Yo ho ho

It's easy to get so caught up in the craziness of Christmas that you forget what's important to you.

 

For some, Christmas is about the religious festival. For others, it's about spending time with family and friends. For many, it can be a time of loneliness as it feels as though the rest of the world is partying when you feel you have nothing to celebrate.

 

I think it's a chance to take stock, to think about what's happened since you last celebrated Christmas and decide if you're happy with how the year has panned out.

 

Have you appreciated those around you? Been grateful that you have loved ones who share your world? Have you given back some of the joy and luck you've received?

 

Or have you been too caught up the everyday hassles of work and home life?

 

I know I am very lucky that I have writing as my way of escaping the frustrations of life. I can enter a different world and the pressures of the everyday are forgotten. Once the pressure has dissipated, I seem to be more aware of  how lucky I am, to be blessed with a partner, family and friends who are there for me.

 

I hope you get the chance to take five minutes out of your busy December schedule to count your blessings and be thankful for what you have.

 

Wishing you all a very happy and peaceful Christmas.

Ten things that reconnect me with my younger self

There are some things that make me feel the same as I did when I was young and when I say young, I mean between the age of nine and thirteen. The sight, smell or thought instantly reconnects me to the child that still lives within.

Here are some of my time shift experiences:

1.       The smell of just-cut grass. I know for a lot of people smelling new-mown grass is a positive experience as it reminds them of summer holidays and sunshine, but for me it fills me with the dread of school sports. Somehow it’s easier to fake sporting capability in winter; you can just whack anything that comes into range with your hockey stick. With athletics and tennis, there’s no place to hide.

2.       Love Hearts. I can’t eat a packet of Love Hearts without remembering the joy of getting a sweet with a message that meant I was going to be with the love of my life.  Even if all the sweet said was that I was cute, it still made me feel better. And still makes me feel better now.

3.       Rubik’s cube. Every time I see the cube, I still remember some of the moves to get the colours to line up. Not all of them, though. Just enough to make me realise I’m not interested in solving it, the same as I felt when I saw all the true nerds clicking away at it.

4.       Conkers. I may be nearly fifty but the sight of a fresh conker on the ground still makes my heart soar, thinking I’ve found the one that no-one else can conquer. Nowadays, my prize conker will just sit on a shelf for a few months before my unsentimental side throws it away during a de-cluttering session. But there’s always next autumn.

5.       The Two Ronnies. If I catch a glimpse of one of their programmes on Gold, it transports me back to Saturday nights in front of the telly. When there were only three channels but somehow there was still more to watch than there is today. And the whole family would sit and watch. And we’d all be laughing at the same things. Happy days.

6.       Top Trumps. Seeing a pack of Top Trumps takes me back to playing the game with my brothers. The only pack we had was about motorcycles. Most of the facts meant nothing to me (I still don’t know what a Wankel rotary engine is). I guess it was special because I could play the game with my elder brothers. Not many games went across the gender and age boundary.

7.       Christmas Radio Times. A highlight of advent (along with watching John Noakes make a pig’s ear of building an advent crown out of tinsel and coat hangers). The anticipation of what would be on the telly over the Christmas holidays has never left me. And it’s only 165 sleeps till Christmas 2015 J

8.       A pile of Lego. While I admit to buying Lego kits, they’re not as much fun as a pile of random Lego without instructions. I’m sure the pile we had at home only had a few windows as the special items, so I only ever built a house, but the hours of fun from that plastic bag full of plastic was magical.

9.       Multi-coloured biros – did you know they still make biros that have four inks? You flick down the little switch and suddenly it’s a red pen, then a blue one, then a green one, then a black one. Genius. And I felt like I was such a hip kid when I whipped mine out of my pencil case. Still do, actually.

10.    Fairy Liquid. Trust me, if you ever want to be transported back to childhood, just use original Fairy Liquid. The smell takes you back to a time when your Mum made up bubble mixture instead of buying it. Of course, if the ratio of water to Fairy wasn’t right, it didn’t make bubbles. But it was great fun trying.

Why not take a moment to reconnect with your younger self today? I reckon it’s some of the best therapy going.  

Jane

Crisis? What Crisis?

At the age of 49, I’m probably overdue my mid-life crisis. So I pondered whether that meant I was having the opposite of a crisis. But what is the opposite of crisis? The thesaurus offers a plethora of choices - advantage, agreement, benefit, blessing, breakthrough, happiness, miracle, peace, solution, success - but none quite hit the spot for me.

The word crisis comes from the Greek term “krisis” which in 1425 meant the turning point of a disease. So in a mid-life crisis, the disease must be life. And the turning point is presumably when you look back at your life and realise there’s more behind you than in front of you. So I suppose I am past that point.

Don’t get me wrong – there are some things about being older that make me a bit grumpy.  I have what people call laughter lines but nothing is that funny. The brain connections don’t always fire an answer into my head as quick as I want them to. And I am less tolerant than I was (which probably wasn’t that tolerant to start with). But I think crisis is exaggerating the carrier bag of emotions that comes with ageing.

Mostly I just feel very lucky to be where I am, both in work and outside of work, surrounded by special people who make the days better.  

So perhaps I’ll have a mid-life thanksgiving instead. Turkey, anyone?

Jane

Election and Selection

I am sure I am not the only person who is a little jaded by both the election coverage on the television and the endless leaflets being dropped through the front door. Though I think every person should take an interest and ought to vote, when the messages from all the politicians are so negative, it’s hard to be enthused.

My political interest was prodded by the news that Sandi Toksvig was planning to set up a political party but I was dismayed when I heard that it wouldn’t be ready until the next election and further disappointed when I heard the name of the new party. It’s going to be called the Women’s Equality Party. Isn’t that an oxymoron? I love the idea of a party that fights for equality but how can you only fight for equality for half the world? An Equality Party – that fights for equal pay for all – would be fighting for the same end as one that fights for equal pay for women. And if you care about equality, why not fight for equality in areas where men get the raw deal (I’m thinking of Fathers for Justice here).

Equality is, of course, hard to enforce, when so many of the decisions that affect us are based on judgement. Have you ever been in a position where you’ve interviewed people for a role and found two candidates who are equally as good?  You choose the one you “like” best. Now that “like” could be based on their gender, favourite football team or their cuteness. But that’s human nature and I’ve yet to find an example of someone fighting human nature and winning.

Some people advocate positive discrimination but I am not one of them. I don’t believe it is right to use discrimination in any form as a means to expedite social change. I think it creates more discrimination in people’s hearts when they are forced down a single path, regardless of whether they see that as the right or wrong one. No-one likes to be told what to do so we’re back to the idea of fighting human nature again.

Forcing someone that they can only eat cabbage soup or boiled cabbage, when they don’t like cabbage, will not make them like cabbage. What we have to do is devise recipes to make them like cabbage enough to choose it from the menu. Stir-fried cabbage and bacon, anyone?

 Until next time.

Jane

Of funerals and stormtroopers

There’s nothing like a funeral to focus your mind on the home truth that we aren’t around on this earth for very long.  My Auntie Daphne, whose funeral I attended today, was lucky enough to live past her 83^rd birthday but unlucky as she had Parkinson’s Disease for several years of her life.  She was a keen gardener, flower arranger and loved to sew and the disease robbed her of the chance to enjoy these hobbies. Despite the difficulties, she still maintained her sense of humour and I will forever remember her fruity laugh and generous heart.

Daphne was a planner, like me and the service had largely been devised by her.  She wrote a beautiful prayer and helped to put together the details of her life that made up the tribute.  She’s a woman after my own heart; I am keen on the idea of having a hand in my own memorial service (a control freak till the very end).  I can’t, however, shake the thought that planning my funeral could tempt fate and I know as I type that sentence, that the idea sounds barmy but that doesn’t make the feeling go away.

I’ve noticed a lot of comment recently on social media about Growing Up – there are the classic phrases – “Don’t grow up; it’s a trap” and “Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional”. I think that however grown-up we feel, there is always that kid inside us. It’s just a question of how much we are prepared to show that kid to the outside world.

I am the very proud owner of a Stormtrooper door poster but it has stayed, curled up in its tube until this weekend. I couldn’t reconcile the grown-up in me that said having a door poster that visitors to your house would see is childish and silly.  And the kid that was saying “Put it up now!”.

This weekend the kid and the grown-up had a conversation and agreed a compromise. So now as I sit at my computer, my Stormtrooper poster is up on the wall next me.  And it’s SO cool J

May the force be with you…till next time.

Jane

What’s in a name?

This weekend, I embarked on my next writing project – a play about the realities of friendship. I had a rough idea of what was going to happen in each act but the time came yesterday when I needed to turn the ideas into reality and I began to make some notes on the characters.

Creating a character is one of the most wonderful activities a writer undertakes. For me, it all starts with the name. Before I have decided on someone’s name, I can’t picture that person in my head. Once they have a name, it opens the door to their inner soul. Once they are christened, I can describe them, both physically and emotionally.

Then comes the fun part of getting to know them. Putting them in situations to see how they react. Hearing their responses to questions they’re asked. Watching their faces when their loved one lets them down.  It makes me smile just thinking about it.

When I’m choosing a name, I search the websites set up to help parents choose baby names. I trawl through the lists, open-mouthed at some of the monickers that people thrust onto their offspring, until I find the right one for the individual I’m sculpting. Sometimes it takes a minute, sometimes an hour. But there’s a warm feeling of satisfaction when I find the name that fits.

As I look at the lists of names, I know I bring an entirely personal set of prejudices and misconceptions along with me – titular baggage, I suppose. I know I dislike certain names because I knew someone at school who had that name and was horrid. Or maybe it’s a celebrity that I can’t stand. If it’s the name of someone I know, then I tend to shy away from it, as I might imbue the character with some of my friend’s traits. I’d also feel bad about using a close friend’s name for a character who is less than lovely.

I’m sure we all do it. So now I’m wondering what other people think of the name Jane….

Till next week.

Jane

The same but different

It’s amazing how sometimes life’s lens can make something that you thought was similar different.

A couple of weekends ago, I went for a walk with my husband. It was an 8 mile circular walk in the Hampshire countryside. We parked in an idyllic village and walked up hills, across fields and past cottages before returning to the same spot. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. By the end, my feet were aching but it felt good, sitting on a bench overlooking a village green, eating a guilt-free flapjack.

This weekend, I went for another walk with my husband.  It was an 8 mile, circular walk, this time in the Surrey countryside. We parked in a National Trust carpark, took a steep walk up Leith Hill (the highest point in Surrey) and then proceeded through woods, along a common, over stiles and past some lovely properties before returning to Leith Hill and enjoying the now cloud-free view and a guilt-free flapjack.  

It sounds a similar experience but as soon as we got out of the car to walk up Leith Hill, it started raining.  Light drizzle was forecast.  Pouring rain was not.  By the half-way point, I was sodden and my feet were sore. I was not in the best of moods and the last 4 miles were grim. I resorted to walking to music (in my head) – my chosen song being Stout-hearted men (the Hinge and Bracket version).  Dr Hinge is thumping the piano and Dame Hilda is giving it all she’s got and I march along in my own little world (husband – being a foot taller – has yomped off into the middle distance so at least he can’t see me stomping along like a red-headed Ewok). I have to say the view from Leith Hill was breath-taking but it has taken 48 hours for me to shake the memory of how hard that walk was compared to the previous one.

Life does that to you sometimes – you think something is going to be the same but it’s not. I guess it makes the world more interesting, that you never really know what you’ll get, even if you put the same money in the slot machine of life.

After my feet had recovered from their soggy walk, I took a decision (after consulting with a fellow writer) to rename my book trilogy. Having found out that the website for the trilogy was considered unsafe because it has the letters S, E and X in succession, it made me realise that people looking at the name might get the wrong impression of its content.  The story is more Jilly Cooper than Fifty Shades so Retrosexual has become Tales of a Modern Woman.  It’s wearing a different coat but it’s the same body underneath. The website has now become janesleight.com as I realised it was better to use my name not a book’s name for the website – then I’ll only need one website for anything I write. Doh!

It surprises me how much I learn on a daily basis, even at 49¼. It’s like I’ve never left school. The teachers have gone but life is still chucking daily lessons at me; some are because I’m doing new things like writing and publishing books and I’m a relative beginner at it. Other lessons come from being in a more senior position at work – with responsibility comes some difficult situations.

There aren’t any exams to take in the school of life but some of the tests can be tough, as friends of mine have found out to the cost of their health and wellbeing (hugs to you). I'm just glad I've got Hinge and Bracket to get me through.

Till next time.

Jane

JanesWorld

Welcome to JanesWorld – where I look up the trouser leg of world events from my five foot two vantage point.

To plan or not to plan….that is the question

Having had a brilliant weekend, where a major focus was on where we might retire to, it struck me that one of the hardest judgements to make is about how far to plan in advance. We all plan (or at least dream) of the future – be it one where we win some money and retire to a sun-kissed beach, disappear in a mountain lodge or shut the gates of our mansion in the country – but that’s just a fun way to liven up the mediocrity of everyday living. Retirement is one of those things that people look forward to and fear in equal measure. To some, retirement means you’re past it, over the hill and devalued because you are no longer defined by your career. To others (and I’m in this camp) it’s a new beginning, one where there’ll be time to learn new things and spend time doing more of what I love doing (writing and spending time with special people). For me, it can’t come soon enough and anything I can do now to expedite its onset is worth it.

 

But there’s the rub. If you spend a lot of time thinking about a future life, it’s too easy to let the life you have slip away. You dismiss today because you’re thinking about tomorrow. And the problem with tomorrow (or next year or the next decade) is that you don’t know what your situation will be. Will you be affected by illness, divorce, death or economic changes? Will the country you live in still be sufficiently familiar to you that you want to retire in it? Or will another country change either its way of life or its rules to entry so that you’d rather be there?

 

From a monetary perspective, you have to assume you will live to old age and need the funds to cover whatever you want to do. But it pays(!) not to think too much about being older. Human nature means we focus on the negatives (dementia, arthritis, poverty) rather than the positive (time to enjoy nature, golf or whatever is your passion).

 

Having studied a course about ageing, I know that attitude is a significant factor in how you age. So now I try and think about being older, not old. Once you start to think of yourself as old, you believe there are things you can no longer do. And ageing is as much about disuse as misuse of your capabilities.

 

So I’m planning for the retirement I would like to have, but doing it at arm’s length so I don’t stop focusing on today being the best it can be.

 

And I’m assuming that I’ll be able to do anything I want to do. For me, that’ll mean terrorising my retirement neighbourhood by wearing bright colours and being utterly outrageous.  I can’t wait J

 

Till next time.

 

Jane

JanesWorld - Of Art and Attraction

JanesWorld

 

Welcome to JanesWorld – where I look up the trouser leg of world events from my five foot two vantage point.

Of Art and Attraction

 I was lucky enough to visit an art exhibition this weekend called “A Victorian Obsession”. It was a collection of paintings and sketches by members of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.  The exhibition was held at the Leighton House Museum in Holland Park.  Not only was the art on show delightful but the museum itself was breath-taking.  A room called the Arab Hall is decorated with deep blue tiles and stained glass with a fountain at its centre. It is jaw-droppingly beautiful. Many of the paintings by the Pre-Raphaelites had a similar effect on me. I stared open mouthed at not only the beauty of the painting but at the ability of the artist to capture such detail. OK, so maybe I’m biased towards the Brotherhood because they favour redheads as models but before I discovered their work, art had never moved me.  Standing in front of The Lady of Shalott in Tate Britain renders me speechless and those of you who know me will understand the rarity of such an occurrence.

I have a special admiration for William Morris; a man who saw the folly in industrialism. If you are controlling a machine that makes plates, rather than hand-crafting the plates, you are not enriched by the process of creation, he said. It’s a sad world where people no longer have an emotional link to the production process, I think.  Maybe that’s why there are so many frustrated artists and musicians in every office building in the land.

I have been pondering the conundrum of how to make more people attracted to my books. There is a real pleasure in the creation of an imaginary world but as a writer, you write because you want people to enter that world and share in its delights. With over 2 million books on Amazon, how can I get people to find mine? One way is through an author page, according to popular advice but there’s a dilemma. How much of the real me do I want people to see? And do I put a picture on it and show myself to the world? Perhaps I’ll choose a photo from several years ago when I was younger and thinner. Now you may argue that my picture doesn’t make a difference to my book sales but I fear, in today’s world, it does. I’m not saying people don’t buy a book by an author unless they find them attractive but we all judge by appearance. It’s nature. The doe is attracted to the stag with the biggest horns and teenyboppers are attracted to the pretty boys in the latest band.

I think we fight against nature at our peril. It’s another side to what William Morris said; it’s in our nature to make things. And it’s in our nature to like attractive things.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to search through my photo archive from the 80s. Are perms back in yet?

Till next week
Jane

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