Llandudno calling

I'm off to North Wales on Monday, a solo trip - a rather daunting one, to be honest. I had the call from my dad's care home last week that he is now slipping away: the 'end of life' stage as it's described.  He's 2 months shy of 98, his wife died a few months ago, then he fell and fractured his hip a few weeks back - I think he's simply tired now, ready to go.

I've been so cross with him - at times, despairing! - over the years; it's complicated but he made many unwise choices and for a lot of my adult life it's felt as if I didn't have a father at all, certainly not one who was interested nor who kept in touch.  But I made my peace with that a little while back, and I'm so glad I did.  It's merely the way he's wired, I don't think he even realised. Essentially, he's a kind, unassuming and supremely intelligent man who, when I was a young child, taught me about ecology and the value of nature and whose lifelong left wing political views have no doubt influenced my approach to the world.  Let's not forget he also hung a 'Tarzan Rope' high up in a garden tree for my sister and I to swing back and forth on wildly (occasionally crashing into the trunk), and recorded his readings, in a soft gentle voice, of the Mrs Pepperpot books (my favourite) on reel-to-reel for me to listen to when I was very poorly with German Measles. He loved tinkering with cars and in 1969 he drove the family around Germany for three weeks in his pride and joy, a gorgeous Jaguar Mk II.  Plus, in my early teens he picked me up from nights out in all weathers and pretended not to notice that, in spite of being underage and sucking Polo mints to disguise any odours, I was of course a little bit drunk...  He must have done the same for my big sister, years earlier.  I have some very sweet memories!

So, although filled with many mixed emotions, nervousness and uncertainty - I seem to have constant butterflies in my stomach at the moment! - I know it's the right thing to do.  To offset the inevitable sadness I have a room booked near the sea, adjacent to a little spot of wildness - it was where I stayed when I visited last year and I look forward very much to a chance (weather permitting) to walk along a secluded area of beach, feel my feet sink into the pebbles, and hear that crunch of shingle beneath them against the perennial rhythm of the waves again...  I love the sound of the gulls and to watch them wheeling over the water, plus hopefully, like I did last time, spy a little trail of sheep picking their way stealthily along the rocky ledges when I open my curtains in the morning.

Life just going on.

Golden earrings

The king with the pearl earring

King Charles I had a rather beautiful dangly pearl one and Shakespeare a golden hoop.... ah, earrings! I just bought a pair of delicate gold studs with tiny green stones, far removed from some I've worn in the distant past.   How about you? Do you wear studs or rings or other objects in your ear/s or just adorned yourself in them in long ago?

I still have - just about! - five holes in my earlobes.  The folly of youth; long ago in a different age it seemed a lot but must be really quite minimal now.

Even in my teenage girl demographic it wasn't that common to have any.  Then I suppose it became a bit of a thing and one classmate even offered a 'service' in the lunch hour with a drawing compass, some TCP and a look-out to signal the presence of lurking teachers.  I didn't use her special skills, but I did want a hole in my ear.  It'd be cool to hang weird things, I thought - plus I had access to a free supply of very dangleable objects if I foraged amid the elastic bands, batteries and spare coins in the kitchen odds-and-sods drawer. 

Indeed, finding mysterious items to craft into unique punky earrings wouldn't be hard.  Transistors, resistors, washers - all potential contenders. The tough part was that I didn't want to broach the dreaded piercing topic with my mum, even though she was quite a non-conformist herself and loved her arty rings and clothes.   She once wore a Kaftan to my dad’s workplace Dinner & Dance, the posh kind (posh Dinner & Dance, I mean, not posh Kaftan, I'm not sure there is such a thing). So she wasn't averse to defying convention, but she'd never liked pierced ears.

What to do? Resort to covert measures: buy some cheap clip-ons from Boots, remove the decorative bits and attach my own curious objects in the secrecy of my bedroom. Springs and things on little chains could be easily looped around.  My favourite was Eric, a sweet plastic skull given to me by a friend who’d won him in a Christmas cracker.  Eric dangled beautifully and we shared many happy nights together, once I'd sneaked him out of the house unseen...  

Of course it soon all came out into the open and, ironically, without the expected objection from Mum, I eventually got both ears pierced properly.  I was so pleased with my new holes that I got three more. Those washers, wires, unidentified plastic objects and, later, even dried chicken bones and locks of plaited hair (goth era), all found their way into my home-made earring collection at last.

It was only as many more years went by that I discovered, after increasing discomfort, that I have a metal allergy.  It got more intense with age and now I can only wear the purest, most expensive minerals against my skin without getting an itchy reaction or worse, an ooze.  Hence the delicate gold studs I've just bought - as long as I can still get them in the holes!  I do rather miss Eric, though, he was a most trusty companion and, thankfully, he never brought me out in a rash.

Gandalf: Golden Earrings (1968) (what a lush and brooding cover of  the Bobby Darin original)

Abstract moment of the week #14 - Do you believe in karma?

It was just as if the two things were linked even though they couldn't possibly have been.  Was it some kind of good karma?  They were both very unremarkable in the grand scheme but, in my quiet world, these two insignificant incidents side by side felt like a brief flash of magic.

It was Monday morning, I had found myself inadvertently chatting with a young homeless man -  this is not a very common sight on the streets of my nearest town so it was a bit of an unusual situation for me.  But I had ten minutes to wait on a busy pavement and he was sat next to where I stood - with his folded pop-up tent by his side, a can of coke and a gentle, kind-eyed, albeit rather haunted, smile.  Anyway, Gareth (as he introduced himself) and I talked awhile.  And it was really good.  I hope too that it helped him feel... well, fully human: not invisible. I don't mean that condescendingly; I just can't imagine how awful it must be to end up in his predicament. He never asked me for it but I gave him a little gift when I left him - though somehow that didn't seem to be the most important part, what mattered was our prior interaction.  Anyway, that was that, we said goodbye and I'll probably never see him again. 

Twenty minutes later I was a few miles away, walking into Tesco as a random woman was coming out and, you know what it's like - no-one takes any notice of eachother normally, too preoccupied.  We're invisible in a different way!  But she looked at me and then stopped especially to say something unexpectedly flattering, a lovely compliment, which she followed up with an even bigger one.  Thank you dear lady!  This stranger taking the trouble to tell me something so nice and out of the blue made my day, it was such a boost. In fact, small though they are, both that morning's moments have lingered on in my mind since.  

I just can't help this feeling that they were, in some intangible way, connected...

                         Well, we all shine on...

Paul Weller covers Instant Karma

Out for the Count

Perhaps I should save this post for Hallowe'en but I'm in the middle of Bram Stoker's 'Dracula' - a classic which somehow I'd never read before but should have - and it's so beautifully written that I look forward every night to immersing myself in its gothic pages.  I'll be finished long before 31st October!

Once again I've rather fallen for an evil Count (last time it was Count Fosco from The Woman In White) but of course, as it is for most people I'm sure, Dracula had already been lurking temptingly in my psyche for many decades through the medium of film.  In my mind he's a mixture of Christopher Lee and Louis Jourdan (sorry, but Bela Lugosi doesn't get a look-in) - both wonderful in the role; the former of course for his many Hammer Horror performances but the latter perhaps less widely known as his portrayal was in a BBC 2 adaptation of the book.  It was repeated a little while back and even watching it for the first time in nearly fifty years still validated my fond recollection of it as a stylish, evocative production for its era - it originally aired in 1977.

That year I had turned 14, the perfect age to feel strangely stirred at thoughts of dark and forbidden seduction by a mysterious, mesmerising protagonist. Here was an immaculate mix of romance, eroticism and horror, where the anti-hero is charismatic and complex, eliciting an odd ambivalence which only serves to keep one wanting more.

Indeed, my adolescent self found Louis Jourdan's portrayal compelling and it stayed vividly in my memory.  In an interview at the time he stated that he really tried to make his character's villainy "attractive, very attractive" so that the audience might find ourselves questioning our values.  "I think Dracula should be played as an extremely kind person, who truly believes he is doing good.  He gives eternal life," Jourdan said.  "He takes blood and he gives blood.  Therefore, he gives an exchange which is symbolic of love and the sexual act..."  Hot stuff!  Those teenage love bites were never going to match up.

Louis Jourdan is after your blood...

Much as I adore a vintage book (and we really need to save them from abominable AI shredders - don't get me started), prices for early editions of Dracula were somewhat steep so I opted instead for this new paperback from Wordsworth Editions, home of classic literature made affordable, with its neat cover graphics and an interesting, up-to-date introduction.  

And I'm so enjoying feasting slowly on this famous novel no matter what the packaging.  It's a great pleasure to take the long road through its pages, to savour its meticulous descriptions and language, and allow myself a little frisson at the shadows cast by the nightlight and the curtains wavering softly in the breeze from the open window as I take it to bed.  Hmm, I'm sure I didn't have these two little marks on my neck when I fell asleep...

If you want to catch the aforementioned  BBC film of 'Count Dracula' it's being shown again in two parts on Talking Pictures TV, starting 18th September.  

A less familiar version of 'Bela Lugosi's Dead' - Nouvelle Vague

Goodbye and good riddance

No, not you, lovely people!  Please do stay.  But goodbye and good riddance to the bookshop which chose to come to the area to peddle its far right, white supremacist wares in the village where I live, as posted about a few weeks ago here.  The bookshop presented itself as merely promoting 'common sense' but a few glances at their Twitter posts in particular revealed levels of hatred, contempt and arrogance which were far more blatant and concerning.

The reason for leaving given by the proprietor is that they'd experienced too much hostility locally and didn't find the place welcoming, so they're looking for somewhere more friendly.  I'd suggest that openly displaying large Union Jack flags with the words 'Remigration Now' on your frontage is neither welcoming nor friendly, nor is publicly mocking online the neighbours and visitors who disagreed with them, but what do I know.  They also wrote in a social media post that the village should now 'brace itself' because a couple of 'foreigners' had enquired about renting the premises here.  Really? What year are we in?

Anyway, the news of its sudden departure absolutely made my day and the more I thought about it, the more I realised that, in a way, it was even better to have had undeniable proof of local objection to its rhetoric by way of it ever having set itself up in the first place.  We wouldn't have known the strength of opinion against it had it not tried to function here, so it was almost like a test - and we passed.  I know that's not the end of the business overall, it will undoubtedly pop up somewhere else and not everyone will be opposed to it either - but I'm so relieved it's gone from here at least, thanks to its unpopularity in this particular community.  Looks like they are just going to have to experience 'remigration now' for themselves.  

Eddie Holland: Leaving Here

Sex change chickens

Hello! For no reason other than that I have only a few days left to meet my goal of 'at least one post per month' this year, may I introduce you to the seldom talked about subject of sex change chickens?!

If this is news to you, it really is a thing - more accurately known as 'sex reversal'.  Hens typically only have one functional ovary (the left one) and if it becomes damaged through disease, their right ovary starts to develop in place of it. But it's possible for this to have some tissue characteristics of the testes as well as, or instead of, the ovary....   This becomes an 'ovotestis' which releases androgen, the hormone group which contains testosterone, as well as estrogen - and the hen can start to develop male secondary sex characteristics.  It only works that way around - female to male - still genotypically female, as in her genes, but phenotypically male, i.e. with regard to features and behaviours on the outside. Her wattle and comb may grow to resemble a rooster's, her feather pattern can change and she may even crow.

You're welcome!

Ok, really this is just an excuse to post a song which I listened to today for the first time since...well, I think it must have been around 1984, the year of its release.  A time, I think, when eccentricity in music had a kind of naiveté about it, something quite unselfconscious; I rather miss the innocent silliness of some of that late '70s/early '80s scene, the John Peel genre!  Hull band, Indians In Moscow, had had a successful indie hit with their first single 'Naughty Miranda', and this one came along the following year.  It reached the dizzy heights of number 101 in the UK Indie Charts... I guess you could say it was a little niche?  

"I've been on Calendar, I've been on Nationwide."  Ah, heady days!

Indians In Moscow: Jack Pelter and His Sex Change Chicken

An enemy within

My dear friend T came over last week for coffee, conversation (and cake) at one of my local cafés.  Our relationship is a rare and special thing; apart from a few shared interests we come from very different backgrounds, have had vastly dissimilar life experiences and he is just about old enough to be my father (in fact I think of him as my 'Surrogate Dad)' but we meet on perhaps the most important, fundamental level - our core values.  And doesn't it feel more meaningful than ever to know that about someone right now too?

Anyway we were strolling back afterwards and got onto the subject of bookshops.  Where I live used to have a good one - although small, it was a lovely place to browse but it closed some years ago.  Then I remembered noticing a few weeks back that there is another bookshop here now, quite recent and not one I pass on my usual route, so I've yet to visit it.  It'd be a perfect opportunity to check it out with T. 

We took the little detour up to the shop.  It had one large window through which we could see a sofa - although unfortunately we couldn't see any books from there - and a sign on the door announced that it also served coffee (and cake). How charming, we said - we could come here for both and enjoy the ambience of being surrounded by literature and other bibliophiles.  We would've had a look inside right then - but there was also a Closed sign in the door next to its promises of refreshment so we turned back.  

"Never mind, I'll check out its opening times and we'll make it a date next time!" I told T as we bade eachother goodbye.

I did so that night -  I found its social media pages.  

And I will not be going there for books, coffee, cake or anything else.

The first thing I noticed was it advertising itself online as being a place dedicated to "free speech and common sense".  And I do understand how, if you're someone who believes we have an overzealous cancellation culture, you may hope to encourage debate above censorship and be open to stocking a broad range of literature, including more traditionalist output: I know that shutting voices down completely rarely solves anything. This establishment has pitched itself as such.  But then a certain, horrible realisation dawned on me after scrolling through its posts and pictures.   An advert for a book by an acknowledged white supremacist, a post promoting a publishing outfit who specifically distribute far right, anti-liberal works...  And it was a photo of the window - the one with the sofa in - bedecked in a huge Union Jack with the unambiguous words 'REMIGRATION NOW' across it which absolutely confirmed my fears.  I started looking through the comments: anyone objecting to some of the right wing stance peddled there is not met with dignified grace for expressing their different opinion but with derision, whilst all those supporting get gushing gratitude, naturally.  Free speech, you say? 

Arghh.   I loathe the fact that the only book store we have in this community should be that one.  I could try and ignore its existence but I'm thoroughly ashamed of and depressed by it and I've let it get to me, hence this post.  At least I can be relieved it was closed that day T came over; I wonder how long it would have taken for us to get the measure of the place had we actually ventured in?

There is a slightly more positive flipside.  Just down the road here there's another café, and it's one which is now displaying a cheerful multicoloured sticker in its window with the words "EVERYONE WELCOME".   I'm still saddened, however, that we should find ourselves in an era where we need to actively make the point that they are.

Covered up (part three), uncovered

(No prizes for this one)*

Many thanks and congratulations to all who came up with the answers to last week's album cover puzzle.  This time, though, there were a few which remained unidentified (4, 7, 10, 12 and 13, if I've checked that correctly), so here's the full set...

I know - easy when you see them!

1. Faithless - Sunday 8pm

2. New York Dolls - New York Dolls

3. Kraftwerk - Computer World

4. Sheryl Crow - Sheryl Crow

5. Roxy Music - Siren

6. Alan Hull - Pipedream

7. The Temptations - Psychedelic Shack

8. XTC - Drums and Wires

9. Genesis - Selling England By The Pound

10. Pink Floyd - A Saucerful of Secrets

11. Madonna - True Blue

12. Everything But The Girl - Idlewild

13. Bauhaus - In The Flat Field

14. Rod Stewart - Every Picture Tells A Story

15. Crosby, Stills & Nash - Crosby, Stills & Nash

16. Adam & the Ants - Kings Of The Wild Frontier

17. Suede - Coming Up

18. Manic Street Preachers - Generation Terrorists

(but were you thinking what I was thinking about that image..?)

19. Thin Lizzy - Johnny the Fox

20. Cat Stevens - Mona Bone Jakon

* The Beatles White Album