Just back from a fractured week in Powys and Herefordshire, where Alex and his young cousin playfully broke up the otherwise Proper Grown Up stuff of the Hay Festival, and my breathing in of the lush green hills of Presteigne, in old Radnorshire - home of the very well-groomed (albeit naive) Pristine Christine, the best green teen of Presteigne.
Hay-wise, with my mother in mind (she be a fan), on the first Saturday evening I'd elected to go and listen to Paul O'Grady in conversation with Sandi Toksvig. Sure enough, as he waxed lyrical on the second volume - The Devil Rides Out - of his memoir, his wit, warmth and self-effacement beguiled the thousand-plus audience in the pavilion. On the back of previous Hay experiences (below par interviewers and chairs), Toksvig pitched perfectly.
The following day, I committed only to Javier Cercas' session, intelligently and generously chaired by Jon Gower. I knew little of Cercas, but from listening to his appearance on World Book Club a few months ago, I expected sufficient hooks of interest. The particular quality of his that drew me in, was his appetite for forensically unpacking social and cultural 'moments', or actions - the title of his session, The Anatomy of a Moment, saying as much. The historic thread that ran through much of Cercas' discussion concerned the transition in governance of Spain. At the heart of this was the failed coup d'etat of Colonel Tejero, of 23 February, 1981 - during Spain's shift to a liberal democratic state. And, phew.
Monday began with an air of gaiety - which many of the audience (of about 300) may not have expected from 'The Lost City of Stoke-on-Trent' - primarily, a sales pitch for Matthew Rice' book of the same name - an aesthetically pleasing document of the city's industrial cultural heritage, and traces thereof. With his wife, the potter Emma Bridgewater, opening the discussion with an account of her recalling her first experience of Stoke-on-Trent - a wave of mixed emotions and the thought, 'I didn't know that places like this existed', I had a feeling that I was about to be taste-challenged. From 'those who should know better' (the plummy, the well-bred), I struggle to tolerate that kind of socio-environmental ignorance. Gladly though, bottom line interests aside, both speakers turned it around, and chair Tristram Hunt batted well for the city, too. It was especially pleasing to gauge that the vast majority of the audience were not Stokies on sabbatical (or holiday, or parole), but more broadly interested vultures of socio-industrial culture - the end-of-session questions from the floor were, as my sister would say, top-notch. From that, I moved on to listen to Catherine O'Flynn ('The News Where You Are') and Mark Watson ('Eleven') speak of their most recent novels, both of which centre around characters who are on big personal quests, that see them ask gentle philosophical questions. Again, this was well-chaired, by Stephanie Merritt - no cloyingness, just walking the main protagonists through a well-balanced discussion of their works - as separate entities, albeit with big thematic cross-overs.
Otherwhere, culturally-speaking, there's a feature on Lady Gaga, written by Stephen Fry, and published under the FT banner. It's over a week old now, it's fannish but good, and it's here. And I'm really liking In Treatment - the talking therapy drama, from HBO, with Gabriel Byrne and a strong supporting cast - not least of whom, Hope Davis' Mia is spookily well written and acted.
Otherwise, otherwise.
.
Showing posts with label Radio. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Radio. Show all posts
Monday, June 06, 2011
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Ache
On Tuesday morning, I awoke to the sound of Nadine Dorries being interviewed on Today. That was the audio equivalent of watching a chaotic pitbull harass innocent parkfolk - not a good start to any Tuesday.
Wednesday has been better.
Thursday addendum.
Wednesday has been better.
Thursday addendum.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Keepin' On
Alex joined his Dad on Tuesday, so I took the opportunity to visit the clan up in County Durham. Meanwhile, Emma continued to fend off the rockets and shells of writing hard stuff, and of herself. County Durham seemed like a safe distance.
The Wexford siblings converged on the parental home and, as ever, I enjoyed the ferocious banter and acidic put-you-downs that we count as love.
As sister and brother discussed music festivals that did and respectively didn't interest them, I recalled something utterly inconsequential that I thought might interest them.
Shane: You know Neil Tennant?
Sister: Mm.
Shane: He's got a house in County Durham.
Sister: How d' you know that?
Shane: He mentioned it in an interview that I listened to. In fact, it's an interview that's upstairs right now - on the iPod that's under my pillow.
Sister: Hold on! You've got an interview with Neil Tennant - from The Pet Shop Boys - under your pillow?
Shane: Yeah. It was from Front -
Sister: Other Brother, Shane's got an interview with Neil Tennant under his pillow!
Brother: I did wonder, like.
Shane: It was from Front Row.
Sister: Mutha, (pointing) that one's got an interview with Neil Tennant under his pillow.
Mother (distractedly): It's 2009 - each unto his own.
Shane: Hold on a minute. I just -
Sister: Fatha - Shane's got an interview with Neil Tennant under his pillow.
Dad: Who's Neil Tennant?
Sister: Never mind.
It amused me.
It was also amusing to hear that an old familiar of brother and I was currently appearing on The Apprentice. Sister crossed paths with (not so) young (any more) Phil, in Durham, at the weekend. A nice lad.
And apart from foregoing Porto versus Manchester United (0 - 1), in order to take in Durham City versus Woodley Sports (5 - 0), the only other item of note concerned maternal grandmother.
I've got used to the further extensions of frailty that the old bird exhibits - each visit presenting new expressions of vulnerability, fallibility, fading - very much reminiscent of her husband's end of life. Entering the second week of a stay at Bishop Auckland's General Hospital, the violence of grandma's Parkinson's Disease - the tics, the strains, the jolts and jerks, they seemed to show no mercy. Memory was playing tricks, too. I felt like I was talking to the echo of a person.
This morning, on the drive back to the Midlands, the subject of jolts and jerks, tics and strains returned. Would I like to join Alex and his Dad at a local theatre, to watch Thriller Live - this evening. It was one of those questions where what the boy wants to hear, is probably the best answer. So here I am, jaded of an early Thursday evening, waiting to Beat It. Meanwhile, I hear another shell fall as Emma grinds on. The theatre seems like a safe distance.
The Wexford siblings converged on the parental home and, as ever, I enjoyed the ferocious banter and acidic put-you-downs that we count as love.
As sister and brother discussed music festivals that did and respectively didn't interest them, I recalled something utterly inconsequential that I thought might interest them.
Shane: You know Neil Tennant?
Sister: Mm.
Shane: He's got a house in County Durham.
Sister: How d' you know that?
Shane: He mentioned it in an interview that I listened to. In fact, it's an interview that's upstairs right now - on the iPod that's under my pillow.
Sister: Hold on! You've got an interview with Neil Tennant - from The Pet Shop Boys - under your pillow?
Shane: Yeah. It was from Front -
Sister: Other Brother, Shane's got an interview with Neil Tennant under his pillow!
Brother: I did wonder, like.
Shane: It was from Front Row.
Sister: Mutha, (pointing) that one's got an interview with Neil Tennant under his pillow.
Mother (distractedly): It's 2009 - each unto his own.
Shane: Hold on a minute. I just -
Sister: Fatha - Shane's got an interview with Neil Tennant under his pillow.
Dad: Who's Neil Tennant?
Sister: Never mind.
It amused me.
It was also amusing to hear that an old familiar of brother and I was currently appearing on The Apprentice. Sister crossed paths with (not so) young (any more) Phil, in Durham, at the weekend. A nice lad.
And apart from foregoing Porto versus Manchester United (0 - 1), in order to take in Durham City versus Woodley Sports (5 - 0), the only other item of note concerned maternal grandmother.
I've got used to the further extensions of frailty that the old bird exhibits - each visit presenting new expressions of vulnerability, fallibility, fading - very much reminiscent of her husband's end of life. Entering the second week of a stay at Bishop Auckland's General Hospital, the violence of grandma's Parkinson's Disease - the tics, the strains, the jolts and jerks, they seemed to show no mercy. Memory was playing tricks, too. I felt like I was talking to the echo of a person.
This morning, on the drive back to the Midlands, the subject of jolts and jerks, tics and strains returned. Would I like to join Alex and his Dad at a local theatre, to watch Thriller Live - this evening. It was one of those questions where what the boy wants to hear, is probably the best answer. So here I am, jaded of an early Thursday evening, waiting to Beat It. Meanwhile, I hear another shell fall as Emma grinds on. The theatre seems like a safe distance.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Essentials
Not to be taken too seriously, The Culture Show blog mentions that Alfred Brendel has shared his five essentials. This brings to mind the reverse of Room 101, which Stephen Fry posited as 'Room Lovely' - those things that might easily be overlooked, but that are worth celebrating. After a moment's pondering, I arrive at my Five Essentials:-
1. Good conversation. Hence, sitting amongst friends and family, and listening to lots of spoken word radio programmes and some TV too.
2. Learning (related to the above point). I know that I don't know, a lot.
3. Foul weather. Walking in the rain with loved ones, being braced against a chill wind, huddling up against the cold - it all makes the hot chocolate at the end of the road that little bit better.
4. Reading for relaxation. To have time to do this, regularly (I'm a slow-reader), is a luxury of the highest order.
5. Playing football. On occasions, this can be as artful, as evidence of a particular kind of intelligence, and as good a stress-buster as anything. In the world. Ever. Almost.
Maybe take a moment to consider your own essentials. It'll make you glow inside. Sharing welcome.
1. Good conversation. Hence, sitting amongst friends and family, and listening to lots of spoken word radio programmes and some TV too.
2. Learning (related to the above point). I know that I don't know, a lot.
3. Foul weather. Walking in the rain with loved ones, being braced against a chill wind, huddling up against the cold - it all makes the hot chocolate at the end of the road that little bit better.
4. Reading for relaxation. To have time to do this, regularly (I'm a slow-reader), is a luxury of the highest order.
5. Playing football. On occasions, this can be as artful, as evidence of a particular kind of intelligence, and as good a stress-buster as anything. In the world. Ever. Almost.
Maybe take a moment to consider your own essentials. It'll make you glow inside. Sharing welcome.
Monday, September 08, 2008
Quantization
Last week, my young friend mentioned that he and his classmates had had dance practice. In terms of physical education, some teachers prefer to deliver dancing lessons as opposed to potentially competitive sports. At the moment of my hearing that the routine was being choreographed to Michael Jackson's Thriller, it's fair to say that the teacher's star rose.
I spent the tail-end of Friday evening watching the final moments of this year's Big Brother series. A young woman, Rachel Rice, won. From what I've seen and heard of this year's series, it was a win for niceness and moderation and the merits of self-control. As the programme closed, a montage of clips was played, the backing track to which was gorgeous. It's highly unusual that a first-hearing of a song or piece of music really grabs me, but this did. From a search based on the lyrical extract 'Throw those curtains wide', I learned that it was 'One Day Like This', by Elbow:
As you may infer from this post, I've been on YouTube. The next, final piece of music is a hugely uplifting oldish favourite, David McAlmont and Bernard Butler's 'Yes':
Tum-te-tum-te-too, a very good week to you.
I spent the tail-end of Friday evening watching the final moments of this year's Big Brother series. A young woman, Rachel Rice, won. From what I've seen and heard of this year's series, it was a win for niceness and moderation and the merits of self-control. As the programme closed, a montage of clips was played, the backing track to which was gorgeous. It's highly unusual that a first-hearing of a song or piece of music really grabs me, but this did. From a search based on the lyrical extract 'Throw those curtains wide', I learned that it was 'One Day Like This', by Elbow:
As you may infer from this post, I've been on YouTube. The next, final piece of music is a hugely uplifting oldish favourite, David McAlmont and Bernard Butler's 'Yes':
Tum-te-tum-te-too, a very good week to you.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Living
Every now and again, I'll listen online to old episodes of favourite radio programmes. The quotation below reminded me of some things that I've been reading and thinking recently - about serious writers, who variously over-write and who experience writers' block.
‘Plots are everywhere - plots, themes, characters, one-liners. Beautiful sentences are waiting for you to pluck them out of the air. They’re all around, they just need to be channelled to you in some way. If you’re gonna cut yourself off from life, you’re never gonna find those plots and those characters, so the writer has to be dedicated to living’.
(Ian Rankin, from the BBC World Service's 'World Book Club', Broadcast: August 2006)
I like the idea that the term 'writer' can be interpreted quite broadly. In making decisions that shape our present and future experiences, do we not all write our own lives.
Good day.
‘Plots are everywhere - plots, themes, characters, one-liners. Beautiful sentences are waiting for you to pluck them out of the air. They’re all around, they just need to be channelled to you in some way. If you’re gonna cut yourself off from life, you’re never gonna find those plots and those characters, so the writer has to be dedicated to living’.
(Ian Rankin, from the BBC World Service's 'World Book Club', Broadcast: August 2006)
I like the idea that the term 'writer' can be interpreted quite broadly. In making decisions that shape our present and future experiences, do we not all write our own lives.
Good day.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Lovers (Overheard #4)
On a train, a conversation is overheard:
GeordieYouth#1: D’ y’ ever listen t’ Radio 1?
GeordieYouth#2: Aye, now an’ again, like. Why?
GeordieYouth#1: Right, they’ve got this nurse comes on, gives people advice – stuff t’ do wi’ re-la-tion-ships. Why she was gannin’ on last night about summat that just sounded right weird – reckonin’ that if peoples’ – lasses – are ganna be, y’ knaa - (more discreetly) gannin’ doon an’ that, they should be wearin’ a (confused) gum shield!
GeordieYouth#2: (thinks) Sounds a bit mad, that like.
GeordieYouth#1: Aye, I knaa.
(a quiet contemplative moment passes)
GeordieYouth#2: Are y’ sure it was a gum shield?
GeordieYouth#1: Aye, I think so.
GeordieYouth#2: I’ve heard of a den-tal dam –
GeordieYouth#1: Aye! That’s it!
GeordieYouth#2: (sighs) That’s nowt like a gum shield, y’ daft twat.
GeordieYouth#1: So what is it then?
GeordieYouth#2: Ask your lass, man! Y’ makin’ ’s feel queer, here.
GeordieYouth#1: Ah, aye.
Further down the carriage, a woman passenger fails to suppress a snigger.
GeordieYouth#1: D’ y’ ever listen t’ Radio 1?
GeordieYouth#2: Aye, now an’ again, like. Why?
GeordieYouth#1: Right, they’ve got this nurse comes on, gives people advice – stuff t’ do wi’ re-la-tion-ships. Why she was gannin’ on last night about summat that just sounded right weird – reckonin’ that if peoples’ – lasses – are ganna be, y’ knaa - (more discreetly) gannin’ doon an’ that, they should be wearin’ a (confused) gum shield!
GeordieYouth#2: (thinks) Sounds a bit mad, that like.
GeordieYouth#1: Aye, I knaa.
(a quiet contemplative moment passes)
GeordieYouth#2: Are y’ sure it was a gum shield?
GeordieYouth#1: Aye, I think so.
GeordieYouth#2: I’ve heard of a den-tal dam –
GeordieYouth#1: Aye! That’s it!
GeordieYouth#2: (sighs) That’s nowt like a gum shield, y’ daft twat.
GeordieYouth#1: So what is it then?
GeordieYouth#2: Ask your lass, man! Y’ makin’ ’s feel queer, here.
GeordieYouth#1: Ah, aye.
Further down the carriage, a woman passenger fails to suppress a snigger.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Experimenting
With a culinary experiment simmering in the background, I wirelessly read sundry news items whilst listening again to a radio play called ‘Leaves of the Dead’. Taking a break from her latest spell of thesis-writing, Emma stepped into the kitchen.
Emma: (inhales) Mm, somethings smells…
Shane: (looks up) Is that a pause or a full-stop?
Emma: Something smells… - it was a pause - gingery?
Shane: Mm, possibly too gingery. I’m intuiting - cooking by gist and by whim and by jove I may have darned well over-gingered the god-damn lentilly spinachy stewy… thing.
Emma: Stew?
Shane: Quite. How’s work?
Emma: It’s shit, but I can console myself with the thought that…
Shane: The thought that?
Emma: …actually, there’s no consoling to be found here – it’s not going well – it’s shit.
Shane: Would some stew help?
Emma: (reaching into cupboard) After an emergency Curly Wurly it might. What are you doing?
Shane: I’m reading about Amy Winehouse and about her husband’ and her families’ media interventions regarding their drug issues and so on.
Emma: Yeah, I heard about that, it sounded quite scary. ‘If one of them dies of an overdose the other one might kill their self’ seemed to be the in-laws’ point.
Shane: Mm. I was just wondering why I thought that this story was especially sad.
Emma: ‘Especially’?
Shane: Well, in the past couple of weeks I’ve crossed paths with proper archetypal junkies on three or four occasions – when me and Alex went into the pharmacist’s after the bike fall, at that massive Tesco when I was picking up the camping food and in those public toilets outside of the Bank of Scotland.
Emma: What’s your point?
Shane: Despite all of those, I definitely felt something more about the Amy Winehouse story – a hugely talented singer, who we can assume is fairly wealthy –
Emma: Monetarily.
Shane: Yeah – and who’s probably got people swarming all over her trying to do the right thing.
Emma: Mm, maybe.
Shane: So how come I didn’t feel as ‘heart sinky’ about those other people?
Emma: (thinks) You didn’t feel as much for them?
Shane: Kind of – I certainly thought ‘I’m glad I’m not you’, but why did I not feel sad as such – I think I took it, or them, to be just part and parcel of the city now – now that is sad. And shit.
Emma: (thinks) Mm. Maybe you didn’t think they had as much to live for, maybe you don’t value their lives as much as you do Amy Winehouse’s?
Shane: Fucking hell – controversial!
Emma: True?
Shane: (hesitantly) I imagine that for a lot of the locals – the not rich and not famous people - that kicking whatever their habits are would be just one of a shitload of problems that they’d have to be dealing with. So, I’m guessing that by default I’m assuming that Winehouse has got more going for her – that she doesn’t, for example, have to face the extreme poverty and possibly even loneliness that I associate with people like The Pharmacy Couple, Tesco Woman or Toilets Man… without my actually knowing her, or them.
Emma: Mm. Without getting close to understanding who any of those people are, I think it’s hard to start talking about what people really have going for them. I mean, if someone has got something going for them but they don’t see it that way – or they see it as bringing a whole load of unwanted pressure – then sometimes you - or they’ve - just got to step back, re-evaluate, start again… nice theory, but how practicable?
Shane: Was that your thesis talking?
Emma: No – if my thesis was talking it would be saying ‘blaaahhhhhhh blah blaahhh blah blah blah blah blaaaaaahhhhhhhhh’. You’ve got to remember as well, all of these people do have some degree of agency – if some of them simply did want to, y’ know, kill their self or something, then maybe we just have to accept that.
Shane: Mm. That’s how it was at the Samaritans – a self-determination thing, we called it Principle 3 – the deal was that as none of us would ever have to walk in the shoes of the callers, so we shouldn’t be telling them what to do and how or whether to live.
Emma: Mm. Did you ever have to just listen to someone as they were…
Shane: No. There were other situations where people… had recently ‘not been good to themselves’, but none of them expressed an active and immediate desire to die.
Emma: Do you ever think of going back?
Shane: (pause) No.
Emma: (smiling) Lazing on a sunny afternoon?
Shane: (relieved at the lightness of touch) Mm. Do you think Amy Winehouse would like some stew?
Emma: I think she probably would – though I think there was some mention of an eating disorder too, so maybe only a small portion – or a sick bucket.
Shane: That’s very thoughtful.
Emma: Thanks.
I will not send any stew to Amy Winehouse. It would deteriorate or spill in the post.
Emma: (inhales) Mm, somethings smells…
Shane: (looks up) Is that a pause or a full-stop?
Emma: Something smells… - it was a pause - gingery?
Shane: Mm, possibly too gingery. I’m intuiting - cooking by gist and by whim and by jove I may have darned well over-gingered the god-damn lentilly spinachy stewy… thing.
Emma: Stew?
Shane: Quite. How’s work?
Emma: It’s shit, but I can console myself with the thought that…
Shane: The thought that?
Emma: …actually, there’s no consoling to be found here – it’s not going well – it’s shit.
Shane: Would some stew help?
Emma: (reaching into cupboard) After an emergency Curly Wurly it might. What are you doing?
Shane: I’m reading about Amy Winehouse and about her husband’ and her families’ media interventions regarding their drug issues and so on.
Emma: Yeah, I heard about that, it sounded quite scary. ‘If one of them dies of an overdose the other one might kill their self’ seemed to be the in-laws’ point.
Shane: Mm. I was just wondering why I thought that this story was especially sad.
Emma: ‘Especially’?
Shane: Well, in the past couple of weeks I’ve crossed paths with proper archetypal junkies on three or four occasions – when me and Alex went into the pharmacist’s after the bike fall, at that massive Tesco when I was picking up the camping food and in those public toilets outside of the Bank of Scotland.
Emma: What’s your point?
Shane: Despite all of those, I definitely felt something more about the Amy Winehouse story – a hugely talented singer, who we can assume is fairly wealthy –
Emma: Monetarily.
Shane: Yeah – and who’s probably got people swarming all over her trying to do the right thing.
Emma: Mm, maybe.
Shane: So how come I didn’t feel as ‘heart sinky’ about those other people?
Emma: (thinks) You didn’t feel as much for them?
Shane: Kind of – I certainly thought ‘I’m glad I’m not you’, but why did I not feel sad as such – I think I took it, or them, to be just part and parcel of the city now – now that is sad. And shit.
Emma: (thinks) Mm. Maybe you didn’t think they had as much to live for, maybe you don’t value their lives as much as you do Amy Winehouse’s?
Shane: Fucking hell – controversial!
Emma: True?
Shane: (hesitantly) I imagine that for a lot of the locals – the not rich and not famous people - that kicking whatever their habits are would be just one of a shitload of problems that they’d have to be dealing with. So, I’m guessing that by default I’m assuming that Winehouse has got more going for her – that she doesn’t, for example, have to face the extreme poverty and possibly even loneliness that I associate with people like The Pharmacy Couple, Tesco Woman or Toilets Man… without my actually knowing her, or them.
Emma: Mm. Without getting close to understanding who any of those people are, I think it’s hard to start talking about what people really have going for them. I mean, if someone has got something going for them but they don’t see it that way – or they see it as bringing a whole load of unwanted pressure – then sometimes you - or they’ve - just got to step back, re-evaluate, start again… nice theory, but how practicable?
Shane: Was that your thesis talking?
Emma: No – if my thesis was talking it would be saying ‘blaaahhhhhhh blah blaahhh blah blah blah blah blaaaaaahhhhhhhhh’. You’ve got to remember as well, all of these people do have some degree of agency – if some of them simply did want to, y’ know, kill their self or something, then maybe we just have to accept that.
Shane: Mm. That’s how it was at the Samaritans – a self-determination thing, we called it Principle 3 – the deal was that as none of us would ever have to walk in the shoes of the callers, so we shouldn’t be telling them what to do and how or whether to live.
Emma: Mm. Did you ever have to just listen to someone as they were…
Shane: No. There were other situations where people… had recently ‘not been good to themselves’, but none of them expressed an active and immediate desire to die.
Emma: Do you ever think of going back?
Shane: (pause) No.
Emma: (smiling) Lazing on a sunny afternoon?
Shane: (relieved at the lightness of touch) Mm. Do you think Amy Winehouse would like some stew?
Emma: I think she probably would – though I think there was some mention of an eating disorder too, so maybe only a small portion – or a sick bucket.
Shane: That’s very thoughtful.
Emma: Thanks.
I will not send any stew to Amy Winehouse. It would deteriorate or spill in the post.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Prepared
I gather thermos-mug-thing (fully earl greyed), car key, some papers and the laptop, as I prepare to head off for an Important Meeting. At this point, I know that I have looked better.
Emma: Oh dear.
Shane: What?
Emma: Your eyes.
Shane: (looks in mirror) Oosh.
Emma: Mm, tired. And (casts an eye over Shane), y’ know, you can ask me to iron your shirts.
Shane: Oh, right. But wouldn’t that be dangerous – possibly hinting at some horrible patriarchal future? One minute shirt-ironing, the next – you’re cooking all of our meals and buying underpants for me whilst I’m fixing cars, pottering in sheds and doing real man stuff – drinking beer, betting on horses, sitting in an armchair.
Emma: You know how to fix cars?
Shane: No.
Emma: (proffers pitying look) Or you could iron your shirts yourself.
Shane: Where am I going to get the time to iron shirts! What with my now growing a beard, my time is all gone.
Emma: (shaking head) Go!
As I drive away, I tune in to Radio 4 - an attempt to raise my intellectual game. Soon, I am listening to Melvin Bragg talking to some mathematicians about ‘group theory’. This is all too much. I switch to a CD. Soon, I am listening to Alex’ audio version of George’s Marvellous Medicine. I have found my level.
Emma: Oh dear.
Shane: What?
Emma: Your eyes.
Shane: (looks in mirror) Oosh.
Emma: Mm, tired. And (casts an eye over Shane), y’ know, you can ask me to iron your shirts.
Shane: Oh, right. But wouldn’t that be dangerous – possibly hinting at some horrible patriarchal future? One minute shirt-ironing, the next – you’re cooking all of our meals and buying underpants for me whilst I’m fixing cars, pottering in sheds and doing real man stuff – drinking beer, betting on horses, sitting in an armchair.
Emma: You know how to fix cars?
Shane: No.
Emma: (proffers pitying look) Or you could iron your shirts yourself.
Shane: Where am I going to get the time to iron shirts! What with my now growing a beard, my time is all gone.
Emma: (shaking head) Go!
As I drive away, I tune in to Radio 4 - an attempt to raise my intellectual game. Soon, I am listening to Melvin Bragg talking to some mathematicians about ‘group theory’. This is all too much. I switch to a CD. Soon, I am listening to Alex’ audio version of George’s Marvellous Medicine. I have found my level.
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