Category Archives: Real life

Andiamo il Palio!

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I remember the first time I went to the famous Palio horse race in Siena in Italy. I must have been about six years old, and was on holiday with my mum, my stepdad and my best friend and her family. Siena itself is a lovely place to behold, but when this race comes to town – as it does twice every year, once in July and once in August – it’s something else. Thousands of people line the streets, many waving flags in support of their horse –each of which represents a parish of Siena. The supporters walk through the city towards the central square (in reality more of a concave ‘shell’), filling it up to capacity before the race begins – which it does amidst much pomp and ceremony.

The race is over in seconds – it really is a blink and you’ll miss it affair – but whilst it’s a fantastic spectacle the thing that’s always captivated me has not been the race itself but the flurry of activity afterwards. For if you look up at the balconies – which pre-race are lined with mafia-types in suits and dark glasses – you’ll see them suddenly empty, as they go in search of the jockeys that have failed to bring their money in. Apparently some years the jockeys have been pulled off their horses and even killed (so the legend goes) after losing the race, which is why you’d be hard pressed to find any of the losers in the vicinity once the final whistle is blown.

It’s been a few years since my last trip to Siena, so I’m more than a little excited about attending this year’s first Palio on Tuesday. Dark glasses at the ready…

Don’t panic! It’s just a holiday

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On the topic of holidays, as has been the theme of my last two posts, when I think back to childhood breaks en famille I can’t help but be reminded of Mum’s phobia about packing. I’ve always wound her up about it but it must be so distressing to feel that level of anxiety in the run up to a holiday. Instead of feeling that delicious sense of anticipation about their time away, people like my mum with packing phobias actually experience dread, because the planning that’s required induces panic that can lead to both physical and mental paralysis.

Mum’s a list-maker like me, and you’d think that would help to keep things ordered and under control, but in reality (as I myself have experienced on the odd occasion, like when I’m overloaded at work and find myself surrounded by so many lists my brain ends up in a state of panic-induced inertia) that doesn’t always help. Lists can go so far to quell the panic of forgetting something, but what if you forget to put something on the list in the first place?

I don’t claim to understand this phobia, but I do sympathise with those who have it. I’m also very grateful I don’t have this particular affliction, because I’ve enough neuroses to cope with as it is…

Festival fever

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It’s 6.09pm as I type this and I’ve officially finished work. All that stands between me and Glastonbury 2013 is an evening of last minute packing, a few brief hours’ rest and a three and a half hour coach ride to the site in Pilton, Somerset.

My first experience of the festival in 2005 was somewhat traumatic. A festival (and indeed camping) virgin I’d arrived fresh-faced with my pink two-man tent and solar-powered shower, completely oblivious to the reality of what I was about to endure. Which was, in short, four days of torrential rain (and by torrential I mean on the first night it rained so hard peoples’ tents were washed away and police divers were called in to retrieve their passports and valuables).

When I returned in 2008 the weather gods were marginally kinder. As I recall it only rained for half of the festival, but when you’re trying to negotiate a site that big even the smallest amount of rain can play havoc with your enjoyment of the general experience.

Although this year the forecast predicts some light rain showers, it’s looking like we may avoid a total wash out (she says, crossing fingers, toes and everything in between). But nonetheless I shall be packing my wellies and my mac – I know too well the British forecast should never be trusted…Wish me luck!

Incapacitated

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So, it turns out the satisfaction I felt after six hours spent cleaning out my bedroom on Saturday afternoon came at a price: Namely, acute back pain.

With hindsight lugging heavy bags of rubbish around with scant concern for my posture was foolish, but it’s too late to turn back the clock now. What started as a niggle is now a full blown injury (I won’t deny being a hypochondriac, but this time I’m not lying when I say I’m in agony) but with grit, determination and a LOT of painkillers I HAVE to get through it-because believe you me, there’s no way in God’s green earth I’ll be missing Glastonbury.

Once I’m at the festival I’m sure I’ll be fine-I can self-medicate with cider and sloe gin-it’s just the getting there that’s the problem. More specifically, it’s trekking across numerous fields carrying a rucksack bursting at the seams with mattresses, pumps, tents, tinned food and various other paraphernalia that’s the problem.

Still, I suppose as a seasoned festival-goer I should embrace the challenge, slap a heat patch on my back and give it my best shot-I may fall before I even reach the front gate, but at least I’ll fall knowing I tried, and with a can of gin and tonic in my hand…

 

 

Winning

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Thus far today’s been one of those rare and gorgeous days where everything runs exactly to plan. I was up at 8am, at my desk by 9am and by 10.30am had submitted two magazine pitches and was donning my running shoes for a quick jaunt to Argos in Victoria, where I collected a camping stool for my forthcoming trip to Glastonbury Festival. By the time I arrived back home (by tube, since the camping stool didn’t lend itself all that well to being a running aid) I’d even had a reply from one of the editors (the good news is they want the article, the bad news is they’ve no budget – but never mind, it all adds to the online portfolio).

It’s now 2.30pm and I’ve just finished writing this month’s guest post for Bea Magazine (which will be online on the 30th) and drafted ideas for my blog posts over the next week (WordPress assures me I will not fail in my task of posting something every day of 2013, thanks to its clever functionality to schedule blog posts – shhh). Before I start writing them, however, I need to pop out to do a spot of pre-festival shopping – it’s time to stock up on cereal bars, meal replacement shakes and enough wet wipes to keep the dirtiest of festival-goers clean from head to toe…Quite a tall order…Happy Monday everyone!

My friends will kill me for posting this but I love it – this pic pretty much sums up how much I love Glastonbury and how excited I am to be going there in three days!

Out with the old…

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After rising with the lark (well, at 8.30am, as it happens – but for a Saturday that’s as good as dawn) and completing a 5.2km run in an impressive 28 minutes I returned home to begin the mammoth task of clearing out my room and packing for my two forthcoming holidays. The long overdue clear out was in honour of my imminent (it’s five weeks away, but that feels imminent to me) move, which I’m enormously excited about. And the packing, well, the packing speaks for itself.

Six hours after beginning these tasks I’m typing this post feeling both satisfied and utterly exhausted. I managed to get through every cupboard, drawer, box and bag in my bedroom and whilst it was a huge undertaking I made it out the other side relatively unscathed. A sizeable amount of my belongings are now stuffed in various bags; some destined for the tip, others for recycling and more still for the charity shop. My holiday packing is almost all completed too – there’s a Glastonbury pile on one side of the room and a Florence pile on the other.

There’s something immensely satisfying about having a spring clean, especially in the run up to a life change such as moving house. It makes you feel that you’re throwing out the old and embracing the new and is, in essence, as much a spring clean of the soul as of material possessions. It’s also bloody knackering – if you’ll excuse my French – so for the rest of the day I plan to take it very easy indeed!

Active imagination

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Last night before I went to sleep I watched the second episode of my latest televisual addiction, The Returned (a French drama series about a group of young people who die in a coach crash and mysteriously re-appear ten years later as if nothing happened – if you haven’t watched it yet, do, you can catch it on 40D). With hindsight this wasn’t the best idea, since I was alone in the flat at the time. It also didn’t help that the light bulb in my bedside lamp chose to die as soon as the episode had ended, leaving me sitting in total darkness feeling somewhat freaked out.

Unsurprisingly, I woke up this morning having had a restless sleep. Not just restless, in fact. I’d had a dream – or rather nightmare – that I was the main protagonist in a slasher film, the whole of which had played out over the course of the dream. It was the most bizarre experience – I was the wife and my husband turned out to be the murderer. In the final scene I vividly remember thinking that I wanted desperately to run and hide, but I knew for the sake of the film I had to stay and provoke the murderer into having a pop at me. Fortunately in the end I managed to escape his evil clutches – unlike almost all of the other characters.

I really do admire my imagination, but I don’t half wish it would take a chill pill once in a while…

The balance and the bliss

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This afternoon, whilst working from home on a PR strategy document so complicated it made me want to repeatedly bang my head against a concrete wall, I began to ruminate on the importance of sometimes doing things we don’t want to do. When I became so frustrated with the document that a break was imperative I decided (somewhat irrationally, with hindsight) to do something else I didn’t want to do: Go for a run. And I’m not going to lie to you, every single step was horrendous. Beyond horrendous, actually, it being so humid the sweat was running in rivulets down my back before I’d even turned the corner of my own road.

But despite the discomfort of these activities, the important thing is that I did them – not with good grace and humour, admittedly (what do you want from me – blood?), but with something more resembling grim determination. And in doing them I managed to assuage the guilt I had been feeling about putting both activities off for the past few weeks.

It’s not just about assuaging guilt, however. One of my favourite singer-songwriters, Megan Henwood, wrote a beautiful song in which she explains why it’s important to endure harder times in our lives in order to appreciate the good ones: “Without the down and dark there would be no contrast between the high and light, the happy times, the balance and the bliss.” Now I’m not saying writing a PR strategy or going for a run when it’s humid are on a par with, say, a family bereavement or relationship break up, but no one could deny they place significantly lower on the scale of good times than winning the lottery or getting engaged.

So now my daily quota of ‘Things I Don’t Want To Do But Regrettably Have To’ has been filled, I’m off to view my new flat and spend the evening eating fine food in fine company. I might even treat myself to a glass of wine – it’s all about striking a balance, after all…

Why we should be proud of our young people

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This afternoon I accompanied two senior members of my charity’s youth-led consultancy board (a group of Teens and Toddlers graduates who now help other young people to continue their personal and professional development, as well as themselves being helped by the charity on an ongoing basis through initiatives like corporate mentoring, work placements and signposting to relevant opportunities) to the Hackney University Technical College in order to do some filming for an exciting new youth initiative (which we’re not yet at liberty to discuss in the public arena). [As an aside, one of the two people I went with also now happens to be my colleague, which goes to show what a great job the charity does in helping young people to develop!]

The filming was coordinated entirely by year 10 students, and it was so incredibly inspirational to see how professional and focused they were, from the cameraman to the interviewer and everyone in between. What I personally found particularly uplifting was watching our young people talking to the students about how the charity had helped them, and seeing how enthusiastic they all were about this project and the prospect of working together in the future.

There will always be the odd down day in any job, but if ever I needed a reminder why I do this job it was this afternoon’s experience. This kind of frontline interaction is exactly what I’ve felt was missing in my previous jobs, and it’s both a privilege and an honour to be able to work closely with such fantastic young people on a regular basis.

Anyone with doubts about the future of today’s youth need only look to our YLCB and the Hackney UTC students to see there’s still so much to be hopeful about. Far from being a lost cause, on the basis of what I witnessed today we have every reason to be proud of the younger generation. Many of them are the leaders of tomorrow, and I have high hopes they’ll achieve great things.

Face to face

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I’m writing this on the return train journey from Manchester, where I’ve spent the day meeting all my colleagues in our North West office. It’s got me thinking about the importance of face to face engagement, not just in a work context but also with friends, family and acquaintances.

As an example, how many times have you received an email from a colleague or been called by your mobile phone provider and rolled your eyes, judging their motives and pre-empting their reactions before you’ve even given them a chance to demonstrate them? If that same interaction had taken place in person, how different might it have been?

I’m as guilty as the next person when it comes to firing off emails to colleagues or texts to friends when I know I should have spoken to them in the flesh. The ridiculous thing is that it’s usually those texts and emails that need a personal delivery more than most. So whilst in the moment of deliberation and eventual action you think you’re saving yourself any trouble, the likelihood is you’re just storing it up for later.

Why are we so bad at communicating with one another face to face? The dawn of the email and smartphone age has made it easier for us to hide behind our screens, but is there a deeper motivation for our reluctance to engage with our fellow men and women? I know my dislike of confrontation is largely responsible for my shirking ‘real’ contact in favour of the electronic kind, for example, but I do wonder whether we as a species are perhaps simply becoming less inclined to be social, unless it’s a situation where we feel entirely comfortable and in control?

Not all of us are computer game addicts who hole themselves up for 18 hours a day playing Call of Duty, but I’d bet despite having hundreds of Facebook “friends” most my generation can count on one hand the number of people they see regularly in the flesh. We like to seem popular, and yet when it comes down to it we shun the majority of opportunities to really connect.

At work this reluctance can have very negative outcomes – if, for example, a colleague misinterprets an email you’ve sent in the wrong way, gets up in arms about it and shares it with other colleagues who then take his or her side it can backfire badly and damage your reputation.

The personal touch can go a long way – in today’s example, helping to bridge the gap between two geographically distant offices. We covered more ground sitting around a table together than we could have done in a month over email, and I left feeling I’d got a good understanding of everyone’s working styles and personalities – something you couldn’t hope to do on a phone call.

So if you identify with any of the above, next time you go to type an email why not stop and consider whether a phone call or face to face netting might be a more appropriate medium for sharing the information? You might just find the personal touch is more rewarding than you expected.

Writing this reminded me of a recent dinner party during which we played the game where you write a phrase on a piece of paper for the person to your left to slip unnoticed into conversation. If you haven’t tried it I’d recommend it!