Lucky 7: seven lines from new writing

Voula Grand (@voulagrand) tagged me on her Lucky 7 displacement activity.  It was a surprise, partly because I've been so absent on twitter lately, but more perhaps because I've kind of given up on the writing, for now anyway, put the fruits of my back breaking labours under the bed, giving myself a holiday from chasing the ephemeral.  Frankly, you see, writing is about 2% wonderful fun and 98% mental breakdown and being foul to the family.

But I'm glad to bring the old thing out, dust it off, and find page 7.  And line 7 is this bit  - the narrator is about to walk out on her family and this young man is NOT the love interest, but one of those angels who play a tiny part but move mountains:

I am exhausted.  There are no seats, so I crouch onto the paving step by the town hall and lean uncomfortably against the low metal rail.  And there I stay, watching the world.  The world that knows what it’s doing and why it’s here.   My attention narrows to a young man, not much more than a boy, holding a clipboard.  He’s standing in the middle of the market square inviting people to take part in his survey.  He has an orb of yellow hair and as people drift towards him, he leans after them slightly, following for a step or two.  Definitely a sunflower.  After a bit, he notices me watching him, lopes over and sits down beside me on the slab, folding his long legs under him like a foal.

The instructions for Lucky 7 are:

• · Go to page 7 or 77 in your current manuscript
• · Go to line 7
• · Post on your blog the next 7 lines, or sentences, as they are – no cheating
• · Tag 7 other authors to do the same

The 7 writers I have chosen are these - I haven't asked them first, I'm afraid, they don't have to do it if they don't want to:

Liz Fenwick  @liz_fenwick

Liz Harris @lizharrisauthor

Keris Stainton   @Keris

Kate Lord Brown  @katelordbrown

Sive Nicoll  @SiveNicoll

Sarah Addyman  @SarahAddyman

Debbie White  @Bluestockingmum

I hope you enjoy reading 7 lines from their new works as much as I'm looking forward to it.

No one here but us cushions

Here is one I made for a friend of mine.  She thinks her work's cut out bringing up five kids, she should try making them out of felt.  

The Modigliani Cushion Forgery

I had this brilliant idea to remake some famous paintings in felt and turn them into cushions.  It's a bit Post Modern, and also rather lovely.  So, here is my first one, almost there. 

Only when I checked the painting's title, I discovered it was a fake, in the style of Modigliani, by someone called Dehory.  Which probably makes it even more interesting, in a Post Modern kind of way.  I think I'll stuff the cushion with rocks.   

Paying the Price for Post-Modernism

I went to see the Post-Modernism exhibition at the V&A yesterday.  It was great.  So much fun to be had with a teapot, and David Byrne’s actual big suit.  Post Modernism is one of those terms I’ve never quite felt comfortable using, like abstruse, and existential, and neo-platonic, so I thought the exhibition would help. 

I was a bit vexed about the charging.  It’s reasonable to pay for special exhibitions, especially when the rest of the museum is free.  And £11 for a full ticket is not cheap – a bit more than a peak time movie ticket with extra 3D specs, or a latte for yourself and 3.23 of your friends -  but there are concessions available if you happen to be a student, or young, or old or disabled (though not, sadly, if you're just broke, which most of us are at the moment). 

But they don’t ask you for £11, they ask you for £12.50, recovering the tax relief on the extra as a donation.  V&A will have done the sums.  More people will be inclined to pay a small extra donation on a hefty ticket price, than a hefty donation on a lower ticket price, so that’s what they’ve plumped for.  But I thought it was a bit of a cheek, especially as you can’t get a sandwich there for much under a fiver.

            

I absolutely love that many of our museums and art galleries are free. It means that these amazing places are crowded out with kids (this is half term) which is brilliant for our cultural education.  It also means you can pop in and have a look at a small part, without feeling you have to traipse right round to get your money's worth.  Everyone can.

            

This isn't possible in Paris, where hardly anything is free.  Nor in Rome, which is also expensive.  Nor in New York.  Except at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  This place has a good system.  They ask you for a voluntary contribution of $25.  They make it sound like a fixed price but the truth is you can get in for anything, so long as it's money. 

            

I chose not to pay the full amount to the Met, partly because I thought $25 was a bit stiff, partly because I intended to make several visits, and partly because we invite Americans to pop into Tate Britian, Tate Modern, the National Gallery, National Portrait Gallery, the British Museum, the V&A, the Science Museum, the National History Museum, and hundreds more for absolutely nothing. 


This would be a good system for our museums.  Instead of a limp notice suggesting a donation of £3 with a perspex box full of foreign bank notes underneath, why not get everyone to pay something, a penny or a hundred quid, each reaching into their conscience, no judgement attached, tax relief on the whole lot if appropriate?

I'm not going to say how much I paid to the Met, just suffice to say it was my reverse Boston Tea party, let’s call it the 82^nd Street Coffee Break.  But does it count as post-modern?

            

How to visit your daughter in university halls

The first piece of advice is - don't.  Don't unless you didn't actually drop her off there, and want to be able to imagine the place.  Or unless she begs you to visit.  Or she's forgotten something both heavy and immensely valuable that only you can possibly deliver.  These are the only reasons to go.

If, like me, you didn't get this advice in time, and, like me, had booked tickets to see Othello at the Crucible on her third weekend, then here are some supplementary codes which must be adhered to at all times:

1.  Don't insist on going to her room, especially if she's showing signs of reluctance.  You can probably conduct all necessary transactions outside.

2.  If you are invited in it's best not to say:

      a)  don't you have access to a Hoover?
      b)  wouldn't it be a good idea to hang up some of these clothes?
      c)  isn't there any where you can empty this bin?
      d)  isn't that the candlewick bedspread out of the spare room?

3.  If she introduces you to her housemates, treat this as the honour it is, and remember:

     i)   for the first time ever, you are on her turf.  She might not have completely got the hang of how to treat a guest, especially a maternal guest, but nevertheless, she is in charge;

     ii)  no one will be interested in what university life was like thirty years ago so don't even think of making comparisons; 

     iii) don't offer any advice, however tempting - not about making the most of the opportunities, managing finances, getting essays in on time, eating healthily, getting some exercise, not doing drugs, not drinking too much - NOTHING.

4.  And lastly, if they tell you they're having a roast chicken tomorrow night, with Yorkshire puddings, don't explain Yorkshires go with beef, as does English mustard.  They make the rules now.  You are not very interesting history.
   

Another Cushion

In the absence of a sensible piece of writing, here is the latest cushion I made.  It was a present for a couple of kids that got married earlier this month.  The wedding was on Shelter Island, Long Island, which accounts for the date being the wrong way round.

The Great Swimming Costume Swindle

I hardly ever go swimming, rarely sunbathe, so my requirement for swimwear, or a swimming costume as I can’t help but call it, is minimal.  However, for reasons too complicated to go into, I have recently returned from the kind of holiday where such a garment was the principal requirement for most of the day, and it caused me to ponder how ghastly the whole business is.

There are three options for women: all in one, a bikini, and what has come to be known as a tankini. 

The one piece can be flattering, if you choose the right cut for your body shape, and the more you spend on it, the nicer it will be.  I don't have personal experience to verify this conjecture having only shopped at M&S, but it is the way for most things.  Whilst  there is plenty of room for improvement in M&S's cut, fabric and colour range, I have to hand it to them for fit since they have the sense to make both standard and long. For people like me, whom Trinny describes as having short legs but I prefer to think of as a long back, this is wonderful.  How come this isn't the norm?

So, the one piece.  Relatively flattering, and undeniably comfortable in respect of its core function - actual swimming.  But, rather in the way that a seal is graceful in water and clumsy on land, its impracticality as a piece of mainstream clothing is hideous.  Going to the loo, in a word, is a disaster.  The costume must be peeled off in its entirety, leaving one to do one's business completely in the buff before wriggling it back on, tugging and stretching the damp fabric into place over a clammy torso.  If you happen to have put clothes on top of your one piece, it’s worse.  Every single item has to be removed before you can relieve yourself.  There might be hook on the door of the cubicle.  There might not.

The bikini, then, solves these problems.  Indeed, but it raises others. I don’t want that much flesh exposed, not when I’m outside, with other people.  I’d feel the same even if I didn’t have a foot long scar down my middle which makes me look like a pyjama case.  On top of that, my skin is pale, it’s just more burning to worry about.

The obvious answer, as I have been advised many times in shops, is the tankini - a longer top, with pants or shorts. This is truly a hideous garment, and my informal study of women at the pool demonstrated that not a single woman can carry it off. The tops are too short, flaring out a little, and ending calamitously an inch or two higher than the top of the pants, offering just enough space for the flappiest part of the tummy to hang below.  Convenient for toileting, perhaps, but in every other respect, only grim.

The answer is easy, but I can't find it anywhere.  I want pants, or shorts, either is fine, and then a long stretchy vest.  The vest can have a built in bra, or even underwire for those that like it, but the body of it must fit tightly, like a one piece, and reach to whatever length is desired.  Myself, I'd like it to top thigh, just over my bum.  Give it to me in something dark and mostly plain, perhaps spots or stripes, definitely no geraniums. 

It would look a bit like this:

Rocket science?  Not really.

Please someone.