Last week we took ourselves off to Stratford Upon Avon for a few days. We had a lovely time. Really lovely. We went to Shakespeare's Birthplace which was excellent even though I can normally live without guides in period costume invading my personal space. I think this goes back to a very scary experience at Wigan Pier Museum which had a Victorian Schoolroom with a terrifying school teacher. It's a miracle anyone ever leant anything in Victorian England. Anyway, I digress. We also saw a play - as you do. We didn't do a Shakespeare. There were only tickets for Cymbeline, which I know less than nothing about, except that there are not a lot of laughs. So we decided against that and I was quite glad, Especially, when queueing in Lakeland, (Thanks for asking - I got a really nice stir-fry pan - with a lid. I love Lakeland) I heard a lady telling the cashier that she had been to see Cymbeline and that she came to see all the Shakespeares but that this one was bum numbing. (Don't blame me - her description) We went to see Cervantes' Don Quixote with David Threlfall and Rufus Hound.
To my shame, I probably know less about this than I do about Cymbaline apart from some vague childhood memory of Peter O'Toole bellowing "To Dream The Impossible Dream" at a windmill. (This may not be an accurate memory) I'll be honest. It was a stellar night. One of the best nights at the theatre - ever. Funny, sad, inventive and not too long, which was important because our seats were sort of stools that we had to perch on like Andy Williams in those 60's TV specials. We had a lovely meal in the RSC as well to complete an excellent night.
On a tiny tiny low note. When you have done what we did in Stratford, I'm not sure what else there is to do. We spent a pleasant enough hour sitting by the river watching Spanish children trying to torture the swans and then crying when they got a nasty nip back. Entertaining enough but I'm not sure we would have been able to keep our kids happy if they had been there - especially as HOH and I seemed to bring the average age down to about eighty. I'm not expecting Vegas or the Grand Canyon in a balloon or anything but I think we more or less felt that we had covered anything when we left. Besides, we had to go. We had a date in Bristol on the way back. At IKEA - oh yes, oh yes. Told you it was an excellent break.
Last week was our Silver Wedding Anniversary. I know I know, you can't believe it. Too young you cry and I can understand that. But twenty five years it is. We celebrated by clearing off to Stratford for a few days, leaving our dog and his separation issues with FOW2. I would just like to thank her here for coming home from Uni to do this for us and also to apologize for her having to be in the garden at 3am while said dog insisted on crying and seeing if he could see us coming back. Anyway, more of Stratford later in the week but I just thought I would leave you with a couple of photos of us all those years ago so you could see how mighty fine we were. And for all those chums on Facebook who said that we don't look any different - well we all know that's not true but don't think that it's not appreciated.
So Sally Brampton came to the end and walked into the sea to die. I found her writing on depression the most instructive and enlightening I had ever read. Many years ago a friend at work suffered the suicide of her brother. On the day she came back to work, because everyone felt so awkward, the manager put me and my friend in a corner of the bank to check a long list of regular payments. A job that would supposedly take a week. As we halfheartedly ticked away at boxes on forms that we weren't reading properly, we began to talk about her brother. She was upset at his selfishness and I completely understood that. She was dealing with the fallout; her mother's anguish, her own terrible loss, the annoyance at how stigmatised she felt. I could do nothing but agree. How could he treat those he loved like this?
Years later I read a column by Sally Brampton on suicide and suddenly, I at least partly understood.
Killing oneself is, anyway, a misnomer. We don't kill ourselves. We are simply defeated by the long, hard struggle to stay alive
People with this level of depression don't make an effort to kill themselves. They make an effort not to take their own lives. Every day that they are this depressed, they make a gargantuan effort to stay with those they love. For some, eventually, the effort gets too much.
It is very dark out there sometimes for some people. I can get a bit frustrated at Christians who talk about God being light (which he is) and because God is everything therefore there is no room for dark - so let's all just cheer up a bit eh?
But John talks about God being the light that breaks through the darkness which surely acknowledges that God knows that some people are having really hard times.
If I am told to bring salt and light to people's lives, I have to first acknowledge that some people are in the dark. I'm supposed to bring light, not make them feel worse for being in the dark in the first place. Life bites people on the bum sometimes. Do I believe that God has the power to break through all this darkness and bring clarity and light? Yup I do. Does that diminish the reality of the suffering for the sick, the lost, the lonely? What do you think?
Didn't know if you would be interested but these are on the reading plan for May. Bit late really, have already read a couple. I know there's a lot and I haven't won the pools or anything not that I'm a gambling woman you understand. A couple are car boot finds etc. Some are new though. I like a book.
The Jazz Files - been seeing this around on the ACW site for a while now. Sometimes Christian writers trying "a bit-Christian" fiction can be tricky I find but am liking the look of the subject matter and first couple of chapters are rollocking along nicely.
Wonderful Weekend Book - I have already scooted through this. Lots of impractical ideas really about your weekends, but it is written in such an engaging way and the overriding principle about doing all your work in the week so you have a day for rest is excellent. Reminds me of another principle er...er oh yes Sabbath I think it's called.
You Are A Badass. Probably terrible self help book but find this kind of thing totally irresistible. Probably proof of some deep-seated personality defect (Also probably not that deep-seated.)
Diary of an Ordinary Woman. Have never read any Margaret Forster. Read her obituary and wanted to. So I bought this. It's not rocket science.
H is for Hawk. Everyone raves about it. 50p at the boot sale. What do you want? Jam on it?
Still Foolin' em. I love Billy Crystal ergo I will love a book full of his anecdotes with sleeve notes by Steve Martin and Robin Williams. Theirs was a gang I always wanted to join.
There's been a lot of fuss about the weather. Suddenly, the sun has come out and everyone has gone a bit bonkers. Everyone in Plymouth is dressing like it's as hot as the Durrells. (I can live without seeing those bits of you young sir to be honest) But, whisper it, round here it's not that warm. The sun has been out but there is still quite a stiff breeze up your whatsits if you stand still long enough. Street coffee culture can prove quite difficult when you have to put stones on everything to stop it flying away. Round here having lunch al fresco is even more difficult because you have to fend off stonking great seagulls all the time. It's not very Italian really.
Now they tell us that the sun is finished and torrential rain will follow. I could have told you this was going to happen as HOH was out in the garden with his watering can over the weekend. Always a sure sign of inclement weather to follow. If you need to check the time when it will actually be tipping down in England - because of washing on lines or other considerations - I suggest about 10.15 am on Tuesday. That is the time I will be outside trying to take some publicity photos of recalcitrant old people getting on and off a shopping bus.You would think it would be a simple task. Experience tells me it will not. Old people tend to spend a lot of these shoots shouting "Oooh don't you include me in that, I look terrible" and then writing to their MP because they are not in the newspaper.
For the Brits amongst us, I do hope you are doing ok with the referendum. I can't say I am. It's the way that every single sentence has to be followed by a single opposing sentence. So you hear someone say "Coming out of the EU will compromise our security" but this has to be followed - I think it is actually The Law now - by "The Out campaigners say it will definitely not compromise our security." so you are back where you started. Yesterday, we had a speech where our Dear Prime Minister warned us that Churchill would have wanted us to stay in to avoid World War and Pestilence. This was countered by Boris Johnson singing Ode To Joy in German for some reason - making us all very uncomfortable. I am trying to make an informed choice here!
I didn't watch the BAFTAs but was pleased to learn that Peter Kay (Probably the only living comedy genius now Victoria Wood has gone) and Wolf Hall (The best thing on the telly... er just ever) won big. I did watch the BBC Shakespeare Hollow Crown thing and enjoyed it very much. Then all the Shakespeare experts said it wasn't very good and the iambic pentameter was all wrong. No idea. I enjoyed it. (Struggled a bit with Sophie Okonado as a 15 year old schemer, because she is so luscious and because her husband actually DID look about fifteen.)
It's just very normal and a bit boring week here but best get back to it. I think I should be quite grateful for normal. At least I am not trying to visit a hospital in Allepo this week. God Bless Them.
