Photo:Our daughter's collection of Strictly Come Dancing annuals. She's not messing about.
Readers, consider this your warning: I am currently working on a series of posts about a TV show and that show is Strictly Come Dancing. It’s not a show I chose to watch in the beginning (2004!). Back then it was my Mum’s choice, my daughter’s choice, but I have been watching it for 18 years now so, like it or not, it has been a huge feature of my life (Oct-Dec every year anyway). In the UK they are up to series 20 and I have watched all but one of those series (and a bit of other countries’ series here and there). I know there’s a lot of other things going on right now (some of them really important) and that this is some more fiddling while we burn ... and yet, I’m still writing the posts (currently up to 2011). Like that character in The Red Shoes, I can’t seem to help myself
Also, because I am evidently now addicted to the post-something-every-day format that I have picked up from being involved in the Fun A Day Dundee project for the past few years (and because there is no Fun A Day Dundee project this coming January), I will be posting a piece a day for 21 days. Each post will be about a series of Strictly with info about the show, the time period when each show took place and also some memories of what the family and I were up to at the time (I keep a diary, without it I’m nothing). I hope some of you will enjoy the posts and I know others will avoid them like the plague. Whatever, it’ll all be here, starting on Sunday 27 November and with the last post on the day of this year’s Strictly final, Saturday 17 December. It’s madness (see last post) but you might like it.
This blog mainly serves as a record of things I have written. At times it can feel like that record is just for me but even if that is the case this blog is still serving a purpose of some kind so I keep at it. Plus a blog is a lot easier to manage than all the boxes and books and piles of paper that other writing involves (though, obviously, I still have lots of those too…). Today’s post, however, is less about writing and more about pictures as the thing I am recording here is that some artwork I did in 2020 will be part of the Out of Sight Out of Mind exhibition this month at Summerhall in Edinburgh. The artwork is being displayed in a record box (suitably enough, see above). There are full exhibition details at the end of the post. As of 19th October you can see it all online (here).
This is the tenth year there has been an Out of Sight Out of Mind event in Edinburgh and, according to its website, this exhibition: “presents artworks made by people, and it is organised by people, who have lived experience of mental health issues”. You can read this article in The Scotsman about the exhibition too. I’d never heard of it before this year (I don’t get to Edinburgh that often) but when I saw the call for submissions it kind of called out to me. I had been wondering what to do with the visual art I made for the Fun A Day Dundee (FADD)* project in January 2020 and this seemed a possible place for it. I had put a bit of work, money and time into getting that work ready for the FADD 2020 exhibition but the event ended up online due to Covid. I came up with other plans for the online show in 2020 (like this video) but I really wanted the physical pieces I’d prepared to do something other than just sit in a cupboard.
Some of you may remember it from 2020 but this work is made up of 31 illustrated words – each one about the size of a 7-inch single – and the words also make up a poem (a little piece about making art, being involved, keeping yourself going – a few simple words with some big ambitions). I have made copies of the poem for the exhibition too. The poem had to be 31 words (with no repeated words) and I wrote it at the end of December 2019.
Each word’s illustration relates to songs or artists that feature the word in question (and there’s a full list of all those music references online hereand in the back of the record box in the exhibition). I had the illustrations ready to go up on a wall in 2020 (the way you’d see record sleeves up on a record shop wall) but that takes a lot of space so for this Edinburgh exhibition they are on show in a record box. I was an avid record collector as a young person (and then a DJ and a record shop worker in my 20s) so I’ve flicked through a lot of records in my time. In this format (I suppose you can call it an installation) you can flick through the pictures in the record box to get that record shop/DJ/vinyl collector experience (even though there is no actual vinyl in the sleeves). I don’t know how long the words will stay in order (and it doesn’t really matter either way) but I had quite a lot of fun doing the work so I hope other people can get some enjoyment from viewing it too. I’ve never really been a visual artist before.
I did deliberate for a while about whether to send the work off to this particular exhibition. I wasn’t sure to what extent I would identify myself as someone with ‘lived experience of mental health issues’ (though, undoubtedly, I am that). I don’t mention my issues often these days (they are mainly anxiety-related matters, quite a long list of restrictions, something of a personal lockdown at times...). They haven’t gone away – I’ve just got bored of hearing myself talk about them and so I try my best to get on with what I can when I can and not give myself too much of a hard time about it. I know there are people with more challenging, life-altering problems than mine (mental, physical, financial) so I just get on with my version of life as well as I can. A lot of it is pretty dull but I get a lot of help. I don’t always sleep well and that always makes everything seem worse (this week being particularly bad on that score, Covid-related mainly).
I have written about anxiety a bit in the past (a post back here on an earlier blog about my very first panic attack in about 1991) but I’m not going to go into a lot of detail this time. I would say I’ve never ‘beaten’ panic/anxiety exactly (and I did try pretty much everything), but I think I have mostly accepted it, accepted the failing if you like, and some days it affects my life more, others less. We can spend a lot of time trying to be perfect (or appear perfect) in so much of our lives, so I think, on the whole, that the admission of a big, stinking imperfection is a healthy move.
There are lots of reasons I feel this way but I suppose one of them is definitely connected to my Dad’s suicide (for new readers this is very old news, 1973 to be exact). Having had this (and other challenges) in her life my Mum was all about everyone living the best life possible. She wanted everyone to find the people and paths that made them happy and she did everything she could to enable that for as many people as possible (I guess that is what made her happy). Of course enabling happiness doesn’t mean everyone necessarily finds it – happiness can be a complicated concept – but it was still a strong example to set. She was also a very anxious person and in that at least I am quite like her. She was born and grew up in Edinburgh so I am pleased to have a link to her for this event too.
This personal history of a major mental health-related loss means that mental health issues can’t help but be large in my field of vision too. I see lots of things in mental health terms. I read a lot of articles and books about mental health (changing attitudes and theories) and it is an everchanging business. People are often looking for that one, big answer but I think the truth is probably more like lots of little answers (plus a good standard of living for all – hard to do anything without that basic). Also I’ve always been interested in people on the edge of things in general and people with mental health issues often fall into that camp (not necessarily out of choice).
With all this in mind, I’m looking forward to seeing all the work in the exhibition (I’ll be getting there at the end of the month hopefully). Who and what will my little record box be hanging out with for these couple of weeks in Edinburgh? Let me know if you get there before me.
The exhibition (Out of Sight Out of Mind) is open 12-30 October (12-6pm every day) at Summerhall (1 Summerhall, Newington, Edinburgh EH9 1PL). An online version of the exhibition starts on 19 October. I know there’s a lot else going on in the world but this event is free and features the work of over 200 other people so even if you don’t like my contribution you might find something else that does interest you (on or offline).
*Fun A Day Dundee (FADD) has been running since 2011 and anyone can take part (you don’t even have to be local to Dundee). It involves doing something creative every day in January, sharing your work online (if you want) and taking part in an exhibition later on in the year. Dundee’s is not the only Fun A Day project – the first one was in Philadelphia, USA and there are quite a few others. The organisation Fun A Day Dundee is having a year off in January 2023 but will be back in January 2024.
Boris Johnson’s term as UK Prime Minister ends tomorrow. Has he been the worst leader the UK has ever known (partly by doing so very little leading)? There has been some tough competition but he’s definitely in the running.
I haven’t written many poems this year and of the ones I have written a couple are here on the blog and the rest are mainly wee ones on Twitter (seen by very few). There are so many crises that poetry feels a bit pathetic (the loudest crises this week being Pakistan/climate, Ukraine/war and the UK/cost of living). Still, I post the poem here as some kind of record. We stumble on, for now. We keep fighting.
The Port of Dundee for Pauline – a one-woman scene and a Dundee queen
In the port of Dundee we had Pauline who sang
Of the dreams of a world that she so longed to see,
In the port of Dundee she was a true rebel queen,
While the river just whirled and lapped at the quay.
In the port of Dundee Pauline shone as she danced,
Her bursting blue eyes with their carnival light.
She lived on the fringe, had the devil’s own grin,
We think of her days - what a dame, what a knight.
In the port of Dundee with its fast-changing beat,
She readied a ship, gave so many their sails,
She took to the Woodlands to carve out a tune,
To open up doors, to bite off the moon.
And her strong angel wings were full and so wide
That she wrapped us, like children, all neat there inside,
And she learned the right words and she soared way up high,
Because the best kind of queens, they know how to fly.
In the port of Dundee she cooked up a spell,
Made chances, took turns, dressed up and played well.
And the rains of her life may at times have been hard,
But this queen was full flesh, not a dry royal card.
And today we’ll remember and pass round her crown,
We'll tell all her tales, maybe write a few down.
We’ve pride and we’ve joy, that we all know her name,
We clapped for her, cheered for her, moths to her flame.
In the port of Dundee taste our fat onion tears,
Pint after pint for the toasts that we raise,
We'll cry and then laugh at this strange cabaret,
For this world can break hearts but also amaze.
Her reign was bright red and dripping with fun,
She's somewhere backstage, she's not really gone.
Let's look to the sky, see our queens up above,
And raise all our glasses, and sing them our love.
For this queen of Dundee,
For this queen of Dundee.
RF 2022
(audio of the poem here, video from the event at the end of the post)
Today there is an event in Dundee and Arbroath to celebrate the life of Pauline Meikleham (also known as Pauline M. Hynd, and Dubiety Brown of The Onion Club). Pauline died last summer at the age of 57 and her death was a shock for many reasons, partly because she was so full of life and ideas and creativity. She was an amazing singer, a powerful presence, a kind of beacon for the weird and wonderful. In the last decade or so she had mostly appeared as part of the duo The Onion Club with fellow Dundonian musician Stephen Lee (there’s a good 2018 interview with her about that project here). She was also a tireless and generous promoter. I mainly knew her through gigs and performances and I wrote a little about that side of her life back in January of this year (in amongst a piece about another musician here). It was a few years ago now but she played at an event I organised in Edinburgh in 2008 and also I read poems (and even sang, with help) at a couple of events that she organised (in Dundee 2008 and 2009 and in Arbroath 2013). We met again here and there over the years and she was always up to something interesting. She had many, many friends and admirers and was also a much loved mother, daughter and sister. She was a mighty big force in the “mighty little old town*” of Dundee (and beyond).
For the event today I thought I’d try to write a poem for Pauline. I started working on it a few months ago and as I watched videos of her performances I was struck in particular by The Onion Club’s version of Port of Amsterdam.
This song was first written in French by Jacques Brel, translated later for a show by Mort Shuman, and performed in English by David Bowie. Pauline and Stephen were both huge Bowie and Brel fans and so this was a perfect song for them. Dundee, of course, is also a port so I started reworking the words, using Port of Amsterdam as a template. I’ve always liked reworking songs, it gives you a place to start and in this case it means the finished piece has strong links to its subject. Pauline was a musical wonder and a cabaret queen in the widest sense of both of those words. There has been a lot of talk of queens this summer but I have no time for the tired old sovereigns, rolling about in their palaces whilst folk can’t afford to heat up their humbler homes or even boil their kettles. Real queens like Pauline, on the other hand, are people who deserve our love and admiration and I’m happy be their poet laureate any day of the week.
And in that spirit please accept and enjoy my poem for Pauline (at the top of this post, video below). She is much missed. She made a magnificent mark.
* With thanks to Michael Marra and General Ulysses S. Grant for these words about Dundee. I think most people reading this will know about Michael Marra but for anyone who doesn’t I wrote about him, his work and, in particular, his song General Grant’s Visit to Dundee, in January (here).
I have posted pictures of this painting on social media this week but those places all move quickly, and blogs a little less so, so I’m posting it here too. This is a painting of our daughter and my mum from a photo taken in 2006 (when we lived at the address I wrote about back here). The painting is called ‘Heather and Margaret’ and is the work of our very talented artist friend Scott Henriksen.
The positive reactions to this painting so far online have been exactly what it deserves – it is an amazing piece. It totally captures the relationship between these two people and how relaxed they were with each other – the simple, uncluttered love of people who are either too young or too old to give a damn about the nonsense that fills up so much of our lives. Living in a multi-generational home has its challenges (my mum lived with the three of us for last six years of her life, 2004-2010) but the benefits for everyone can be huge too.
Next week there will be new photos because that little girl (now 22) graduates from university (and ‘university’, as anyone who knew her would recognise, was possibly my mum’s favourite word, well up there with ‘sherry’ and ‘cake’ – she’d had a tough start and took no prisoners regarding the odd bit of snobbery and unadulterated enjoyment in her old age). Also, just as Margaret would have been, we are very proud of Heather, marvellous young woman that she is, even if the complications of life and parenting sometimes make that hard for her to feel or believe. The past few years have been a weird time to be a student, it’s affected a lot of her favourite things and given her far too much time with her tiresome parents, but she’s made it through to the other side and who knows what’s next? Whatever it is, big grandma-style hugs to you, best girl, and much cluttered and uncluttered love xxx
I did think I might do more on the blog this year but since my last post (a poem just after the start of Russia’s attack on Ukraine) I’ve had nothing to offer here (though I’ve had a couple of false starts). I’ve been posting pics and things on Instagram (where I have some good interactions) and Twitter (where I have very little) but a blog post (for me) is more of an undertaking. What have you got to say that needs this space? What needs more than the 280 characters for Twitter or the tiny Insta slots (that many people won’t read anyway – it being more about the images)? In the past couple of months the answer to that has been nothing special. I follow the news. I follow lots of campaigners and other writers and musicians and artists and see what they are doing and saying. I get on with my own day jobs and family responsibilities and float about like a pretty useless, dirty old feather in the wind. I have absolutely not been writing any poems; I’m barely writing my diary just now. Instead, like most of us with our ever-present cameras (via phones), I take photos, grab memories, look at them again and again to remind myself of good things and good times (even just that cup of tea in the sunshine, that feisty flower growing out of the pavement). I’m not a person who talks about things like ‘being grounded’ but I suppose that’s what they do for me. It’s something like that.
Also it’s a difficult contrast that, with wars and struggles still ongoing in so many places, it has turned to spring here and that’s very welcome. There are colours and new life all around and that feels so mighty. I’ve been reading some great books, listening to some lovely music (some old, some new, see above). I have been lucky enough to get out a bit and been to a couple of exhibitions and shows with our daughter. It’s a small life – but what else would it be?
What to say about Ukraine? Should we say anything? Should we just listen? Ukraine is not a country I know (though of course we’re all getting to know it pretty well just now – its leader, its fighters, right down to the young child singing Let it go in the bomb shelter). Even if we sit fairly far away, this feels like a pretty instant war as it streams right to us, many tweets at a time. I’ve been doing the same as many of you – giving goods and funds and then trying to remember that other places and causes still need support too (and get forgotten when a major event like this happens and fills our news and minds). It’s still important to keep supporting work elsewhere, and to support work happening nearer to home too. So much to do, to think about.
I've never been to Ukraine but, in this particular conflict, the aggressor is a country I do know a little about and therefore it is Russia that I have found myself thinking and writing about in recent days. I studied Russian (with very little dedication) in the 1980s (language, history and literature). I also went to the USSR (Moscow and, what was then, Leningrad) a couple of times at around the same time. For the first trip I went to study Russian for a couple of weeks in 1987 (I was 20). The second time I was working as a tour ‘guide’, accompanying a group of North American teenagers and their teachers for a week or so in 1989. The ‘guide’ is in quotes because really my dashing Soviet colleague (a Natasha, I think, lots of blue eye shadow) did most of the guiding whilst I answered questions about hairdryers, translated the food, listened to complaints about the food. All the photos in this post are from my 1987 USSR visit. I had no time for photography the second time (and obviously no camera phone back then). My memory of the second trip is just running all the time (it was a cheapskate company, Swedish I think, so everything was late or badly organised and this led to situations like all fifty of us running through an airport in Paris from our bus drop-off to the plane).
In 1988 I had the chance to spend more time in the USSR (a few months studying in the chosen Soviet town of Voronezh, I think it was) but the couple of weeks in ’87 had been enough and I declined. It was so grim and the people were so sad and bored and hopeless (and my other language was Spanish – some much more inviting locations). I am currently reading Cal Flynn’s Islands of Abandonment: Life in the Post-HumanLandscape and one of the places visited in this book is modern-day Chernobyl. This led me to reread a 2019 article in The New Yorker by Masha Gessen about the difference between the TV show Chernobyl and the reality. In the NY piece the line “Resignation was the defining condition of Soviet life” jumped right out. I had seen bleak before (the North East of England in the ’80s wasn’t exactly the golden age of anything) but still, there was so little joy in the air in the USSR. I remember the public toilets were brilliant – plentiful and clean. It’s not exactly the stuff of dreams.
Over the years I followed changes in the USSR and then Russia from afar. To be honest, I haven’t wanted to rush back (and my Russian is very faint) but I’ve watched news and features, and documentaries where Scottish comedians or English actresses go out there and try to see what on earth Russia is all about. I’ve read long articles and threads about Putin and Pussy Riot and Russian influence and Russian money, about Syria and Russia, Facebook and Russia, Trump and Russia, Westminster and Russia. In particular I’ve read everything I’ve seen lately about Russians protesting this war on Ukraine. I know protesting there (like in so many places) is very difficult but I hope protests continue and grow and have some effect. I know the Russian authorities have long been good at keeping things from their people (many governments do this of course, if not all) but I’ve read that younger Russians are VPN-ready and seeing media from elsewhere too. I know most poems right now will be written about Ukraine – about loss and bravery, about hardship and pride – and many of them will be brilliant poems that will fill anthologies in the years to come. Still, I send this one out to Russia, to ordinary Russian people. Most of us have so little power but we have to do something. To better times.
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