random acts of senseless beauty

Possibly the best thing ever.

This morning, bag on arm and keys in hand, ready to leave the flat, I’m called back by the need to write. I seemingly have to let out some of the words that are jumbling round my head before I get on the bus and on with my day.

It is a strange time I am in. The weightless relief of a mere 6 weeks left at work is chased closely by the other weight that follows on its heels. One cannot be separated from the other. The blanket of impending goodbyes is stitched with the excitement of the next chapter.

Yesterday it was our weekly planning meeting in the bar downstairs from our office. “Are you coming?” asked my friend/colleague. “What should I tell them?” she then asked as I wrinkled my nose and shook my head. I shrugged, “That I leave in 6 weeks and just don’t give a s*** anymore?”. “Fair enough.”

There will be more on goodbyes, but for this morning, here’s a mental list I made on the bus yesterday morning of things I’d like to do in the first few months.

• Read
• Journal
• Seek out friends
• Yoga
• Run
• Take a photography class
• Get back into writing my screenplay (Melinda? it’s going to happen)
• Cook
• Make a room a home
• Play with children
• Find ‘magic’ spaces where I can work, inspired and undisturbed
• Buy an iPhone
• Sit in Sarah’s kitchen whenever I like
• Hold babies
• Breathe
• Pray
• Eat
• Love and be loved to within an inch of my belief

and through all this… working out what on earth I do next.

I’ve spent the last 10 days in a constant state of being slightly overwhlemed.  Happiness, surprise, comfort, thankfulness, grace and hope have englufled me in a fragile and beautiful mist.  My smile might slip from my face only to sneak back a minute later; how can this be happening?

Last night, instead of returning to normality as I’d expected, my sleep was wonderfully disturbed throughout the night by eagerly-anticipated texts… from Texas.

First at midnight it was an IM; “Here we go!”.  At 3.30; “Annie’s in active labor.  everything looks good.  Could be an hour, could be 5, will keep you posted!” and finally, at around 5am “After about an hour of pushing, baby Jude was born just after 11.  She is gorgeous and pink and perfect.”

And so we welcome to the world my namesake.  Ladies and gentlemen, meet my darling Annie and Helen’s daughter; Jude.

Judith Marguerite, 4 hours old

She is beautiful. She is gorgeous and pink and perfect, as Greg said in the text. I know this because, due to the absolute wonders of modern technology, I was introduced to baby Jude via video chat when she was only 4 hours old.

The Fambly, 4 hours old

To see the fambly cuddled up in their bed - home births never seemed so wonderful! - and to watch Jude wriggle and cry and constantly move her hands like she was hatching some macaevelian plot was incredible.  To hear it all first hand, to be a part of the lull after the storm… well it was more than overwhelming.  It was huge.

And to the final, cherry-on-the-top, overwhleming and mindblowing piece.  Judith Marguerite is 35 years, 7 months and 2 days younger than me, but our names are the same.  (I am Judith Margaret, while Baby Jude has lucked out with the fancier, frenchier version of our middle name, thanks to Mommy Helen’s wonderful Grandma, and it makes it seem so much classier!)

To have such a precious and wonderful girl sharing my name is so far past overwhelming as to be in a whole new dictionary.  I am Uberwhelmed.  I am honoured.  I am still shedding the tears of joy that came over me in waves this morning as I saw this gift’s face, and she opened her eyes all but briefly.

Jude:  May you always know how deeply loved you are by your mothers, your extended family, and the army of people across the world who’ve been praying for you since before you were even conceived;  may you know the warm sun on your face and cool wind at your back; may you ever be true to your heart and never be afraid of your intellect; may you live in creativity and freedom all your days.  Welcome to your life.  I’m glad to be in it with you, and honoured to share our names.

Welcoming Tears from Big Jude

Tonight, Cath and I made our debut trip to the new Wembley Stadium to see Foo Fighters.

I had a long, frustrating and complicated work-day at the end of a long, frustrating and complicated week.  I’d got to the point where going felt like a hassle… but oh!  I knew it would be good - they’re a band I’ve wanted to see for a long time but never made it happen -  in fact I knew it would be great, but I hadn’t even considered that it would be one of the gigs of my life.

The venue is amazing, with staff who, to a wo/man are helpful pleasant and seem to actually enjoy their jobs;  the company was amazing, as going out with my sister is always something fantastically special; Supergrass supporting was amazing, as I can never get enough of them;  the crowd were amazing, with a general good feeling purveying throughout and a stadium is the only place where Mexican Waves look truly awesome; and the band were phenomenal.

To go all Westwood on yo’ ass it was Heavy Hit after Heavy Hit after Heavy Hit.  Cath and I rocked out as only two 30-something, white, middleclass, British girls can - singing, jumping, pointing and shaking our expensively cut hair all over the place.

They finished the main set with Monkey Wrench, vanished below and then came back for the encore, only to introduce Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones and proceed into Rock N Roll with Dave Grohl on Drums and Taylor Hawkins doing the vocal of his life.

I stood, open mouthed, with my hands behind my head until Cath nudged me and reminded me to enjoy it!   Overwhelmed is an understatement.

Having ripped through another Zep track they finished with Best Of You, and I surprised even myself by crying pretty much all the way through it.   AMAZING.

And so I find myself on the eve of something that feels important.  Tomorrow is a day that felt like it would never come, and yet here it is.  1 more sleep.  1 more complicated and long day at work.  It’s nothing at all.  It’s less than 24 hours.

Mr Grohl can sum it up even better… Everlong

Hello
I’ve waited here for you
Everlong

Tonight
I’ve thrown myself into
And out of the red, out of her head, she sang

Come down
And waste away with me
Down with me

Slow how
You wanted it to be
I’m over my head, out of her head, she sang

And I wonder
When I sing along with you
If everything could ever feel this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again
The only thing I’ll ever ask of you
Gotta promise not to stop when I say, when
She sang

Breath out
So I can breathe you in
Hold you in

And now
I know you’ve always been
Out of your head, out of my head, I sang

And I wonder
When I sing along with you
If everything could ever feel this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again
The only thing I’ll ever ask of you
Gotta promise not to stop when I say, when
She sang

And I wonder
If everything could ever feel this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again
The only thing I’ll ever ask of you
Gotta promise not to stop when I say, when…

A couple of weeks ago, on one of my days off, I started a book of To Do lists. Things to sort at the house, things to sort with my finances, things to sort in the garden, things to sort at work. Lists of friends I want to spend time with before I go, lists of places to visit during my week off, lists of things I might think of shipping to Nashville, lists of things that should really be sent to the dump, lists of lists of lists.

On Monday Mum & Dad came up to help me get through some. Paperwork was filed or shredded, documents were found for solicitors and financial advisors, phone calls to utility companies were made, and even the garden was weeded and tidied. With my trip to the bank this afternoon accomplishing even more, there is now a healthy amount of black lines in the book. There’s still so much to do, but at least the tricky work of beginning has begun.

Today in the office I counted through the calendar; 11 weeks left till I’m out of there. When you take into account 2 of them being leave, 1 being Glastonbury and the majority of a 4th on a training course, then there’s only 7 ‘real’ weeks left. I can handle that.

There are such mixed feelings in all this. I’m hit, from time to time, with an enormous awareness of what I’m leaving behind. Friends both in the office and out, job satisfaction and security, a regular pay-check, the flat that we’ve made our home, my family, my family, my family. But then it’s buyoed with the excitement that I’m really doing this. I’m stepping out and finding my future, and the words of Wordsworth (which are currently all around me as part of Poems On The Underground) ring in my ears.

… now free,
Free as a bird to settle where I will.
What dwelling shall receive me? in what vale
Shall be my harbour? underneath what grove
Shall I take up my home? and what clear stream
Shall with its murmur lull me into rest?
The earth is all before me. With a heart
Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty,
I look about; and should the chosen guide
Be nothing better than a wandering cloud,
I cannot miss my way. I breathe again!

Le Sigh

Oh… and here’s a picture from WONDERFUL Steve & Lisa’s wedding. My adoring and adored friend Maddie and I spun and spun and spun in our dresses. We then hugged, and kissed and squeezed - always in that order remember? Ah, the freely-given love of a 3 year old. Is there anything sweeter?

There have been so many moments in recent days and weeks were the I must blog this thought has wizzed into my brain, and yet I don’t blog.  All the good stuff is stuck behind the ‘Big Announcement’,  so I’ll just go for it and get it out of the way.

At the end of August I’m moving to Nasvhille for a while.  I’ve got 6 months off work for a start and then… well we’ll see.

To say I’m excited is an understatement.  To say I’m scared, equally so.  But it’s good and it feels right and all the time waiting to do this seems to have built up to this point, where I find I have the financial ability and the will.

There will be much more of this in the coming months as I work towards saying “So Long” at work, to my friends and to my family.  As I keep reminding them it’s not Australia… it’s 10 hours on a couple of planes and definitely affordable.

And on that bombshell… I head off to work.

Family

Today I uploaded about 100 pics to Flickr - of last Monday’s trip to Eastbourne with Mum & Dad, and of today’s trip to the park with Lizzie & Claudia.

There’s still so much left to say, but you’ll have to wait a week for the big stuff.  It’s been quite a week though.

Change is a’coming.While you wait for the words.  Look at two of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever been blessed to spend time with.  15 is a great age when you have a best friend. I had Alex, bikes, the tennis club, and a never ending summer.  Lizzie & Claudia have each other.

BFF

Jump!

Eastbourne Rock

Here’s the first of the pictures from my trip to Eastbourne on Monday with Mum, Dad & Cath. I warn you there are many more, but it’s too late to edit and upload them all now.

I’d also like to say Happy Birthday, Cath to my beloved sister. She truly rocks.

And still the words don’t come.

Thing is, that’s not exactly true.  I’m still as dramatically verbose on iChat, at work, and with my wee reviews as I ever was.  It just seems to be here, on my beloved blog, where inspiration fails me.

I click open Firefox and see my blue and yellow banner.  I see the date of the last post and feel that oh-so-familiar feeling of  gently nagging guilt. I hear in my head all the things that I can’t write about, and it’s then that instinct kicks in;  ignore it, move a way quickly, pretend you don’t see it, and it’ll go away faster.

So I click on Facebook, or Flickr, other peoples blogs… anywhere I can look to see if anyone else has words for me.  Bones to pick through.  A refreshing glass of water.

You see, it’s not that I don’t like words right now.  I always like words.  In fact I’m beginning to realise how desperately I need them all around me to inspire, encourage, reassure and amuse me.  I’ve always known they’re important, but now I realise they’re a complete necessity like oxygen, enabling me to breathe, to live, to love.

I’m sorry, dear blog, that you’ve slipped down my agenda.  I promise I’ll try to make it a short and passing phase.   You’re still a part of me.  Always.

“As we journey through life, discarding baggage along the way, we should keep an iron grip, to the very end, on the capacity for silliness. It preserves the soul from dessication.”
Humphrey Lyttleton, 1921 - 2008

An amazing man has passed away. Humphrey Lyttleton; extraordinary musician, irascible wit, absolute gentleman, and my pin-up of choice above my desk for the past 2 years.

This train terminates at Mornington Crescent.

Jumping Joyful Jude

I’m sitting here at JFK, getting through the three hour wait by using wireless that I’ve apparently paid for, but I don’t know how. It’s been the most fantastic four days, and there are plenty of pics to prove it. I’ve got today’s lot still in my camera and they’ll have to wait to be uploaded when I’m reunited with my luggage.

It’s great to get away. It’s great to wander round the streets of a city that you love, but only occasionally. It’s great to rekindle a friendship that has only ever got better with time. It’s great to have the freedom and energy to jump for joy in a yellow coat underneath the Brooklyn Bridge.

I know I’m coming back sometime soon to New York (right JL? we still on?) and I’m already counting down the imaginary days. But now? Now I have to find something to eat so I can sleep for as long as humanly possible on the plane.

Across to Manhattan

As London gags under the pall of euro whiff I grabbed a low cost fare and came out to see Abi and Susan for a few days.

The first set of photos are up on Flickr… stories to follows.

These days may feel like in-between-days, but they’re passing with flair.  Situation:  Good.

Life: Good

Han & Tom got married

Work: Good

Cute Clare
Captain played in The Hub for Steve Merchant’s show

Levels of Siliness: Good

Self Portrait (with moustache)

Coming Week-Day-Weekend: Looking Good.

Proof.

It’s official. I produce the best radio programme. The Best. The BEST.

This is according to the Broadcasting Press Guild, which is a collection of all the Radio & TV Critics across all the press. It’s a small but seriously prestigious award, and I’m hugely proud of it. Other people being honoured included my hero and friend Simon Mayo, as Radio Broadcaster Of The Year, the wonderful Andrew Marr as presenter of the year, the brilliant drama Cranford, the amazing comedy Gavin & Stacey, and Top Gear. A wonderful group in which to be included.

To be honest I’m a little bit lucky… because pretty much all the glory should go where it’s deserved, to these two amazing fellas. Mr Adam Buxton and Mr Joe Cornish. And honourable mentions to my glamorous assistants Claire, and Charlotte who got the show off the ground last year.

Joe & Adam

Gentlemen, You are a joy to work with. And I couldn’t be more delighted for you/us. We rock!

blooming early

It’s been a while, eh? Sorry about that.

Writing has been done. Photos have been taken. Time has been spent. Songs have been sung. Hearts have been searched. Poetry has been read.

Here’s a few photos I’ve taken…

Danny Goffey from Supergrass in the 6 Music Hub

My brother and niece, Easter Monday

Our band knocking out 20th Century Boy and the office party

Ed O’Brien of Radiohead at the BBC Radio Theatre

And there’s LOADS more where they came from. Click on any image to go through to the set on Flickr. I’m really chuffed because some of my Radiohead and Supergrass shots have been used on the official BBC sites! Hoorah!

I’ll leave you, promising to come back sooner than last time with a poem by e.e.cummings. It’s sums up most of my mornings.

it is at moments after i have dreamed
it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when (being fool to fancy) i have deemed

with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds

the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always)and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;

moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination, when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:

one pierced moment whiter than the rest

-turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep.

Lizzie and Claudia

These girls are the reason I happily give up my Friday evenings to hang out with 11 - 15 year olds. The eldest pair in my youth group, Lizzie and Claudia are best friends, or sisters from another mister as they say. The best thing is that they include me in that sisterhood in a way that a 20 year age gap will allow.

There was no JYGSAW (Junior Youth Group St Anne’s Wandworth) on Friday so the three of us just went for dinner. Being 15, we sat in Pizza Hut, cramming as much into our salad bowls as we could and talking about boys. Awesome.

::

The evening had started somewhat less salubriously, as a rainy evening made the steps into Oxford Circus tube station something of a death trap. Walking steadily down in the midst of the rush hour throng my right foot skiddied out from under me. My left foot followed suit, and I came crashing down hard on my bottom, lower back and hands.

Everything stopped for that second where you mentally figure out how on earth you didn’t hit your head. Eyes looked at me from the bottom of the stairs, asking questions that my inability to find any breath made impossible to answer. I moved wrists and ankles as I realised that nobody was passing me; a glance over my shoulder (pain) let me see about 150 people backed up the stairs, keeping well back. It must have been a pretty spectacular fall to make Londoners stop still in the rush hour.

I’m feeling much better now, but the last 48 hours have been weird. It’s strange to think how a tiny slip like that affects you. I’ve been sore, achy, stiff, nauseous and for the first few hours was burping almost constantly! It just shows how everything is shaken up when you hit the ground hard.

::

If you get the chance I’d like to humbly suggest you listen to a couple of things that I’ve produced this weekend. If you’re yet to subscribe to the Adam & Joe Podcast, then do it! But if not, then do listen to this weeks’ show on Listen Again. Bizarrely Joe was away this week, but the WONDERFUL Garth Jennings (director of brill music vids like Blur’s Coffee & TV and the upcoming movie Son Of Rambow) was in his seat and it’s a great listen.

Also double fabulous was this afternoon’s Stephen Merchant show. We had the staggering Beth Rowley in session and you just have to hear it, then go and buy all her music because not only is she fabulously talented, but a wonderful wonderful person who deserves all the great things that are coming her way. So there.

night night.

Treasu(red)

Wonderful H in Los Angeles has sent all five of our fabulous group of girls matching shirts. They speak assurance to ourselves and also mean that, when needed, we can show solidarity in our uniforms, however great the physical distance between us.

I’m at the end of a few days at home, using up leave and trying to get writing done. I’ve got some, if not all of it finished, but I’ve also used the time to fall hopelessly back in love with the words of one of my favourite lyricists; Guy Garvey.

I’ve been listening to the new Elbow album The Seldom Seen Kid on repeat and, as always with new Elbow, there’s a couple of tracks who’s lyrics hold me totally captivated.

Here, for your delectation, are the lyrics of The Bones Of You, a song about - frankly - the way music makes you its bitch:

So I’m there
Charging around with a juggernaut brow
Overdrafts speeches & deadlines to make
Cramming commitments like cats in a sack
Telephone burn and a purposeful gait
When out of a doorway the tentacles stretch of a song that I know
And the world moves in slo mo
Straight to my head like the first cigarette of the day

And it’s you
And it’s May
And we’re sleeping through the day
And I’m 5 years ago and 3 thousand miles away

Do I have time?
A man of my caliber
Stood in the street like a sleepwalking teenager
No, and I dealt with this years ago
I took a hammer to every memento
But image on image like beads on a rosary
Move through my head as the music takes hold
And the sickener hits; I can work till I break
But I love the bones of you that I will never escape

And it’s you
And it’s May
And we’re sleeping through the day
And I’m 5 years ago and 3 thousand miles away
And I can’t move my arm
For fear that you will wake
And I’m 5 years ago and 3 thousand miles away

And, while you’re digesting that, here’s a picture of me dressed as Audrey Hepburn/Holly Golightly from Hannah’s hen-do at the weekend.

Judy Golightly

MGMT@ICA

After a significant dry spell this week brought a hatrick of live music.

Tuesday night was Mr Lawson’s Solo Bass Night at Darbuka. Yolanda Charles and Steve were both brilliant, and wonderfully different from each other. Yolanda is the most amazingly funky woman, and was beautifully nervous considering the kind of gigs she’s done in the past (if you’ve ever seen a woman playing bass on telly or at a big stadium show… it’s likely to have been her). Her voice was beautiful and you didn’t miss the rest of the band at all! Lawson did as Lawson does, and held us all in a beautiful contemplative bubble. He also dedicated Grace & Gratitude (my current fave of his) to me, which was lovely.

Last night it was MGMT at the ICA with Catster. In a completely trendy industry crowd, I was pleased to see lovelies from work, as well as a couple of surprise friends from the ‘real’ world - all of us worried that we might look a bit old… but no. The few teenagers and obligatory Japanese girl super-fan stayed in a tight pocket front and centre, as the majority of the crowd all tried to stand at the back and look cool.

The band got better and better as the set wore on, and although a couple of the tracks were so proggy-noodly-electro-with-rhyming-lyrics that they sounded like Flight Of The Conchords doing an impression (listen to Electric Feel and get back to me) it didn’t make it any the less fun. Their two encores, Youth and Kids respectively, also got everyone dancing like teenagers, and at the end I bizarrely found myself in a bit of a mosh with The Queens Of Noize and Mark Ronson. Weird.

Finally, tonight Rach and I headed over to The Bush Hall to see one of the new batch of wonder-girls, Duffy. The jury’s been out for me since the first time I heard Rockferry, which everyone seemed to love, and I thought was a bit boring. Then suddenly she’s all big noise and getting to number 1 with Mercy, which - I admit - is a fantastic song. Well… the jury’s back in now and the verdict is that she’s got a brilliant brilliant voice, but is totally dull. We agreed it seemed more like the entertainment you’d get on the most expensive cruise you could go on.

Sorry Duffy… We got more excited about dropping soggy lemon pieces into the handbag of the horrid moo that was standing in front of us, then heading to the bar for some free drinks, and to talk about boys. (Who are great. Fact) Now THERE’S some fun for an evening.

I’ve got this week off and am using it to get done the big writing piece I’m in the middle of. Well, that I’m meant to be in the middle of but am barely getting started on.

My head is full today with a mixture of big questions about life, mediocre household chores and futures yet to be written. It’s also one of those days when none of these thoughts are the golden kind, but the ones that dwell on the obstacles, turning them into impossibilities and then getting stuck there. My brain seems intent on beating itself up… and in the noise of the fray the words I need cower somewhere else refusing to come out and be written.

On Sunday I went home after work to celebrate Mothering Sunday with mum. The following morning, before returning, Daddy gave me a wee tour of his newly erected shed. In here everything has it’s rightful place, ordered, labelled and easy to find. The right tools for the right jobs. I guess that’s what I’m trying to do with my mind… but it takes time.

Dad is slightly enthusiastic about his Best 22″ Saw.

Waterlily House, Kew. Sept ‘07

The burden of the semi-professional procrastinator is the absence of guilt-free down time. There is always something you’re meant to be doing.

Tonight, after a long, busy but good day at work, and even though I have writing waiting to be done, I allowed myself some time to just be.

I called ahead from the train so my favourite Thai take-away was waiting as I passed. I faffed around online, and cleared my email inbox from over 600 messages to 63. I had a long, hot, candlelit bath whilst listening to Loretta Lynn and Rosie Thomas.

I’ve always had trouble clearing my head of busyness; thoughts and worries collide ’til they’re so entangled as to be indistinguishable from one another. Tonight I tried to give each one time, moving carefully from one lilypad to the next, in remembrance of one of the most tranquil places I’ve ever been.

So I cosy down for an earlyish night with Sarah in my ears, more ready that I was to face tomorrow.