My City

Sunday and the twenty-eighth Covid blog. 🍁

Yesterday, I finally visited our capital by train and with love I walked her streets. I use the pronoun ‘her’ as I feel a female heart and soul. A mother who weeps and rejoices with us, her children.

We, who build and tear her apart and love the very bones of her intricate veins and vessels. How much she sees; love, greed, hate, war, poverty and disease yet she is our constant and we flock to drink in her ugliness but more importantly, her eternal beauty.

I saw both yesterday on my journey. The ignorance of strangers, masked yet uncovered and reminded that while we were on lockdown and in the safety of our homes there were those without. The homeless, who beg on the underground for kindness, those who are now living with less protection during this pandemic.

I saw the beauty of why I love our city and I felt her heart beat. The young guy next to me on the tube, shuffling a deck of cards with a dexterity I can only dream of. Another wearing a gold embroidered waistcoat and top hat. A young striking Amazonian girl with long titian plaits, thick black tights and the shortest of shorts, making male heads turn with every assured and confident step.

I have missed this quirkiness, this, that has always made me feel I am home.

This week I have been teaching Dickens, a man who is synonymous with our city, who describes her streets with such vivid imagery.
When I think of Dickens’ London I think of St Paul’s. A female heart, looking over her inhabitants. I think her so very beautiful and majestic, so full of love yet pained. I imagine each considered tear, from each and every generation as it flows into the River Thames before her.

For me she is the very heart of our city, watching with pride and with fear.

And whenever I am in her presence, I feel her.

From Dickens to Dickinson and the main reason for my visit yesterday; to listen, to learn and to watch her poetry performed.

An event celebrating her work and her unique glory.
I learned so very much, not just about Emily Dickinson but about myself, it is why I love poetry.

I have always favoured Dickinson’s poem ‘Hope is a Feather’ the idea that it never dies but when you hear it read aloud and with passion, it’s form takes on a renewed meaning.

Poetry is meant to be performed and not just read, without, you can not hear it’s rhythm something I feel very strongly about and being in the presence of two poets yesterday who have that understanding, filled me with absolute joy.

A poet I had not seen before but knew of, performed a reading from her newly published verse novel. Nikita Gill, a young woman born in Ireland to Indian parents. Her accent was rich and beautiful and she talked about how special Grandmothers are, how they particularly enrich their Grandchildrens lives with wisdom and love but how sad it is, that they grow old and Grandchildren do not get to see the best of them.

This so made me think and my eyes filled with the tears of this truth. I did not get to know my own Grandma, she died when I was very small, I know of her, I feel close to her but I did not get the privilege of ‘knowing’ her.
I do however, have the letters she wrote to me as a child:

“My Darling Joy, a wee robin I met on the stairs told me you have been a very good girl”

These precious words are my memories of love. I did not get to share in the best of her.

It made me think of my own mortality and the lives of my own Grandchildren and of future Grandchildren, that they too will not remember.

They will not remember when they are grown, how we pretended to be butterflies, floating around flapping our wings. It is I who will remember, each scream of laughter, they will not. Too young, for these memories to embed in their not yet fully formed brains.

This is the thing I love, when I attend these events, that I am sent on unexpected paths. I did not imagine for one moment yesterday that I would learn so very much.

There were many other paths of knowledge and of unexplored avenues. I hope that I will always be open enough to never stop learning and discovering. We learn so much from others and sometimes the smallest idea is the biggest source of change.

This train of thought has encouraged me to now write of this, so that when my bones too begin to crumble, they may not remember, but will understand ‘the best of me.’

I hope you have a magical week, one of discovery and learning and life and love, it is our everything.

Stay Safe,

Joy xxx

Birthdays Wishes and Puppy Kisses

Sunday and the twenty-seventh Covid blog.

Last Saturday was another traditional family birthday celebrated with Fish and Chips. A pre-birthday treat for myself and a chance to meet the long awaited and newest member to our family, Dillon.

I fell in love instantly, he has velvet fur and the most adorable floppy ears, who wouldn’t?
My Daughter made me a lovely cake and my excited Grandchildren sang ‘Happy Birthday’ making the day perfect.

Really though, this moment belonged to my Daughter and Son in Law’s puppy Dillon, who made every heart full.

On Tuesday (my actual birthday) I was greeted by a cupcake from a fellow colleague and my birthday twin. I then discovered the appearance of a beautiful orchid on my desk from yet another caring colleague.

However, I haven’t the heart to tell him that I am the kiss of death to the plant world. I will endeavour to treat it with the same kindness in which it was given but I’m not sure how long it will last, I’m aiming for Christmas but with my track record, I don’t hold out much hope.

This week has been a strange week, school is as always, incredibly busy with events constantly changing due to Covid. Hand sanitising and wiping down of desks has become routine and automatically the students now hold out their hands. The new normal is rapidly becoming just that, normal.

Except it isn’t is it? And with restrictions looming ever tighter the world feels as if it is about to stop again, with Autumn bringing the inevitable germs and Winter readily entering the starting blocks.

Despite this, it has still been a relief to return to a routine. This week I have smiled to myself when the students have gone home and each of us are working in our classrooms. Our doors now being always open, due to Covid regulations, means there is music wafting along the corridors from each one of our classrooms.

We are an eclectic bunch, I’m a Radio 2 kind of a girl my buddy opposite is a young Jazz man and along the way float the sounds of Indie Rock. I love that we are all so different yet the same and that somehow this seems to make the world feel right again.

Next Thursday is National Poetry Day and the theme is ‘Vision’ so apt, when the world finally being ours once again, is so very hard to see.

I love that we have poetry days, it matters and more than ever. I have been writing poetry since I was eleven years old, I didn’t share it with the world until a few years ago.

This succinct poem by Lemn Sissay has always for me, spoken volumes. I can not ever imagine my life without poetry.

Over the last few weeks I have had the chance to attend two wonderful events and had the privilege of hearing other poets and share my own poetry at these outside small gatherings. I have missed this so very much.
The two festivals I should have performed in were pushed back several times and now they will be next year but there is still a big question mark.

I hope to attend an indoor poetry seminar about the life and poetry of Emily Dickinson in the city next weekend. However, London has declared a higher risk rate and so once again I am waiting to see if this too will be cancelled but far more importantly, the lives of others are now again rising and in hope, along with the world, I am continuing to pray for a vaccine.

As a new week lays ahead we wait as a nation to see what follows…

There is at moment though, one saving grace to raise our spirits. Just as it was in the very beginning of lockdown when we all took to baking Banana Bread (those of us that were fortunate to procure flour) our love of all things sweet has again been indulged as we join the nation to watch the delights of ‘The Great British Bake Off.’

I am sure I was not only one this week to sympathise with the lady who by accident, knocked her poor competitors individual ‘Upside Down Puddings’ on the floor. I gasped and I felt her pain.

I know that I for one, am looking forward to the ups and downs (pardon the pun) over the next few weeks of the bakery tent antics.

This will however, no doubt follow a shortage of self raising flour as our renewed baking interest resumes!

I hope you have a poetic week, life is full of poetry and it’s beauty is ever present, it is around us and within us. You only need to open your heart and listen…

Stay Safe,

Joy xxx

‘An Affair to Remember’

Sunday and the twenty-sixth Covid blog.

I have been back at work for two weeks and already I have a head cold. It started on Tuesday with a sore throat and by Friday I sounded a little like the man in 80’s ‘Tunes’ advert that said “Dottingham” instead of “Nottingham” because his cold and runny nose had distorted his voice. I then experienced a slight cough, not enough to wake me up at night but still a little annoying.
While our government tell us that infection between children and teenagers is low we however know, that as teachers, we will always be open to infection because well, they’re children, teenagers, and it automatically goes with the territory.

Every Autumn I get a cold and somewhere around the end of October beginning of November I will practically lose my voice for around three days my teaching tool which I use constantly. I will then develop, as my voice returns a deep husky tone similar to Mariella Frostrup which if I’m honest I quite like, it sounds mysterious and sultry but it never lasts for long. I then get the odd sore throat and runny nose here and there, usually towards Christmas. It’s what happens, it’s expected, except this time it feels different.

This time, there was a real worry.

Today, I feel much better there is still a tickly cough but a cough I know belongs to the end of my cold. My nose is a little sore but this cold is definitely on it’s way out. My eyes too are finally not as heavy and the sneezing is far less, but I worried.

A new normal which we will now all have to get used to and as winter sets in our first thoughts I feel, will automatically jump to the worst case scenario in this new uncharted world.

On Friday, I finally returned to my spiritual home and the event of live theatre. To watch a new musical (to London) and a new adaptation of the film ‘Sleepless in Seattle’ an idea taken from another film and a favourite of mine ‘An Affair to Remember.’

This was of course not without drama. My friend had agreed to drive rather than take the tube but I had inadvertently told her the wrong theatre, having not checked our text messages. Had I done this I would have realised I had text the name Wimbledon instead of Wembley. I have no excuse, apart from the fact they are both in areas of London and they both begin with the letter ‘W.’

We arrived at The New Wimbledon Theatre (which isn’t even open until November) when my mistake slowly dawned on me. I have to say my friend was incredibly gracious even though I felt terrible!

So, we quickly then carried on with the journey at a snails pace it seemed (due to Friday night London traffic). We made it but we did miss a little of the beginning but not enough to spoil the enjoyment or not know what was going on, as thankfully, we are both au fait with the film.

Our temperatures were taken although I was a tad concerned due to my cold but all was well. Details taken for track and trace and fully masked we were allowed in at an appropriate moment and just a few minutes after we arrived and we also knew exactly where they were in the story. We were not the only ones to arrive late either.

I knew that I would feel emotional, the score was beautiful and fabulously cheesy, the film is totally Camembert fulled so I knew what to expect, If only real life really were that glorious.

However, that’s why we go to the theatre right? To escape the real, the normal, the disappointments. We watch to be transported to another world, unrealistic, but full of the happy and the wonderful.

For me, theatre is all about suspending that disbelief and suggesting anything is possible, that life can be whatever you want it to be. A life full of hopes and dreams even if only for two hours or so. I think we all really need that right now.

What I didn’t expect was the sound that would affect me the most, the audience. Hearing the laughter, the sighs, the highs and lows, the applause. It was the applause that finally made me cry.

At the end of a play or a piece of musical theatre I will when warranted, stand in ovation of appreciation. I will clap loudly and I have been known to shout ‘bravo’ I did this when Helen Mirren played The Queen, when Benedict Cumberbatch played Hamlet. I also know in a small way, how it feels to be that actor on the stage, when you have given it your all and you hear that applause.

It runs through your veins, it is your life’s blood, to know that ‘you’ have made someone laugh or someone cry, to really know that your performance has touched someone’s life.

It was hearing the emotional audience applause that knocked me off balance completely because it was not at all what I had expected, nor how much I had missed that sound.

It is the little things that trip us up, the unexpected, but I think it helps us too, to appreciate. I hope, that as we head towards further restrictions mankind appreciate what we ‘have’ and hold fast to those rules so we don’t lose anymore and that the reckless have that insight, so as not to make those who do understand, suffer unnecessary.

This week l hope to appreciate a little more, to try and concentrate on what we have, rather than what we have lost. I truly appreciated sitting in that audience, finally watching the thing I love so much and more than I had ever thought possible.

Have a beautiful week and stay safe,

Joy xxx

‘The Present’

Sunday and the twenty-fifth Covid blog.

There is something I have been giving much thought to lately and I think the current pandemic has very much brought this to the forefront of my mind.
I have had many conversations and discussions of late, these have related to the past and the future. As human beings I believe we tend to jump between these concepts.

This train of thought will mainly depend on each listener and circumstance. Our conversations of the present are often in the moment and sometimes we lose sight of their importance and far more often than perhaps we should.

Recently, due to circumstance, I have been talking about the past. When I was much younger I noticed that most of the older generation around me seemed to concentrate on this time in their lives.

A chat with a close friend about this subject left her remarking that it is easier to talk about the past when there are more days behind you than in front of you. An astute but sobering thought.

Memories are special and no matter what age we are they stay with us. So it seems logical that we hold on dearly to them, it also makes sense that we think more about them.

Our memories are unique, it may be that they are connected to a time when life was a little more carefree, each memory peppered with happiness and love but most especially, memories of those no longer with us.

I know that I am not alone in spending too much time looking and thinking straight ahead. Unfortunately, we live in a world that seems predestined towards this idea. Currently, we are all looking forward to the day when our lives finally return to normal.

When young, we cannot wait to grow up, until we eventually realise the reality and responsibilities it brings and we begin to wonder why?
Our careers usually require us to constantly look to the future; the next project, the next goal, the next objective, continually striving to improve and evolve. This is such an ingrained part of our society that it seems illogical to think in any other way.

It is no wonder then that we automatically plan ahead in our personal lives, I am no different. Covid for all of us has clipped our wings and although there is the odd shinning light, the future is again beginning to look rather cloudy. The ‘R’ rate is rising and with new restrictions it feels once more that the world is further on hold.

Thinking in this way restricts us from the present and we are all in danger of not allowing ourselves to enjoy the here and now.

We need to remember that our plotted course can change in an instant. Like many, I have been subject to a life of twists and turns, paths and roads I did not expect to follow. Some of these tracks have been unexpectedly harsh and difficult but there have been unforeseen spectacular routes too, leading to the surprising and sometimes downright marvellous.

We can so easily forget how far we have ventured and where we are right now in our life journey and so we sprint ahead in our thoughts and plans.

If nothing else, Covid has cruelly proved this theory of living in the moment, that for us all, it is important and without a shadow of doubt.

To this end I have set myself a task to try and live far more in the present. That does not mean my future plans are not important but I will try to remind myself more often of the here and now, so as not to miss the moments that might otherwise slip by without notice.

As much as our little island is changing and daily it seems, I think we need to make sure that we do not drown in tomorrow.

So, along with being brave I will add staying longer in the present to my list and try to practice equality with all three of these tenses.

This may sometimes feel impossible, today as always I am already planning for tomorrow’s work day. That does not mean that I will forget the present, just that I need to be mindful and ensure it does not pass me by.

Whatever your past and whatever your future may hold, remember to embrace the now, it deserves our undivided attention.

We never know what it may bring, there really is a reason it is called the ‘present.’ 🎁

Stay Safe,

Joy xxx

Moments

Sunday and the twenty-fourth Covid blog.

Thinking about my blog this morning reminded me that my life and our lives, are made up of moments.

This may seem obvious but perhaps it is something we take for granted and it is not until we lose these moments or we reflect, that we truly begin to understand how monumental they are in our lives.

The ones we wait for, the serendipitous moments, the important life changing moments, events that happen in an instant.

I have blogged about waiting for my moment and finally it arrived, the moment when I hugged my girls.

It was worth waiting for every second. There were many tears and a sense of never wanting to let go. My empty arms were rewarded and the ache I have been feeling, finally, ebbed away into the darkness. I have missed holding them more than I had ever imagined possible.

The reason it had taken so long in our socially distanced bubble is that we refused to hug each other separately. We have always strived to treat each other equally, we are a trio and this act of love was without exception.

This week also saw my return to work and school and once again this was a day full of moments. I am lucky to work in a department in which we are not just colleagues but friends and it was clear we had all missed each other as the usual banter and jovial teasing flowed and once again my heart, our hearts, were full.

When our pupils returned, there was a moment that took me totally by surprise.

A boy whom I actually taught two years ago and who now, whenever we meet (usually in the corridor) I always greet with “Hiya trouble” on seeing me, shouted my name incredibly loudly to make sure I would notice him. When I replied with my usual comment the smile that appeared on his face was one of the biggest I have ever seen, and it absolutely floored me.

Despite the strangeness of this new normal, the sanitising of hands as they enter the classroom, the spraying of desks and equipment, learning the new one way systems, I have loved hearing the hustle and bustle of life and listening to their stories of triumph.

When meeting my new tutor, we discussed the things we had learned during lockdown. A boy proudly told me he can now cook a curry and lasagne from scratch, another had perfected a skateboard move and a girl proclaimed she had discovered and watched the series ‘Friends’ for the first time and so naturally we shared our love of favourite characters.

It is this I have missed, life’s small but important moments.

A chance conversation with someone whose life is connected to the arts made me realise something special this week. We both share the love and passion of theatre, she and her husband had visited a theatre in regards to work and they had both been overcome with emotion. I understood completely and I know when I step back into a theatre for the first time I too will feel exactly the same.

This week I received an email about a theatre event in October asking that should it go ahead (dependant on Covid Committee approval) could I confirm whether I needed a dressing room. This made me feel slightly like Beyoncé having never been asked this before. A chair, and bottle of water provided by myself is the usual standard.

This conversation made me understand why last week, with my heart beating ridiculously loudly in my chest when I stood on that stage, despite the rain and wind, I forgot those cameras, the cold, the fact that I looked like a drowned rat. I now realise why my nerves unusually disappeared and such happiness filled my entire being.

There was one simple reason, the reason it has always been, from the very ‘moment’ I stepped onto a stage for the very first time…

I was home. 🎭

Have a wonderful week and stay safe.

Joy xxx

‘Clicking in the Rain’

Sunday and the twenty-third COVID blog.

Well, what a week!

If I had told my seventeen year old self that the awesome performance poet I was watching on stage would one day introduce ‘me’ on stage to perform ‘my’ poetry, I would never have believed me.

Yet there I was, on Tuesday Evening in Battersea Park, standing on the same stage as my poetry hero Benjamin Zephaniah, I am still pinching myself!

In last week’s blog, I had dared to dream and while a part of me was ever hopeful I really had resigned myself to the fact that it probably wasn’t going to happen.

As with all stories, I really should start at the beginning:

On Tuesday morning I did my first ever podcast, this was for Essex Libraries and their podcast series “The Only Way is Reading.”

This podcast is about my poetry and my poetic involvement in the ‘Essexism’ project which aims to break the stereotype of ‘Essex Girls.” Being a proud Essex Girl it is something close to my heart. My interviewer and a fellow Essex Girl was lovely and it really felt like I was having a chat with a friend.

Once the interview had concluded the afternoon was then spent driving to London’s Battersea Park.

Due to Covid and the uncertainty of trains, if they were all running on time or indeed running at all, it felt pertinent to drive. I picked up my friend and we set off.

I had booked a parking space online and we found this relatively easy. Finding Battersea Park though, not so much.
My friend and I have a history of google map reading, a history that tells us, we can’t.

So, after walking in the wrong direction for a silly amount of time we gave up and called an Uber. My daughter who we were meeting at a cafe in the park text me to see if we were lost. Of course, we well and truly were and not for the first time.

A new ‘Sky Arts’ programme was being filmed in the park with a array of wonderful poets and Benjamin Zephaniah was the host. This also included a one minute open mic spot which I intended to add my name to. A random chance literally pulled out of a hat, Benjamin Zephaniah’s rasta hat.

A red, gold, and green bag of dreams.

The weather was to begin with quite glorious, full of warm sunshine and despite the warning of rain I was beginning to regret my decision of wearing black winter boots.

Do not be fooled by this gentle image of the evening bandstand. The weather had rapidly changed and around the time they were due to start filming. The heavens had opened and the tail end of hurricane Dorian arrived in all it’s splendour.

I had already signed up for the open mic but during a run through Zephaniah announced that there would be one open mic poet, chosen from the forty poets who had signed up.

My heart sank and I pretty much resigned myself to the fact that it wasn’t meant to be except, when they eventually started filming (after several stops due to rain) Zephaniah then pulled out ‘three’ names instead of one but not mine.

One of the names (stage name) was very different and not a poet I had ever come across before. I think perhaps this conjured up a little concern with the programme makers and so a voice in Zephaniah’s ear must have told him to pick another and to my absolute delight my name was chosen.

I will be forever grateful to this lady and so my many thanks go to the poet named “My Hairy Vag!”

All the established poets were wonderful, but for me the poet Molly Case an NHS nurse and her emotive language was a real highlight and her words stayed with me.
The rain and wind continued to batter and eventually when it was finally my turn I was bedraggled and wet and looked quite ridiculous. My hair and make up that I taken such care with was a hopeless cause.
However, being introduced by Benjamin Zephaniah was incredible and the fact he had to say my name several times due to stoppages caused by the rain, the wind and even overhead planes, all made me feel quite delirious.

I was really pleased with my performance and I had kind feedback from the audience. What I didn’t expect was ‘clicking.’ I have been going to poetry readings and performances for sometime but I had never heard the ‘clicking’ of fingers to show appreciation from an audience.

Apparently it’s a thing, it started in Greenwich Village in New York so as not to disturb the poets flow.
It is now a common feature in poetry slams, I just don’t think I have been anywhere cool enough to have encountered it.

During my performance and at the beginning of my second stanza came the unexpected clicks. Added to by an immense gust of wind from Dorian, blowing my hair and causing the lights to sway frantically on the stage as I recited the words “She is a warrior” and just for a moment, this epic example of pathetic fallacy, made me feel like one of the coolest people on the planet.

I have no idea if I will end up on the cutting room floor, I really am hoping not and keeping both fingers and toes crossed but to stand on the same stage as this ‘great’ will always be enough.

Life constantly sends us on unexpected paths and one such path culminated in a small special Covid friendly gathering to celebrate the life of someone wonderful yesterday, someone who was so very much loved, through spoken word and music, to raise much needed funds for Cancer Research.
This charity has lost so much revenue due to cancelled events and over 1.7 million alone as a result of the loss of The London Marathon this year.

I have no idea of the final total as money pledged is still being added. I do know that I felt her presence and I know she would be so very proud.

A week of poetry, friendship, love and memories. The weather being both friend and foe but a week full of life.

Next week begins a new and different academic year one that brings with it new challenges.

For now, before the uncertainty and my new normal, I will bask in the glow that next time I teach a Zephaniah poem, I can tell my students that he introduced me on stage as a fellow poet, safe in the knowledge that no cutting room floor can ever take that away from me.

Stay Safe,

Joy xxx

Three Important Words That Begin With ‘L’

Sunday and the twenty-second COVID blog.

Many of my blogs begin due to something said or overheard in conversations. My belief that we are all connected and the reason for my blog is constantly confirmed by these discussions.

In previous blogs I stated that this summer my holiday has been spent catching up with my family and my friends. This week has been no exception. It is in a different way perhaps, with our world being so strange but it has been important.

The final week of August is now plunging headlong towards my soon to be ‘new normal’ working life and the gentle meandering of the school holidays will become a distant dream.

Part of me is looking forward (all be it with a little apprehension) to the busyness of normality. Lockdown has taught me things I know I would never have had the chance to find, had I not been given this time.

Indeed, I think we have all learned things about our world and our own personal growth.
We were given the unique chance to stop, think, and assess, a chance to discover the things we feel are the most important to us as human beings and to ourselves as individuals. Our own values may vary but I believe there are three words that are incredibly important to us all and two that without, we would not exist.

This first word may seem obvious but it has a host of connotations. This word is something I have been craving, I have missed its hustle and bustle it’s loud, bold, voice, and it’s hushed tones, it is the reason we are here.

‘Life.’

As much as I enjoy solitude, I also enjoy the sounds of life; the noise of people, its cacophony of laughter, excited chatter, its anthropology.

The title of Benjamin Zephaniah’s poem ‘People Need People’ epitomises life. We need people to share our lives, It’s what helps us to survive.

I missed a big part of life this week, I missed seeing our students, my students, receiving their exam results. This year they were posted online. I missed the noise, the tears, the joy, even the disappointment; I missed hugging students, I missed saying well done, I missed the high fives, saying it really is alright, that it really will be ok. I missed sharing in their lives.

Instead, I whooped loudly on my own in my kitchen when I read their results on my laptop, the results they ‘finally’ deserved. I missed the importance of life in that moment.

The second word has the power to change the course of almost everything and there are as always differing ideas. Some believe we make our own, with which I agree to a certain extent. Then there is a train of thought that it all depends on being in the right place, at the right time.

‘Luck.’

A friend recently said that opportunity is a matter of luck, particularly when dealing with the ‘Arts.’ You may be incredibly talented in your chosen passion but unless you are in the right place at the right time your efforts and hard work can count for nothing.

That being said, I think it is a mixture of the two. We all know that someone who seems forever lucky. Those that have everything constantly fall into their laps while others stand on the sidelines, waiting for the next catastrophe. I like many, have always felt I belonged to the latter.

This week I will be totally relying on luck for several reasons. One of those will be joining a part of something that once I arrive and register, will be totally down to luck and chosen completely by random. The opportunity to have my voice heard in this arena is immense and I am hoping that fate will be on my side but I have a feeling I may be watching rather than participating.

So, just for now the thought of this fortuitous event feels quite wonderful.
As always if things go awry I will resort to my cast iron defence that it simply was not meant to be but for a short time, it was fabulous to dream. Dreams I believe are important and I refuse to stop.

The final word is truly the most special word we possess in our vocabulary. There are so many layers to this tiny word, yet it is a word that so many find impossible to say.

I think in this I have been lucky, I grew up with a Mother who said that very word at the end of each day. “Night God bless, love you.” The words I then repeated to my own children each night and now my Grandchildren.

’Love’

A recent discussion with another friend on how she had never been told as a child those three little words expressed how hard it was for her to share with other members of her family that was, until she had children of her own. My Mother too had not heard these words from her own Mother and so she was determined her Daughter would always know she was loved. A generational change, making it easier for the next.

There was a telling moment I read recently in the heart wrenching autobiography from one of my favourite poets Lemn Sissay. Having been brought up by foster parents and then transferred to a children’s home it was a word he did not hear when growing up. Something he said stayed with me. This cruel lack of basic human kindness, while he was in the care of the authorities. “they never said l’m in this job because I love you.”

I have often told my classes that I love them, usually it is when they have been particularly awesome in asking and answering questions or they have made me laugh, just a simple “I love you guys.”

It has always felt important to tell them how great they are and that they know I care about them. Thankfully, I know I am not the only teacher to do this. Never once though has it crossed my mind that there may be someone hearing those words for the first time.

There are so many types of love and I have found it particularly difficult of late reading recent posts on social media so vehemently against the different sectors of humanity. Love for our fellow human beings sadly seems to be so noticeably lacking.

My granddaughter Elizabeth who is four, told me this week “ I love you more than ninety-nine hundred miles away” I’m not quite sure how she came to this figure but I’m definitely taking it. My grandson Oliver simply said after I had read him a bedtime story “Grandma, I love you.”
I think we should be far more childlike in our approach in telling our family and friends that we love them. It matters.

We so often do not tell the people that mean the most to us we love them, we presume they know. We avoid this word and sometimes it becomes too late and the guilt then joins the void they leave inside us.

I hope this week we will begin to hear the sounds of life. I hope that luck is on your side and I truly hope that someone tells you, they love you more than ninety-nine hundred miles away!

With Love,

Joy xxx

Letters, Idioms, Rabbis and Rabbits

Sunday and the twenty-first COVID blog.

There are days when I begin to write my blog and I know exactly what I want to say and others that I am unsure as to whether it will be interesting enough or indeed even relevant. It does not mean that I have nothing to say, more that I am pondering whether it has merit.

However, we should always remember that our words have a reason, they may not necessarily change the world but our voice is important, to us and to those around us. Mohandus Karamchand Gandhi said:

“Whatever you do in life will be insignificant but it is important that you do it.”

So, I figure my words will resonate with someone no matter how irrelevant I feel they might be.

At the beginning of August I wrote in my blog that I had sent an overdue letter, I then extolled the virtues of letter writing. Once, this form of communication was the only way possible to keep in contact in our world and so it was incredibly important and popular but now in our modern society it seems it is a dying art.

One of my friends who reads my blog agreed and suggested that we start a writing circle. This suddenly felt as if we were Victorian ladies and the prospect delightfully wonderful!

I have since written two letters as we are currently a circle of three. I have already felt the joy of opening my first letter. There really is something special about the writing and receiving of hand written correspondence knowing that each word contains the love of friendship.

This week I visited My best friend’s mum and dad and my reason for writing the letter that I had mentioned in my previous blog. I wanted to ask when would be best time for me to visit. I wanted to explain in detail the circumstance of an event in which I will be participating in memory of their daughter.
A small socially distanced fundraiser for Cancer Research as the charity has lost so much money due to lockdown, yet another COVID casualty.

This charity should have benefitted from £1.7 million in sponsorship from ‘The London Marathon’ this year as well as all the other fundraising events that have now been cancelled.

When I visited my best friend’s mum and dad the first thing she said to me was “It was so lovely to receive that letter.” We forget, that despite all the incredible technology we have in our world, it is the simple pleasures that make our hearts sing. Reading those messages of love, words that another human being has taken time to write, truly does makes a difference.

When I visit we talk about the past, and I mentioned how I had recently found my brother’s grave. This leant itself to the subject of burials; my visit to Highgate Cemetery, the history of its Victorian traditions and the interesting facts I had discovered. This in turn led to a further discussion on Jewish Burials.

My friends dad’s mother was Jewish although his father was a gentile. He talked about how his auntie had told him to wear an old jacket to the funeral when his mother died, this being that the Rabbi would cut a piece out of his jacket to represent the release of the tie to his mother and to acknowledge grief.
This made me feel a little sad, it also made me think of my own mother

Towards the end of my visit my friend’s mother then ‘insisted’ that I take a piece of her china home with me before I left. An ornament, because no wants them anymore she said and she wanted me to have something. Actually, she wanted me to take several pieces of china but I managed to negotiate one small item.

Today we don’t seem to have the space in our houses anymore, too out of place, a little kitsch maybe, we don’t have room in our minimalist houses and lives but it felt important.

I chose a little ‘Bunnykins’ ornament mainly because it made me laugh and it was exactly the sort of quirky thing my friend loved. I also know she would have approved of my choice, but mainly I like it because it was given with love.

Obviously all rabbits have towels, a rubber duck, wear bathrobes and shoes?

As I left, I was again reminded of my own mother when I was given cakes to take home, a common generational family occurrence we pass down from mother to daughter, my girls now they are grown do the exactly the same, it is special and beautiful because it comes from a place of loving.

I am someone who listens to the radio all of the time and last Sunday one of my favourite presenters who shares his anecdotes and old fashioned wisdom repeated an idiom I had not heard before. This expression was read aloud through a listener’s story. A story of two people who had finally met after a journey filled with obstacles and hardship. He remarked: “It just goes to show, every pan has a lid.”

This saying stayed with me, I thought it was simplistically beautiful and as always when I reflected on my visit and the memories it triggered, memories of both laughter and sadness it then meant that I needed to write them down.

It is inevitable that we will at some point in our lives be without our lids. It will always feel odd but it is essential to remember that despite the lack of a lid a pan still works. Perhaps not quite as well for a time, there will always be something missing but it is still viable even if sometimes it feels impossible. We carry on though we never forget, we know that nothing could ever replace our original lid, because they matched perfectly and we loved them.

There seems to be so many analogies regarding cooking utensils: “If ifs and buts were pots and pans they’d be no work for tinkers hands.” “A watched pot never boils” “Out of the frying pan into the fire.”
I love idioms, I love the funny and sometimes macabre history behind them.

When I was a little girl and I had been told off and when my face clearly showed it’s contempt, my mum would often say “Your face is enough to turn the milk sour.” I would like to proclaim here and now, doesn’t work.

I tried it once when I was small, I stared at the milk bottle for a fair amount of time but neither my mum nor my dad flinched when they drank it in their tea.

So here’s another one “Enjoy the dog days of August.” Despite the current relief of rain I believe there are still a few days ahead of sunshine in the near future to look forward to.

And, if anyone has actually managed to turn the milk sour with a withering look, please, do let me know.

Stay Safe,

Joy xxx

The Brave Reason For My Name

Sunday and my twentieth COVID Blog.

Before this pandemic started and at the beginning of this year I made a pledge with myself to be brave.

In the past I have been called brave, I am not. I have endured circumstances that left me no choice, it was not bravery but necessity.

The maxim “Do one thing everyday that scares you” is attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt but those are not the words she said:

“You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face.”

These words, her words, feel far more powerful and I do not think you should do something that frightens you each day but I do believe we need to be brave. In doing so, we gain those qualities.

So far, I feel I have been a little brave this year and in different ways. The first was inviting my family and friends to my poetry performances. Before, I have always wanted to perform on my own and amongst strangers.

For some, being alone may seem brave but for me it is the opposite. When I perform in plays I always invite my family and friends as it isn’t me, I am playing a part. When I am me, it is far scarier as they are my words not someone else’s, words that begin in my soul. I feel through doing this, I gained a little courage.

Recently, I stood up for an injustice on behalf of others and myself for something I believed was unkind and unfair. I spoke my truth. I was listened to and told it had made a difference. My bravery gave me strength, kindness matters.

I think perhaps bravery, which is never the same in any one person, also gave me the courage to seek and I have no idea why it has taken me so very long. I think perhaps I have just always thought it was not possible due to the fact I had tried before and failed but courage can be fulled through others if you only ask.

My cousin David is incredible at tracing family history he has documented my father’s family, our family and we each have a copy. As my attempts were futile I asked if he could find, that which I had been searching for. I didn’t hold out much hope, I thought it was a lost cause, such a long time ago, situations and recorded events were not as they are now.

I underestimated his power, within an hour he had found something which perhaps I have been looking for throughout my life, a chance to give validation, to a life I was never meant to share.

There is a reason for my name:

This is a story that I have told before but not one that everyone knows. It is not something you discuss everyday. When I have revealed my history, it has always been for a reason.

When people ask if I have brothers or sisters I always proclaim that I am an only child except, I am not.

It has always felt strange, what I really want to say is that I have an older brother who was born asleep but I don’t, it feels inappropriate and awkward, as a society we veer from the difficult.

After my brother’s birth my mum and dad were told they should not try to have another child, that it would be too dangerous for my mother.
Whilst my brother was alive in her womb they had both been fighting for survival, this was related to a complaint called Rhesus Disease coupled with further complications in relation to another condition of my mother’s health, something she endured throughout her life.
Rhesus Disease is now uncommon and thankfully preventive, this being due to advances in medical science.

My mum was so incredibly brave, she was adamant that she needed to try. So, against all medical advice but with careful monitoring, a prolonged stay in hospital with help from an insightful and caring consultant and the fact that my blood was of a different type to my brother, I was born; premature, tiny, placed in an incubator, but breathing.

One of my close friends is a midwife, she shared with me the term used for babies that are born sleeping. “Stillborn but still born ” there is so much beauty in that statement that it takes my breath away.

As a mother, I can only imagine the hurt that my parents and most especially my mother went through, to give birth to a baby she would never see or hold in her arms.

With help from my cousin David in finding my brother’s resting place which was not easy, an unmarked grave, buried with a stranger which was common practice at the time, I found the courage to face something I knew would feel me with sadness, this week and after all these years I found my brother.

I laid a sunflower, they are special to me for so many reasons. They are the colour of sunshine, happiness and for me they represent life. I needed to represent life, a life lost but not forgotten.

I also found an unexpected memorial near his grave. There must have been so many tiny lives lost to warrant such a statue.

My brother was born in 1960.

I needed to tell my brother that I was sorry, that I wished I had known him. I have always had a feeling that if he had survived, there was a chance I may not have been here. Perhaps it is the reason I have such a strong and overwhelming need to validate life and why it has always felt so inherent.

I hope I have now done this. It matters, he mattered, love matters, this is the way I choose to finally validate his life as poetry means so very much to me:

Babies born after such a sadness, babies lost that were not meant to be on this earth, when they arrive are known as ‘Rainbow Babies’ a fairly recent term I feel, as I don’t ever remember being referred to by this special name. I have always just been ‘Joy’ with the obvious connotation that speaks for itself.

A name when growing up as a teenager I really didn’t like, it felt old fashioned I knew no one of my age that had my name. I grew up in a world of Karen, Tracey and Sharon and I wanted to be similar. I could never hide, my unusual name always seemed to be remembered.

I believe we grow into our names, we do not choose them instead they choose us and each one has a story, a shared history of why.

As a grown up I love my name, I love it is unique, I love it is remembered, for it bears my parents brave and beautiful reason.

And I will endeavour to continue to be brave.

Stay Safe,

Joy 🌈 xxx

“Not All Who Wander, Are Lost”

Sunday, the nineteenth COVID blog.

August has arrived and so far, it has been hot and sticky. I have just returned from a little break in the beautiful city of Bath and the fact that the weather was so humid actually made it far easier to visit, to explore and to sit outside, in terms of our current predicament.

Most of the world, myself included have decided to have a ‘staycation’ not many it seems, despite the ‘air bridges’ are flying off to explore other parts of our world, instead we are heeding scientific advice and staying closer to home.

These rules we are told will keep us safe, it doesn’t however, stop us from feeling a little sad.

Having visited Bath last year for my Daughter’s Hen Weekend I wanted to return to do several things. One was to visit The Roman Baths which I didn’t get a chance to do, the other was to visit The Jane Austen Centre.

Thanks to Covid only one of these were possible. I was however, not at all disappointed with my visit to The Roman Baths.

As always, it didn’t quite go to plan.

I had already pre-purchased my ticket as this is now a requirement. There was I discovered, a large discount for keyworkers, so if you too are classed in this category it would be advisable to check this summer, when visiting any local attractions.

I queued at the allotted time, stood on the socially distanced Roman themed markers and donned my face mask ready to enter the building.

I then chose an audio guide to explain the various archeological and historical features. Choice, it transpires being my mistake. It was all going swimmingly, I was really enjoying the commentary amazed that we have a natural hot spring in England (Bath being the only place it can be found) when my audio guide made a weird sound and stopped.

I thought I must have pressed a wrong button by mistake and then I managed to re-boot it after a few minutes.
As I moved along, without warning the numbers you needed to enter into your guide (which were printed on each information sign) suddenly changed and a selection of options were given. As you can only listen to one voice at a time I found this very confusing and irritating.

The voices were; the guide, no idea who she was but I liked her, then the option of Michael Rosen, this really being for children except, I like Michael Rosen, I love his poetry, I love his voice and I recently prayed for him while he was seriously ill in hospital with COVID 19 so I felt like I should listen (also, he gave the fun and silly facts which the official guide didn’t).
I was then faced with option three, which was Bill Bryson.
Seriously, now I had Bryson’s anecdotes thrown into the mix, I like his style of travel writing, I have taught lessons using extracts from his books, it was all just too much.

While contemplating this dilemma, fate then dealt her fickle hand as the audio spurted a strange sound and gave up the ghost, and there was no re-booting this time and so my choice was made.
Social distancing meaning everyone following a one way only path and waiting for others meant I needed to rely on reading the information boards quickly which were nowhere near as comprehensive, but needs must.

So much for helping out this mortal sister Minerva!

I really enjoyed my visit, there was so much more than I expected to see. The remains of the chambers inside, the various rooms, changing rooms, plunge pools, the Romans really were quite ingenious at the whole spa thing.

With my tour completed and although I knew I would not be able to enter, I decided to torture myself and find The Jane Austen Centre.

I knew that Austen had stayed in one of the houses in Gay Street (her house is now a Dentist) which is where the centre is located. I wanted to imagine I was standing in her footsteps.
(Austen wrote both ‘Persuasion‘ and ‘Northanger Abbey’ while she lived in Bath)

I also found ‘The Assembly Rooms’ another place I wanted to visit, which houses an exhibition of period costumes and a place that Jane Austen frequented as it held balls and the like for society at that time. Alas, again to my dismay, another no entry and a victim of Covid.

A little further along is ‘The Circus‘ a row of houses that looks as if it is straight out of a scene from the musical ‘Oliver’ and the song “Who Will Buy?” I once played Oliver’s Mother in a school production, I died within minutes only to then be resurrected and join the ensemble for the rest of musical (I’m not sure anyone noticed, I was wearing a bonnet).

When you are on your own you can just wander, I know that when I am alone I definitely notice more. When marvelling at the architecture with a delighted smile on my face, people it appeared were far more friendlier, perhaps due to pride at my delight in their home town.
I met several ladies (also walking on their own) who smiled and two that said “Good Afternoon” I really did feel like Jane at that point. I took photos of the things that made my heart glad.

I loved the entrances to these back gardens, along a little row of houses. It felt secret and special somehow.

A cheerful Postman smiled and past the time of day with me when I took this photo.

Then I found this…

I spent an awful long time in this bookshop, I wanted so much to whizz up and down on the ladders, this didn’t just make me smile, it made me feel like I wanted to live there!
I was recently asked; “If I could have a dream job what would it be?” For me it is not so much a job but an actual ‘dream.’

It would be to own an independent coffee/bookshop with an artists space to perform; writers, poets, musicians, my ‘dream’ in which I have now added ‘ladders.’

I obviously left with books.

I also visited the famous Sally Lunn’s to sample her wares.

This is probably where I felt the most ‘Austen’ due to the decor and ambience of the surroundings. The classical music, the waitress with a french accent that called me ‘Madame’ and so in homage I proclaim:

Whilst in the city I happened upon Miss Sally Lunn’s Tearoom. As the weather was most unsatisfactory in outlook for ones appearance, I deemed it possible that if I took rest, it would restore my senses and I would then be able to return refreshed. This would allow me, should I also happen upon Mr Darcy, whose disagreeable comments seem to thwart me at every turn to again look once more, as woman of a more respectable nature. I should not like to give any cause for concern that might allow such a thought to to enter the mind of the extraordinarily odd, Mr Fiztwilliam Darcy that is of course, should we meet but one must think of every eventuality!

I am pleased to say I did feel refreshed, The Lunn Bun was lovely, a little like a Brioche Bun but not. The cinnamon butter was wonderful and I couldn’t not order the ‘The Jane Austin Blend’ of coffee.

I did find popping in and out of places strange with thankfully ‘everyone’ in masks now. I did say to a young girl that served me whilst I was buying something in a shop that I was smiling under my mask and she said the kindest thing: “I know you are smiling, you smile with your eyes and I can hear it in your voice.”

I think we all need to remember, that there are more ways to smile, than just seeing our lips move.

I had a wonderful time in Bath, I again visited The Abbey and lit candles in prayer. It was almost reminiscent of Greece last year, when I was thrown out of the church, as when I arrived at The Abbey it was closing and so I returned the next day.

I stayed in a lovely Airbnb it was small and cosy although the bedroom area was in the rafters and even though I am vertically challenged I forgot, and bumped my head more than once!

I enjoyed my stay, I took three books, finished one and I am halfway through another. I think three was a little ambitious when there was so much to see and do. I hope to return again to finally visit the places this pandemic has stopped me from visiting.

Despite the restrictions which were so noticeable, the masks, hand sanitising, leaving contact details in every place I drank or ate I still had a wonderful stay. I also had the time to write an overdue letter, one which took me time. I always think letters deserve pages. I am a huge advocate of writing letters and I really should make the time to write more.

Perhaps then, I am far more Austen than I realise…

Stay Safe,

Joy xxx

The Grey Gelding

Sunday, the eighteenth COVID blog.

Things are beginning to feel a little different, and life is slowly returning in a new way.

This week has been the first week of my school holidays and has mostly consisted of catching up with my family and friends. Something I intend to do throughout the summer. I count myself incredibly lucky to have an amazing bunch of friends and I have missed them.

It really has been an emotional rollercoaster this week. I cried when I saw my friend whom I haven’t seen since March, a friend who has made me laugh and sob through texts and phone calls during lockdown. Emotionally, we share the same soul and so tears were not unexpected, I really had missed her.

I met friends for a walk and coffee along the seafront which is a short drive away from where I live. We walked and talked and it finally felt like summer. The seafront wasn’t busy, it felt easy and safe.

A word we do not normally associate when meeting our friends is ‘safe’ this is the adjective we should always feel with our pals, we choose each other because we make the other feel protected. In this new normal ‘safe’ has a changed connotation and in all aspects we now need to consider this thought.

My normal routine; car keys, purse, phone, has been joined for some time now by hand sanitiser and mask. I began wearing a mask a little while ago in shops before it became compulsory, I believe this should have happened well before the time frame we were given by the government. This virus has weakened, due to lockdown and the season, but it has ‘not’ gone away.

My Daughters and I have been discussing our safe ‘bubble’ my arms have been aching to finally hold my world. We tell each other all the time that we love one another but I have missed holding them and my little ones.

On Wednesday I made an impromptu visit to my eldest daughter Claire, who along with her husband has been working from home. My Grandchildren were still in school and I arrived in time to collect them along with Claire.

Having discussed our ‘safe bubble’ we decided it would be safe to hug outside in the garden. I still have not hugged either of my Daughters, we agreed it would only be fair to hug each other when we three are all together. We have always been an equal trio and I love them equally, this is will be no exception.

My Grandchildren are a different matter. Oliver is six, he is very loving, he reminds me of Christopher Robin he is beautiful with soft blonde hair and although he can be boisterous he can also be measured. Before lockdown he would often snuggle voluntarily and say “I love you Grandma”and then proceed to tell me about his friends and school, superheroes and Pokemon, which at six years old is everything.

Elizabeth is very different, she is four, she has huge enchanting brown eyes, crazy hair and although she is as cute as a button, she is an absolute ‘caution’ this word completes her.
My Daughters, my Mum (their Grandmother) and I, read a series of books in which one of the main characters ‘Emily’ when growing up, was referred to as a ‘caution’ wild and free and full of mischief. Their names both start with the same letter, enough said I think.

So when we met them from school I expected Oliver to be the one who would be the most affectionate but it was Elizabeth, she simply took my hand and said “Grandma, we can hug outside now.”

The warmth of her tiny hand in mine filled my eyes with tears, tears that had been waiting to fall. I have hidden so many tears behind my sunglasses this week, of both sadness and joy.

She did not let go until we arrived home.

Flyaway hair, we don’t care!

Once we were in the garden it was again Elizabeth who asked for a hug, it was everything I expected it to be. Quick, but beautiful, a ‘caution’ of loveliness.

Oliver’s was gentle, a little longer and with a Pokemon explanation of his day. In both of these wonderful and special moments, I wept.

With my girls it will be different, adult emotions and understanding. We are all so similar yet individual, they are and will always be, my breath.

I have twice crossed unexpected paths in recent weeks, paths I believe I have been sent to cross. Both of which have reminded me that as human beings we are constantly learning, that despite how difficult everything has been we all seemed to have learned something about ourselves during this time.

Instead of jogging at the end of this week, I walked my usual route. I will begin running again tomorrow, I have lost a bit of enthusiasm which seems to have been a common theme amongst friends too but I feel like it’s returning as I am no longer worrying about work for a while and have time.

On my walking/running route there is a field of ponies and they have been noticeably missing since lockdown, despite the signs of “Do Not Touch The Horses’” that appeared at the start of the one hour exercise we were allowed at the beginning of the pandemic.

As I walked along the track I saw the familiar sight of the pony I always talk to, he is handsome and majestic and I tell him so each time we meet. He slowly walked towards me and he seemed to look into my very soul.

I cried, I think because it felt, as if in that one moment, he epitomised the world gradually beginning again.

As my wings finally stretch and uncurl, next week I embark on a little adventure, not the one I had planned, this one is closer to home with a literary and historical feel, but it means I can finally begin to flutter.

Stay Safe,

Joy 🦋 xxx

‘Nineteen Eighty-Four’

Sunday: The seventeenth COVID blog.

This week sees the beginning of the school summer holidays: As I reflect on this time last year, it seems incredulous that so very much has happened.

Last year was such a wonderful and exciting time, my youngest Daughter was about to get married the weather was glorious and I was about to travel solo to distant climes and enter the world of blogging. The world had not yet been plagued with COVID 19.

The end of this academic year has been the most bizarre we have ever faced and it is difficult not to remember that in between, there have been times of joy.

This week I received an email that informed me I was one of a team of people, who was the recipient of a gift waiting in our school reception.

A parent of one of our students had immortalised us in knitting! Every one of her Son’s teachers, complete with lanyards bearing our initials, our school ID.

It is strange that despite the fact I do not teach Spanish, I am dressed as a Flamenco Dancer this being something I actually wore last year on my Daughter’s Hen Weekend, as the theme was travel and we were asked to represent a country for one of our evenings.

This gift is something I will treasure, memories of a unique student who looks at the world through different eyes and whom I had the privilege to watch and change and grow.

I also think there is an uncanny likeness and I know it will always, make me smile.

The end of our school year ended in a training session for the new academic year in September. Essential plans to prepare for the eventuality of a local lockdown or national lockdown. A variation of ‘Virtual Teaching.’

We sat in social distanced rows with personal laptops and various technological devices whilst being shown how to engage and teach virtually.

When I looked around, a chilling memory of my own schooldays haunted me and ironically that of my English Class and our reading of ‘Nineteen Eighty-Four’ George Orwell’s dystopian novel of a controlling state and students taught through TV screens. It all felt too close for comfort.

Thankfully it ended in a socially distanced BBQ on our school field and became a little reminiscent of past times. Except for the goodbyes, not being able to hug the people I care about felt sad and thoughtless.

There will not be the adventure I planned this year. I have booked myself a little trip, it will be a different adventure but one I am looking forward to.
The prospect of ignoring my computer screen for a while is currently making my soul sing.

I am looking forward to spending time with my family and catching up albeit socially distanced, with friends. I have DIY projects in mind and I desperately need to resume my running which has very much wained over the last few weeks.

I also cannot wait, to sit in solitude (which I am hoping to do each evening on my little holiday) and read. I have a pile of books which have been beckoning me for some time and now, I have the time to finally wrap and immerse myself in their magical pages.

As long as ‘Big Brother’ isn’t watching!

Stay Safe,

Joy xxx

‘The Lonely Goatherd’

The Sixteenth Sunday COVID Blog.

So this week began with a little return to normality. Back into my workplace each day but for a short amount of time and with COVID restrictions.

A temperature check by one of our school coaches Colin, who proclaimed that my temperature was so low I should technically be unconscious, that was until it was discovered that my car’s air conditioning was the culprit.

The foot pump sanitiser as I enter the building that taunts at my unbalanced toe pressure whilst I disperse far too much liquid into my hands. The painted two metre yellow social distance lines, the empty breezy building, intent to blow away any trace of this unseen foe.

The very heightened emotions at seeing friends and colleagues reminded me of how we really are; weirdly wonderful, with common threads of life, passion, and a genuine love for one another as human beings.
The friend that will tell you that you still have a hair roller in your fringe (due to the fact that your fringe is too long due to lockdown and using a roller lifts it from your face so you can actually see) and you then realise you have walked through the entire school building looking like this and had your temperature taken!

The class I was allocated was strangely quiet, seated at a measured distance; clean, careful, methodical, a text book scenario.

It all felt rather surreal, more abnormal than the ‘new normal’ there is always chatter but this was noticeably missing and I didn’t like it.

Once I began teaching, although still deathly quiet the atmosphere did begin to change. A few smiles, answers, sharing of ideas but a strange stillness.

As the days have moved on a little, life and normality have slowly begun to return, smiles and the occasional peel of laughter now ring as the coronavirus class fog lifts.

The one thing I did get to do that I did not expect was to fulfil an ambition. I have always hankered to play Maria Von Trapp in ‘The Sound of Music’ so much so that when I was around nine years old the only way I would take a hat off and actually go to school (due to a horrendous short haircut which made it hard to tell if I was Joy or Joe) was the suggestion from a next door neighbour that I looked just like ‘Maria’ in The Sound of Music!
The fact that I had to lead my socially distanced class in single file to the school gates, gave me this opportunity.

I did begin to sing “Do-Re-Mi” which was of course totally wasted on a youth who I am sure have no idea who Maria Von Trapp actually was let alone Julie Andrews, it did however make them smirk.

Next week will end with the start of the ‘School Summer Holidays’ usually a week full of excitement and anticipation, noise and bustle, this will be noticeably lacking. Another victim of COVID and it’s mission to suck the joy from life.

I did suggest to my class we could perform a socially distanced ‘conga’ on the last day in our line and this was met with far more enthusiasm than my offer to join in and sing along with my rendition as Maria.

Every year when the school bell signals the start of the holidays I am always disappointed that Alice Cooper’s “Schools Out For Summer” isn’t played on our PA system but this year it would be pointless.

There will be no celebrations at the local spot where it seems the whole of the educating community congregate, a spot by the sea, to loudly toast the end of the academic year.
No hugs of goodbye, no sharing of summer holiday plans, no giddy talk of sultry far away places.

We are healing, it will take time, but it does feel as if the world is beginning again.

Maybe it will be sooner than we think and we will once again begin to participate and enjoy our “favourite things” and our world really won’t “feel so bad.”

Keep safely smiling and singing,

Joy xxx

(The photo is from a family lockdown Zoom Quiz Night)

Skulk

Fifteenth Sunday COVID Blog:

This week, with life seemingly heading towards the ‘new normal’ I have begun to reflect on the impact this pandemic has had on us as a society and as individuals, from the good the bad and the downright ugly.

For the introverted there has been time to shine, for the extroverted it has perhaps felt stifling. Whichever pigeon hole society or you yourself have placed yourself in, I think we can agree that we all in some way have changed and adapted over this time.

As a tactile human being I am still really struggling. I think when we are finally allowed to hug our families I will be likened to a limpet and I also know without a shadow of a doubt, that I will cry.

I have however found this time creatively inspiring and been ever more present in noticing the endeavours of others.

Social media has been both a blessing and a curse. However, without it, I think the majority of us would have been lost. The downside is that it has shown us the worst of humanity.

One of the things I have increasingly noticed on social media, mainly because I have reached another era is the attitude towards woman who apparently no longer exist past the age of 50 and to this end I produce exhibit A.

This little gem was posted on Twitter.

I have friends and family in their seventies who do not dress like the woman in the 50-60 bracket, let alone the 60+ box which seemly suggests that you also live in a colourless world.

I have a friend who is of a similar age to myself, she has been travelling around South America on her own since before lockdown, a fellow blogger who has encountered all sorts of obstacles from being mugged at gun point, to arguing with officials for a two hour lockdown pass to explore the country she is visiting at this time.

I have another friend who has been holding exercise classes in the street since this began and while Joe Wicks is about to slow down, she and her increasing classes are still going!

Neither of these incredible women fit in those ridiculous boxes and neither I am proud to say do I.

So, to this end I have put pen to paper as my observations also noted that while women appear to be put out to pasture, the male of the species are revered in a completely different light.

Whenever the likes of George Clooney, Idris Elba, Brad Pitt, Patrick Dempsey (the list is endless) are mentioned there is one name that frequently appears and one that does not.

I give you exhibit B

*Skulk is the collective noun for a group of foxes.

My pen has been flowing with similar retorts on this subject, one I am particularly proud of and cannot wait to share. This piece contains an expletive which encapsulates the ridiculousness and one that I intend to shout proudly, when I finally get the chance to again perform in front of a live audience.

My frustration is with society, the pen is always mightier than the sword and gives us the chance to readdress the balance.
As someone far more eloquent than I said:

“If not now, when?”

The lockdown has given me time to think about these issues and the fact that society seems intent on pointing us, as women, towards the colourless box.

A box that in reality, is filled with a myriad of rainbows for those brave enough, to never give in.

Keep shining,

Joy xxx

A Brave New World

The Fourteenth Sunday COVID Blog.

I really wasn’t sure where to start today, it has been a strangely lethargic week in the sense that I have found any thing other than work difficult. I did however manage to finally finish reading two books.

I have been reading the Sally Rooney bestseller ‘Normal People’ I have family and friends who have extolled its virtues and I recently watched the adaptation on BBC Three. It was a novel that I read in stages, I think perhaps I was expecting the language to be of a different landscape.

I know I am not alone in highlighting words and quotations in books, my copy of ‘To Kill a Mockingbird Bird’ is covered in highlighter pen because the language is so beautiful. I also have a book in which I write quotations. These phrases are from many sources; family, friends, acquaintances and strangers and I always write the author’s name next to their words. I often write the meaning behind each offering too, especially if it belongs to a humorous story, just in case I forget. I have such a quote:

“I don’t know why I’m worrying about my hair, when my face looks like a tomato!”

There is a whole back story but the main point is that a friend of mine blushes very easily, when I read this quote I immediately smile because the whole incident ended in peels of laughter, words matter.

I treasure language that evokes an emotion, everything from happiness to sadness and anything in between. I think this novel took me a while to read because the narrative is so destructive, I feel the same about ‘Wuthering Heights’ another novel I needed to read in sections, which proves they are defining and magical stories.

Although I did not highlight as much as I expected, I did highlight several phrases in the closing paragraph. One being a ridiculously simple sentence which I know has been said before, but it has never felt more important at this present time.

“People can really change one another”

I am hoping our world will listen, I grow ever disheartened at the media and humanities inability to be kind, to change, and to follow rules. However, in between the cracks I continue to search for the flowers and as always, they are there.

The second book I finished was a novel called ‘Money to Byrne’ a play on words by the author David Byrne. Not my usual genre at all but I was at school with the author, we shared classes and a Form Class. When I began to read, it reminded me of something I had told the students in my Tutor (the name now given instead of Form) when I first met them in Year 7 (their first year). I asked them to look around at each other and explained that for the next five years, these would be the faces they would see every day. I continued explaining that the next five years would go quickly and that when they left school, they may not ever see each other again or necessarily be friends, but they wouldn’t ever forget sharing this experience.

The reason I gave this little speech was in homage to my own Form Teacher who said the same thing when we too, were tiny ‘First Years.’

My lovely Tutor left school this year and although I lost a few pupils to other classes and a change was made in their last year, on the day they left, one of my original students said “Miss I haven’t forgotten, it went so quick.”

So reading this book evoked those memories and it was odd to think that I once knew the protagonist in the story which is a true account of a documented financial scam that ended in Asia, in a police cell and sounds like the back drop for a movie. There was a lot of financial wizardry that I didn’t fully understand, not because it wasn’t explained but because I’m far more at home with Shakespeare than the FT and the Dow Jones. This despite once being a member of ‘The Stock Exchange Operatic and Dramatic Society’ that however, is another story…

We all live such different lives which makes us unique but we will always share a part of our lives with others, we walk in different directions but occasionally those paths cross before we then continue.

People need people and we need to look after each other in this ‘Brave New World’ brave, because we still do not understand nor can we fully comprehend the future which now we seem, to be slowly unraveling.

Stay safe along each path,

Joy xxx

Reg

I am late in posting my blog today; Sunday, the end of week thirteen and the beginning of week fourteen.

Today is Father’ Day in the UK and a day I hope that many will be celebrating with their Fathers.
I understand that for some it may be with sadness and for all sorts of reasons. I know too that for some it will be difficult with heartbreak and loss.

My Dad calls this time “Double Bubble Weekend” because usually as with this weekend, it is also his birthday!

My Dad (Reg) was 90 years young yesterday and the big planned family get together did not happen, it is postponed due to COVID-19.

We did have a celebration but it was small and without hugs, as a family we have agreed to follow the social distancing rules to the letter. I have not hugged my children since lockdown, my arms are empty and aching more than ever.

Yet we still laughed, laughter is the emotion most people feel when they hear stories about my dad, Reg.

Reg is a legend inside and outside of our family.

There are so many stories, it was difficult to know which one to tell. So, I thought I would go with one from my childhood and although I really can’t remember it too well (I was very young) it is the one that always makes me laugh because it sums him up completely.

When I was small our holidays were always camping holidays and often with my cousins, this is a story about one of those times:
We were all on our way for a camping holiday in Devon but we had broken down (a common occurrence of my childhood holidays) and it took a while for the AA to find the part needed and to then send us on our merry way.

It was gone midnight, dark and full of torrential rain, a typical British August. My Dad who was the only driver thought it best to find the nearest campsite due to the inclement weather.

They somehow managed to find a signpost to a local campsite in the darkness and we headed towards it. My Dad then drove to a grassy patch and decided to pitch the biggest tent (we had two, one for each family) and to all pile together for the night. Three sleepy young children and four tired adults and pay the site fee the next day.

In the morning, my Dad remembers the heat of the sun making the canvas steam and then a really loud ‘Vrooom, Vrooom’ sound and thinking that it sounded ridiculously near.

It was, my Dad zipped open the tent to find he had pitched the tent (the tent we had slept in, all night) smack bang in the middle of a roundabout on the A30!

There are so many more stories I could share but the image of this one is priceless.

Just one of the many reasons my Dad is known as ‘Reg the Lege.’

This is a short blog today, to celebrate my Dad. My Dad who is still adding to these stories and is still camping!

I hope this makes you smile, something we need in the world right now.

For Reg my hero!

Enjoy today,

Joy xxx

‘Hame’

It is the end of week twelve and my COVID blog has returned to the sunshine writing of Sunday mornings.

This again has been a difficult and hateful week. The media has fulled so much anger, full to the brim it seems with unkindness and propaganda.

I have continued to look for flowers, they seem to be a little elusive but they are there, nestling between the cracks of humanity.

One of the most precious things we desire as human beings is time and even though we have been given time in the most heartbreaking and challenging way it has given us a unique chance.

A chance to think, to reconnect with ourselves, our family and our friends, no matter how socially distanced that may be.

Time on our hands to reflect, has us thinking of our past, our present and our future.

I am lucky to have friends of all ages and gender. One of my younger friends has a beautiful old soul something I was always told I possessed when I was young. I feel I am finally catching up with mine.

There have been a flurry of messages between us both with similar thoughts during this pandemic, thoughts of the past and how this time has flooded our minds with memories.

Despite the upcoming ‘Father’s Day’ in England, it has been my Mother who has been on my mind recently.

My Dad is still in touch with one of my Mother’s cousins they send cards and talk over the phone occasionally, despite the fact that neither can hear one another. My Father had been talking about their shared past times.

My Dad will be 90 next week, he loves technology and he uses social media. This made me think that my Mother’s cousin (my first cousin once removed) might be too?

Unfortunately he wasn’t, but my second cousin (his son) was and I found him far easier than expected, it is odd that I had not tried before, however, I think time plays an important part in all our lives.

My Mother was born in Aberdeen in Scotland and was immensely proud of her Scottish heritage and I was very much brought up to acknowledge my Gaelic and Celtic blood.

I lived a life surrounded by this dialect and when I read the printed word or hear its sound, I remember how much I miss my Mum and family. The Doric, the rhythm and harmony of her voice.

When I messaged my second cousin just before lockdown, I was presented with the kindest and warmest of greetings. As we caught up a little, there were phrases in his messages that tripped me up, simply because I hadn’t heard them for so long and they felt like home.

Memories were shared, recalling the last time we were together for a family wedding, this being over thirty years.
I was sent a photo of a time when we were very small my cousin used a poignant and timeless phrase “We’ve lived a life since we once saw one another.” We really have, as human beings we remain in our own immediate life bubbles.

My Mum is the lady in the checkered square coat next to my Great Auntie Lizzie (the lady with the glasses) and my cousin’s Grannie. Me in front with the ridiculous grin and next to me, my second cousin Edwin whom I messaged, arms crossed and a cheeky smile.

I remembered this day so clearly, we were on holiday in Scotland as always when I was growing up and we were visiting family. We then visited another part of the clan, after this photo was taken.

While visiting our other relatives, I had kissed their dog. I recall so vividly and fondly this moment due to the incident that occurred directly after.
My Auntie Lizzie was affronted and appalled!
When we got back to her home, she washed my mouth out with soap and made me spit (several times) into the sink!

During these messages, it was as if time stood still and two tiny words suddenly made me feel very emotional, a simple phrase “Oh me!” these were such significant words of memory, my childhood language.
My Mother, who is now no longer here and I wished so very much that she was.

Since our messages and this lockdown time of reflection, these memories have been swirling around and yesterday, I finally completed my poem.

The past can often become our present, it can also become our future, if we all look forward in the right way.

I am hoping we all find sunflowers, they follow the sun and grow in it’s warmth, something our world needs, so very much.

Reconnect with life and love and people, it matters.

Stay Safe,

Joy xxx

(Hame is Scottish for home)

Brown Jeans

This is Sunday, the end of COVID week eleven the beginning of twelve and a whole new anxious.

This week has been a really strange week and I have felt like most, a whole range of emotions. There seems to be so much unrest, fear and anger across the world. The kindness that seemed to appear at the beginning of this pandemic seems to have dissipated into the ether this week.
I sobbed for the first time in a little while, I have had pockets of sadness but on Thursday I had a real good wail.

I don’t even think I can tell you that there was any ‘one’ thing I felt upset about, as it was everything really, I do know I felt much better for it.

The thought of our ‘New Normal’ and our lack of human contact has begun to make me feel anxious something I don’t usually feel but talking to friends has made me realise that I am not the only one.

The unkindness of man to one another at this present time in America and across the world has compounded these feelings. Far from ‘A Kinder New World’ for which I was hoping, it now feels like a scarier ‘Old World’ with a lack of compassion and humanity.

I have just subscribed to ‘The Happy News’ a newspaper that quarterly delivers only good news from around the world. It is not that I want to bury my head in the sand, just that I am fed up of reading the sad and negative. I am looking forward to reading a little sunshine.

I know that farmers may be rejoicing in England but the miserable weather this weekend has also helped to dampen our spirits. This weekend being the one when we were told we could finally meet six members of family or friends from different households outside!

The reason I started this blog is to write about the connections and stories that unite us as human beings, sometimes these stories will not be full of laughter and starlight but they are equally important to share, especially in our current crisis.

During my jogging route there is a beautiful but potentially dangerous path, I walk this short section as it would be unwise to run. This track is awkward and treacherous in parts, meaning I could easily stumble and fall.

This journey seems to follow the metaphor of our present world and I think like many, we are just running too fast.

When the world begins to change there is always something that seems to try and stops us, be it ignorance or fear, a lack of trust in fellow human beings or indeed ourselves.

There has been so much written in newspapers and on social media this week, there has been frustration and hurt and several phrases repeatedly printed and shouted out loud, relating to recent events.

I am understanding of ‘White Privilege’ except for me it has another connotation.

When I was a young teenager like many, I didn’t feel as if I fitted in and there is a part of me that will forever feel that way, it will always be who I am. Now I am older I have finally embraced the weirdness perceived by some, but it wasn’t that way when I was younger.

I wasn’t super popular or cool at school, some of my friends were but I wasn’t and thanks to a world that sends messages of how girls ‘should’ look when fourteen years old, I was incredibly body conscious. The Baz Lurhrmann lyrics of ‘Sunscreen’ tell us loudly and succinctly of “How much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked, you are not as fat as you imagined” I wasn’t, but when we are young we do not see, we are victims of opinion, environment, and ignorance.

I have mentioned before that as a young teenager strikes were commonplace in 70’s Britain and my Dad was often on strike along with his fellow workers and that money was tight. My school had a fairly relaxed uniform policy and when I look at my old class photos the alleged blue and white uniform looks a little like ‘Joseph’s Coat.’

Needle corduroy blue jeans were really big when I was fourteen, the ‘It’ girls wore them to school and I wanted to wear them too. Brown corduroys were for some unknown reason much cheaper and so with this uniform policy it meant I would be able to own a pair and wear them. However, these cords were not blue and not as cool, even though I really did love them.

These heavenly corduroys were edged with white faux leather on the front coin pockets and a white cross on each back pocket but I still wasn’t sure if I actually looked ok?
I remember walking upstairs in school on the way to lesson when a boy in my form (tutor) told me “You look great in those jeans.” I remember my fear subsiding and feeling ten feet tall! I know he will have no idea how much those words impacted on my well being, on a day when I felt out of step and different.

The same boy a few weeks later caught up with me walking home after school, I had stayed late at Drama Club and he at Art Club.
As we were both in the same form it was our turn as a class to perform something in assembly and I had written a play, something our teacher had allowed us to perform and he wanted to ask me about it. It was the first and last time we ever walked home together, for no other reason than fate.

This walk was a moment in time, two classmates talking for a little while until we branched off in different directions, but it was a moment that has stayed with me.

A man had been following behind, I know now that he was probably drunk and it it wasn’t until we both separated that he shouted at me when he passed with the words “Nigger lover.”

I was scared, I was fourteen and young and small and yes, I was naive and I didn’t totally understand. I remember running home and here is the ‘White Privilege’ I am proud to own.

I asked my Mum and my Dad why?
They told me he was ignorant and I remember my Dads words “It doesn’t matter if you are black or white or pink or green or yellow or blue, what matters is that we are all people.”

My Dad isn’t really one for speeches but this is probably one of the most important things he ever said to his teenage daughter, when she was trying to make sense of the world.

My White Privilege?

That I had and have parents who saw through the madness and taught me how to really see the world. Yes, I am proud of that.
Something I have been privileged to pass on to my children.

My Daughter this week was explaining this same concept to my five year old Grandson but really she didn’t need to, he already has it all sown up, this was his reply:

“But we are all the same you know, because everyone has hearts and a belly button.”

I hope and pray that one day if and when my beautiful Grandson has children, he doesn’t have to explain why? It is a hope but hope unites us in everything.

May your ‘hearts and belly buttons’ be full of love and less sadness this week.

Much Love,

Joy

The Dendrophile

It seems incredulous that this morning is the end of week ten and my tenth COVID blog.

Another glorious morning and the weather once more ‘divine’ I say this in every sense of the word as how much harder would this have been, if the past ten weeks were dismal and wet?

From tomorrow our English government begins to slowly lift restrictions and very gradually we will emerge into our new normal. I know that I am not the only one to feel apprehensive, in regards to this next stage.

Part of my trip to Gilead this week (food shopping) was horrid, it compounded these fears and I felt anxious and uncomfortable.

I am pretty shocking at directions, even listening to Google Maps sends me the wrong way, I have also now discovered that pedestrian traffic cones have a similar effect.

When I arrived at the supermarket I collected a trolley and followed the directed cone route or so I thought. I have to say that the direction of these markings left me completely discombobulated (I have been waiting to use this fabulous word) and I headed to where I thought I should queue, I was of course totally in the wrong place.

This is where I began to feel nervous, there were so many people wearing masks and sunglasses and it suddenly felt inhuman and menacing because masks hide faces but more importantly, smiles.

Every connotation of mask wearing terrifies me, I have never had a positive encounter with a mask. Doctors wear masks and this usually means they have performed or are about to perform an unpleasant procedure and ‘Dentists’ of whom I am far more petrified (due to a childhood trauma) wear masks.

Masks are also worn by the Cybermen in Dr Who, I rest my case.

I felt as if everyone was staring at me, watching my utter confusion and yet not one person intervened or said “You’re going the wrong way love” everyone looked remote and disconnected and I felt my eyes begin to fill with tears.

In that moment, it seemed as if all kindness and humanity had been stripped bare.

I eventually entered the supermarket and thankfully these vile feelings subsided. Fellow shoppers were polite, while keeping their distance and an older lady asked me if I knew where the oven cleaner was? We eventually arrived in the same aisle and I managed to point to the shelf where they were, she must have thanked me at least three times, remarking that it was ‘only the dirt that held her oven together’ and then without cloth barriers, we smiled.

It should have been me that gave thanks, for turning my world the right way up again.

Despite this and some might say irrational fear, I have reluctantly purchased a mask as advised, “For small and enclosed public places, where social distancing is not possible.” I chose a Liberty Print to detract from the ugliness.

This design has tiny delicate flowers but it feels so very alien and tugs at the fibres of my very being. I know I need to bend and adapt, not just to wearing a mask but to living with this virus.
Experts now predict it will be around for some time months, possibly years and like all viruses it may change it’s form and composition. All while we wait and pray for the vaccine we know is possible, to debilitate this heartbreak.

As always this week and every day I watch the daily briefings and a question was asked to which there was no given answer. This of course isn’t anything unusual as all politicians are adept at swerving questions but the reply to this question is one I believe we are all waiting for.

When can we hug our families?

This lack of any explanation weighed heavily, I like many are waiting to hold my family and in a glib remark to my girls and a friend, I mentioned that I might have to go and hug a tree instead!

This got me thinking about people that do such things and I thought that just maybe there might be something in it, after all why do people bother if there isn’t?
So, I decided I had nothing to lose and I could at least tell the tree about this feeling of sadness and being at one with nature might just help. Clint Eastwood seemed to think it was a good idea in ‘Paint Your Wagon’ and if it’s good enough for Dirty Harry…

I already knew which tree, my jogging marker tree as I often speak to her as I pant past, I say ‘her’ because Grandmother Willow in ‘Pocahontas’ is a tree and yes, I do know it is a Disney film and that animals and nature do not really talk, but as I was contemplating something pretty out there anyway, why the hell not?

I have started to go for early morning runs with it being so hot, there is something about the beginning of day that feels a little special and it also means that there is not much human life around.

The photo above was taken in the early morning, you can see my marker tree in the distance and the presence of a little green orb.

Now, there are two trains of thought for this, the first is a photographic explanation, something to do with exposure and sunlight and the other is the existence of a nature sprite.
Obviously, I am plumping for the latter.

I think I chose the most awkward tree to hug as there are easier trees on my route but unfortunately they are far more open to me being seen.

This tree hugging experience was nothing like I thought it would be, it was somewhat awkward as there were lots of branches in the the way of the trunk but there was also something unexpected.

As I moved closer I saw a pair of tights that were very clearly and deliberately tied to the tree. This started me thinking and so instead of telling the tree my woes, I asked her for its secrets.

As expected she didn’t answer (the same thing happened with Clint) so I have made up my own. This being that they are in memorandum of something raw and wonderful.

Strangely, I am very glad I hugged a tree, I really won’t be doing it again but in an odd way it was unusually comforting.

It also felt quite hippieish and bohemian and I rather liked that.

Peace Out 💚

Joy xxx

"Yass Queen!"

This morning blog is written on the precipice of week nine, it feels a little chilly, it is a little cloudy outside and life is all beginning to feel a bit ‘meh.’

I have spoken to several friends this week all echoing the same sentiments, the phrase “I’m so over it” seems to ring true about now, except we are not, are we?

All the plans, events and celebrations in which we should be participating have been cancelled or postposed until normal life begins again and we are all too aware that actually, life is not going to be normal for a very long time.

I am angry with people who are blatantly flouting the rules, frustrated with the politicians constantly spouting confusing and conflicting advice. Politicians who have now been found breaking those rules instead of leading by example.

Forget the ‘The Seven Year Itch’ I think we have ‘The Nine Week Itch’ everything is feeling a little weary and we are beginning to get a little tetchy, with each other and life.

However, in between the cracks and weeds flowers bloom and life sends its smiles as well as tears, those moments that keep us going.

I am still jogging, the knee seems to be holding out since I have been warming and stretching although I felt a slight twinge in the other knee. I ordered another knee compression sleeve but I was unable to purchase a matching pair. This no doubt is due to increased incidents of ‘Joggers Knee’ during lockdown, such is the peril of us runners! (please note this is written very much tongue in cheek as I still look like as if I am in immense pain when jogging).

Although, one of those flowers through the cracks was a lady, an actual bonafide ‘runner’ who asked me if I was part of her running club? And I quote “There are a few of us out on a training route today” Well, even though I am putting this down to having two different colour and style knee compression sleeves which clearly make me look as if I’m some sort of running guru, it made me smile!

I just hope she didn’t hear me laughing as she sped off.

I also smiled on route when a pigeon frightened me, after it flew off in alarm as I disturbed him or her as I jogged past the outskirts of the field. This first made me screech aloud and then smile, I also smiled at my dancing butterfly companions.

I smiled at a message from a lovely ex-colleague and friend who reminded me of a happy memory, which then began another train of thought, a musical memory, a time of laughter and fun before the world turned upside down.

I smiled this week during a face time conversation, phone calls, text messages and Zoom quizzes, despite the sadness and confusion of life right now and of course the challenges we know are yet to come.

My family themed quiz this week was ‘Netflix’ it took me a little while to think of the character or celebrity I should emulate and in hindsight I think my choice was perfect.

I love watching ‘Queer Eye’ on Netflix, a group of guys who have all faced adversity in their lives who then in turn change others lives and help them to become a better version of themselves. One of the reasons I love watching this series is that they all radiate life and love and fun and they always, always, make me smile.

Johnathan Van Ness was the easiest for me to copy as I have the right colour and length of hair, I guess he is the most flamboyant of the fab five and creating this look was another flower in the crack that made me smile!

I am not sure why my tongue looks such a weird colour in comparison, maybe the red wine I was drinking during the quiz?

So, instead of blaming it on the boogie, I am blaming it on the Shiraz.

I checked my tongue this morning, it looks pink and normal, who knows!

Please keep looking for the flowers.

Take care,

Joy xxx