Coronation Street celebrates it’s 50th birthday later this year and I must say that it seems to be aging rather better than I am. It is still relevant, topical and very funny and has some of the best writers crafting the characters and their adventures. I am always amazed that the depressing and ugly EastEnders beats Corrie each year on the awards circuit. Corrie Rules in my house.
The clip of Hayley and her bridesmaids rushing to the wedding after being uncoupled from the steam train (long story) on a Charlie Chaplin type trolley was hilarious. It was a classic scene and the sight of Hayley, looking incredibly regal, and her bedraggled bridesmaids hurtling along the rails was priceless. In last nights episodes the writers managed to mix comedy, suspense and drama and covered several themes including:
Civil Marriage –
Roy and transgender Hayley, who have being living as man and wife for over ten years are now able to formalise and celebrate their union and their wedding speeches were little gems of love and astute observation. Earlier Hayley had been reminded, by Mary the mad Wedding Czar, that she had a wealth of friends. Through gritted teeth Mary, quoting Mother Teresa said ‘The most terrible poverty is loneliness, and the feeling of being unloved. Hayley, you are a rich woman. A millionaire’ she said. My son looked up from the lap top, where he was pretending to listen to Rap on YouTube but was in reality hanging on to Mary’s every word, and asked ‘What? Has she won the lottery?’ ‘No son,’ I explained. ‘There are many different kinds of wealth’.
Bullying -
‘Ah, whispering, furtive looks – reminds me of my school days and spit on my anorak’ sighed Roy when the wedding morning surprise was being discussed by his best man and the usher.
Lesbian Love -
The writers also covered teenage love. Two pretty young girls are ‘in love’ with each other and although they have longs sessions hidden in bushes kissing they have not actually gone any further. The girls are also committed Christians (which in itself is an interesting story line) and the story of young love is being handled sensitively by the whole team. This innocent infatuation is bound to cause a scandal among the Streets more conservative residents and they were sadly ‘outted’ last night. So of course the whole subject of homophobia and parental disapproval was tackled… all before the adverts!
Jealousy -
Mary Taylor, played by Pattie Clark, is one of the best soap characters ever invented and she excelled in last nights episodes in a quietly restrained manner. Mary is given some of the best lines by the writers (there was one last week when she refused a belated invitation to join the hen party because ‘I treat myself to a fish supper every third Friday of the month. So while I enjoy my marine feast you all go ahead and enjoy your debauchery’) and she delivers them in a dead pan way that just about hides the volcano of emotions that the viewer can see bubbling away below the surface.
Lies –
A fake pregnancy. The great thing about soap secrets is they are ALWAYS found out. This one sooner that later.
Loneliness -
It is hard to believe that William Roache, who plays Ken Barlow, is 78. Yes 78! Ken has been in the soap from the very beginning and has enjoyed some of the best story lines, and the most attractive women over the years - including Joanna Lumbley and, more recently, Stephanie Beecham. For the 50th Anniversay of the soap the writers have planned even more exciting adventures for Ken. One of which has had the foundations laid over the last few episodes by the discovery (by Nosy Norris, another wonderful character, looking for a mouse) of a lost letter written 50 years ago in which Ken's first love asks that he give their relationship another chance. Having never received the letter Ken embarked on a life literally littered with women, only to end up with chain smoking, chain belt wearing dreary Deirdre. At the moment Ken and Deirdre (whose relationship would not look out of place in an episode of ‘Human Remains’) are living together but not speaking, each cocooned in their own angry, resentful lonely space. Something my own parents frequently did. For weeks at a time. To quote Germaine Greer ‘Loneliness is never more cruel than when it is felt in close propinquity with someone who has ceased to communicate’ A new word I have learnt 'propinquity'.
There are many types of loneliness. This is an interesting article about the craving for solitude:
Author Erin Kelly thought she craved isolation – until she got it -
I was born with it – a need for solitude, for space, for silence. The call of my own company, if left unanswered, grows in volume until it is louder than friendship, family and love. I have lived with many people – friends and family – and bewildered most of them by retreating to my room at 7pm to read, or just be. Alone-time is as essential to me as food or sleep, and if I don’t have it, I simply cannot cope with the tumult of everyday life. Two years ago, I was granted my heart’s desire when a friend lent me her off-grid house in a tiny town on the Suffolk coast for free. I was ecstatic: it would just be me, a cat and a pile of books for four weeks. Like a woman who convinces herself that her whole life will receive an upgrade when she shifts that last half-stone, I was sure that if only I had enough time to myself, I would be happier, better. I anticipated it as eagerly as any luxury holiday. With no telephone, Internet or television, I experienced true solitude for the first time. By the second morning I was in the grip of an odd, restless, freewheeling sensation that I was reluctant to identify as loneliness. When I began singing folk songs to the cat, it was the first sign that something wasn’t quite right.
My behaviour grew more out of character each day. Without another person to frame my time around, all structure disappeared from my life. With no one to share meals with, I either forgot to eat or forgot to stop eating. I stopped showering and started crying; the tears lasted for 48 hours. When they dried, I still wasn’t sure why I had cried them.
I don’t watch much television but I was astonished by how much I missed it. I’d been using it as a kind of companion that entertained me without demanding anything. My laziness saddened me, and brought me to phase two of my alone-time experience: self-loathing. I despaired about everything, from the size of my thighs to the heat of my temper. I had always blamed the things I didn’t like about myself on a lack of me-time. If only I had more space, I wouldn’t be so irritable. If only I didn’t have to work so hard, I could go to the gym. If I didn’t have to keep up with family and friends, I would have time to write a book and not just a few abandoned chapters. Alone in Suffolk, there was nowhere to hide. The silence wasn’t filled with peace and creativity, as I had fantasised: it was filled with insecurity, loneliness and unease. It was a wretched, desolate time. And yet something stopped me from cycling into town and picking up the phone. While my feelings were unpleasant, I had to learn from them.
One concern came round again and again, like a broken spoke on a wheel: my unwritten novel. The realisation came to me on a cycle ride along the beach and made me skid to a halt in the sand: it was easier to nurture the dream than to risk the reality.
Alone for a month, I had nowhere to hide. The silence wasn't filled with peace, as I had fantasised, but with insecurity. If I didn’t try, I could not live with myself for the remaining fortnight of my stay in Suffolk, or back home in London.
I began to commit to the page the story I had been daydreaming for years. My first keystrokes were tentative but within hours I was hooked. I had found a way of dealing with the silence that wasn’t strange or self-destructive. With the discipline of writing came a loose routine – swimming in the sea every morning, porridge for breakfast, and writing, writing, writing. At the end of the month, I felt saner than I had for years. I’ll probably always be a bit unsociable, curmudgeonly even, but the difference was that I now accepted and acknowledged it. It was liberating.
I was more tolerant of others because I had learned to tolerate myself, and keener for company because I had felt its lack. When I was reunited with my husband he couldn’t believe the change in me, and my gratitude for him. I was so pleased to see him, I followed him from room to room like a puppy. Ironically, he was desperate for some space himself, having been on the road with a theatre company for months. When he insisted on going for a walk on his own, I got a taste of what it must have been like to be close to me.
That voice which called me to solitude? I don’t listen to it much any more. Another voice came along to drown out all others. I found out that I had been pregnant with my first child since the day before I left for Suffolk (which partly explains the tears and the binge-eating). Now a spirited, enchanting toddler Marine is always with me, whether she is present or not. It will be years now before I can be alone like that again – and I don’t mind a bit. I am grateful for the experience because it taught me that you can’t live with others until you can live with yourself – and I am equally grateful that it won’t happen again.
Solitude -
Having spent a busy week last week and a weekend that was filled with people I am looking forward to some solitude this week. Yesterday morning as I was getting ready to go out my son asked how long I was going to be. 'I will be back sometime this evening' I told him 'Are you thinking of asking J round? 'No' he replied 'I just want a day to myself'.
So - What Are the Benefits of Solitude?
Freedom – the opportunity to do what you want, when you want to do it. Whether that be to curl up with a book, take a long relaxing bath or to listen to music.
Focus – the opportunity to think clearly, without interruption. The chance to write a journal or a poem.
Familiarity – with yourself. The opportunity to become more self aware.
And the risks? Maybe becoming selfish, unsocial and unapproachable. To become too self absorbed and, ultimately, lonely.
Finding that once you have got to know yourself you don't like who you are.
Depression?
The secret is balance.
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