Day 139: A PS and an Epiphany March 31, 2008

I have just be struck by an actual epiphany.

I complained about my neighbour and wrote about Brian Keenan in the same blog.Words should have failed me…I feel actual shame…. A man whose every waking moment was one of captivity and torture. The late night music is a hemisphere and the entire of humanity apart..

I embrace the freedom I take so entirely for granted.

I thank the powers that be for a timely reminder, for the beauty of Keenan’s words and the grace of his soul (and for Amazon: I’m ordering his book.)

Days 137 -139 March 31, 2008

#137

A Saturday to really end what had been a fabulous Easter holiday. It brought rain and a rather wayward trek through Ballymena (I really have to get SAT NAV for Yarri): I had left my thought without my phone; meaning time spent in the rain and sitting in the grandstand of the showgrounds feeling more than a little out of place.

But as ever George, Mel and a rather sexy hanger on (so sexy in fact that I couldn’t remember how to say hello- I’m pathetic) came to my rescue. It was a boring first half; the second half heart-stopping: I’m always shocked at how enthralled I become: the 16 year old substitute, Stephen Dooley and his 84th minute goal for Coleraine was not quite poetry in motion but incredibly dramatic.

Saturday night was spent with the girls (a husband and a bubba) I consider my Belfast sisters. There is nothing quite like laughing with people who’ve seen you at your best and put your pieces back together at your worst. I sit in amazement at the women they each have become. I should see them more.

#138

I called into ‘home’ on my drive back to D’dee. Coffee and catchup with Mum, again long overdue. Was truly delighted to find that my intimidating downstairs neighbours have finally vacated No.3 but unfortunately in their place was a young guy (who I vaguely recognise and may be an ex-pupil) who had a very loud party until after 1am. Let’s hope its now out of the neighbourly frying pan and into the roaring furnace…

#139

I made a pledge this morning that I would not begin another term with a ‘moaning about work blog’: I can sense the boredom set in long ago in my limited readership…but let’s just say it really was back to cold, lumpy porridge.

Tonight’s highlight was interrupted by the new neighbour knocking the door to apologise for the noise….sweet, but silence would actually be golden…I therefore caught a mere fifteen minutes of Back in Beirut: a BBC documentary that followed Brian Keenan on his return journey to Lebanon. I was struck by the poetry and sheer beauty of his language. His enchantment with this torn, devastated country was vibrant. He talked about being ‘captured’ again; this time by a group of young Lebanese girls he described as ‘butterflies’. It was an apt metaphor; he complimented the girls on their English and they told him they wanted to be teachers; but needed more language and would he do it? He was humbled by their innocence and intelligence; by their absolute purity. He met the girls at a notorious prison; a place ‘where hope came to die’ and their purity was positively angelic amidst this hell.

He was standing in the Adonis river; a mythical waterway that symbolises rebirth: he spoke to the ‘ghost’ of his father. The memory of his late father, Brian explained, had been a constant guide and source of hope during the years of his captivity. He addressed him once more: ‘Hi Dad, we didn’t always say the words we needed to say to each other…and yet…we said them anyway.’

I hope my Daddy can hear them too.

Days 134- 136 March 28, 2008

The highs of my incredibly indulgent (and in fact professionally irresponsible- given the volume of my marking) Easter holidays continue and may not be easily captured by words…

#134

A trip to George and Melanie’s; the first time I’ve seen them in person since the news of the impending arrival. A night spent with good food, being George’s drinking buddy (and spilling a beautifully poured g&t across their floor), watching Phoenix Nights on DVD( something I find all the more funny in their company) and choosing potential names from the world’s worst baby names’ book. Kermit was by far the best suggestion…

#135

Spent the day shopping and drinking coffee; bliss in itself but all the better with Melanie to laugh at the potential hat choices made and for us to talk incessantly at the poor woman in Boots about what made most sense in their No7 ‘3for2′ offer (we could hear her laughing as we left the shop). And I achieved my only retail goal of the holidays: I’m now the increasingly proud owner of black organza, almost Andie Macdowell but not quite style hat.

And so to Bushmills and the corner of the world for this week at least turned into the home of the Todd/O’Malleys. I’m been particularly bad at late at being communicado with anyone and I missed Lily (and Vox) dreadfully; allowing blogging to become our main and at times only means of communication is not that good of thing (but so much better than total abstinence). Their holiday place was incredible. The drive its every-time intoxicating North Coast splendorous self. Also beign greeted by the Angels is always one of my favourite moments.

But our catch-up had added value, smoothstones was coming for dinner and like her blog suggests, it was both picking up for where we three left off and yet it all seemed so very long ago. It was a night of lovely food, easy  conversation and each of us being as the others remembered: precious indeed.

(I was struck that my life has changed the least: George and Mel are married and soon to be parents; Lily and Smoothstones have made various professional changes and are each mothers of two; I’m still working in Bangor, still single and now worried that my life has perhaps, beyond the house buy that is no longer news, stagnated entirely….)

#135

A guilty start to the day, I’d kept Lily up until the small hours and yet got out of bed almost two hours after she did. I was touched today that Lily came ‘travelling’ in my car (the two baby-seats making it difficult to include me in the Todd/O’Malley family wagon) to keep me company; her bashful but beautiful singing was it’s heart-tingling self.

We went to Barry’s in Portrush. Key moment here was Lily’s insistence in staying with the baby, bags and buggy while Vox, Daisy(aged 4) and myself braved the Waltzer; it had barely began to spin when I remembered how much I hated amusement rides. It was never-ending, g-force actual white knuckle; Lily became a blur at the sidelines. I (and it has to be said Vox) stumbled off, cursing Lily and her intelligence; mumbling incoherently about the dangers and never again; just as Daisy delightedly squealed, “I loved it!”: priceless!

And so finally to home and to the sort of Friday night I used to love. TV, bath, a little wine: I care not that much about my marking, my less than tidy apartment, my undefrosted freezer, the pile of ironing: because instead I’ve had an incredibly blessed week; entirely at the grace of the generosity of so many and its not over yet.

Tomorrow I drag the Yaris (I’m trying to think of  name for the car- Smallcorner style but nothing quite fits) back Northwards to Ballymena. Coleraine play Donegal Celtic in the Irish Cup Semi-Final: I’m not a huge football fan but a huge fan of George and Melanie’s and Coleraine FC is their talisman. Also I like to sing terrace songs with the best of them.

Come on the Bannsiders!

Day 133 March 26, 2008

What was a rather impromptu theatre trip, organised in the midst of last week’s school chaos; turned (as expected) into a great night out. Mamma Mia is unashamedly good fun; doesn’t take itself to seriously and deserved a much bigger, more enthused Odyssey crowd than the one it got. I’d watched it before, in the West End on one of my ’spend too much/ drink too much/ enjoy every second of it’ London trips with Big Sis and was truly enthralled by how creatively the show had taken ABBA’s fabulous back catalogue and used it to tell a heart-warming, incredbilyhuman and very funny story.

Mrs W and I loved not only the show; but the sheer antics of the three women in front of us; two ‘grown-up’ daughters and a mother who enjoyed every second of it and did lots dancing in their chairs.

Entertainment for entertainment’s sake…definitely a moment to say ‘Thank you for the Music’!

Day 132 March 25, 2008

I’ve just finished watching a BBC Northern Ireland programme: ‘Sons of Ulster’ (thanks again Lily for the heads-up), it had been commissioned a while ago but red-tape got in the way. Over the next few nights it is telling the story of a group of young offenders incarcerated in Hydebank Wood Young Offenders’ Centre being taken under the tutelage of local actor/ director Dan Gordon to present Frank McGuinnesses’ play Observe the Sons of Ulster Marching Towards the Somme.

I’m a huge fan of the play; having seen a relatively recent production at Belfast’s Lyric Theatre I have ‘directed’ in the Drama teacher sense of the word; two A-level Exam performances of the same play. Each time I presented the story using a group of eight girls. It’s a man’s play; dealing with the complex relationships of Northern Irish World War One soldiers. A play that any synopsis here would do little justice too. It is an obvious choice for the project Dan Gordon is undertaking: it deals not only with male relationships, political and religious identity,  sexual orientation and the inner-struggle each man’s encounters in  finding his sense of self and feelings of self-worth as he faces the fear of  ’going over the top.’

I was struck tonight by the humanity of the boys taking part; and how similar they are to the boys in my own classroom. Dan Gordon refuses to deal with the details of their criminal past; wanting instead to offer them a different perspective than whatever one had led them to this frightening and freedom-less place and time. My aunt used to teach in Hydebank and even now is still connected to Prisoners’ Education and I continually ask her how she copes with the idea that the men in her classroom are murderers, rapists, thugs of the highest order and her simple answer is always the same. She doesn’t: she sees them as students; men her education can help in the slow process of re-entering society.

It is easy, to only see the positive here. As a Drama teacher to write of the inter and intra-personal skills these boys will gain from their literary and theatrical experience; but all crimes have victims and somewhere in the immediate locality are the victims of the crimes these boys committed. How do they feel watching these boys being presented with this particular opportunity?

Tonight’s programme posed the difficult question: should prison be punishment or rehabilitation? These are young offenders; boys who are typically victims of social deprivation (and the Northern Ireland paramilitarism that so often accompanied it), boys who the system has failed, boys who have made horrifically bad choices; but Dan Gordon certainly believes they are boys who deserve a second chance.

I await tomorrow night’s episode…

Days 130-131: A weekend in Glasgow March 24, 2008

The plan had been for the three of us: two of my best friends (a gayer than gay couple ) and myself to head to their recently acquired Glasgow flat just before their tenants moved in…a kick start to the Easter holidays for us all.

Disaster struck, a flu relapse meant ‘S’ couldn’t make it and that I was spending a weekend in bed with my best friend’s boyfriend.

Friday’s bad weather meant we spent many hours in the car at Larne ferry terminal; a car picnic and a trashy newspaper were our only source of entertainment. The last time I’d been on a ferry was to go to Scotland to check out universities; but not much has changed; still two hours of being rocked around. What I had forgotten though was the absolutely etheral beauty of the Scottish landscape the coastal road from Cairnryan to Ayr in the twilight was the stuff of Yeats’ poetry.

We had a mad dash to Glasgow; having dinner reservations at a very swanky restaurant: it was worth the rush and the wait. Fantastic food, beautiful wine and then too many cosmopolitans while dancing to ‘Billie Jean’. We came home and danced in the living room: a perfect anti-dote to my stress-filled week and crazy inducing term and the weekend was only starting.

Glasgow is something of a shoppers’ paradise: and one I need to return to. The plan was to get a hat for the upcoming society wedding I have to attend but a mid-season sale at Gap and one a Fat Face were too, too tempting. As were the  impossibly high, pink and black patent Jimmy Choo shoes in Cruise but at half a mortgage payment I resisted temptation. ‘P’ had to be dragged from the sexiest pair of  Prada men’s shoes I’ve ever seen in my life.

Another night awaited us; there had been a short altercation in the interminably long wait in Larne over the location of our social events. I argued that as a gay man in a very committed relationship, and as a single heterosexual girl a gay club was wasted on us both. ‘P’ was surprised by my outburst…

But to Polo Lounge we went; me less than happy that my argument had fallen on deaf ears; that I was walking in the pouring rain and that I’d brought entirely the ‘wrong’ outfit in my suitcase. Yet I’d the most fun I’ve had in a very long time: the sexual preference of the clientele meant there was ABSOLUTELY NO-ONE for me to impress (but surrounded by beautiful men you realise what a reflex flirting is: I still smiled coyly; holding a stare for too long: to their credit the men at the end of my gaze smile back with a look that suggests I don’t quite understand the ‘geography’ of my surroundings) I could and did dance with wild abandon (to the point of aching muscles and a strained shoulder) with a gorgeous man at my side.

Sunday dawned and home beckoned: I’m blessed with fabulous friends who exude generosity; and this weekend for the first time in quite a while, I remembered why it was great to be young, free and single all at the same time….

Day 129- That very evening March 20, 2008

Tonight I’m grateful for the ‘girls’ I work with be they 52 or 25: we had a fabulously boozy afternoon; for once unhampered by the hangers on(we’re a cliquey group): I spend much of my time wishing for Lily’s and Smoothstone’s return but today with the seven of us we had a blissful afternoon…

That I’m cocktailed and sauvignoned blanced beyond packing my suitcase matters little in the grand scheme that was today: my willing audience for drama woes; and my willing performers for stories of the term that was…

I’m blessed by the people I share work space and pupils with; by a department that love words, books, literature and the kids they try so hard to inspire.

Easter holidays are FINALLY upon me and I embrace their freedom and yet look foward to the time when I yet again embrace these fabulous women and all they represent.

Day 129 March 20, 2008

An amazingly early post for me: 0806 to be precise. I’m waiting on a lift to school (lunchtime drinking always calls for travel re-arrangements) otherwise I might be semi-dressed and half ‘made up’ as is more usual.

And so the half school day that drags in mercilessly. But the weight of my shoulders this morning was actually tangible; A-level performances are over, what will be has now been and I can finally move on in my list of things ‘To Do’. I hate this morning’s ‘tidy up’: the putting away of what were hugely significant props/ costumes and are now white sheets in cupboard…

But thank you ‘out there’ for answered prayers: many of mine this week, were for sheer survival: for patience and understanding with the pupils (and staff) who often fall on my stress yeilding sword…and for performances that went much better than I could have hoped for.

But so to school, to lunch and afternoon drinking in the Merchant. Say yeah for Easter holidays x

Day 128 March 18, 2008

 One down one to go…

For all my weeks of endless, drivelling moaning about rehearsals and Drama teaching, there is a little part of me that secretly adores performance days…I get to be part of something creative that evolves to eventually become something that is meaningful: something that someone else will form an opinion on and something that for tonight’s performers becomes part of their school story and hopefully something much more significant than an A-level grade…

Having to do it all again tomorrow fills me with utter fear. I had very vivid, very awful nightmares last night: the type that make me dread returning to bed. Pre- exam nightmares are a regular part of my school year: typically pre-Drama they involve my having to perform EVERY role myself (like the Friends invoked Bugs Bunny cartoon when he plays every position on a Baseball team). Last night’s moved beyond that into the deeply sinister…scary stuff indeed.

I’m hoping a bath and that forbidden thing: a mid-week glass of wine will silence those demons…(I realise if I was less of a Dramaqueen myself- my life would be much simpler)

Day 127 March 17, 2008

Happy St Patrick’s Day! I was actually livid driving to work, at having to be there at all: where were my student days of beer for breakfast and many a chorus of ‘Whisky in the Jar’ before lunch? Surely our ‘peaceful’ situation calls for this day of (Inter)National Drunkeness to be a nationalised holiday? At least I escaped pretending to enjoy the obligatory pint of the black stuff- it’s charm tends to allude me.

A school day ruined by two pointless meetings: one of which I mistimed entirely realising only ten minutes after my dramatically late entrance that I didn’t need to be there at all: much humiliation abounded. But a day spent in rehearsal; each one more fraught than the last. Improvements were definitely made but potential not yet reached and with tomorrow night being the first of deadline, time really is a ticking…

My highlight: a series of phonecalls one to give advice to Big Sis, one to confirm a ‘day away’ during my increasingly more fun Easter break and one to catch up with someone I’ve been neglecting…my bad daughter/ bad sister/ bad friend/ work obsession denies me even the simplest of pleasures and tonight’s glimpse of what I’ve been missing offered the hope of the Easter break to come. Three days and counting…