World Book Night 2012

Posted on April 23, 2012 by Natalie

I have been lucky enough to be a giver for World Book Night twice now.

It’s the most amazing organisation based on a very simple but powerful idea.  Getting people passionate about books and reading to hand out books they love to spread the word……. reading is really fantastic.

Last year I was lucky enough to be a giver of Stuart:  A Life Backwards, a book very dear to me.  It makes for very tough reading in parts and I did worry that I was handing out a book that might have issues in it that “9 to 5ers” as Stuart himself called them might not be aware of/or want to think about. Stuart wanted his story told and managed to get his rather dry academic biographer (Alexander Masters) to turn his life into a real page turner, a thriller, like a Tom Clancy novel.  I felt very proud to be part of the first World Book Night and to continue to help pass this remarkable, often hilarious, sometimes very sad, story on to new readers.

This year I thought maybe I should try to go for something completely different and I was so happy to be chosen to give I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith.  A sweet charming tale of a girl growing up in England in the 1930s.   I arranged to give it to some of the girls at the high school I work at.  I did worry it might be too gentle for the Twilight Generation. (Although there is plenty of  longing in it for fans of Team Edward).  I hoped that no matter which decade you grew up in, there are certain universal themes that girls everywhere can relate to.

This year I was even brave enough to approach some strangers.  I worked out the best question to open with was “When was the last time you read a book?”  with a big smile on my face.  If the answer was “errr” and then a very long pause I knew I had a contender.

The books have generally been very well received.  I only had 3 knock backs.. and all my co-lunch time supervisors.   They are not interested in reading.  I wondered what it would take to reach them.  Ah well,  I thought you can’t please everyone, but I was surprised one wouldn’t even take it for her teenage daughter.

It is the most wonderful feeling to speak to someone who hasn’t read for a while and put a book in their hand, a completely altruistic gift.  Both years I have been overwhelmingly and very powerfully taken aback by the pleasure, the strength of feeling I received giving these books.  I thought it might be nice for someone to receive a free book, but I didn’t think I would feel the emotions too.

So I really want to thank the organisers for all their hard work.  I am so grateful to be part of something so unique and satisfying.  I hope this is an annual event for many years to come and that these books are sent off on long adventures and journeys, enjoyed by many, many new readers and that people come to love “to lose (their) thoughts in other men’s minds” just as Charles Lamb once described so wonderfully and accurately when he was asked what he enjoyed about reading.

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Stupid Deaths

Posted on April 15, 2012 by Natalie

If Horrible Histories, that wonderful history comedy sketch show, ostensibly for children, but adored by young ones and their parents alike, is around in 100 years, I think their long running skit about ridiculous and “Stupid Deaths” will show the pointless death of racehorses for sport to a disbelieving audience.

I have loved the Grand National ever since I was a child.  It was an annual event, pick out the horse using the analysis of the amateur.  Superstitions, lucky numbers, favourite colours and names that appealed.   Over the years I had some successes.  Like everyone else there were wins with the famous sheep-skinned noseband of Red Rum.  A schoolgirl crush on Champion Jockey Jonny Francome, whose placings on Rough and Tumble earned me at least my stake back and a bit more.  But there were many more losses.  But I didn’t mind, it was all part of the fun  and festival of the day.

Over the years I have taken many of my friends for their first trip to the bookies on National Day.   In recent years they have become much inviting places.  When they were smoke-filled windowless rooms, their walls covered head to foot with screens and race details and men, always only men standing watching the numbers, trying to beat the odds, I found them very  intimidating places indeed.   I fully understood I was visiting a secret world, I had been granted access on this one day, and this National day only.

I knew the race was dangerous.  In 1980 only 4 horses finished the race.  I listened to the people who ran the sport, that the size of the field and the size and difficulty of the iconic fences of Beechers, Canal Turn and The Chair made it what it was, they made it unique and that led to the romance and mystique of the Race.  Take them away and you made the Grand National ordinary.    They said the National got in your blood, it was the ultimate prize in the steeplechase year and the traditions should remain.

And didn’t the Grand National always give a chance to the outsider, the long shot.  The winner always had story straight from a fairytale.  Even Hollywood had been seduced by the epic tales with the adaption of Enid Bagnold’s National Velvet starring a young Elizabeth Taylor as the eponymous Velvet.

No horses were injured in the making of this film

This alone should secure the race its place untouched in the sporting calendar.  You never hear of betting syndicates trying to influence the outcome of the National, unlike in every other fixture these days from flat racing, to football  and boxing and even recently to cricket, the game to me was the ultimate metaphor of fair play and decency.  But sadly even it has been tainted.

But something much much worse than all of that happens at the Aintree on National day. Every year beautiful intelligent horses die in horrific circumstances.  I knew this before yesterday but for all the reasons listed above I pushed these thoughts to the back of my mind.  But yesterday I could no longer allow myself the luxury of denial.

I was meeting old friends in a bar in Harrogate.  We were  having a wonderful, long chatty catch up lunch.  We hadn’t seen each other for some time and all of us had news to share and celebrate.  I was in the company of my two oldest and very dear friends.   My bets were already chosen at home but we were going to watch the race because one friend lived in same village as According to Pete.  She knew the owner too.  He was a lovely man she said.  We skipped off to the bookies to join the long queue to get our bet on.  This could pay for lunch my friend said.

So our hopes were high, it was amazing to have a personal connection to the race.   The bar was filling up, the excitement was rising, we had had a lovely lunch, I could not have been more contented.

Everyone knows the outcome of the race, the closest photo-finish ever, the first grey horse to win since 1961 and they won by a nudge of a nostril.   But sadly this year there is no story except two horses had to be put down after breaking their legs.  According to Pete was brought down by another fallen horse.  In short he had nowhere he could land because there were too many other runners and riders fighting for the same spot to come down safely and continue the race.

My friend had said that the owner told them that he didn’t care where Pete came in the race as long as he got round safely.  She said the owner will be distraught.   In that bar all those wonderful, contented feelings vanished instantly.  A bucket of cold water full in the face couldn’t have done it any quicker.  The betting slip was still on the table.  It felt like an insult, an affront.  Utterly offensive to be betting on a horse that raced and lost its life almost in front of our eyes.  That was my lightbulb moment.  I could no long sanction and legitimise this barbaric sport.

The other horse that died yesterday was Synchronized.  A Gold Cup winner ridden by Champion Jockey A P McCoy.  Synchronized had already thrown his rider before the race and there were reports that Tony McCoy had hurt his arm.  I thought about the incredible film about the racing driver Ayrton Senna.   Many changes had been made to the F1 cars the season he died to make the racing more exciting.   Since Senna’s untimely death and the loss of one of the most charismatic and exciting drivers there has ever been, safety changes have been to the sport and thankfully no driver since has lost his life.  Is that what it is going to take at the National too, nothing will change until a jockey dies? Racing’s equivalent to Ayrton Senna?    I really hope the British Horseracing Authority acts before there is any more loss of life, equine or human.

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Miro Miro

Posted on April 7, 2012 by Natalie

Unfortunately for Nina we didn’t go and see Mirror Mirror this afternoon. Instead we went to see the Joan Miro exhibition at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park.

The Yorkshire Sculpture Park is a lovely day out.  An excellent walk in rolling Yorkshire hills punctuated by works of art of outstanding beauty and  it does have to be said, some sheep poo.  But it just adds to the charm.  There were even lambs flocking around the car as we went to park this afternoon.   We have been many times and with diverse sets of friends and every time we find another previously undiscovered corner to enjoy as well as visiting all the old favourites.  The park is the perfect combination of nature and art.

But today we were there for the Joan Miro exhibition.   After a quick trip to some of our favourite pieces such as the rusted iron HA HA bridge, a bridge of rusted iron with the letters HA HA cut out of both side, and the beautiful smooth granite egg sculptures.  I am afraid they are both so tactile the children love to climb on them despite the signage asking you to desist.  In our defence the signage is quite obliquely placed, it is so subtle and far away from the corresponding sculpture it took us a few visits to even notice they were there. In some cases it is also rather misleading.  This is our favourite:-

Hand on my heart I can promise we have never had a climbing picnic there.

A little further and we were into the Miro sculptures.  They were amazing.  Very elemental. I know nothing really of Joan Miro except he was from Spain, was working around the time of the Spanish Civil War, and that his paintings were very colourful with those broad black strokes and his use of primary colours and shapes.

The inspiration for his work comes from the earth.  His experiences of his family’s farm south of Barcelona had a profound influence on him.    He said himself “It is contact with the earth that enables me to fly”.      And he wanted his work to be shown outside.  I think he would have approved of this exhibition.  I wondered if there was another place on earth so suited to show his work.

The definition of cultured... looking at this sculpture without seeing Wall-E

There were about 10 to 15 pieces outside.  They were unpainted bronzes.  The figures abstract but always appealing.  The children could see similarities to much loved Aardman and Pixar characters.  I am sure to an art connoisseur this is tantamount to blasphemy but thought it said much for the universal appeal of his work.

There was an extensive collection inside includes some of his most famous pieces, the Sun and Moon Birds.   The bronze looked more like wood, it looked like it should be warm, it was hard not to reach out and touch.  Many of the bronzes looked like me in a bad mood sniggered Nina and Harry and this became a great game to compare the abstract forms in front of them to a cross me.

Me before my Yorkshire Tea in the morning apparently.

But reading about the themes I was stuck by the perception of the children’s remarks.   Miro dealt with male and femaleness, with fecundity and creating life.  Miro would also describe his sculptures as “phantasmagorical monsters”  so I think those descriptions of me before my tea in the morning were really rather accurate!

There were some of those world-famous paintings there too.  Seeing them on a wall half hour’s journey away from my house nearly made me cry, it was so thrilling.

The final room of the exhibition went into his working life and techniques.  I was very taken with a quote about life under the Nazis.  He thought he was “done for” that he would only be able to draw in the sand or make pictures with cigarette smoke.   An evocative image in itself and I was a little jealous too if I am honest, jealous of a creativity that would find a way or method of expression, no matter how enormous the obstacles put in its path.

The exhibition is on until January 2013 and I would heartily recommend it.

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Mary Poppins I aint.

Posted on April 3, 2012 by Natalie

 

I am definitely not practically perfect in anyway

Blimey, if I thought it was stressful getting the girls to their technical rehearsal on Thursday night.  I had no idea what was in store the following evening.

It was the first night of the show.  Excitement was running at a fever pitch, there were girls of all heights and ages running around.  The one common factor; they all had immaculate gelled buns.  First pressure of the night. Would Nina’s gelled bun withstand the tests and rigours demanded of it.   The amount of gel and hairspray slathered on it would have kept a medium-sized hairdressers going for a week.  It was a nervous time.

Mrs Hampshore had given full and clear instructions on arrival times.  We knew which mums would be helping in the dressing rooms, runners were organised too.  Drinks and snacks had been provided and we were told to bring board games for the girls.   I had managed to bring some cards.  What could possibly go wrong?

Well for someone who is not a natural sewer, the pressure of having to sew torn costumes was intense.   The girls were doing a routine to Run Rabbit Run and they had neon pink netting skirts complete with a white bob-tail fastened at the back, the aforementioned white leotard and a sequined neon pink bow tie.

You would be amazed and possibly quite disbelieving just how many bow ties could come unattached or how many bob-tails could split just as the girls were being called to the stage.    One girl’s bow tie went on one side, and then two seconds before she went on stage the other side went.   My mind went blank.  I couldn’t even thread the needle in time.  The eye of the needle had become microscopic and my fingers and threads had swelled to the size of a giant’s.  My mind went blanker.  Buddhists mediating for years couldn’t empty their mind anymore than mine was at that moment.   Luckily one mum noticed and her rapid response quick thinking saved the day.  She tied the elastic on to itself and on the girl went.  It took until the interval for my knees to stop knocking.

If we thought the pressure was off once they came back down after the performance, we had to think again.  How do you keep 20 odd girls, ages ranging from 3 to 7-year-old clean for over an hour in a dusty room?  Especially when they are wearing white and have been given orange juice in squashy cartons to drink?  We couldn’t have handled those cartons to the girls more delicately if they had been the most precious finely blown priceless glassware.  The girls were under very strict orders not to squeeze the boxes.  We all held our breath, and miraculously no orange juice spilled on the costumes.   It doesn’t seem possible we were so lucky.

Then all we had to do was keep them occupied and relatively quiet for over an hour with extremely limited resources.  We tried Chinese Whispers.  That lasted maybe two rounds. The girls all wanted to start off the whispers themselves and couldn’t agree who should do it.  Despite all our attempts at arbitration.   We tried Grandma’s Footsteps.  That was successful for about 30 seconds.  We tried singing.  That didn’t even get off the ground.  By this time the little ones were really missing their mummies.  ”I want my mummy”.  ”I want my  mummy”. “I WANT my mummy.”  One little girl was insistent and was far too clever to be fobbed off with a cheery but vague.  ”She will be here soon”.     None of us adults were even sure who her mum was.  This little darling dumpling of a girl was probably not much older than 3.  Still with those adorable plump little toddler legs.  It was well past her bedtime, of course she should want her mum.

Anxious looks went round the helpers.  What are we doing to do?  In the interval I searched for her mum in the audience but she wasn’t there.   It was going to be long long Second Half.

With darling dumpling girl on one knee and her friend on the other we tried some more singing.   The thought went through my mind… how did they keep children occupied in concentration camps.  An extreme thought I know but then I heard one of the other mums saying as she balanced two more babies on her knees ” This is just like being in the war!”.

Every minute of the second Act meant we were closer to the finale and hometime.  It couldn’t come quick enough.   I had brought some pencils and crayons.  We ripped up a cardboard box and I did a raid of The Friends of Guiseley Operatic Society flyers as they were blank on one side and the girls settled down to do some drawing.  Peace (well apart from the squabbles over colours) reigned.  We breathed a sigh of relief.

At last the girls were being called to the stage for the finale.  We are on the home stretch. Things were going smoothly.  Our only obstacle was to get girls to the loo in time.  Getting the costumes off and back on again was tricky but manageable.  Everything was looking good, everything was looking great until Nina, yes my daughter, locked the door of her loo and it stuck fast.   Cue panic from Nina, she wouldn’t climb under the door.  She couldn’t undo the lock.  I couldn’t undo the lock with my thumb nail on my side.  I despatched the other little girl with instructions to bring a mum with a penny!  Which she duly did.  I could hear the stage manager barking for the lines of girls to go up to the stage.  Nina was getting quite hysterical behind the door.  The penny was not opening the door.  I was trying to stop the rising levels of panic that were building all around us.  The mum with the penny tried again.  Nothing.  One last try, the lock opened. Nina was released straight into her line and up the stairs and onto the stage.  Leaving two rather frazzled women in her wake.

Backstage has always held a certain fascination for me, seeing what really goes on to put on the show, being in the “know”, feeling part of something, a sense of community.  I have to say though being a chaperone for those girls has made me rethink that a little.  I realise now the pleasure and privilege of sitting front of house and letting the show entertain you.

And if I am chaperoning next year I will be coming with a Mary Poppins bag of tricks and reams and reams of paper, a dozen pre-threaded needles and strict instructions that no-one locks the loo!

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Because accidentally dyeing Nina’s ballet leotard Man City blue 3 days before her Gala Performances wasn’t enough of a disaster this week….

Posted on March 30, 2012 by Natalie

I have had the week from, well not hell, but certainly a calamity strune one.. and it’s only Friday morning now.

Looking back, really I think it all started last Friday morning when I smashed a bottle of milk all over the kitchen floor.  The worse of that was I was ACTUALLY AHEAD that morning.  My inner child was screaming “THIS IS SO UNFAIR!” and stamping its inner child foot.  I was actually on time, calm, everything done and about to enjoy the last 20 minutes with the children before they went to school.  But oh no  that could never be and two seconds later I was mopping up spilt milk  and broken glass and praying that it hadn’t affected/broken the computer.   An unimaginable thought.

Rather naively, I must admit I did think that was my misfortune for the week.   Ha Ha Ha .. how the Gods must have laughed when they heard that hubris.  No we woke up on Saturday morning to the intense smell of off milk.  Bad enough on a normal day but we were receiving visitors from London that evening..a very dear friend with their 12 year old son on his first visit to the North.  What on earth was he going to make of us?  What would he tell his friends at school on the Monday.  ”Well it was alright, they weren’t all in cloth caps and whippets but it didn’t half pong something rotten!”

Anyway after another manic and forensic clean and airing.. I tell you, you can really get under the fridge clean with a knife wrapped in sheets of kitchen roll.. A revelation really. Surprised Lakeland Plastics aren’t marketing this.   It turned out it was the mop and bucket that was creating the stink.  They have been banished to a far away cupboard out of noses’ reach.

And we all had a lovely time on Saturday and ended up at my sisters’ so it just shows you never know what is round the corner and not to worry if your house smells like an Alex James’ whiffy cheese.   Things always work out ok.

The rest of the weekend and the next few days went along quite smoothly really.  Just a mad scramble to make an Easter Bonnet on Monday night (it was our only slot.. my life has turned a schedule worth of a Heathrow Air-traffic controller “Tower to Mum you are clear to make the bonnet.. you have from 4.45 to 5.00 on Monday to source material.  You will have from 6.30 to 7.00 to make it. Over”.  Then gather materials for Harry’s Easter Garden for Wednesday.  Turns out we don’t have as much gravel or moss in our garden as most other people.  And making tissue paper flowers is harder than you think.   This was before getting the Hats ready for Wear a Hat to school on Friday (to support brain tumour research so all for a good cause but there were no more slots from the Tower to make our own).

So far so good.  No it all started to unravel when I accidentally dyed Nina’s white ballet leotard Man City blue on Monday night (because I wanted to wear my beautiful blue trousers to wear on Tuesday.. pride comes before a fall doesn’t it).  I hadn’t read the instructions.  Everything of mine is 40 degrees.. except these damn trousers.   Nina’s ballet leotard. Blue. Harry’s white school shirt and P E top.  Blue. Paul’s very favourite shirt we had to trail across America to find.  Blue. Oh yes if you are going to do it.  Do it completely Natalie. Less “What are you doing Susan?”  more “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE Natalie?”  ”What have you done?”  On showing Nina her newly Blue dress.. she exclaimed rather excitedly ” That’s just like my white one.”  She was rather crestfallen when it was explained that was her white dress. Now blue.

This colour change was so inappropriate because Nina is in her first ballet show for the Moira Hampshore School of Ballet at Guiseley Theatre, Friday, Saturday and full technical rehearsal Thursday evening.  Mrs Hampshore is  THE archetypal Ballet Teacher.  Tall, thin, ramrod straight-backed with a Mary Quant fringe.  And she is formidable.  I think all the mums are frightened of her.  I couldn’t be the mum to let her down on the costume front.  I will leave the ins and outs of gelling a bun for another time.  Let’s just say it’s a time-consuming process when you have a daughter with Rapunzel length hair and you are not a natural at the arts of dressing hair.  I am more Edward Scissorhands than Vidal Sassoon.

So I was in a real tizz.  The thought of Mrs Hampshore’s disapproval loomed large.  I have learnt this week there is no “miracle ” powder to put in your machine to reverse dye your clothes.  Despite me wishing very very hard that were was.    I will say however that Domestos is my new best friend and all this bleaching has made my sink very very sparkly too.  Mrs Hampshore will never have to know.

So again, I thought it can’t get any worse that this.  We are all set to go to Guiseley (the other side of Leeds – and about an hour’s journey in rush-hour) for 6.30 pm for the next three nights.  Petrol shortage? my full tank laughs in your face.  Paul in London on Friday night?  Pah!  I have excellent friends to help out.  Adversities you can’t get one over on me……

But they  could and did they ever.   On going to bed on Wednesday night my son discovered his beloved gerbil had died.  Poor Nibbles.  He had seen her and realised she wasn’t moving and so give her a little nudge.  ”Nibbles is Dead Mum.  Nibbles is Dead”  he just kept saying over and over again. I couldn’t believe it.  I was comforting Harry but inside I was thinking “Mum to Tower Mum to Tower .. we don’t have a slot to bury the gerbil.  Repeat we don’t have a slot to bury Nibbles.  Please Advise.”

There was much sadness that night.  But luckily the children slept and Harry was a bit down in the morning but not inconsolable.  I was worried Nina was going to be in floods of tears.  I worried in vain.  She marched into school and told everyone.  ”One gerbil murdered the other last night”  (We are not sure if this is factually corrrect).  Cue chorus of 4 year old boys chanting “Murder Murder Murder”  Taking the register must have been a lively experience for the Reception Teacher that morning.

And so onto Thursday.  What could go wrong?  We found the venue for the technical rehearsal.  We were on time.  We had been singing to some fantastic songs on Real (all scheduled for me of course (I can dream!)) in the sunshine. Roof down.  Life was sweet.  Until we pulled into the car park.  And the car did what I can only describe as a death lurch.  Like the most shuddering, juddering, convulsing, terrifying, kangerooing lurch, the dashboard was blinking and chiming warnings like Cassandra.   I was getting the message loud and clear.  This was not good.

This was not good at all.  Luckily my friend took the girls to their rehearsal.  I had a Knight in a silver BMW who pushed me into a parking bay.  Thank you so much you and your wife were very lovely people.  Unfortunately there were some very abusive people and I apologise to them that my breaking down stopped them getting to the Pet Shop 5 minutes later than they wanted.   My husband rang the RAC (they wouldn’t speak to me because it was his policy, of course I couldn’t).  I thought this might not be so bad.  There was a Costa Coffee.  I will sit in there and wait it out.

The hardest blow of all.  Costa Coffee was closed.  I was being tested to my limits.   Instead I had to sit in the KFC and I don’t want to put you off  your food but I am sure the milk in the latte was off.   But the RAC man arrived ahead of schedule.   The car worked for him.  I am so glad I had witnesses from earlier, but still he could find nothing wrong.  We had to get the girls out of the rehearsal because he wanted to follow us home.  Sorry Mrs Hampshore.  Sorry sorry sorry.  I will never be in her good books.

We got home.  The diagnosis on the car is that the gear box overheated and don’t drive the car again until it has been checked out.  Guiseley, Mrs Hampshore, the newly rewhited leotard, my full tank of petrol and the cost of that swarmed in my mind.  ” Mum to Tower, Mum to Tower, need to recalibrate all existing plans in an instant”

But we have, and Nibbles got a lovely and touching send off (we ignored Nina’s suggestion to feel her to the cats).  Now all I have to do is get to the show tonight and tomorrow, with Nina, her gelled bun, complete costume and ballet shows, needle and thread and I am home free.  Easy…….I hope.

 

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Watson and Oliver

Posted on March 18, 2012 by Natalie

Very quick blog this week…

I am totally enamoured by a new comedy duo, Watson and Oliver, currently on tv on BBC2 Monday nights at 10 pm.  A female double act which will inevitably garner them comparisons to Dawn French and Jennifer Saunders.  But I think they are more like Morecambe & Wise.  It’s not cutting edge, in fact quite the opposite, it cosily harks back to the days of The Two Ronnies and Eric and Ernie, with song and dance numbers book ending the sketches in the middle.

What is it though, is just really,really funny.  Regardless to whom they have been compared  they have been entertaining my whole family from 5 to ahem 40+ for the past few weeks.

This sketch makes me cry with laughter, probably because I can see myself in “what are you doing, Susan”.

“Service My Darlin’” –  A catchphrase ready-made for the playground if ever there was one.  My daughter (5) is already mimicking “my darlin’” and interjecting it at the most surprising and amusing moments.

As they are a new act not everything is laugh out funny.  But there is so much potential there I really hope they get the chance of subsequent series to develop the good stuff.  I just want more of them.. especially dear, dotty, easily flustered Susan from Blakely Manor. If you haven’t already, give them a go.  They are worth it.

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Fly Me to the Moon and let me play among the Stars

Posted on March 9, 2012 by Natalie

Oscar Wilde said famously “We are all in the gutter but some of us are looking up at the stars.”

It has always tickled me, maybe because I love looking up to the heavens and gazing in cosmic awe and wonder at the constellations.

I am sure the origins lie in being introduced to Greek Mythology at a very tender age of 7 at primary school.  Mr Parker, thank you.  I loved learning the names of all the Greek Gods (and their Roman counterparts) hearing their stories, finding out what they symbolised.   Odyssey is an epic story of a man’s ten year struggle to return to his wife and child after the end of the Trojan War.  A tale that has been told over and over again in myriad of different ways and yet is as true and as relevant today as it was to the Ancient Greeks.  Indeed I believe my love of Shakespeare first started because I delighted in all the references to the Gods and Goddesses in his texts.  It was an exciting code to puzzle over to unlock the meanings.  I worry Shakespeare will become less and less accessible to children today, if these universal stories are no longer taught we will lose the foothold into those great works.

So what does this have to do with the stars?  Well there is Orion The Great Hunter isn’t there.. eternally chasing Diana across the heavens.  He stands over our house every Winter like a guard, his belt and dagger so clear on those cold, hard, black nights.  I am totally seduced by him, you can keep the Plough and the North Star, as long as I can see Orion, everything feels it is in its place.  The Universe is functioning as it should.  The clockwise procession of the Solar System is keeping time.

I love to look up at Orion and know that all of mankind has gazed up at wonder at him too. Homer, The Egyptians, Shakespeare every single person on this planet. Such an infinite connection to the past and the future.  It gives me goosebumps every time.

This week though even Orion has been outshone.  Last Friday I noticed two startling large bright stars in the Western horizon.  Just after dust.  They were beautiful.  Diamonds in the sky.

I remembered that Venus is very visible to the naked eye at this time of year.  The Evening Star is well named.  But the light beside it dwarfed it, could it be a satellite?   A quick consultation with Twitter yielded a very rapid response.  Jupiter.  JUPITER.  How can we see Jupiter unaided?  That we can, lead me to wonder how I had never seen it before.  It is an unmistakable beacon of light.  Every night I look up, my eyes are magnetized.  I can’t tear them away.  I feel spellbound.

My mum and I, not living close to each other, often refer to the beauty of La Luna, especially when she is full, as a way of feeling more connected.  The distance doesn’t feel so great when you can see the same beautiful moon rising each  night.  This month we now have Venus and Jupiter to marvel at too.   Apparently you can see Mars (near the Moon) and Mercury very low on the horizon at this time of year.    I am surprisingly excited to learn this.  I am even thinking about buying some binoculars!

And as I always like a soundtrack maybe I can listen to this and dream about the heavens as I star-gaze away.

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Money, money, money

Posted on February 28, 2012 by Natalie

Listening to the news this week has been even more horrendous and soul crushing than normal.

The Syrian regime’s bombing of their own people in Homs whilst the world stands back is brutal beyond words.  Why is this different to Libya?  Why is there no concerted international pressure?  Every night on twitter there are messages of support to the French journalist Edith Bouvier, injured in Syria and hoping someone will get her out.  I listened with disgust and horror to Paul Conroy’s widow talking on the radio on Sunday about how the Foreign Office had explained to her that it was too dangerous to send someone to rescue her husband, the Sunday Times photographer who was injured in the bomb blast that killed Marie Colvin.  How she wanted someone to say to hell with the protocol, they were going to go and get him.

I thought the tragic death of  Marie Colvin  (read her final report for The Sunday Times here) might have been a game changer, but apparently not.  When the news came in of her death it made me realise that this is a true journalist, someone who believed that the independent reporting was essential and would go to any lengths regardless of her own personal safety to get the truth.  I thought back to the Leveson Inquiry into Media Ethics and J K Rowling’s testament, where she talked about there being two types of journalists, those of the calibre of Marie Colvin who are essential to ensure a fair and democratic society, and the other sort that just invaded her life (and countless other public figures) and caused untold levels of stress and upset for no true journalist purpose. If you have time to read her written witness statement, the extent of press intrusion is quite staggering.  She said they should have a different name, that you could not compare the two.  J K Rowling is absolutely right.  We distinguish between photo-journalists and the paparazzi, we should do the same for journalists and what I don’t know.  Muck-raker hacks?  Bottom-feeder fantasists?  Mmm not that catchy.  I think they need some work.

Yesterday the Leveson Inquiry heard from the Metropolitan Police Deputy Assistant Commission, Sue Akers who said “there was a cultural of illegal payments” at The Sun.  Bribery was openly discussed.  Multiple payments were made to officials in Government, Police, Prisons, Health Service.  One journalist was given £150,000 for payments to “sources” not for stories in the public interest but for “salacious gossip”

This coming the day after the launch of The Sun on Sunday, and Rupert Murdoch crowing that he had sales of 3 million yesterday.  Do you think Murdoch knew what was coming and rushing out that launch before Sue Akers’ statement?

It is worth pointing out this is The Sun, not the News of the World.  The Sun.  The Sun that accused other papers of a witch-hunt against them last week.   The levels of corruption just make me sick.  But what worries me more is, is anything actually going to change?   We have to ensure that they do, and we can all start by not buying The Sun, ever.  I am surprised twitter haven’t started a campaign to boycott major Sun advertisers too.  We have to stand up and say we will not accept this.

If that wasn’t bad enough Barclay’s Bank, the only British High Street bank that didn’t need a handout from the Government during the financial crisis has been outed as trying to claw back £0.5 billion from the Treasury on tax it hadn’t even paid.  This being announced on the day that Occupy London protesters were removed by bailiffs.

So one of the very few voices daring to question the ethical nature of big business practices has been snuffed out on the day one of those billion pound companies are found to be “trying it on again”.

Really I am not feeling a lot of hope today for the future of this country.  How have we got into this mess?  What is the answer?  Everywhere in my own life I meet with decent, kind, honest people.  I have experienced altruism on life-affirming levels.  I think I a fairly moral and decent person.    Is it true, is it as simple as power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely?   I haven’t even touched on the Workfare scheme.  News out last night was that McDonalds had taken £20 millions from it and used it to enhance their existing employees, they had  not created one single job, Asda have started cutting the hours of paid workers and using the unpaid labour instead.  These again are companies making millions every year.

Is it endemic?  How can we stand up and say not in my name?  Any thoughts and views are extremely welcome.  Surely if we all  stick together and say we demand better we can make a difference?

Posted in News and Current Affairs, Politics | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Nat’s Treasures No #17 Danny Boyle

Posted on February 22, 2012 by Natalie

An occasional series looking at people I admire

Tuesday 22 February 2011.  Already it’s a whole year since I attended the World Premiere of Frankenstein at the National Theatre.

If you don’t remember this, it was one of the biggest theatre events last year.  Benedict Cumberbatch (who had just shot to stardom in Sherlock, see previous blogs for my admiration of his talent!) was playing Victor Frankenstein and The Creature on alternate nights opposite an old Danny Boyle favourite Jonny Lee Millar.

Frankenstein was a new play by Nick Dear, who had previously worked with Jonny Lee Miller in the BBC TV series Bryon, who was famously with Mary Shelley and her husband in Switzerland when the idea of Frankenstein came to Mary in a dream, after a night telling ghost stories.

So tickets to the hottest show in town, time away from the kids, and a trip to the South Bank, somewhere I consider somewhat of a spiritual home, could the day get any better?  Well yes, this was a glittering star studded event, we lost count of famous people attending alongside us, in short it appeared to be the cream of British Acting talent there that night, oh and Paul and I.  We even ended up having drinks beside a noticeably nervous Danny Boyle (he is much taller in real life) and the extremely apprehensive  Nick Dear.  We even saw the long time Boyle musical collaborators  Underworld.  They seemed to taking their premiere much more in their stride.

I was quite dumbstruck to be standing next to Danny Boyle, director of so many of my favourite films.  Scenes from Trainspotting, (the only film I have seen at the cinema four times, to say I was obsessed is an understatement) Slumdog Millionaire, 28 Days Later, Shallow Grave and my personal favourite, Millions raced through my head.  I wanted to thank him right for every exhilarating adrenaline fueled visual moment.  To thank him for all those sublime film soundtracks, for all that music which has become so entwined in my own life.  For all those characters he has brought to the screen so clearly and so vividly, and for all that new British acting talent he has brought to us.

His incredible energy was on display, he was chewing gum at a ferocious rate.  I couldn’t say anything he was with his family, but it was amazing to overhear the conversations about the Oscars being held that Sunday.  They were up for best picture with 127 hours, another film that jumps out of the screen and holds you in a rock hard grip for 2 hours.  There was much talk of it being Colin’s year for Best Actor  as he was in contention with James Franco.  It made you realise just how arbitrary these awards are.  How can you really say which  performance is better?  A very surreal moment.

And wonderful to hear that voice, that Manchester accent that has been softened by years of international film-making but still so distinct.  I love that Danny Boyle promotes all his own films.  I can listen to his analysis, passion, enthusiasm, creativity and total artistic understanding of his films and their power all day.  He makes me feel that anything is possible.  That I can achieve anything I want. In short a very inspiring man.

Which makes me so delighted that he is in charge of the Olympics Opening Ceremony.  Who ever made that appointment should be given a Knighthood themselves.   Danny Boyle understands how to communicate to and also to entertain an audience.  He knows exactly what makes something so exciting to watch.  How to tell a story clearly but also with impact, imagination and humour.   I am sure he is having a few sleepless nights right now, but I know he is the right man for the job.  I can’t wait to see what he does, but I know it will be memorable, spectacular and at the heart of it the very essence of what it is to be British.  Something we will be proud to show the world.

And the play? well it had all of Danny Boyle’s trademark visual punch and flair (the lighting that stimulating the life-giving lightening seared your eyes it was so bright, it actually hurt).  There was a giant bell (cast when Shakespeare was alive), birthing,  snow, rain, sun rises, full-size trains, fire, a revolving stage and award-winning, can’t take your eyes of them, central performances.  The Creature is birthed at the beginning of the play and then is naked on the stage for 15 minutes as he learns how to move and walk.  The script was clunky in places but when you are dealing with all the big questions of life, love, death, parenting, rejection, nature versus nature and that fine line between science and advancement on one hand and morality and religion on the other, well I guess you probably do need a bit of shoe horn.

You did need to see both castings in both roles to get the full impact of the play as well.  Thank goodness for the wonderful NT live scheme, where you can see performances streamed direct into the cinemas around the world.

And this year? well it going to be a bit more low-key.  Going to work as a Lunchtime Behaviour Supervisor isn’t quite the showy affair last year was, but I shall be chuckling as I keep that pizza queue moving that last year I was stood next to an Oscar-winning director. I like the contrast in that, in fact it could almost be a scene out of a Danny Boyle film.

Posted in Cumberbatch, Film & TV, Theatre | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The most sensational, inspirational, celebrational….

Posted on February 21, 2012 by Natalie

Yes I took the kids to see The Muppets Movie at half term.

They quite enjoyed it, especially Nina (5).  I absolutely adored it.  I think it has been made for all of those for who Sunday night at 7.30 pm was the most exciting time of the week.  So the next few clips are for anyone who loved Kermit, who copied Miss Piggy’s hi-ya karate chop, who chortled at Fozzy’s bad jokes, who her-de-ger-deed along with the Swedish Chef and were hooked on Pigs in Space.

The film was written and starred Jason Segel, he of Forgetting Sarah Marshall fame. Another sweet, very funny film, which also included puppets.  Watching the delightful, heart-warming opening credits strongly suggest The Muppets meant everything to him growing up too.

When, during the film, they played the opening sequence to The Muppets Show, there were tears.. I will admit, possibly more than War Horse.  The rush of nostalgia was dizzyingly heady.  I remembered in a flash how much I had loved them all as a child, it seemed impossible I could have forgotten.  For that moment I was 10 again.

For some reason out of all the out  triple A-list stars they had on over the show I remember best Debbie Harry singing Call Me.  When I look back now it’s incredible the calibre of guests that were willing to make a complete fool of themselves.  Steve Martin, PETER SELLERS, the cast of Star Wars, Shirley Bassey, Johnny Cash the list goes on and on but my brain never gets past Debbie Harry.   Mmm I think style wise I never really got past Debbie Harry looking at it.  I think I saw her on TOTP at a formative age and her look was seared into my DNA!  Any way enough of that here are some clips.  I hope you like them and it brings back some great memories for you too.

and just because it’s my blog here is Debbie Harry again.. I think she was taking the day off from being my style icon when she let wardrobe put her in that lilac number.

And if you liked that .. there is a petition to get The Muppets to sing at the Oscars.. go on sign it I know you want to.

Posted in Film & TV, Mum Stuff | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment