My earliest treasured memory of my brother was when I was four and he was three, just before I went to school. I remember it as a balmy summers day, playing in the greenhouse. It was a cool retreat for us on a hot day, with the stone floor and the protective shade of the ferns. Listening to the insects sing to us outside, we were safe to play, with our very own band. He and I used to play together all the time, so close we were.
We had got into mothers old ballet costume trunk and we'd put on her old leotards and ballet slippers. I'd found some black gossamer wings and was going to put them on. "No", said Neil, "I want to be the butterfly. I want to fly." In exchange for the wings, he handed me a birds outfit, saying "here, now we can fly together".
People used to mistake us for twins - our dark hair, dark eyes and button noses. We never really got what they saw, but we felt it - one half of a whole. He was my defender and I his. Despite nearly a years difference between us, we were similar in height and weight - evenly matched in speed and agility. Perfect for escapes. He was Houdini and I, his assistant.
As the older sibling, I was meant to be the responsible one. The one to look out for danger. I remember another time. This was one of our first real escapades together. "Stand still, so I can climb up on your shoulders to get on the roof. Then I will pull you up". "From up here, we will be able to see the whole world." Neil always did dream large and bold. Me, I was content to follow. Having him by my side kept me safe. Besides, if anything real did happen, I would always be there for him.
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
Tuesday, 20 September 2011
If music be the food of love, play on.
Bless Shakespeare and his marvellous creation Twelfth Night, 1602. From him I draw much inspiration when dealing with painfully ignorant and rude government beaurocrats, hiding behind policy, having long given up on going the extra mile. If music be the food of love, play on!
I have always tried to put myself in other people's shoes when dealing with them, despite my sometimes desperate and erratic state. Sadly, my failing, is that I do not always succeed. When you've been dealing with someone on a particularly long and drawn out matter, having reached the personal state of first names and hi's, I find it unbearably rude when they abruptly return, upon settlement of the matter, to the formal edit, Dear Miss or Madam. Can they not see the red flag that they are jumping up and down and waving in from of flared nostrils.....?
Over the years I have learnt not to take it personally, and that I cannot target any one particular sector with my scorn, nor is it dependant on a particular nation or cultural experience. It is, I understand, government-itis! The complete and blinding lack of sensitivity to ones current concerns. So I say in reply, have a lovely day, Dear Sir/Madam, thank you so very much for your help and kindness in this matter, it has been so deeply appreciated. Smiling openly, as they blanch, shuffle, struggle to make eye contact, and in not knowing exactly where I am coming from, smile back and mutter an uncertain your welcome.
If music be the food of love, play on!
I have always tried to put myself in other people's shoes when dealing with them, despite my sometimes desperate and erratic state. Sadly, my failing, is that I do not always succeed. When you've been dealing with someone on a particularly long and drawn out matter, having reached the personal state of first names and hi's, I find it unbearably rude when they abruptly return, upon settlement of the matter, to the formal edit, Dear Miss or Madam. Can they not see the red flag that they are jumping up and down and waving in from of flared nostrils.....?
Over the years I have learnt not to take it personally, and that I cannot target any one particular sector with my scorn, nor is it dependant on a particular nation or cultural experience. It is, I understand, government-itis! The complete and blinding lack of sensitivity to ones current concerns. So I say in reply, have a lovely day, Dear Sir/Madam, thank you so very much for your help and kindness in this matter, it has been so deeply appreciated. Smiling openly, as they blanch, shuffle, struggle to make eye contact, and in not knowing exactly where I am coming from, smile back and mutter an uncertain your welcome.
If music be the food of love, play on!
Monday, 19 September 2011
Just drink more water
Perhaps I was doing it the wrong way. Suffering from a rather bad bout of hiccups, my sides and insides were hurting and my eyes were filled with tears. Try taking a few deep breathes and they should go away. Really? I don't know, heard it somewhere and thought it sounded reasonable. I don't want reasonable, I need relief!
Why not try something new?
A change in job? A change in pace? A change in country?
Having taken up the trifecta, I find myself sitting in my new old kitchen, perched on a stool, looking out to the downs. Whilst it is pushing 33 degrees where I left, I am rugged up, sipping on a Bodum of hot coffee, with a pashmina wrapped around my neck, writing my first blog. A good start.
I read somewhere that the average person changes careers on average 3 times in a working lifetime. Halfway through mine, and on my third change, does that mean I'm average or exceptional?
Let's see.
Why not try something new?
A change in job? A change in pace? A change in country?
Having taken up the trifecta, I find myself sitting in my new old kitchen, perched on a stool, looking out to the downs. Whilst it is pushing 33 degrees where I left, I am rugged up, sipping on a Bodum of hot coffee, with a pashmina wrapped around my neck, writing my first blog. A good start.
I read somewhere that the average person changes careers on average 3 times in a working lifetime. Halfway through mine, and on my third change, does that mean I'm average or exceptional?
Let's see.
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