I wanna paint....

I need some time. Anyone got any they're not using?

Take this afternoon, I had a free moment when I could have got out colours, but what happened? I fell asleep, that's what! Honestly, I turn 41 then start needing an afternoon nap!

Yesterday saw me out in the fresh air all day with a team of young things doing some conservation work. I was the oldest one there. One young gal (a mere slip of a 20-year-old) kindly pointed out that I was old enough to be her mother (sob...). I had to go out today and buy a really trendy handbag just to make myself feel better and younger... and while I was at it, somehow a cool scarf and necklace were given over to the assistant too... and then some trendy sunglasses.

I painted this flower last week for my Mum on Mother's Day and seeing as I had nothing to wear to the Paint Party Friday (again), and many of you had expressed a desire to see this picture, I thought I would present it to you this week (that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!). Special thanks to Mum and little Sis for kindly scanning in it for me, when I'm sure she they much better things to be doing with their time!

A palette-knife-painted flower on a brayered and textured background with a bit of stamping.

Why I love Take That (and am proud to admit it!)

OK, 'fess up. Who watched the Take That documentary on Saturday night and the big X-Factor reunion? There's something so appealing about these five 'boys' that keeps them close to the nation's hearts. The fact that we'd even call a group of men all pushing (or just pushed) 40 'boys' says it all.

I think one of the reasons I love them so much is that they are my age. They're my peers, we grew up together and we've been seen life. We've had the highs, the lows, the love and broken relationships, the inner turmoils, career conflicts and we've all come out the other side. OK, so I haven't exactly had the cash, global adulation and fame, but hey at least I can go to Tesco without being recognised that often!

I've written a lot about turning 40 this year. Eight months later and I'm finally starting to get to grips with it. I look at Take That and see the lines forming around the eyes, the pounds that crept on here and there but I realise it doesn't matter. I look at Take That and see a band of 'men' of a certain age that sell 1 million concert tickets in one day, whose album will sell millions in the run up to Christmas (and according to the cashier in Tesco this morning as I grabbed my sweaty hands on my copy - "It's been flying off the shelves"). I see confidence and belief in ability. I see bravery, creativity and comfort within their own skins. It's nothing to do with age. It's knowing what you want and then going out and grabbing it. Then, when it's in your hands, recognising that and enjoying every second.

Robbie's decision to rejoin the band after 15 years and a solo career to rival any rock legend was, in my eyes, a great example of this. As a fan of all of them, it seemed the logical next step. Take That as a five-piece, then a four piece likewise achieved more than many stars ever dream of. What other move could they have made now that the bridges are not just mended but apparently glowing with the freshest coat of protective all-weather paint.

Long may it continue for us all! Although I don't think I'll be headlining a Stadium tour next summer (but I will certainly be attending one!).

The album, by the way, is rather good. Better than the last with the returning Robbie clearly making his mark.


(Apologies to those from foreign climes that have missed out on Take That mania over the years and haven't a clue what I am wittering on about - you just don't know what you've been missing!)

PS - Still doing my Art Every Day - just nothing in a finished enough state to post - lots of ripping up of newspapers going on right now!

How do I wish to grow older?

Why, disgracefully of course. I've been far too conformist all these years. I shall most definitely be 'wearing purple' and cultivating eccentrities in grubby corners of my home that don't see a duster because I am too busy painting and writing strange stories and romantic romps. I shall dance around supermarkets and sing in the bank.

I'll probably have paint stains on my fingers and bits of paper sticking to the back of my clothing. I'll totter around in high heels and evening dresses whenever I feel like it and roll in the grass. My make up and hair will depict my mood. I think I'll get hair extensions and wear flowers tucked behind my ears. I'll jingle and shine when I walk as all my jewellery dances along with me and catches the light.

I'll the be crazy relative that the young uns like to visit because there's always something interesting to find in my house - whether it's a fanciful tale, an intriguing guest or something sticking out of a drawer that sparkles and shines in the sunlight.

I'll be forever dashing off on adventures with my loved ones. Together we will be explorers of the world, gathering treasures and stories to share.

Growing older will be a pleasure. Starting with today when I promise I shall dance around the supermarket (wearing purple) while I pick out the ingredients for our evening meal. No time like the present I say!

Cast your growth wishes with Jamie Ridler and the gang over at the Wishcasting site.

Picture is just some eye candy I made from one of my summer photos - as it's purple I thought it was sort of appropriate. It would look lovely in my hair don't you think?

Art Every Day - Day 10

After the party...

The perfect story for Happy Friday...

Would I like to go to London, meet one of my favourite authors and spend an evening in the company of bloggers? Hmm, not too difficult a decision to be made there then... Was I seriously ever likely to turn down such an opportunity? So, Wednesday saw me on a speeding train to my favourite City full of anticipation.

Lisa Jewell writes wonderful books - sort of chick lit but with more depth, a stronger sense of reality with characters that seem recognisable, that friends-of-friends feeling. I've grown up with her books and, in her latest book more than ever have found that I'm relating to her characters.

Ten years ago Lisa wrote her first novel - Ralph's party - in which Ralph, an artist struggling to capture his Muse, finds her in flatmate Jem. Naturally, numerous obstacles were to be climbed before they made it into each other's arms but make it they did and all seemed destined to live happily ever after. When I read this 10 years ago, I was right in the middle of what I thought would be my happy ending too - on the cusp of marriage. Mine didn't turn out as planned - would Ralph and Jem's?

Well, ten years later and in the sequel Ralph and Jem have done some growing. Two children increased the size of their family and a gaping chasm of failed communication, resentment, frustration and total lack of understanding pushes them apart. The book begins shortly after the birth of their second child. Ralph, not coping well with all that life throws at him decides he needs a holiday and heads off to Santa Monica to visit an old friend leaving Jem well and truly holding the baby...

I found this hard to read... Echos of my own past with a husband feeling the need to get away on holiday on his own leaving his exhausted wife at home with the baby came flooding all too painfully back. Here was a writer who it seemed had been inside my head and come face to face with my communication issues, my resentment and contempt. I wasn't expecting this. This isn't 20-something or even 30-something chick lit escapism. This is real life.

Ten years had done another thing to all of us. We weren't on the cusp of being 30 any more either! Jem and I, it seemed have both gone through the same freaking out over approaching the big 40. By now I was beginning to believe that Lisa Jewell had been reading my mind or was she just perhaps picking up on the issues of our time? Was I not alone after all?

This was a good, strong read. Clever, insightful and a little bit gritty also spring to mind. I wonder what a fresh-faced 25 year old would make of it? For a fresh-faced (but with a few wrinkles) 40 year old it was shockingly close to life. But, it also made me feel a bit better. Remember I said that Lisa's characters always felt familiar - like friends you just hadn't met yet. Well, this week I shared a good old chat with Jem and Ralph and we all learnt that you come out of the other side of experiences like these much stronger!

If you've never read Lisa's books, go check them out - great stuff!

As it's Friday, this is definitely my happy post for the week. I had such a wonderful time at this event in the company of some like-minded souls. In fact, there is so much more to say, but I must start my day... Part 2 coming up later.

Stay tooned...

Lisa & Lisa

Staying Young

It's working... My Staying Young campaign... This morning when I woke I discovered I had a huge spot on my chin. Ah yes, a touch of acne is certainly enough to bring back some reminders of my youth. I think that this weekend, I shall be a real rebel and attempt to stay up past midnight!

Hungary Hitchhikers

No, that's not a typo in the title... Read on and all will be revealed about my (ever so brief) participation in some student adventures. It's all part of my 'Stay Young' campaign. Well, actually I just made that bit up, having read it not one hour ago in The Rules of Life, but it fits in very nicely with what I want to write and goes with my week's theme of coming to terms with being 40!

I was rather rebellious today and picked up some hitchhikers - three of them to be precise. I found them at Leicester Forest service station on the M1. They were all wearing matching T-shirts proclaiming their charity hitch across Europe to Budapest - starting this morning in Sheffield. I like to practice the odd random act of kindness so couldn't resist giving them a lift. I've never picked up hitchers before (it's hard not to think of Axe murderers in the same sentence), but these did seem a safe bet (especially as I'd already spotted several more of them when I'd arrived).

I was their fourth chauffeur of the day. They planned on reaching Dover by 7pm and sleeping tonight in France. Ah, the sense of adventure. During the 40 minutes or so they were my passengers I regaled them with stories of my student years. Yes, back then we had to manage without home comforts like the internet, email and mobile phones. In my hall of residence we had one phone for over 120 students that didn't take incoming calls. Still, let's not dwell on that (I'm on this 'Stay Young' mission remember).

Since I got home, I've been able to follow their journey's progression. They gave me their Uni website which details current whereabouts of all the teams. They did warn me it was addictive and I find I have to keep checking... just to make sure they're safe.... or does a secret part of me want to be on a cross-channel ferry with them right now with the sea blowing salty breezes up my nostrils as an appetiser to the Gallic dinner that awaits?

Best of luck Olivia, Lucy and Michael. Hope you raise loads of money and have a fabulous time.

PS - I just found a bee in my kitchen (a very sleepy one). Does this mean that Spring might actually be here at last?

Forty Love... or Love Forty?

Well, the day is finally arriving. I'm writing this in the closing hours of my 30s with the big day looming large on the horizon. Is it a fearsome monster that growls and roars in a bad temper as age runs away from it or a mischievous pixie intend on causing more mayhem. I guess it's what you make of it. Shall I grab the latter and be a bit naughty? What do you think?

I certainly don't feel 40 and the last year or so has been a true period of rebirth. So perhaps it's true what they say about life beginning at this grand age. Am I perhaps entering my prime? Well, let's be positive and shout from the rooftops "OH YES!" I am ME. I am LISA. I know who I am and I'm proud of it.

Mother, Friend, Lover, Artist, Entrepreneur, Adventurer, Dreamer, Writer, Creative, Expressive, Communicator.

Let my next 40 years be a welcome product of my first 40. Finally all those lessons make sense perhaps?

Let's not get too philosophical. Perhaps I should just concentrate on the celebrating. It began today at the rather magnificent location you see pictured above. A gourmet meal and a bit of sophistication. I wore my new dress and carried my peacock handbag. My son was invited 'back stage' to meet le Chef (even though he didn't eat all his greens, unlike his mother who would have eaten the plate pattern had there been one!). Spring had arrived and the sound of pheasants croaking and sheep bleating provided the perfect countryside soundtrack to the landscape of snowdrops and oh-so-nearly flowering daffodils. The feeling of rebirth abounds in every way - especially when you look at my heavily pregnant sister... any week now....

Happy 40th Birthday Lisa. Life begins...

Corrupting music

I'm scared, really scared. I think I might be losing it a little, the old mind is not what it used to be... it's becoming addled or maybe just corrupted - yes that must be it - I've been brainwashed. This morning I was struck by a terrifying experience. I actually enjoyed listening to Perry Como on the radio - and this is not the first time an event of this magnitude has happened. I marvelled at the smoothness of his voice, his talent, was uplifted by the romance and passion of the lyrics. What on earth is the matter with me? It's that bleedin' Wogan fellow with his TOGisms and cronies bantering on about snorkers and vittals (you have to listen to understand what on earth I'm bathering on about). And, dare I confess that it gets worse. Yesterday I downloaded the latest Neil Sedaka song [hangs head in hands]. But you see, it's just so catchy with its Latin rhythms (although has anyone noticed that he seems to sound like a woman?). It's actually playing now...[cringes] and I am bobbing around in my seat to the hypnotising beat lie lie low lie low lie low lie ...

Surely just because I'm approaching 40 it doesn't mean I have to start liking the same music as my Mother? Next thing we know I'll be reading SAGA magazine... (which is the kind of publication your parents subscribe to!)

What will Lindsay say if she reads this? Will I be removed from the Christmas card list? She won't believe that I did actually listen to Kings of Leon on the way home - loudly (and then switched it for some easy listening because I wanted something soothing).

Maybe if she just listened, she might just understand....

Youth of today (grumblings from a nearly 40 year old)

Yes, well it happens to all of us eventually... We turn into one of those "things were much better in my day" orators. We even find ourselves moaning that we can't hear the words on songs and asking what gender the lead singer is in that noisy band on the TV (mind you, let's face it, the first time we saw Boy George we all wondered didn't we now?). So, here we go...

Youth of today eh? They just don't know they're born. Take my boyfriend's 16 year old son, Tyler. He has ambitions to go to university, study media and become a journalist or work in TV. Not wishing to dash such fresh-faced hopes, I put my wise old(ish) woman hat on and advise him, using my many years experience of the real working world, how to ensure he gets himself noticed. The more observant among you will have noticed that I quite like blogging, so naturally I steered him in this direction as a virtually effortless method of seeing your work in 'print' instantaneously with a potential readership of millions (not bad for a free online tool). If he's willing to put in a bit of extra effort he could even start a school e-zine distributed via Facebook or at the other end of the spectrum if he wishes to communicate only in short sentences (he is a teenager remember... grunts are an integral part of his vocabulary), then twitter could be his channel of choice. Let's face it, the opportunity is endless. The effort fairly minimal.

What is essential of course is that he approaches his University applications with some tangible evidence of his passion for his chosen profession. Faced with a pile of identical applications and predicted grades, he will need to stand out by demonstrating determination, ambition and writing skill. Lecture over, it is now time for me to indulge in a spot of reminiscence... and when Tyler you read this (no doubt under extreme duress) at the weekend, I will be able to lament that you never had it so good.

Back when I were a wee gal the word blog didn't even exist let along the technology to power it. The closest thing to a net I had at home was one used for catching fishes in Cornish rock pools. If we wanted to keep a diary we bought one and wrote in it using a pen or pencil (often with real ink that came in a pot!).

My first magazine editorship - the imaginatively titled Pelargonium - consisted of one childish scrawled and illustrated copy that had to be passed around its expansive readership of the other kids in the street and my family! I was so dedicated that I wrote 6 of them!

When a group of us started a school magazine in the 6th form, it was mainly hand-written with a few 'special' pages typed on an old machine called a typewriter (powered by fingers pressing very hard on keys on stalks), then the whole thing was photocopied at great expense and drawing in a few favours at a local print shop (and let's not even mention Banda machines - remember them? The original wind up photocopier). Also, when we went on holiday we used to buy these little pictures, write on the back and post them back home to friends and family... postcards I think they were called...

I think there's still something very special about the physical presence of an old diary or notebook. My sister has some old diaries belonging to my Grandmother. Most of these date back to the 1940s during the war years in London. She describes a life seemingly full of wash days, dodging bombs and going to the movies. It seemed that, despite a lack of money, the threat of a doodle-bug landing on your head at any moment and being heavily pregnant, nothing would get in the way of a weekly trip to 'the pictures'. Communication with loved ones was not the instant gratification of the 21st century. I can just picture her waiting for cherished letters every day from my Grandad serving in the army.

It is wonderful to be able to treasure these records of the past. I wonder if my future grandchildren will ever read this blog, created on the ancient and clumsy Internet. A technological dinosaur where you actually had to sit down and type words into the computer rather than just 'think them' onto the mobile screen that transmits from the device embedded in your wrist...

Youth of the future eh?

When I grow old...

I shall wear purple (Jenny Joseph)... and listen to Radio 2. I felt my age this morning while motoring to work. I was really enjoying Wake up to Wogan. It wasn't his geriatric ramblings, the amusing anecdotes nor the terribly useful travel bulletins. It was in fact the music. Now, these days Radio 2 can be relied upon to be a bit more cutting edge than it was back when I was forced to listen to it when Wogan was on the first time around. The other day they even played Doves and Bat for Lashes. Today however, was a different story. How I enjoyed singing at full volume to 'Can't smile without you', 'Beyond the sea', 'Tired of being alone' and I did indeed 'listen to the music' - very loudly. Ahh, there's nothing like a good old tune where you can actually hear the lyrics...

The best kebab?

Is there a chain of kebab restaurants called the 'Best Kebab' or is just the name of choice for the doner chef? The reason for this somewhat left-field question is that yesterday, while in the vicinity of Old Street, London, I saw no less than two such establishments. Now, not wishing to cast aspersions on the quality of offering, somehow I do doubt that these are indeed the best kebab restaurants in London or indeed the known Universe. And let's face it, they can't both be the best can they? Perhaps that title resides with the Best Kebab in Kilburn High Road where I went once on a date (boy, do I know how to pick them!). OK, it was the end of a date, that time in the wee small hours when after a belly full of merlot and vodka and with legs aching from dancing, the idea of a [best] kebab seems so 'perfect' and so you put aside thoughts of romantic ambiance and settle for greasy formica instead. This was nonetheless hardly the perfect end to the evening I had been hoping for, particularly as said 'date', a certain Andy, decided to invite the cab driver to join us for our supper - cabbie then proceeded to take a joint out of a battered tin in his pocket and explain that this wasn't his first smoke of the evening (yes, he had apparently just driven us all the way from the West End while stoned out of his mind*).

Just did a quick mental calculation of when this story took place ... err about 14 years ago. I feel old ... Those were the days.. when I stayed up past midnight, before premiership footballers were born in the 1990s and long before I found it necessary to buy moisturisers that mention words like 'regenerist'.

The point of this blog was not really to critique kebab restaurants (don't worry, this isn't my long-promised food journalism piece), nor even to feel my nearly 40 (eek!) years. It was just an excuse to write something for the fun of writing! I'm off to sleep now, it's well past my bedtime.


* Young people, please note: - this is the reason why you should stand around in the cold waiting for a black cab and not accept lifts from dodgy blokes in beaten up, invariably beige, saloons.