Tuesday, 28 January 2014

The Gallery ... Rewind

I am joining in with The Gallery this week and the theme is 'Rewind...'

I'm rewinding back the years to the late 80s and early 90s when I worked at the Wakefield Express newspaper. First as a trainee reporter than as a real one and later as feature writer and entertainments editor.

Oddly enough, one of the lesser talked about occupational hazards of a career in journalism is having one's photograph taken, very often and mostly when you don't want it ... whether it be for a column header or for a feature you're writing or because you're the only one left in the newsroom when the editor can't find the stock photo to go with his story. Or, sometimes, just because ... because some photographers can be right gits ...

It was all a bit of a juggling act...
..and a bit of a circus.

This WAS for a story. It really, really was...
... this wasn't.

But at least I promoted Don't Drink and Drive ... Me? I never learned to drive in the first place

And back in the very early '90s upon the retirement of an elderly deputy (male) news editor, it was customary for the female members of the newsroom to strip off and dress up for the leaving photo. Or,at least, they said it was...

... but the next thing you knew you were hanging around on street corners.

And yes, they even photographed me, barefoot and pregnant, in Mothercare *tuts*
But they were the days, they were. They really were.

Sticky Fingers Photo Gallery

This is my contribution to The Gallery.
 Please check out everybody else's Rewind moments at Sticky Fingers

Tuesday, 21 January 2014

The Filming of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell in Wakefield ....

This week where we live in Wakefield became the backdrop to the filming of 'Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell,' an adaptation of Susanna Clarke's best-selling debut novel and destined to be the jewel in the BBC's drama crown.

The Boy and I have been gripped by excitement. Not least because there was the chance that I might finally be discovered as the star of stage and screen I was clearly born to be and because Marc Warren, formerly in of one of The Boy's favourite episodes of Dr Who, plays The Man With Thistledown Hair. 

So we've been lurking around the set as much as we've been able, after school hours and before tea-time obviously because we're not completely mad, or actors, yet. I took some photos too ...

Sunday, 5 January 2014

On Being 18 ...

                                                            Follow my blog with Bloglovin


The TeenTwins have been 18 years old for two whole weeks now and not ONCE have they gone to the pub. Not once, and I must admit that's been a bit of a disappointment because I was hoping they might take me with them *sigh*

Nevertheless, things have changed. There's been an imperceptible shift in the TeenTwins attitudes now that they are, technically, legally and to all intents and purposes, adults.

Now they insouciantly help themselves to a glass of wine and greet my aghast stare with: "What? I'm 18." With a flounce.

That it may be the last bottle in the fridge and my need is, oh so clearly, greater than theirs is nothing to them and soon, I fear, I will have to break the news that water doesn't turn into wine however hard you wish (I know, I've tried it) and finally break the last stranglehold of a CofE primary school education.

Though Corinthians 13:11 seems to have passed them by completely, there's not going to be any "When I grow up, I put away childish things" going on apparently. At least, not in this house. For Christmas, their presents of choice were influenced by (TeenTwin1) Superheroes or (TeenTwin2) Minnie Mouse.

AND they've mostly spent the past two weeks in onesies which, if you ask me and the rest of sentient non-onesie wearing world, are just babygrows for big people. *Rolls eyes*

But they've also started to get offers from the universities they've applied for. The first came, a sharp reminder that they won't always be here lounging around in onesies and drinking my wine, the day after their 18th birthday.

It's this threat/ promise of their imminent departure from hearth and home that inspired me to put together a special package for their birthday. Wrapped up in a flurry of feathers, sparkles and tissue paper, I put five items (each, obviously) and a card explaining the gifts...

A watch: So you will know I always have time for you.

A key (to the house): So you will know this is always your home.

A large eraser: So you can rub out your mistakes and start again.

A bracelet engraved with the words "Dance.. like no-one is watching": So you can live by its words.

And a bottle of Prosecco because: Why the hell not, you're 18....

Yeah, I might be regretting that last one.

*Puts padlock on fridge*

How long is it until September again?

 Look, I made adults!

Silent Sunday ...

Saturday, 4 January 2014

A Winter Walk in Yorkshire Sculpture Park ...

After I don't know how many days stuck inside because of illness, bad weather, holiday ennui and downright laziness, this week we decided to blow a few of the Christmas cobwebs away with a walk around Yorkshire Sculpture Park ....

Wednesday, 1 January 2014

New Year Resolutions for the Irresolute...

I don't usually make New Year resolutions because, frankly, I've the willpower of someone with, well, absolutely no willpower at all. Also I wouldn't have the time to take up something new, healthy and improving. Not when I'm far too busy smoking and drinking in what little free time I have. What?

I know I'm supposed to want to give up smoking but I really don't want to. I like smoking. Some of my fondest memories have immediately been followed by a fag. And oddly enough, contrary to all medical advice, popular opinion and available evidence, it helps me to breathe.

Mostly in the step outside take ten minutes and BREATHE breathe way admittedly, but at least the neighbours only think I'm creeping out for a fag and not because my children have driven me to within three seconds of my own sanity. Again.

And I definitely don't want to give up drinking. As if.

Some bloke once said: "When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life." If he'd been a woman, she would have said: "When a woman is tired of wine, she is not just tired of life, she might as well be dead."

And having learned and honed my alcohol imbibing skills amongst some of the most prolific drinkers of provincial newsrooms across Yorkshire in the 80s and 90s, these days I almost qualify as tee-total anyway. Almost. *Opens another bottle*

But in the spirit of adventure that entering the year of my 50th birthday has (not entirely) unleashed in me, I have cobbled together a couple of resolutions that even I might have the resolve to stick to. They are:

1: Get to 50.
2. Stay there.
3. Paint ... The kitchen, a landscape, a masterpiece. Whatever.
4. Write more .... And it's no good you shouting "Please don't..." either.
5. Listen to more music
6. Read more
7. Instagram the f*ck out of everything.

All of which I can do WHILE still smoking and drinking. Hurrah!


That'll do me.

Cheers and Happy New Year to you all.

*chinks glass*

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...