Another One Bites the Dust

Last weekend couldn’t have provided more contrast – a great gig on Saturday night followed by scattering more of Pip’s ashes on the Sunday. But let me start with Pip first of all.

I was determined to scatter the second lot of Pip’s ashes at Polly Joke, his favourite beach on the north coast of Cornwall and one where we both had very happy memories. Luckily Sunday was a sunny if windy day and so Deb and Molls and I set off for our favourite spot with camera and hankies.

As we neared the car park, I put on a Queen CD and guess what the first track was? Another One Bites the Dust. Deb and I laughed – it was just as if Pip was running the day, which he probably was.

The beach wasn’t too crowded as the tide was coming in and I took pictures on the way down, then Deb said she’d take over as cameraman as I scattered the ashes over the sea. Trouble was, I couldn’t get the tin open. (Pip’s sense of humour no doubt.) Then once open, I shook him free but suddenly Deb shouted, “Sue!” The tide was rushing up the sand, roaring over my feet as we both ran backwards, trying to avoid the incoming waves.

We had a big hug while Mollie danced in the shallows and roared up and down the beach, then walked up to the Bowgie pub where we sat outside with a glass of wine each, a packet of crisps for Molls and felt that Pip would very much have approved.

I’ve kept a few ashes in a tin which is still on his side of the bed. When I told Deb she said, “When you get together with someone else and take him back to bed, you’d better move Pip,” she said. “They might be put off if they know your husband’s watching.”

But back to Saturday’s gig at Miss Peapods in Penryn where Joshua Caole started playing and singing and that got us in the mood. He was followed by Chris Woods, an incredible acoustic guitar player who uses ‘string slapping’ to produce amazing percussive effects by finger tapping, rapid drumming and ordinary finger picking. Well worth a listen.

Last on was Cole Stacey, a great singer and guitarist who, after a few numbers, asked if anyone was up for a sing. Well, of course I said YES! which astonished most of the audience. Cole was delighted, and asked me to sing lead vocals (in fact a few choruses) which was a good warm up for the rest of the audience to sing along.

I had a great time and you know, the nicest thing was, as we left they were all standing outside. I said thanks for a great evening and hoped they would come back for another gig. They turned and said, “Oh it’s Sue! Thanks, Sue – you made the gig!”

Like my other friends, Pip would be bursting with pride.

Food, glorious food

I’ve been suffering from a bad attack of frozen shoulder which has been agony and meant not being able to type or write – bit of an occupational hazard for a writer. Today it’s feeling a bit better but as I have to transcribe an interview I did on Friday, and am interviewing Ian Rankin on Monday (a phoner, sadly, not meeting the man in person), I am saving my energies, so here is something I was asked to write some time ago. About food.

About 15 years ago I developed an intolerance to caffeine which means that tea, coffee and chocolate turns me into a hyperactive lunatic incapable of sitting still. My heart pounds, my hands shake – it’s like having a panic attack. A high price to pay for a few moments of indulgence.

So now I drink decaff coffee, Rooibosh tea and pass on chocolate. Occasionally the odd bit is tolerated, but only a little.

But oh, I do miss it. Looking at a piece of chocolate cake the other day, I could taste the rich velvety sweetness on my tongue. The seductive way it would stick to my teeth. I would sample the dark heaviness for minutes, hours later. Chocolate should be made by kings and queens for royalty, I think. When indulging in chocolate, it should be eaten slowly, every mouthful savoured, lingered over.

I long for the rich bitter taste of freshly brewed coffee that goes so well with bacon sarnies or buttery croissants. When I smell fresh coffee drifting out from someone’s window I sniff, like a Bisto kid, and the smell of it invigorates me, even if I can’t drink it. If other people have a cup, I grab it and inhale, like a glue sniffer. I can imagine the seductive way it slips down my throat, seeps round my system like a snake, winding up the parts that other drugs can’t reach.

I remember, years ago, having friends over for a meal and someone brought a home made tiramisu. This was a way of combining all our favourite foods in one. A smorgasbord of secret delights. A marriage of two powerful families: the rich, powerful coffee with the sensuous, fecund chocolate. Their union resulted in a dish of previously unimagined decadence with an ermine lacing of cream, topped with teasing shavings of chocolate.

Who could resist that?

Last To Go

Life continues to throw up surprises. Some of them good, some not so good, all of them emotional right now, but what’s new?

On Saturday we sang at Newquay Fish Festival which was a great gig with unexpected sunshine, cheerful, welcoming audiences and sardines barbecued on the harbour front, crab pots being made of willow, good cider and a van stuck on the beach with rapidly incoming tide.

On Sunday I joined some friends at Falmouth’s Princess Pavilions where Gweek Silver Band was playing, and this reminded me of Pip’s cornet, sitting unplayed and neglected by his side of the bed. My brother in law and I had discussed the cornet months ago and agreed we’d much rather it went to someone keen who would play it regularly, preferably in a band, but I’d had no response to previous emails.

So on Monday I emailed the Cornwall Youth Band and have had several phone calls from very keen cornet players. All of them female, which Pip would approve of. One is so keen that her mum is driving down from Devon this morning to come and pick it up and pay me cash.

So far I’ve been really lucky – everything of his with emotional value has gone to a really good home which means far more to me than any money. So fingers crossed for this one. In between bouts where my tears drip like an ongoing tap, I have a good feeling about it, and this will complete the list of things to be sold.

Unless anyone fancies a sausage maker?

Another Wave

Last Saturday I finally got round to inviting several friends round who I’d been wanting to get together all year. So it was arranged that everyone would bring something to eat as well as wine so all I had to do was make two cottage pies and move the tables and chairs around before they arrived.

Darling Pip would always get in a fluster before we had people for a meal. I would be banned from the kitchen - “get out Pop. Go and lay the table,” while he created dish after dish of wonderful food with the aid of a few glasses of wine. Or whatever he was currently drinking. Our visitors always had a great time, were very well fed and watered and reeled off into the night at some late stage.

This time it was much more laid back. I'd done everything by late morning so I could relax in the afternoon – just as well as I get exhausted spells and this was one of them.

I wore The Dress – which has been christened twice now, and much admired by everyone. It’s also very comfortable, warmer than I’d thought and one of those dresses you put on and feel really good in. The first christening was at a brilliant gig in Falmouth where a friend’s partner tipped Tribute down my left boob. But no matter. It gave me something to sip at while I waited at the bar.

Pip would have loved the dress, and would have approved of the evening (though not the fact that other people brought food). But we all had a lovely time, everyone helped me clear and wash up, so there was very little to do the next day. But oh, how I missed him. Sitting next to me round the table. Sharing the evening. And the post mortem, lying in bed the next morning having a cuddle.

Mollie and I sat on my steps the next morning in the sunshine with a cup of tea, looking out to sea. Where he is and is not. And I wondered about life. How you can so easily take people for granted, and suddenly they’re gone.

This time last year we were about to go on holiday. Shortly after that he became very ill, a month at home and then the last two months of his life in hospital. So I'm aware that the rest of this year is going to be tough. Full of memories I would rather not have. But as Pip once said, “life is about how you deal with setbacks, Pop, not successes.”

This is one setback that I hadn’t envisaged happening so soon. But I do believe that life throws things at you and you have to deal with them. Somehow. One of my ways is by writing down my journey.

So thank you for reading and thank you for your support. You make all the difference.

Unwrapping my husband

On Sunday evening I unwrapped my husband.

He’d been in a green cardboard box and I’ve kept him beside my bed (on his side) since 7th January. But now it was time to decant him and scatter some of his ashes on the Carrick Roads. For those of you unused to Cornish ways, this is actually a river where he used to fish for oysters.

I have to say I hadn’t been looking forward to this outing, but after a delicious lunch provided by two friends, Molls and I went with them on their boat, up the river. The sky was a deep dark blue, there was just enough wind for a sail, and so many other boats out there also enjoying the Bank Holiday weather.

We halted just near the boundary between Truro Harbour and Falmouth Harbour (marked by a granite post) and Michael read Masefield’s “Sea Fever” as well as Brian Patten’s “How long does a man live?” (I knew I couldn’t speak I’d be gulping too much.) Then, checking the direction of the wind, I said, “Goodbye darling,” and emptied a tin full of Pip into the river. Andrea had bought two bunches of flowers which we threw onto the water, and with each one I shouted one of Pip’s favourite sayings – including “shoot the bastards” and his made-up German swear words.

Just then a wind caught the sails and the boat sped forwards. It was as if Pip was saying, “Come on, enough of that. Let’s go for a sail for God’s sake!”

I laughed then – it was so typical him. And as the boat gathered speed, I felt the wind in my hair, the salt on my lips and a thrill ran through me. “I see what you mean, darling,” I thought. “This is what sailing’s all about!”

So two unexpectedly good things came from that day. One – my Pip is where he should be – out on the water. And two – I can now really understand his passion for sailing. And maybe, one day, do more of it myself?

Wherever I go, it seems, Pip will be there, somewhere. Just keeping an eye on me.

Film Stars, Music and Eggs

Last Friday Molls and I set off to be film stars.

I’d had a phone call the previous week out of the blue, from a freelance film director who was doing some work for Visit Cornwall. He had read my blog and said “you have described Polly Joke so beautifully” that he wondered if I would take part in his film. Well, as any writer will tell you, those words are magic to the soul. Of course I said yes and we fixed last Friday as the date, dependent on the weather.

As luck would have it, Friday afternoon revealed skies of a perfect Wedgewood blue, streaked with mare’s tail clouds. I met Gareth in the Bowgie car park and we headed down towards the beach, him stopping to film en route. The tide was far out, so we had a clear expanse of golden sand which Molls adores, and he interviewed me by the waterline, then filmed me and Molls walking and running along the beach. We then had a paddle, walked back up to the pub and had a drink in the sunshine. Overall it was a fun afternoon and getting paid petrol money to spend the afternoon on your favourite beach, particularly if it might lead to some publicity, can’t be bad.

There have been a few disappointments recently - as there always are in life. But life is full of ups and downs and one particular disappointment could be, I am guessing, a blessing in disguise. Who knows? At the moment life has a habit of throwing the unexpected at me so I can only go with it. And enjoy what there is to enjoy. Learn from what there is to learn.

Tomorrow we start singing again having had a summer’s break, and I can’t wait. I’m off to a gig of All the Fires on Friday night (which is where I will give The Dress its first outing) then my choir are singing at a gig on Saturday afternoon in Penryn. Music is back in my life!

And dear Joe from upstairs rang this morning to say he’d been down to the pub last night and got me a dozen eggs which he had left outside my back door. “How much do I owe you?” I asked, very touched that he’d done this.

“They were a pound but I don’t want the money,” he insisted gruffly.

Recently I’ve been more aware than ever that I am incredibly lucky to have such a wonderful bunch of friends.

Good news and - A Dress....

Last Friday I went to a book launch of a walks book by a publishing company who are interested in publishing a(nother) book of my walks. I was nervous beforehand, but when I met them, got on very well and they said how much they loved my writing. You can imagine how I felt about THAT.

They’d said they were at the end of their marketing tour and would be shattered, so I offered them Rescue Remedy or brandy. “Both please!” they replied. Of course I couldn’t find any miniature brandy bottles so ended up getting a can of G&T which they left on the display table, thereby attracting more interest as the punters thought they might get a free gin.

Anyway, I left there having provisionally agreed to do a walks book with them in 2013 (subject to contract of course) and so delighted that I went into Monsoon and tried on a dress. Now, the last time I wore a dress was 12 years ago for my wedding. Before that – I can’t remember. So a dress is a big thing. And I fell in love with this one which, of course, they didn’t have in my size. But having got the bit between my teeth, I went home and ordered it online. Yes, paid good money for a dress. Me. I still can’t believe it (but then it hasn’t arrived yet).

As I sat, reeling with the tremendousness of the morning, the phone rang. Long story short, it was from the creative director of a film company making films for Visit Cornwall. He’d come across my blog while researching a beach called Polly Joke and thought my writing so beautiful, would I consider taking part in one of his films?

Well, anyone who says nice things about my writing has me for a sucker. Of course I said yes. So stunned was I, I didn’t think to ask about money though he did say he’d pay travel expenses, and we may film on Friday depending on the weather.

I was so excited I thought I’d burst, and frantically sent emails and texts. No one at home on a Friday lunchtime. So I went round the corner to see a friend, jumped up and down and had a hug and felt a lot better.

The next day I felt very strange. As if this was happening to someone else. Having been used to things not going so well, a bit of good news is very difficult to take. I’m waiting for something else to go wrong – which it did in the shape of the Times changing their mind over a piece.

But the good bits remain. And I’ve had an email to say that my dress is on its way. Quite where I shall wear this dress is a mystery. But where it I shall, if only to the pub.