'Solitude vivifies; isolation kills' Joseph Roux

Corrie and Loneliness and Solitude

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.

Reasons to be Single

Human Remains


Somehow I missed this when it was first aired 10 years ago but today, flicking through BT Vision, I came across this excellent dark comedy written by Rob Brydon and Julia Davis. (Note an early young 'Nessa')



Although a very black comedy the series is well made and funny and showcases Brydons and Davis' huge talent and versatility.

My friend Wiki says:

Human Remains (2000) was a BBC television comedy series consisting of six episodes written by and starring Rob Brydon (from Marion and Geoff) and Julia Davis (who later found fame in Nighty Night).

Each edition documented the relationship of a different couple, all of whom were played by Brydon and Davis and all but two of whom were extremely unhappy, in the style of a fly on the wall documentary. The series ran to critical acclaim.

A black comedy, much of the show’s humour derived from very bleak ideas and situations. Domestic violence, chronic depression and death all feature prominently throughout the six episodes. Julia Davis later used some of these themes in her solo project, Nighty Night.

The 'two couples' that weren't unhappy were, I would say, a touch mad - so all in all the series is not one that promotes marriage. Or relationships. Or love. Human Remains is a hilarious concoction of despair, madness, perversion and I suppose - hope. Bryson and Davis are great character actors and their timing is spot on.

The theme music 'Don't Want to Know' by John Martyn is a haunting sound.

And I don't want to know about evil
Only want to know about love
I don't want to know about evil
Only want to know about love.



I love stumbling on wonderful new things to watch and marvel at and being introduced to musical talent that has somehow passed me by, although I have heard many cover versions of Martyn's 'May You Never' including this Clapton cover:

You're just like a great strong brother of mine
And you know that I love you true
And you never talk dirty behind my back
And I know that there's those that do.



Wonderful stuff.

Flirtations

I thought I had lost my flirt and this concerned me so much that I looked up ‘Flirting’ on Wikipedia.

Wikipedia, says on flirting, the following:

Flirting is a common form of social interaction whereby one person obliquely indicates a romantic or sexual interest towards another. It can consist of conversation, body language, or brief physical contact. It may be one-sided or reciprocated (encouraged) with intentions of getting to know that person on a higher level. Flirting may involve speaking and acting in a way that suggests greater intimacy than is generally considered appropriate to the relationship (or to the amount of time the two people have known each other), without actually saying or doing anything that breaches any serious social norms. This may be accomplished by communicating a sense of playfulness or irony. Double entendres, with one meaning more formally appropriate and another more suggestive, may be used. While some of the subconscious signs are universal across cultures, flirting etiquette varies significantly across cultures which can lead to misunderstandings. There are differences in how closely people should stand (proxemics), how long to hold eye contact, and so forth.

Wikipedia goes on to list the types of flirting which is useful as I was able to check in minute detail if my flirt had really disappeared.

TYPES OF FLIRTING

1. Eye contact, batting eyelashes, staring, winking, etc. (batting? batting? I flutter mine occasionally and only ever ever wink at humans under the age of two.)
2. "Protean" signals, such as touching one's hair. (hands up to this one but I am sure it is just a habit and it has nothing to do with flirting)
3. Giggling, or laughing encouragingly at any slight hint of intimacy in the other's behavior. (hmmm, I am always laughing. But that is because most of my friends are very funny, and intimacy covers quite a lot of human interaction)
4. Casual touches; such as a woman gently touching a man's arm during conversation. (I keep touching my friend Gs leg but that is because the booths at work are very small and he is a big guy. I also try to touch C a lot as we are trying to encourage her to be tactile!)
5. Smiling suggestively (I smile a lot but suggestively? what does that look like? I suppose it's in the eyes and not the mouth.)
6. Sending notes, poems, or small gifts (is this flirting? Sharing thoughts, ideas and experiences or treating a friend to a little gift is surely just friendship?)
7. Flattery (regarding beauty, sexual attractiveness). (I do this all the time, to both men and women. But is that flirting? I just want some people to feel good about themselves.)
8. Online chat, texting and other one-on-one and direct messaging services (I have not done this for a long long time and when I did I never considered it flirting. Flirting suggests an innocence that I never had when I engaged in this activity)
9. Footsie, a form of flirtation in which people use their feet to play with each others' feet. This generally takes place under a table or in bed while rubbing feet. Participants often remove their shoes and play barefoot; however, it can also be played in socks, or wearing shoes. (I have NEVER done this. They may not have nice feet)
10. Teasing (I have never been able to tease.)
11. Staging of "chance" encounters (Isn’t this stalking as opposed to flirting?)
12. Imitating of behaviors, e.g. taking a drink when the other person takes a drink, changing posture as the other does, etc. (This is an unconsious one, maybe I do this. But if you admire someone you may imitate their behaviour without meaning to flirt. I will have to check this one out.)
13. Coyness, affectedly shy or modest, marked by cute, coquettish, or artful playfulness, e.g. pickup lines. (I blush… what can I say.)
14. Giving flying Kisses. (This is also something I only do to humans under a certain age.)
15. Singing love songs in presence of the Girl/Boy. (I would NOT do this if I wanted to attract someone! My voice would have the totally opposite effect from flirting.)
16. Maintaining very short distance during casual talking. (I am not comfortable with people ‘in my space’…unless it is in a booth of course)

From this list I am able to deduce that I haven’t actually lost my flirt. I have never actually had a flirt in the first place. This is a relief as, along with being responsible for the occasional loss of memory (what was I going to write today?), I thought the ‘change’ may have taken away my ability to flirt.

So that's alright then.

'I've Heard'

I’ve heard -
Some people can hear the colour of a word
Some say they can even taste the sound

I’ve heard
Some people can hear music in a single word
Some say they can even see them dance

I’ve heard
Some people hear words that act as anchors
Some say they keep them safe

I’ve heard
Some people hear words that propel them
Some say they can even make them fly

I’ve heard
Some people hear words that act like kites
Some say they can give them life.

Anchors And Propellers….And Kites

Anchors are the words and phrases that help keep you grounded:

‘Look before you leap.’

Propellers are the words and phrases that inspire you to leap into the unknown:

‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’

And Kites? Kites are the ideal strings of words. The words and phrases that comfort, replenish, invigorate and inspire. Words that are uttered to you by others that impel you to venture into adventures of the mind and body but, at the same time, offer you the comfort of a safe haven.

Cherish your Kite flyers.

Rat Diary: Biting the Bullet

Rat Diary: Biting the Bullet

Biting the Bullet

Last week I watched a documentary called ‘Stolen Brides’. It s a shame that this excellent documentary had this tabloid type name which sensationalised the programme in a way that did not reflect the seriousness of the subject. How can the atrocities that are carried out against women still happening in 2010? In a week where, in Britain, as huge fuss was being made about the small number of women who are CEOs of major companies, this programme revealed the Chechen ‘tradition’ of kidnapping women of the street and forcing them into marriage. The mobile phone footage of women being dragged off the street was shocking. On the surface it appeared to be absolutely horrifying but the truly horrifying thing is how, a few months down the line, these women all reported that they were now happy about the situation. What does that say about the opportunities for women in the former Eastern Block? What was really scary was the footage of dead prostitutes scattered on wasteland and filmed by a female human rights activist, who a couple of weeks after taking part in the programme, was found dead, shot in head, execution style. The security force that surrounds the President of the country, a thuggish man in his late 20s, is suspected of responsibility for these atrocities.

There were, for me, similarities with another documentary that I watched a few weeks ago, ‘My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding’. Both programmes showed women, dressed in full bridal regalia, looking terrified and trapped – about to marry a man/boy they had only met once or twice and had never spent any time alone with. Both wedding parties were strictly segregated on a gender basis, the male elders meeting to discuss matters of importance, and then – for the teenagers – dancing and the chance for the males to identify possible future brides. The one difference is at least the gypsy brides were in the same room as their intended as they made their vows. The Chechen brides had to cover their bridal veil and gown with a blanket as they said their vows as the Imam declared their vows would not be pure unless ‘they were covered up’. Their grooms were in a different room. And as far as I know the gypsy brides did not have to suffer the indignity of having to succumb to a exorcism for having the cheek to resist the prospect of marrying some bloke who has dragged you off the street as you were minding your own business and had only popped out to buy some tea bags.

'Exorcisms' performed on Chechen stolen brides By Lucy Ash

A woman who was stolen for marriage a few years ago receives an exorcism to treat her depression. Dozens of cars were parked outside. Crowds thronged the pavement, desperate to get through the metal gates. In the courtyard women were filling plastic bottles and Jerry cans with water blessed by the imam. As I took off my shoes, I noticed a marble plaque on the wall:

"There is no illness which Allah cannot cure".

Inside, huddles of families were camped out on sofas. There were many tearful faces. Men paced up and down. It might have been an ordinary hospital waiting room until a girl started shrieking and contorting. A man scooped her up and carried her off into a room off the landing. Spine-chilling yells came from behind the frosted glass door but nobody turned a hair. Gradually they were stifled by incantations from the Koran. Most of the patients here are young women and many have suffered breakdowns after being forced into marriage. They are brought to be exorcised and turned into Chechen-style Stepford Wives. The Centre for Islamic Medicine is an imposing red brick mansion near the centre of Grozny. It was once the headquarters of the Chechen warlord Shamil Basayev - Russia's number one enemy and the man who masterminded the school hostage siege in Beslan in 2004. Like many buildings in the Chechen capital, the centre has been expensively renovated. Two wars for independence from Russia reduced Grozny to rubble.

Turning a blind eye

Since the ceasefire, the Kremlin has bankrolled a reconstruction programme and the main street, renamed Putin Avenue, is now unrecognisable with its pavement cafes, designer shops and sushi bars. But Ramzan Kadyrov, President of this once-rebel republic in southern Russia, has also built an extensive Muslim infrastructure. It includes one of the world's biggest mosques, religious schools and an Islamic university. The medical centre is run by Kadyrov's personal doctor. In its first year, it claimed to have cured more than 60,000 people suffering from "psycho-neurological diseases".

Centre for Islamic Medicine

After 15 years of fighting, there is no shortage of traumatised people in Chechnya.
Mr Kadyrov once fought the Russians but is now their key ally in keeping a lid on the insurgency in the North Caucasus. In return, the Kremlin turns a blind eye to allegations of torture and violence committed by his personal militia. Kadyrov routinely denies these. His officials also deny that the Chechen leader puts Islamic law above Russian law. But in practice Kadyrov has a free hand to impose his own version of what he calls "traditional Chechen Islam". Imams deemed disloyal to the regime are summarily dismissed. Gangs of men dressed in black, from his newly-opened Centre for Spiritual and Moral Education, roam the streets lecturing passers-by about the evils of alcohol and the right kind of Islam. Young men accused of siding with rebel fighters have disappeared from their beds at night never to be seen again. Their relatives have been arrested and their homes burned to the ground.

Bride stealings

Women too are targeted by Mr Kadyrov's reforms. Mullah Alvi investigates whether a 17-year-old girl was stolen or chose to go to her new husband. In 2007, in violation of Russian law, he issued an edict banning women and girls without a headscarf from schools, universities and other public buildings. Since June, unidentified men with paintball guns have driven round the centre of Grozny shooting at girls with uncovered heads. On state television, Mr Kadyrov said he did not know who was responsible for the attacks but added: "When I find them, I will express my gratitude."

When I met the Chechen president in the capital's football stadium last summer, he told me: "Women are so much more interesting when they are covered up." Officials nearby smiled awkwardly as Kadyrov boasted that Chechen men can take "second, third and fourth wives" and that polygamy, illegal in Russia, was the best way to revive his war-ravaged republic. According to some estimates, one in five Chechen marriages begins when a girl is snatched off the street and forced into a car by her future groom and his accomplices. The internet is full of videos of these "bride stealings" set to romantic music. More often than not, the girl is pressured into marrying her kidnapper to preserve family honour and avoid triggering a blood feud. Some are resigned to their fate and make a surprising success of their marriages. For others, that is far from the case.

Lipkhan Bazaeva, who runs an organisation called Women's Dignity, says brides are often brought in by mothers-in-law who believe the girl is possessed by evil spirits or "genies". "Just imagine - her son has stolen a girl he liked and married her. What they want is a nice, quiet, hard-working woman in the house, not someone who's feeling down from the moment she wakes up and who's hysterical in the evening. So they take them to the mullah."

Mullah Mairbek Yusupov is a small bearded man dressed in a green surgeon-style top and skull-cap. He appeared pleasant enough to me, softly spoken, until I saw him at work. The patient was lying blindfolded on her back, wearing a long, flowery robe. Mairbek began yelling verses from the Koran into her ear and beating her with a short stick.

"She feels no pain," he said. "We beat the genie and not the patient."

The woman, probably in her early twenties, was writhing on the bed: "Shut up! Leave me alone," she growled. Mairbek claimed this strange voice belonged to the genie possessing her. He shouted back: "Take your claws out of this woman. Aren't you ashamed? Go on! Leave her body like you did last time, through her toe." With a deadpan expression, Mairbek explained that the genie inside the girl was 340 years old. He was not a Muslim - he was a Russian man called Andrei and he had fallen in love with his victim. The genie was so jealous that he made her leave her husband. "It was a tough case," he added. This was already the seventh time he had treated this patient. Later I spoke to the girl's aunt, who had also watched the exorcism. She said her niece was stolen at the age of 16 and had since been through two divorces."She wants to be alone all the time," she sighed. "She doesn't want to talk or see anyone and nothing makes her happy." The girl's despairing family were hoping doctors at the Centre could turn her into an obedient wife so they could marry her off again.

A few days later I met Marryat, another patient. She had been stolen for marriage but found her kidnapper was already married to somebody else. Now she is convinced that his first wife put a curse on her in the form of two genies. When she split from her husband, Marryat had to give up her baby son. According to Chechen traditions, after divorce children are raised by the husband and in-laws. Former wives almost never get custody despite their rights under Russian law. It is considered shameful to go to court. I asked Mairbek if he always blamed the genies for marital breakdown. Perhaps, I suggested, some women are traumatised by being abducted and forced into marriage or by losing their children? Mairbek was dismissive.

"We have so many young girls with these problems. I had a patient today whose genie tells her she should divorce, that her husband doesn't love her; that she shouldn't stay in an unhappy marriage for the sake of the children."

"But that's just the genie trying to get its own way and we have to put a stop to that," he said.

Whatever I felt about his methods, Mairbek did not strike me as a sadistic man.
I was struck by the readiness of patients and relatives alike to accept the treatment, and even to come back for more. The therapy is a way of making them accept, or at least deal with, what has happened. But, it is most of all, an expression of their powerlessness. The tragedy of these women is that they have nowhere else to go.

Thank fuck my daughter lives in a country, and in a culture, where only a minority of women get to be in charge of big businesses. It could be worse.