Month: April 2015

Sing, Sing, Sing

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Today’s Prompt: Write about the three most important songs in your life — what do they mean to you?

As with Day 1, I am using a piece of music to time my free writing. It last just over 14 minutes long, so I need to continue for at least another minute when it ends. It also happens to be:

Song 1: “Telegraph Road” by Dire Straits
Taken from the 1982 album “Love Over Gold”, this is an epic track telling the tale of the birth, growth and demise of a community based around the eponymous road.

It transports me back to 1986 when I had left home for the first time. I’d moved into a bedsit close to the promenade of the seaside town that I grew up in. I was on the opposite side of town to my parents, so we were close and far enough apart. Every morning, I would walk to the station and almost always listened to this song en-route.

From the door of the detatched Victorian house to the train station entrance took almost exactly the same time as Telegraph Road. It starts with a single opening note, then an slow finger picked national steel guitar. As vocals, piano, bass and drums are added, the steady rock beat would pull me into the day ahead. I could also use a combination of lyrics and landmarks to determine whether I was running late or not.

It’s classic AOR, but so well crafted, from Knopfler’s soaring solo, to Alan Clark’s moody piano back-drop and the thoughtful percussion of Pick Withers – why did he have to leave the band?

Whenever I hear it, I am walking the streets in the semi darkness before the dawn. Head down and hands in pockets. I still have a fair journey ahead of me and it’s going to be a long day….

Song 2: “Jerusalem”, words by William Blake, music by Hubert Parry.
From the moment that Miss Crayston thundered out the opening notes on the school grand piano you knew that this was important. It was our school song and performed at every special occasion. First day of term, last day of term, speech day, all were appropriate for us to belt out what is a pretty rousing piece. Just ask an England rugby fan. And for a music semi-snob, emphasising some of the timing nuances in different verses, and seeing who got it wrong was, well, fun.

It may be viewed by some as an anthem to archaic patriotic breast beating in a multi-cultural world, but I cannot help but feeling proud of where I came from when I hear it. It represents the fine schooling and support from my parents in formative years, rolling green hills and valleys, and what I still believe is a good country to be born and/or brought up in. I am not putting England on a pedestal above other nations, but to celebrate diversity you have to recognise differences. You cannot have one without the other. And yes, I am jealous of the relative strength of national identity of our neighbours in Wales and Scotland.

But I’m getting off piste again. This song is standing on a parquet floor, next to best friend Andrea, singing as loud as we could, because we could. It’s a lump in my throat watching the “Last Night Of The Proms”.

Song 3: “Whisky Is The Life Of Man” by Bellowhead
What a raucous rebel rouser. A hymn to the nectar of the Gods. Thoughtful songs are all very well but you have to let your hair down sometimes. I can’t honestly say that this song has any great meaning to me but it never fails to make me smile. Sometimes I will dance too.

I think that the original song is Australian, and it has travelled the globe in several guises, but I first saw this on a Christmas folk music special broadcast by the wonderful BBC in 2009. A pre-requisite for performing in that concert appears to be adorning Victorian dress. As one comment on the You Tube clips puts it “love how many tophats there are in that room”.

Almost four years later I saw Bellowhead live in concert. Oh how we danced that evening. Most concerts I attend are sit down affairs (jazz, classical), but sitting still was not an option in November 2013.

I thoroughly recommend checking out :
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-x9KtmSwLA

and I challenge you not to at least tap your toes a little.

Closing thought. Considering that this is a challenge about music, one of the most important things in my life, I found it incredibly difficult to write.

MinG

A Room With A View. And a Stairway to My Heaven

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“If you could zoom through space in the speed of light, what place would you go to right now?”

“We’re nearly there”, I said as we headed around the next headland.

“Good thing too, the fish and chips will be cold soon”.

 We were on a brief road trip around the north west of Scotland, stopping at small Bed and Breakfasts each night before moving on. Our budget wouldn’t stretch to dining out, so we would purchase food from the local grocery shop and either sneak back into the B&B for a surreptitious supper, or head out to a local beauty spot and dine almost alfresco. This limited our menu for the week, and on the evening that we stayed in Mellon Charles we decided to treat ourselves to takeaway fish and chips. The layout of our overnight residence would have meant transporting our dinner through the lounge to get to our room. The landlady could have been on guard and might not have taken to well to our rather aromatic dinner being consumed in a tiny space which had been adorned with swags, cushions and tie-backs galore. All just waiting to absorb the scent of salt and vinegar.

So we headed out to Gruinard Bay. Si was new to being this far north, but I had visited there two years earlier.

The road between Poolewe and Ullapool almost hugs the coast, allowing you glimpses of inlets and islets on one side, and contrasting rugged mountains on the other. This makes for pleasant journeys, but can result in your oasis being further away than you first envisaged. Mirage like it appears in the distance, only to disappear, reappear then disappear again.

But we did reach our destination and stopped in the deserted car park across the road from the bay. It was odd to see it empty. When I had visited with my parents in that lovely summer, it was jam packed with families wanting to make the most of the sunshine and beach. At the time that Si switched off the engine, most wise people would be indoors, secured away from the midges, which can ruin an otherwise pleasant evening with their incessant biting.

Somehow, we were lucky and the midges had headed off to the nearest campsite to wreak havoc, leaving us to enjoy the view across the bay to Gruinard Island. Beyond that was the peninsula where we were stopping. It looked so close.

We had dinner uninterrupted by man or midge, crossed the road and made our way down the rickety wooden steps which allow access to the beach. The sun was setting but we had time for a quick stroll along the shore. Again, I was struck by the contrast to my previous visit. The sands are a pale gold and there is shelter from the band of coast which is slightly raised. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that there are cliffs, the drop from the road ranges between ten and twenty feet. This makes it a haven for beach lovers, the only dark cloud being the ominous shadow of Gruinard Island, which was used for biological weapon testing in the cold war and which was only decontaminated in the late 20th century.

We walked and talked, and talked and walked. Before we knew it, the sun had gone and the moon was reflecting gently on the still bay waters. Temperatures can fall quite quickly in this area and, not knowing the road that well, we decided to head back to our over-upholstered abode for the night.

Halfway up the steps to the road we turned back to take in the view. It was then that we spotted the seal. We hadn’t seen any whilst walking on the beach, but there it was, bobbing up and down, appearing to watch us.

 “Goodbye Gruinard Bay. Goodbye Mr Seal”  I whispered as I waved. Incredibly, the seal raised a flipper and appear to wave back. It was probably just scratching its nose, but to us, on that magical evening, we had been bid farewell. This was before the days of mobile phones with cameras, and we weren’t carrying the 35mm, so I cannot share a picture, but I can still see it clearly in my mind over 25 years later.

The following morning we drove past the parking as we headed north for our next destination. We didn’t stop, it would have broken the spell of the previous evening. Despite observing this taboo, I would love to return to the area, smell the sea and dodge the midges. Who knows, we might even do some seal spotting.

With my eyes still on the horizon,

MinG

Writing 101: Mind Unlocked

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“Today, take twenty minutes to free write. And don’t think about what you’ll write. Just write.”

Well, having read the instructions for the course, I’m not sure if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. I’ve taken that plunge into the deep waters, without considering the middle depths that splits this place from the comforting pull of the shallow end.

I’ll confess right now that I am editing a little as I go along. Twenty minutes of heading off into Lord knows where without looking back over your shoulder isn’t my style. I’m used to rules, order, cross checks and validation. I’m typing this into word to upload later, but to be honest, I’m happier building something in excel.

So why write?

Well, I feel limited by my profession. It’s not that it isn’t satisfying within its own bounds, but I am more than its bounds allow. So I set up a “me” space on wordpress and I wrote. A little. Mainly when on holiday. In between the time when I sit in my own space and “do my thing” and the day job, there are flashes on inspiration. Some even when I am constructing the formula in cell C1. But how to turn those flashes into something readable? Something worthy. Not worthy, I don’t really like the word. It conjures up images of long full skirts with high elasticated-waistbands. And sensible shoes. Although I am a fan of the latter. I hope to produce something that someone out there will enjoy, and maybe be inspired by.

It isn’t helped by the lack of “life experience”. I was lucky enough to have a happy up-bringing with loving parents, a good education and I made the most of that. I have a husband who loves me and we live a simple but comfortable existence.

So am I saying that art has to be created from adversity? My favourite pieces are in a minor key.

But as I sit here typing my thoughts as they appear, with a backdrop of Eno’s Ambient 1 (track 1 – a good timer), I fear that I will experience what Kazuo Ishiguro recently related in an interview publicising his latest book. In his youth he attended a writing course run by Malcolm Bradbury. The students had given up a year of their life to develop their literary muscles. Many had self-funded. They knew that they had not been able to fulfil their dream of professional writing because of constraints. Constraints placed upon them by work, or family, lack of space. How heart breaking for them to discover that, when presented with the blank canvas and the time to fill it, they had nothing to say.

What if that is me?
Eno track 1 has completed which means that I must stop in two minutes. I will re-read. I’m not so brave to publish blind, yet…

MinG

The Answer Is Never

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Thank you Marneymae for reblogging. A powerful read and well worth sharing. At 11 I announced that I never wanted to get married. Presumably because I thought it was a stepping stone to motherhood. My friends thought I was odd. As I enter my late forties, I know that my decision not to have children has been right for me. I wince inwardly when people refer to my lack of maternal instinct. I can mother a child, cat or another adult without wanting a child. I am not lacking.

Longreads's avatarLongreads

Sabine Heinlein | Longreads | April 2015 | 16 minutes (3,886 words)

One time, when I was in my early twenties, I shared a hospital room with a mother of many. I had a skin infection that wouldn’t respond to oral medication, and the 50-something-year-old woman had severe, inexplicable hives. Our main topic of conversation revolved around neither of our ailments. It was about my not wanting to have children. She was insistent, which seemed ironic considering her hives flared up whenever her family visited her on Sundays. I eventually compromised with the woman. Okay, I said, I will put off my decision until I reach my thirties. “You are starry-eyed,” she huffed. “You young women want it all. But you can’t have it all!” Maybe, I thought, some of us don’t want it all.

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