopping channels in business, and her Amazon cache was what made Jeff Bezos a billionaire. I worry for him since Mum died).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Of course, I cried at yet another moment realising she was not at the end of the phone; and I cried because she hated the hospital stays that put an end to her putting on the face of which she was always so proud. “Your father has never seen me without make-up,” she would say during my childhood, a sentence I chose not to explore too widely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I remember the day I realised Mum was getting old. With Dad, it had been kissing him goodnight on his 60<sup>th</sup> birthday, which would turn out to be his last. The smallness of his bones beneath his pyjamas felt as if they would snap under my hug. With Mum, it was her rouge. When I returned home on one trip from the States, she was, as ever, in full make-up, but on each cheek were two large red circles, as if she had attempted an ill-fated and abandoned attempt to mimic Norma Desmond. Then, I noticed that one of her eyebrows was shorter than the other; that she had let the dark hair on her upper lip grow; that her mascara was smudged beneath both eyes. It felt like the shock of seeing the later work of a once great artist, flawed and without merit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Mum always said that the best present Dad ever gave her was an Elizabeth Arden vanity case, packed with goodies. It was probably the only present he ever got right. The Christmas he bought her the amethyst necklace and earrings that would have been fine for someone of 90, not 40, stands out; but that was a veritable festive dream compared to the year he gave her a china bird.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">As usual, he’d bought her present just as the shops were shutting on Christmas Eve, following his office Christmas drinks. He showed me the bird when he got home and I told him she’d hate it. When the big unwrapping came around, I was praying I would be wrong. Mum’s face fell, but she looked at the monstrosity and mumbled something about the pretty colours, the shape of the bough upon which said hideous bird perched.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Before the turkey was in the oven, the house rang out with “WHAT MADE YOU THINK I’D WANT A BIRD? I HATE BIRDS . . . !” followed by every insult imaginable to our feathered friends. Her voice was even louder than the morning when Dad woke her at 6am to see the hot air balloons taking off for the Bristol Balloon Festival. “WHAT MADE YOU THINK I’D WANT TO BE WOKEN AT THE CRACK OF DAWN TO SEE A BUNCH OF BALLOONS?!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">But the Elizabeth Arden vanity case was something else. I used to love sitting on her bed as she got ready to go out dancing (my parents, brother and I were all ballroom dancers), watching the layers as they built – foundation, rouge, eye shadow, mascara and, finally, the lipstick: the seal of approval that marked a job well done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I was less happy when Mum did my make-up for Old Tyme dancing competitions. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">When you are dragged out of bed at 6 a.m. to have your hairpiece welded on and are told off for blinking and smudging your mascara at 8 a.m., then smothered in bright red lipstick to make you look 30 years older than you actually are, little girls’ dressing-up fantasies begin to lose their appeal. Not for mothers, however. With the same enthusiasm with which Mum used to apply my lipstick, she decided to put her make-up skills to good use when her sister Audrey returned from India with a sari for me and Mum decided I should go as an Indian to the school fancy dress Christmas party.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Pouring water into a basin, she tipped in some powdered cocoa and mixed it with the sponge. “Chin up,” she said, lifting my face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I saw the brown, dripping lump come towards me. “I don’t want it,” I protested.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“But you’ve got to look like an Indian.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“I don’t want to.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">My pleas were ignored, and the cold, wet sponge continued to smother my face. I felt it trickle<o:p></o:p> through my eyelashes and slip through my lips: a strong, dark taste of cocoa and the smell of<o:p></o:p> chocolate. My experience with early morning mascara had taught me not to cry, but I hated the sensation of chocolate drying on my face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">There was not enough time for me to look in the mirror, and for that I was grateful. It would be a full 20 minutes before I got to see what a real Indian looked like, but from the moment I entered the school hall, I felt I already knew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The chocolate was a mistake. If the entire Indian army had descended on the school, I could not have attracted more attention. There was an angel, face as white as a bleached rabbit; a doctor, who looked as though he had been dipped in emulsion; and three girls with white blonde hair who had chosen to come as the Beverly Sisters. I was the dirtiest girl in the class and I hated it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I asked to go to the toilet and walked down the long corridor to the girls’ cloakroom, tripping on my sari as I went. Inside, I looked in the mirror at the painted face that met me there. My eyes were black holes, and my lips had disappeared into my face. Bits of my hair were stuck to the cocoa, and my teeth were too white for my head. It was not me. I felt as if someone had tilted me up, spilled me out and left me with nothing but this hideous, dark, orange shell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I started to cry. Small tears at first, trickling down the side of my nose. Each drop of salt lightened the brown by one shade. Then more tears came. Quick, plopping drops that stripped the wall of cocoa in long, powerful strokes. Each one thickened and brightened the parallel lines of white made by the first tears, and I could taste the combination of cocoa and salt as it ran past my nose and into my mouth. I wiped my face with my sari, staining the apricot and unwrapping the headpiece in the process.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Now, between the patches of brown, the colour of my own skin was beginning to show through, and I could see my freckles. Slowly, I was being given back to myself. As my own whiteness returned, I stopped crying and splashed my face under the tap. The water turned brown as I watched my second face disappear in the flow. Finally, it was clear. I looked in the mirror </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">and smiled. Apart from a patch of brown in the corner of my mouth, Cocoa the Clown had completely disappeared.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Today, I am thinking about Mum, make-up and cocoa. And I cry for the face that is gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-75903651789625231622020-05-29T13:52:00.002-04:002020-05-29T13:52:58.285-04:00HOW TO BE . . . A SURVIVOR IN AMERICA<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">This has not been a good week. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I know that so many have it far worse, especially the sick and those who have not been able to be with loved ones at the end of their lives. And yes, I have work, my health and a roof over my head. But I live alone and there are days when the isolation feels unbearable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It’s not just to do with being alone, though. I spend most of my life by myself and work from home; the major difficulty is the onslaught of news – or, rather, no news other than Covid-related news, or the rants of a president who cares more about self-promotion and fighting Twitter instead of the virus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It’s at times like this I have to remind myself why I decided to come to the USA in 2008. It was November 4<sup>th</sup>, the eve of my 50<sup>th</sup> birthday and I stood in a bar, crying in front of a TV screen as I watched the news: Barack Obama, a black man, had been voted President of the United States. Tears of joy. I wanted to be part of history; to be in what seemed like a progressive country that appeared to have made steps forward in fighting its history of devastating racism.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Fast forward to November 8<sup>th</sup> 2016. I am standing in Mr Biggs Bar and Grill in Hell’s Kitchen in NYC. I am watching a TV screen as the votes of each state come through. And when Hillary Clinton concedes defeat to Donald Trump, I cry again. Tears of disbelief. Of despair. I wake the next morning and my first thought is that I have awoken from a bad dream. My heart is so heavy, it has to be coaxed out of bed. I finally drag it into submission, acknowledging that whatever my personal opinions, Trump got the gig. Maybe it won’t be that bad. Maybe he will be surrounded by experts and advisers who truly will, in the words of the campaign slogan, Make America Great Again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Today, my body feels barely able to withhold the weight of my heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">In isolation, I have to keep reminding myself of the greatness I have discovered here in spite of the president, not because of. There is a range of talent - in music, theatre, all the arts, that is truly breath-taking on a daily basis. In New York City, and in particular my area, Hell’s Kitchen, there is a sense of community that I have rarely found in one of the many countries in which I’ve lived. My seven years in Paris probably comes closest; elsewhere, loneliness has invariably been my doubles partner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The beauty all around me is still apparent: the sunsets I see over the Hudson from my apartment window every night continue to fill me with wonder and remind me that the sun will rise again; the Midas touch that alights upon the glory of Central Park in the fall will soon be there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">And the people will come back, too. Released from incarceration, NY will come back stronger because, as the Governor of NY state Andrew Cuomo says, we are #NYTough, #NYStrong, #NYSmart; nowhere is this more true than in New York City, a place that has entered my soul; its presence there, and my feeling a part of it in the shadow of something much bigger than anything of us, is what helps me get by.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">There is currently a level of toxicity in our lives at a time that should be uniting us; where leadership should be strong, it has been petulant and weak, ignorant and arrogant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I have been reminded of King Lear and, while some believe the president does not deserve the accolade of being a Shakespearean tragic hero, to me there are many comparisons that bear examination.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Why do bad things happen to Lear? Because he is easily flattered and doesn’t recognise true, honest love and loyalty when he sees it. He descends into madness because of the bad things that subsequently happen to him; and then, because of his madness, he puts into action even worse things that are eventually his downfall. Lear has many flaws – arrogance, ignorance, lack of judgment, and each contributes to the other; he has narcissistic personality disorder. To me, it all sounds very familiar – although the president would probably be flattered at being compared to a king. That’s ego for you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">King Lear was apparently written when Shakespeare was in lockdown during the plague of 1606, when all the theatres were closed. It would be nice to think, at this time, with Broadway dark and looking unlikely to reopen anytime soon, that playwrights are busy scribbling away the next generation’s masterpieces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Every time I read or hear an Obama pronouncement, it still fills me with hope. His presidency was not without its problems, but his humanity and ability to lead in times of crisis shines through - still. I miss him. Especially in a week like this one when I feel the shutters of hope in so many areas of life have come down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">There is an election coming up in November; I am not optimistic about the result, and the thought of another administration under this president is truly distressing. Just four words come to mind, the final ones from Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness: “The horror! The horror!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">CNN’s Don Lemon said this week that there are two viruses in America – Covid-19 and racism, and the street riots have been labelled not protests, but an uprising.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">This is a time of disturbing unrest and it’s not being helped by a man purporting to be a leader throwing his toys out of the pram when Twitter picks him up on peddling misinformation. His response? A threat to close them down for threatening his free speech. Does he really not see the irony?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">And then they picked him up on his glorifying violence by threatening to send in the guns to shoot the raiders and looters protesting the tragic, unnecessary and despicable murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">How does this calm an already incendiary situation? Small wonder the black population of America is angry. Enough is enough.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I can only repeat: The horror! The horror!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-13797727454688634542020-04-28T19:59:00.004-04:002020-04-28T20:04:08.961-04:00THE HAND THAT ROCKS THE LADLE<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Who loses an oven glove in a pandemic? </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Is there anyone who gives two figs about losing an oven glove in a pandemic? But there is something very lonely about a single hand; I’ve never even like one-armed bandit machines, because they seem like amputees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">My oven glove’s sister is 16 x 6 inches, black, and, until today, I would have said as unlikely to be lost as a haystack in a hayloft.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">And yet, five minutes ago, when I opened the kitchen drawer where both gloves have lived for a year, the identical twin sat silently, slightly flour-stained, bemoaning the loss of its sibling. How can this have happened?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">One of the good things to have transpired from self-isolation (and there have been, surprisingly, a lot of positives) is that I can no longer lose my iPhone. I can mislay it, certainly, and have done, many times, but it always turns up – under the duvet, on the toilet floor, in the fridge – because I haven’t been anywhere that I have to phone at 2am, begging the few staff left to track down the dodgy guy I am convinced has it and who was sitting at the end of the bar (this actually happened and I successfully retrieved it, Poirot style, by the way).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">My keys, phone and jacket are now always in my apartment, and the absence of thieving venues has made my life considerably less stressful. Ovenglovegate has changed all that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Last year, when I packed up my belongings from Los Angeles, after a brief attempt at being bi-coastal, I moved back to New York and had to make major decisions about what to take. I remember the oven gloves very specifically. Packing up my kitchen stuff, I thought: what person, in their right mind, keeps two pairs of oven gloves, one of which they have never used? I gave one pair away. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The black ones I kept (I cannot tell you how difficult it was to decide; it was the culinary equivalent of Sophie’s Choice) and they have served me well ever since; given how much cooking I am doing during the current crisis, I really need them. Only if I lost an arm would one glove be of any use and I am now at a loss as to how to solve the mystery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I’ve cleaned out and reorganised my fridge/freezer (not there), tidied my china cupboards (not there), double checked the washing machine and dryer (not there). My apartment is under 650sq ft, so there really are very few places it can have gone. I know I won’t have thrown it out because the bin I keep under the sink is barely bigger than the glove and I would definitely have noticed it amongst the potato peelings (okay, wine bottles, but you get my drift).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">In the large scale of things at present, it’s not important, I know. I mean, it’s not like I’ve had a ransom note asking for money, or an ear sent in the post. I’ve even become quite adept at lifting dishes with one hand, a bit like last year when I broke my humerus and adapted quickly to opening wine bottles with my knees and one hand (and we’re talking corks, not screw-tops; yes, I’m that good). </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">But I’m someone who knows, and who likes to know, where everything is in my kitchen, and I thought that my newly acquired butcher’s block unit that makes my pots and pans more accessible, had changed my life. It has, and I love it; but now the glove has gone. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Was God angry because I had shown so much pleasure in the acquisition of a material object? Quite frankly, he could have cut me some slack. I’ve been banging on long enough about His great sunrises and sunsets and how much joy we should take in nature; was it really too much to ask that He spare me an oven glove for my troubles?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">As I write this, I am looking over the Hudson at a glorious sunset and, out of spite, I’m not going to give it any publicity; I can be mean like that, God. If you return my oven glove, I might reconsider.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">LIVE UPDATE: As I am writing (honestly!), I suddenly think that maybe I inadvertently put the second glove in one of the lower cupboards when I was reorganising my plastic and glass sections (come on, people; these are stressful times). </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Lo and behold! There’s glove number two! </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I am happy beyond belief. I’m like Joseph opening his technicolour dream coat (before his brothers threw him into the pit, obviously).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">You’re still not forgiven though, God. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The gloves are off. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Both of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-88703883617496031912020-04-27T16:54:00.001-04:002020-04-28T11:54:05.819-04:00HOW TO BE . . . STRONG IN AMERICA<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“We’re going to get through this because we are New York.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It’s the message that New York Governor Andrew Cuomo has been stressing from the start. Despite the state being at the epicentre of the Coronavirus crisis, despite the strict self-distancing and almost complete lockdown, there is a resilience and strength at the heart of this place, and in particular the city, that is its spiritual vaccine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">New York suffered the terrorist attacks of 9/11 in 2001, Hurricane Sandy (which hit 24 states in all) in 2012, and both events continue to be referenced in relation to today’s pandemic. They remind us of New York’s ability to fight back: to look defeat in the eyes and come back more glorious than before. Yes, I know it sounds melodramatic, but if there is one thing getting me through, above everything else, in this ongoing crisis, it’s a strange feeling that I am going through it with New York holding my hand. I am in New York City (the borough of Manhattan), the epicentre of the epicentre – and at the moment, there is nowhere else I would rather be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The Governor has constantly reminded those wishing to flout the rules and ignore guidelines that “It’s not about you”. In my neighbourhood, Hell’s Kitchen, I am stunned on a daily basis by the many acts of kindness and offers of support, both to individuals and businesses struggling to stay afloat. I am awestruck by the performers, out of work overnight, continuing to share their phenomenal talents with the online audience, for no reward whatsoever; the restaurants and bars stepping up to the mark with delivery services and coming up with ever more ingenious ways to serve an increasingly desperate populace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">In a press briefing last week, Cuomo was visibly moved when talking about people who surprised him on a daily basis – in particular, an elderly man (with a sick wife) who had sent him a spare mask for a doctor or nurse who might need it. Here, there really is a feeling that we are all in this together and we <i>will </i>get through it. Yes, because we are New York; but also, there is just something about this place that brings out the best in people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I’ve been living here for six years now and, while, obviously not a born and bred New Yorker, I have an affinity with it in my heart that in the past I felt only for Paris (I still have that affinity, too; my soul is a tale of two cities). I have never felt lonely here in the way I did when I lived in London or Cardiff in the UK; I was never lonely in Paris, either (well, apart from when I was with someone, but that’s a whole other story).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">There are a lot of people really struggling, I know; I, too, have my off days – strangely, when I am most in contact with people and then we say goodbye online; it feels like the sun going down and a sudden chill in the air after a glorious day at the beach. But then I think how lucky I am to have such friends with whom I share so much laughter on FaceTime or Zoom; the many things I am learning from galleries opening up their wares; the opera, concerts and theatre productions I am so enjoying that, in real time, I would have to take out a bank loan to attend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Even with all this, I know that many are desperately missing the physicality of going out and experiencing everything for real, and it’s set me pondering what makes one person able to cope more than another in these circumstances. I stress I can speak only for myself in this regard, but today I’ve been thinking that the single, most influential and incredible thing in my entire life that is getting me through this is: my parents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">My dad died over 30 years ago, my mum last year. I have one brother, Nigel, and we have always been very close. He is smart, incredibly funny, as competitive as I am (I’ve never won a chess game with him; but then I beat him on the rifle range. Just saying), and a really kind, sensitive person who married an equally wonderful woman in my dear sister-in-law, Kim.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Nigel and I had a happy, secure childhood and, while we have both endured difficulties in adult life (as everyone does), we have come through them stronger the other end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">My mother did not go to university until the age of 50, when she became a social worker and, subsequently, a play therapist. When she died, it was heartrending to receive correspondence from many whose lives she had touched, greatly improved and, in some cases, I was told, saved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Dad gained many qualifications as a mechanical engineer but lost his business during the UK’s economic crisis and Three-Day Week of 1973-4. Both Mum and Dad worked so hard to be able to hang on to the house for which they had worked so hard. I remember tensions at home while I was trying to study, and at times I thought I would not be able to stand anymore and even thought about leaving school, getting a job and moving into a bedsit. I was 16.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">But they got through it. Mum did so many things to make extra money including, at one point, selling wigs. I remember her heartache when the operation went bust and the owner did a runner because he turned out to have a history as the Kray Brothers’ “collector”, whatever that was. Mum lost £84, a small fortune in those days, but the leftover wigs kept us winning top prizes in fancy dress fêtes for years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Both my parents had a strong work ethic, which both Nigel and I inherited; but I think we also inherited – partly through blood, partly through observation – a stoicism that is proving invaluable at present.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Nigel is a teacher and loves his job, but has got on with the business at hand, continuing to do his lessons online, and doing more cooking (he happens to be very good at it. Better than he is on the rifle range, anyway. Did I mention that?). I am lucky in that I am used to working from home, but, being a sociable creature, of course miss human contact and events. It may be a cliché to say: “It is what it is” - but is no less true for being so. I just keep hanging on to Rilke: “No feeling is final” (Hmmm. Maybe the deathbed one is, but I'll come back to that in a couple of decades).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I think what I learned from Mum and Dad is that when something is out of your control, as this pandemic clearly is, the thing to do is focus on what you <i>can </i>control: one step at a time. I am looking after my health, my emotional well-being, and giving my soul some much needed cultural nourishment. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Truly, my cup runneth over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">And so, today, I give thanks for the strength that is my inheritance; and the strength of a city that, even when it is sleeping, still shines.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-69080638773276345452020-04-26T12:27:00.001-04:002020-04-27T01:50:57.493-04:00HOW TO BE . . . A CORONAHOLIC IN AMERICA<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">My morning routine has settled into a bizarre new normal. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The first thing I do when I wake is try to ascertain what time it is without looking at my iPhone (I know, I know: what’s an alarm clock?); whether it be 5am, 8am, or 10 minutes after I have fallen asleep, I am always strangely accurate. From that, I try to work out what day it is. Or week. Or year. Am I even alive or am I in a dream? Or, where I was in last night’s dream, actually in Star Wars? On these matters, I don’t have a clue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Propping up my pillows, I first read my e-mails, then Facebook messages, then messages on Twitter and other people’s Tweets (the President’s first; I need to start the day with a laugh). By now, my bladder is bursting, but I have to check Daily Mail Online first to see what gibberish celebrities are spouting. Then, it’s time to empty my bladder, weigh myself (a gloriously steady 114lbs/8st 2lbs, still) and have my two cups of PG Tips. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I drink these sitting at my computer, where I stay for the whole day, sandwiched between it and the television, and do very little other than read about the virus, and watch as many channels discussing it, as I can. The highlight of my day is New York Governor Andrew Cuomo’s update, shortly before which I have to go to the bathroom again for fear of wetting myself with excitement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Coronavirus is my new work avoidance. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I examine maps from all over the world, assessing the likelihood of anyone returning to normality (whatever that was) anytime soon. It’s like New Year’s Eve, tuning in to each country in their time zone, seeing the different countdowns to the New Year (how are all your resolutions going, by the way? No, mine neither).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I know how many people have contracted the virus, who is likely to get it, how many have died from it, what you should eat to boost your immune system, how many toys the President has thrown out of his pram today. Oh, yes. The President’s tantrums. When he is not dispensing his “I’m not a doctor” medical advice, he is shouting at the press, and has now thrown all of his toys out of the pram by announcing that he will no longer give daily press briefings. For that, we can all be grateful. Many lives will be saved as a result of his exiting stage right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">If I go out for a walk or run, I count the number of people who think that the order to wear a mask in NY (if likely to be in proximity to others) does not apply to them. I obsessively take my temperature, looking for signs of a fever. Last night, talking to friends on Face Time, I reached out my glass for a refill when they were pouring wine. I dreamed that a smiley emoji was talking to me, claiming to know I’ve been missing human company. How did I become this person? I’ve realised I need help, so here goes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Hi, my name is Jaci and I am a Coronaholic (all together, in the group now, please: “Hi, Jaci”). Having consulted AA’s 12 step programme, I feel I might well be on to the way to recovery and share my thoughts here, for anyone else fearful of their sanity being taken over by this insidious virus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">1.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We admitted we were powerless over Coronavirus coverage – that our lives had become unmanageable without 24/7 CNN and re-runs of NY Governor Andrew Cuomo’s daily briefings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">2.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity – that Power not being the President of the United States.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">3.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Made a decision to turn our will and lives over to the care of God <i>as we understood Him</i> – God not being the President, despite what he might say to the contrary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">4.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves by acknowledging that buying enough toilet tissue to build a small igloo village in Iceland is very mean.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">5.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs – you voted a lunatic to be your President.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">6.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character – you have until the November election to have those defects removed. Do not drink or ingest bleach in the process.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">7.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings – invoking Amendment 25 would do it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">8.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Made a list of all the persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all. This list need not include Amazon or Netflix, to whom you have caused no harm whatsoever in bolstering their coffers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">9.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others. You need to take out a lot more subscriptions to frivolous TV channels and order in your food from all the restaurants you always moaned about being overpriced way back in the real world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">10.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it. Feel free to allow “inventory” to mean counting the number of wine bottles in your cupboard and admit you were wrong in not ordering nearly enough to get you through the stress of the President’s advice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">11.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God <i>as we understood Him, </i>praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out. Yes, it is all right to turn off the news and watch back to back episodes of Murder She Wrote. Only the God within you has the strength to pick up that remote. You know you can do it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">12.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to Coronaholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs. When you have broken the cycle, chat to other Coronaholics on Face Time, sharing your joy at having beaten your addiction to Coronavirus coverage, while sharing your own tedious experience and talking non-stop about what everyone else thinks about the crisis. Recognise that you have merely switched cabins on the Titanic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Now, what time does Cuomo come back on? Fancy a bottle of Rioja, anyone?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-53090301294832417372020-04-17T11:15:00.000-04:002020-04-17T11:15:25.767-04:00THE TARDIS HAS LANDED - CELEBRATING MUM<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">My mum died a year ago today. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">She died at night around 11pm and I find myself thinking, because I am writing this in the morning, that I have a few hours left of her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">April 17<sup>th</sup> already. It’s hard to believe. It seems like only yesterday I was in the hospital at her bedside in Bristol Royal Infirmary on what was to be the last day of her life; at other times, it feels like years ago, because I have never known the start to any year drag as much as this one has. I thought March would never end. January and February long ago seemed consigned to a Jurassic part of my brain. Christmas is nine months away and feels as if it should be tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">As if grief had not already distorted time enough, along comes Coronavirus, the Tardis of infections that has thrown minutes, weeks and hours into a universe none of us could have imagined. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Yesterday, when New York Governor Cuomo announced that we are to be in lockdown until May 15<sup>th</sup> (and that, too, will be up for review), I went into panic mode again. I know 100% it is the right thing to do and, being someone who was brought up to do what she is told by people in authority, I will religiously be adhering to the rules. It is not just that the Governor is in authority; he really knows what he is talking about. At this time, I bow with gratitude to people who know far more than I do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I am glad that Mum is not around to see this. Of course, I am desperately sad that she is gone, but her fear and anxiety would have added another dimension to a life already so stressed over every atom of her routine that wasn’t met. Unable to walk, following an accident 18 months before she died, she became dependent on others for everything. There was only so much I or friends could do; it required two people to lift her onto her commode. I don’t want to humiliate her by describing what other indignities she endured in her helplessness. She was angry if the carers arrived to give her meals too early; woe betide any of them who arrived when Emmerdale was on. It was desperately irritating, but in retrospect, understandable; she wanted to cling on to the small vestige of power she had left – even if it was just the TV remote.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">This hasn’t been the easiest of years and I have several friends who have lost a parent in that time – I know three people who have lost their mothers in the past month. Grieving is exhausting. For the past few years, flying back and for to the UK from the US to see Mum, I seemed to live in a permanent state of jetlag. In isolation, I continue to feel wiped out, partly as a result of having been ill (most likely the flu virus rather than Covid-19), and only now is my arm starting to feel like normal after breaking my humerus last year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">A year ago, I did not think there would come a time when I would be able to focus on the happy memories. No matter how much anyone tells you that this time will come, the exhaustion of illness and grief is so overwhelming, there are days when just putting one foot in front of the other is an ordeal. It was heart-breaking to see Mum’s life reduced to sitting in a chair in the corner of the living room, having only the trip to the single hospital bed in the dining room to look forward to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">From a young child, Mum had always been a voracious reader, and in addition to TV she consumed novels, biographies (she adored Anne de Courcy), autobiographies, and the world’s news on her iPad. How she loved her iPad. The second a headline broke, she would e-mail me to see if I had heard the news; so quick was she off the mark when a celebrity died, I swear she knew they had gone even before they did. She was still working until she was 83 (though would never disclose her age to anyone) and I am grateful her mind remained alert and active, even while her body reached its last chapter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">When her eyesight started to deteriorate, not being able to read was devastating to her. With her hearing already in serious decline (although mysteriously, she was always able to hear us if we whispered something on the other side of the room), she was reliant on subtitles on the TV, and barely able to see those either, she was denied her another of her greatest pleasures. I used to feel irritated that having flown across the Atlantic to see her she would put me on pause while she watched Tipping Point, The Chase, Home and Away, Neighbours, Emmerdale, Coronation Street, et al; by the time she’d finished her shows, it was usually time for me to catch my flight back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I was angry when she checked herself out of a perfectly good nursing home, against medical advice. That was the beginning of the end, but her stubbornness won out and she said she would rather die alone at home than stay there a day longer. It’s very hard to hear your parent sobbing and sobbing, begging for something you know is the wrong decision, and giving in because the heart is invariably mightier than the head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The irritation, frustration and anger occasionally surface, but yes, as predicted, they have subsided. I smile when I think of a recent report when I visited hospital, describing me as ‘well-nourished’, knowing that this is down to Mum. Every day, we had a cooked meal: protein, two veg, dessert, and strictly no snacking between meals. To this day, eating between meals is complete anathema to me; drinking between meals, well, that’s another matter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">She did her best, often in trying times, and I think my brother Nigel and I have turned out okay. More than okay. We are hard-working, kind and generous people who owe so much to both parents, and despite difficulties dealing with Mum along the way (and there were many; I’m not going to sugar-coat it), I know how much she loved us and would have done anything for us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We had very happy childhoods that, looking back, all too quickly came to an end. Today, I am grateful for the light, love and goodness she brought not only to our family but to many others’ lives through friendship and her work, where her capacity for helping those less fortunate than herself was formidable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It was a long life, and if there is one thing the current situation has shown us is that any life is to be valued; forget not knowing what’s around the next corner – the threat of not even making it to the corner is our biggest worry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I have no religious beliefs and find the idea of Mum ‘looking down’ on me laughable and based on infantile conceptions rooted in fear of mortality. Mum was a believer and it gave her strength; each to their own. I prefer to think of her still among us; everlasting life is exactly that – it’s what we pass on. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And on this first anniversary, I commemorate not the loss of her, but her ongoing presence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-68770002263177677892020-04-15T16:01:00.001-04:002020-04-16T13:14:08.586-04:00LAUGHTER IS THE BEST POISON<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">There are many things I fear living in the USA (apart from Trump, that is). </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">In Manhattan, you can become a fatality of falling scaffolding or even a manhole explosion (strangely common). Like anywhere else, you can be mugged on the street or have your belongings stolen when you go to the rest room (that bastard in Mr Biggs still has my lovely cream duffel coat; every winter, I scour the streets looking for it. Woe betide you if you’re wearing it. And I’ll know it by the wine stain down the front).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The day to day anxieties, however, are as nothing compared to my phobias, the main ones being a fear of balloons (globophobia), clowns (coulrophobia) and masks (maskaphobia). It’s believed that the last two are related; they might also be related to a fear of humanoid figures (automatonophobia). In my case, they certainly are; anything with its face hidden or disguised in any form produces genuine panic symptoms – raised heartbeat, sweating, intense anxiety. I can barely speak to bearded men (let alone women, and there are some of them out there, too) and the idea of a masked ball fills me with terror. A masked ball with balloons would be enough to bring the paramedics running.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Imagine my distress, therefore, when New York Governor Andrew Cuomo announced this morning that as from Saturday, masks will be compulsory in New York. That’s it. I am doomed never to leave my apartment again; forget Coronavirus putting me in hospital, the Admissions form when I am in a coma will read “maskaphobia”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The problem is that it’s impossible to get a mask. My order doesn’t arrive for another week, so until now I’ve been wearing an eye mask that came with a spa beauty kit – the only problem being, given its design, that I have to choose whether I cover my nose <i>or </i>mouth; never both. Apparently, scarves or any other covering will suffice, and if you disobey, the Mask Police will be at hand to tell you what’s what. I’m trying to ease my distress by watching TV, but inadvertently caught The Masked Singer last night, which set me back somewhat (just for the record though, Governor: happy to model masks for you privately).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">For the most part, I keep panic at bay, but at times it’s not easy. I have become very accident-prone in my own home, dropping and spilling things as if my body is slowly losing touch with gravity. I also had a bad fall, which brought back memories of breaking my humerus last year in similar circumstances. This time, I was luckier; it was only my neck I nearly broke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">These new difficulties are doubtless to do with having to spend so much time indoors. In the UK, I lived in an enormous six-bedroom house with a huge garden and never bumped into anything; now, I am confined to a little over 600 square feet (a veritable mansion by most Manhattan standards) and every day the walls seem a little closer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Two nights ago, trying to rearrange my fridge at 2am (don’t ask), I mishandled a pint of giblet stock I’d been saving for a rainy day (as you do) and it rained all over me and the kitchen floor. Last night, I spilt a very large glass of red wine, while trying to rearrange my pillow while watching Murder, She Wrote in bed (don’t judge; these are trying times).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">This morning, two packs of six toilet rolls fell on my head. Yes, I know I should be grateful to be in such a position, given the shortage, and I hereby apologise to said rolls for my outburst. I’m probably the only person in the world cursing toilet paper at the moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Even before the pandemic, I was struggling, and the day a 3lb bag of loose rice that fell out of a cupboard, continues to cause issues. Like Christmas tree pine needles you are still discovering in July, I am finding tiny grains in kitchen orifices I previously never knew existed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">In the current climate and in this confined space, every inanimate object poses a threat, and my food cupboards are a domino effect of dangers. Today, carefully trying to manoeuvre a can of beansprouts next to the black bean section (I am organised, if nothing else), it slipped onto the baked beans (an orchestra unto themselves), which in turn fell onto the giant containers of cumin and basil, all of which came hurtling towards me like the Charge of the Light Brigade. Who knew there was so much danger in domesticity?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I’ve also started to dwell on ailments I hadn’t previously noticed. I have a bruise on my stomach that today I became convinced was the plague; every head pain is a tumour; my lady bits look like killer triffids when viewed in a 20x magnifying mirror (small wonder a lot of guys don’t want to go there).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Irrational fears are, I suspect, upon us all in these unsettling times. On any one day, Coronavirus is Frankenstein’s monster, the ten plagues of Egypt, the Apocalypse, all rolled into one; what’s not to be scared about?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">But like all animals, we are survivors; we do what we have to do to ensure the continuation of the species. That will be different for everyone, just as this whole experience is. So, is there anything we can do, collectively, to conquer the fact that, at some level, we are all s**t scared?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The writer George R. R. Martin said: “Laughter is poison to fear”. He’s right. To me, laughter is the answer to pretty much everything in life, but more so now than ever. I’ve been laughing with friends and family on the phone and on social networking; today, I walked with a friend, six feet apart, both of us masked (I was okay, having taken a Valium beforehand), and we laughed just the same as if we had met in a pub.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Fear cannot change who we are. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">At the moment, the devil sits on both shoulders, seemingly unshakeable, and in my good moments I try to laugh both it and the fear away. Old episodes of The Big Bang Theory, Frasier, Gavin and Stacey. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Yes. Laughter is the poison to drive away fear. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">And until something else comes along, it is our vaccine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-63049499338231535272020-04-14T11:01:00.006-04:002020-04-14T11:01:53.859-04:00HOW TO BE . . . ALONE IN AMERICA<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Even before the lockdown, I never found New York to be “the city that never sleeps”. In fact, it’s always seemed a bit dozy to me. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Having lived in Paris and Puerto Banus (just outside Marbella in Spain), I grew accustomed to staying out all night if I so chose. It was the same in London in the Nineties, but then, my generation seemed to grow old suddenly: they needed their beauty sleep and, where once they would be emerging from Gerry’s Club in Dean St at daylight, they were packing up at 2am (how old am I? Four?). In recent years, everyone had to be out at 3am anyway (even Mike, the owner, was getting older), but I have many happy memories of those late nights/early mornings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In Los Angeles, where I lived when I first came to the States in 2009, the rules were (and still are) very strict. Closing time is 2am, and staff wait for your glass (still half full) like dogs ready to pounce on an available bone. In New York, the witching GTHOH (Get the Hell Outta Here) hour is 4am, though even in my lively area of Hell’s Kitchen, restaurants shut up shop at around midnight and very few bars stay open till 4am. You don’t want to stay anyway, because the smell of lemon-scented cleaning fluid overpowers any lingering aroma you might have left wafting up from your wine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Now, with everything shut, an hour in any hostelry would seem like a glorious holiday; sharing a drink with a real live human would feel like all your Christmases had come at once. As for the idea of going to a restaurant and eating among other diners, your body might now not be able to withstand the excitement; if the Coronavirus didn’t get you, the shock of becoming reaccustomed to socialising could well do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Even in these circumstances, though, it’s hard to feel lonely in New York City. I’ve experienced loneliness in many cities throughout the world – usually on Sundays, when I imagine everyone except me is sitting round a huge wooden table with hams piled high and laughing children running around in gingham outfits, chanting The Wheels on the Bus – but it’s rare here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I am lucky in that I have a spectacular view over the Hudson, where every night the sunsets bring a new art gallery to my window. Despite the quiet of the streets when I go out for my self-isolating walk, the feeling is one of a city in suspended animation, silently reassuring me that it will breathe again, without assistance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In the confines of my apartment, I read, cook, watch TV, listen to music, meditate and give thanks for the respite from car horns impatiently waiting to enter the Lincoln Tunnel at rush hour. The non-stop thud of nearby construction no longer wakes me up and has me weeping with stress, come 5pm. I find activities and interests online I would never have discovered before. I’m refreshing my French and having yet another attempt at learning Spanish. I’ve even delved back into Italian, which comes much more naturally to me than Spanish, and I already feel fluent just by putting an 'a' on the end of every word I know and reading about the Mafia.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">If I put an 'o' on the end of every word, I feel pretty fluent in Spanish, too, but I don’t feel as immersed in Spanish culture (not unless you count the gallons of Rioja in my cupboard) and I’ve always found a relative lack of interest in a country makes language learning more difficult. French, while being a more complex language, came quite easily to me when I moved to Paris in 2001; keeping up with it is a challenge, although I am hugely helped by Quora (which I have in French, English, Spanish and Italian), a site on which people pose questions that others answer or debate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Because my work is essentially solitary, I’ve always been at ease in my own company and while being alone is not the same as feeling lonely, my situation makes these strange and frightening times easier to bear. When loneliness hits – panic moments when I wonder when I will ever communicate with a real live human again – I remind myself that everyone is in the same boat. It may feel like a sinking ship, but we’re all in it together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There is a quote attributed to Scott Fitzgerald (some say wrongly so, but it’s still apt): </span><span style="background: white; color: #181818; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #181818; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I suspect that is what many are feeling right now and there is a collective loneliness that has its roots in this very helplessness. Whether Fitzgerald said it or not, loneliness lies at the heart of The Great Gatsby – mainly, the loneliness that the pursuit of social status and money ultimately brings. Written in the 1920s, it’s a salutary lesson for our times and certainly worth reading or re-reading, not least for the ending: “So we beat on, boats against the current” but, to me, not “borne back ceaselessly into the past”, but towards a better future in which people have re-evaluated themselves, life, priorities; a world in which we will have learned, in being alone, that we truly never are. </span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #181818; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">To quote the poet John Donne: “No man is an island,/Entire of itself,/Every man is a piece of the continent,/A part of the main”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #181818; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Donne was talking about Europe (and that’s a whole other debate), but knowing that we are not alone in this appalling crisis is what gets us through. Yes, there is, and will be more loneliness; some will cope better than others. There is fear, anxiety, dread, and all sorts emotions we cannot explain in a life that just wasn’t supposed to be like this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #181818; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">While we are denied physical contact, other than with those we live with, it’s important to touch base on the phone and through social networking; reaching out to nature brings so many rewards (it’s very chatty when you give it time). These are precious moments to absorb the world around us – it really is our friend, even though it doesn’t seem that way at present.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #181818; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Today, when I was out walking (briefly), I looked at a brownstone building and admired its colour. I am fascinated by architecture and how it reflects us at any given time. The words of Pink Floyd were singing in my head: “All in all you’re just another brick in the wall.” I found them strangely comforting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #181818; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Having said that, <i>now </i>I need a drink. Where’s that Gatsby drinking buddy when you need him?<i> </i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #181818; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-13206206157677406672020-04-09T14:19:00.005-04:002020-11-16T23:49:28.081-05:00HOW TO BE . . . THE NEXT MRS CUOMO IN AMERICA<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Are there any circumstances in which an engagement ring could be classed as an “essential” service?</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It’s one of the many things that’s been worrying me during the pandemic lockdown as I plan my marriage to the New York State Governor, Andrew Cuomo. Yes, I know that I am very far down the line in a long queue, but a girl can dream.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Come on, be honest: how many of you, in the past month, have Googled ‘Is Andrew Cuomo single’? Or ‘Is Andrew Cuomo straight’? Or even ‘Does Andrew Cuomo like short Welsh women who have their own Green Card’? (Just me on that one, then). Every day, the ever-increasing fan club sits in front of TV screens to be soothed and comforted by the one person who appears to have a grip on what’s really going on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The New York Governor (and I am so proud to be living in this state with my fiancé – no, he doesn’t know it yet; minor detail) has captured not only the state’s, but many of the country’s hearts. He is smart, knowledgeable, unfazed when we are all on the precipice of hysteria, empathetic, sympathetic, genuinely caring – he is, in short, everything a President should be. It’s just a shame that he’s not. But at least he’s there. For us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">These are frightening times. I am one of the lucky ones. I was very ill at the beginning of the year (there is now research suggesting the virus is older than it looks – unlike my fiancé; yes, I Googled ‘How old is Andrew Cuomo?’ too); I was ill again in March, despite not having had so much of a cold since May 1999 (brought on by stress from the guy I was dating – he is SUCH old news, now I have Andrew). </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">But after three months of extreme fatigue, bordering on narcolepsy, I am fine. At present, I still have a job, and I work from home, which I have never found difficult. I am fine in my own company; I talk to friends on the phone and on various social networking sites; I have fun on my YouTube channel, Jaci’s Box (please subscribe); I read, I catch up on TV . . . I’m probably busier than I’ve ever been. How will I ever find time to plan the wedding? That’s the thing that’s really stressing me out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">My heart goes out to the sick and the bereaved. Two of my friends have just lost their mothers and were denied the chance to see them during their last days and hold their funerals; another friend who lost her father was allowed just six people at his funeral. As the anniversary of my mother’s death approaches on April 17<sup>th</sup>, I cannot imagine how much more painful it would have been had my brother and I been denied those last days and the comfort of family and friends around us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I feel for those who have lost their jobs in so many ways. I have actor friends who have lost not only their main job but their secondary ones serving in bars and restaurants. For those in the travel and hospitality industries, life has come to a standstill. So many jobless people have families to feed, disabled relatives to take care of . . . Conrad’s final sentence – “The horror! The horror!” – in Heart of Darkness (albeit for different reasons in the novel) never seemed more appropriate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It’s the lack of an ending that is most disturbing. We are creatures of narrative; we enjoy a beginning, middle and an end, hence the popularity of fiction, whether it be in books or on the screen. We spend time second guessing the motivation of character and the outcome of plot; even though soap operas are ongoing, storylines are designed to build suspense and high drama before reaching their inevitable conclusions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Every day brings news of more Coronavirus cases, more deaths, optimism followed by despair, currency boosts followed by downward turns; we have no ending in sight; the plot thickens – and thickens. Despite talk of lights at the end of the tunnel, there are days when those lights seem nothing more than those of another freight train coming towards us. We are blinded by the lack of light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">What do we do? </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We carry on. Because we are human. Because there is no alternative. The clichés roll off our tongues – “It is what it is”, “What will be will be”, “You never know what’s around the corner”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">And so, we must look to the light <i>in </i>the tunnel, not at the end of it; at present, that is all we know. We take refuge and joy in the arts – and if ever there was a time to count our blessings in the creativity of writers, musicians, painters, every artist in every field, this is it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We must also give thanks for the light that shines more brightly than any other – that of our health care workers, putting their lives on the front line every day to save others. I could never do it; I do not know how anyone does. Many have lost their lives so that the sick can be healed; I know of no greater sacrifice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We must be grateful in our dark tunnel for the light of Governor Cuomo, whose daily press conferences have become, to so many, like a meditative space that keeps panic at bay. His brother, Chris, who is an anchor at CNN, contracted the virus (he is on the mend) and the pair have also been entertaining us in their online exchanges. Chris also appeared in a moving interview on the entertainment channel TMZ, which has also been a beacon of sense: presenter Harvey Levin, who warned of the dangers very early on, is exceptional.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We really are all in this together, including the queue that has gathered around my fiancé – Hey! Six feet apart, people! Six miles if I had my way! – who has emerged a real hero for our times. Let’s just hope he’s stocked up on Clorox for our first dance at our wedding reception, as I still won’t be taking any risks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Yes, of course I’m thinking ahead. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">What about when the pandemic is over, and I’ll have the worry if Andrew decides to run for President (as his brother and many have suggested) and I end up as First Lady? I’ll have to put make-up on every day. I’m also not sure I want to be gathering up my husband’s brains from the back seat of a car when he’s assassinated. Will there be Clorox in the glove compartment?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Sometimes, I think I worry too much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-20161175122845025002020-03-29T13:23:00.002-04:002020-03-29T22:26:16.807-04:00CORONAVIRA DREAMIN' <div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Warm oat milk with a shot of brandy really is my saviour in these difficult times. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I’ve never been a great sleeper – in fact, I truly hate going to bed owing to major FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). I was the same as a baby, a young child, and even at 61 I have a terror that something might be happening from which I have been excluded (actually, that might just be FOBH – Fear Of Being Hated).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I thought that in the current crisis, my sleep patterns might become disrupted, but given that there is nothing happening from which anyone can exclude me, bedtime isn’t such an ordeal. But the milk and brandy give me something to look forward to; they’re very soothing, doubtless bringing back childhood memories of warm milk before being tucked up for the night. In those days, though, I hated the skin that formed on the top of the dairy milk; thankfully, there is no foreskin on oat milk and I really do love it (I no longer buy almond milk, by the way, because I learned that the pesticides they use to spray the almond trees kill all the bees. I don’t like bees at all, but hey, they need an office job, too).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">More than one in five people (22%) say that their sleep quality has suffered since the rise of Coronavirus, and many are reporting an increase in strange or vivid dreams. Mark Blagrove, a leading expert in sleep and dreaming at Swansea University in the UK, also says that a lot of people will be having very emotional dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Last night, I dreamt about my mother and her dog, Maddie. My mum’s house in Bristol is currently under offer, but in the dream, I was in the house in Bridgend, where I spent my teenage years. Last week, the neighbour directly opposite that house died. We were all very close and one of her two daughters, Nerys, at that time was my best friend. I bumped into her in Bath last year and it was as if we’d seen each other the day before, despite decades having passed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The dream took me back to that Coity house, where I was disturbed to find that the buyers (for the Bristol house) had already started to move their stuff in, despite exchange and completion not having taken place. They had even glued a rack for utensils to a kitchen cupboard. I was crying and upon leaving the house saw Mum, her back to me, walking up the drive. “MUM! MUM!” I called, but she didn’t answer. I caught up with her but when I reached out to touch her, my hand went through her and she walked on before disappearing altogether. I returned to the house and tried to remove the utensil rack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">In the next part of the dream, Mum had died and I was holding her Bichon Frise, Maddie. Mum was always fearful of Maddie outliving her because she didn’t know where the dog would go. In the dream, I decided to take her with me to New York; in reality, she had been euthanised (I still cannot bear to say the words “put down”) 15 months before Mum was admitted to hospital for the last time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It was at least 10 years before I dreamt about my dad, following his death in 1990, but I dream about Mum all the time. As the one-year anniversary approaches next month, I won’t pretend it’s been a good 12 months. My own health, which had been suffering as a result of stress for a while, hadn’t been great with all the long haul travelling, and being hospitalised with a suspected heart attack last year did not help matters (it turned out not to be, but the loneliness of lying alone in a hospital bed, on the opposite side of the Atlantic from friends and family, gave me a lot of thinking time).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It is ironic that self-isolation has given me a calm and contentedness that I haven’t felt in decades. I’m sure it won’t last, because human contact is, basically, what humans thrive on. But I am finding the space - physically, mentally and emotionally - rather soothing. It’s a long time since I’ve had such a defined routine in my life (although I could recite the Virgin Atlantic flight schedule by rote) and structure is, for me, the easiest way to survive these bizarre times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Also ironic is that I’m talking to family and friends far more than I ever managed to do in “real life” as we must now remember it. I have been Face Timing, talking on the phone and, yesterday, participated in an online quiz on Zoom with a group of people and made new friends into the bargain. After a slight initial self-consciousness, it genuinely felt as if we were in the same room. We laughed, joked, showed off our different awards (even in the throes of a killer virus, media folk are <i>so </i>competitive) and, after the quiz, stayed online to talk about other matters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Zoom, by the way, is terrific. It’s a conference app on which you can host 10 people for free and, for $149pa, up to 100 (you can have as many hosts and people as you like, by the way; the price goes up accordingly).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">So, it was quite an event filled weekend. I cleaned my apartment and changed my bed linen (always a Saturday morning job), did my washing, coloured my hair and squeezed the blackheads in my nose (a daily job, but I get a strange kick out of it, especially the squishy ones that lurk in the corners and ooze out gratefully, like inmates jumping a prison wall).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It’s now lunchtime here and I’m having homemade chicken curry, a glass of Whispering Angel rosé and looking forward to a quiet afternoon of reading and watching TV. Who knows: I might even decide to speak to another human.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Before long, it’ll be bedtime again, and I’ll be hitting the Courvoisier. Incidentally, did you know that brandy/Cognac has no carbohydrates and is very good for “bad” cholesterol.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Now if that thought doesn’t give you sweet dreams, I don’t know what will. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1906455923576465530.post-17918306004416423662020-03-28T11:58:00.001-04:002020-03-28T12:15:10.766-04:00HOW TO BE . . . SANE IN A CRISIS IN AMERICA<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The epicenter. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Every day brings a new headline informing me that, in New York City, I am where it’s all happening in relation to the Coronavirus pandemic. More cases, more deaths, more fear as the cries for ventilators and help are drowned out by too much misinformation and the hunger for political gain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We are lucky in New York state having an extraordinary governor in Andrew Cuomo; our Mayor Bill de Blasio is also doing a terrific job of keeping us up to date with regular TV appearances, stressing the seriousness of the situation and yet strangely calming in his delivery of facts rather than speculation. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">And we all have to be grateful to the physician, immunologist and the country’s leading infectious diseases expert, Dr Anthony Fauci, whose analysis of the situation is the one I am taking on board, rather than that of deluded optimists who think we will all be licking each other’s Lindt chocolate bunnies, come April 12<sup>th</sup>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I have lived in NYC for six years and feel safer here than anywhere I have ever lived; there is security in crowds, particularly late at night. True, you run the risk of the odd manhole cover blowing off and decapitating you, not to mention debris falling from one of many construction sites and slicing you in two, but for the most part, for me, it feels safer than the UK cities of Bath or Cardiff ever did – places in which I had friends raped, mugged, burgled (I was burgled in both cities) and attacked by drunks in bars. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I am not saying there are not incidents in NYC, but by the end of the 90s violent crime had dropped by 56%, most of the credit being given to Mayor Rudy Giulani for the clean-up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">September 11<sup>th</sup> 2001was the day New Yorkers felt vulnerable once more, falling victims to an act of terrorism that continues to cast a shadow, both emotionally and physically, over the lives of so many today. The city came together, and, in the current crisis, comparisons are constantly made about the spirit of the place as it faces unprecedented difficulties. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We are not alone, but we are, at this moment (and it could all change by the time I finish writing this), the most vulnerable. The city that never sleeps isn’t so much having a nap; it feels in an advanced state of rigor mortis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We, like the rest of the world, have no control over the situation and when humans lose control, they enter panic mode. But while we have lost control of the bigger picture, there are still aspects of our lives over which we still have influence and that can at least dispel fear, even though not eradicate it entirely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">My friends have always laughed at my having enough food and supplies as if I am preparing for war. They’re not laughing now. I have always had a pathological fear of running out of toilet paper and so, at present, I could keep the backsides of a barracks in pristine health for at least two months. I have enough dried pasta to open a couple of Italian restaurants (I wouldn’t be allowed any customers, but hey ho, you can’t have everything); likewise, enough rice to set up a “Write your name on a grain of rice” sideshow (don’t laugh – it’s big business on Santa Monica pier) that would give me an income for life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">My fridge is full of fresh food; my freezer packed to the gills with home-made dishes – Quorn Bolognese, ratatouille, lentil curry, bœuf Bourguignon (see what I did there?), chicken gravy, banana bread, plus the usual frozen staples: blackberries, blueberries, peas, edamame and fava beans. My wardrobe is an orchestra of Evian water and wine bottles, competing for attention.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Every morning, I do my meditation (I’ve been an on-off Transcendental fan practitioner for decades), then go for my morning run around the pier. I live in Hell’s Kitchen, and Pier 84, which is never very crowded now that there are no boats sailing from there is a godsend when I need to exercise. Funnily enough, I used to have to drag myself to the gym right next to it, but I have found I am much more disciplined now that option is denied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Outside, I have discovered all sorts of stones and steps on which I can do my stretches. I also live 31 floors up in my apartment block and take advantage of what has become an in-built gym of sorts, running up and down the stairwell (okay, running down, dragging myself back up). I have my own sets of arm and leg weights anyway (I told you I was prepared), so use those every day, in addition to doing a few yoga exercises I learned many years ago. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, the joy of doing Downward Facing Dog and not having the person in front farting in your face – the reason I gave up yoga classes in the first place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I am reading more than I have in years. I subscribed to the Paris Review and this week re-read Goodbye, Columbus, the Philip Roth novella that began his career when the periodical published it. I’m a big Roth fan and am hugely enjoying The Plot Against America on TV, too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I’m reading Woody Allen’s autobiography Apropos of Nothing (Don’t judge; I’ve always had my doubts about The Plot Against Woody Allen, for reasons I won’t go into here). It’s a fabulous, easy read and beautifully captures New York at a time and place long gone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I’m watching classical music concerts online (though I gave the Met’s Wagner operas a miss this week – every port in a storm and all that, but not where Wagner’s concerned). The divine violinist Andre Rieu had a NYC concert in Radio City and it’s been intercut with black and white footage of the first hopefuls arriving in the city, full of hope and excitement; it feels especially poignant at this time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">So far, my health is good and, while I was sick over two weeks ago, I self-isolated, just in case. I’m less stressed than I’ve been in years and I’m sleeping better, too. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">My bedtime treat is a glass of hot oat milk with a shot of brandy. If, one day, I don’t wake up, you’ll know I went contentedly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Stay safe, everyone. Stay sane. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">This is New York, New York. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We’ll make it here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0