Ancient twins

Hard to believe Perran and Carenza reached the milestone of their thirtieth birthday this week. I envision them crossing some sort of line in the sand with the word Fun inscribed on one side and Responsibilities on the other.
Will the brunching and travelling (by bike bus and train - they try to avoid plane) suddenly screech to a halt?

And what does it mean for me that my youngest children are now thirty? I'm already losing height and gaining wrinkles. Will the twins start talking to me as if they are the parents and I am a recalcitrant child who does not understand the way of the world?

Amidst all this apprehension however, there was some mirth. Perran and  Carenza were out to dinner with friends. The waitress stopped to chat so Carenza announced, 'It's our birthday!'
'We're twins,' added Perran.
'What? ' exclaimed the waitress, 'Of each other?'
None of us could work out the odds of the coincidence it would take for twins from different families to share a birthday and be out to dinner together on it.

But it made us laugh.
Although the waitress is probably still somewhere slapping her forehead and muttering 'How could I have said that?'

Photo by Jamie

The Cult of Beauty

We were meeting Perran and Carenza in London to celebrate their birthday.

But what would we do together? 

Nigel, Carenza and I were interested in  The Cult of Beauty exhibition at the Wellcome Collection. 

'No' said Perran, 'I've never liked the Wellcome Collection, ever since you took us there as kids. It smells weird and medical, and some of the exhibits are always gross.'

However, we failed to achieve consensus on anything else and ended up at the Wellcome. Surely an exhibition on Beauty would be fine!

I watched Perran steel himself at the entrance. In the exhibition he was breathing shallowly. In fact, I couldn't detect unpleasant smells and there was even an art installation which replicated the beauty potions made by mediaeval women and emitted scents of rose and herbs.

With beauty as the subject, many of the images were colourful and attractive. So far, so good.

We were nearly at the end of the exhibition, when it happened. My eye was caught by two jars of fluid containing round, peach-like objects. What were they? I looked closer. 

The photo above and the label informed me they were the surgically removed breasts of a trans man. Complete with tattoos.

Rapidly I moved on.

The weird thing was that afterwards, when we compared notes, the only other person who'd spotted this challenging exhibit was Perran. 

Sorry son. 

Happy birthday anyway!

 

Jack the Ripper hijacked our birthday

To celebrate Nigel's birthday we went for a self-guided walk around Spitalfields, Whitechapel and Brick Lane.

It was fascinating to learn of the silk weavers, the Jewish synagogues and the Moorish market.

However, we kept coinciding with other guided tours. Punters in lanyards clustered around leaders with flags. We must have crossed paths with at least five such groups.

Eavesdropping revealed that the others were all Jack the Ripper tours. When there was so much fascinating culture in that part of London, this particular ghoulish preoccupation seemed uncalled for. 

I have always been keen to avoid finding out exactly what the deranged serial killer did to his wretched victims but on Saturday I overheard far too much about entrails. There even appears to be a difference in status between 'official' victims of Jack the Ripper and 'unofficial' ones whose grisly deaths have not been conclusively attributed to him.

We then began to notice other manifestations of this gruesome tale. The local barber was Jack the Clipper, the fast food van was entitled Jack the Chipper. We imagined other local businesses we might set up in Whitechapel. Jack the flipper (selling burgers). Jack the nipper (selling cosmetic surgery). Jack the tripper, selling...well, you get it.

Whatever happened to Twinnyness?

We celebrated Perran and Carenza's birthday by going to the Making Modernism exhibition at the RA. (Thanks to MaryBeeArt for the recommendation.) Four women artists made extraordinary work at a time when to be called a great artist you had to have a pair of testacles.

Two of the paintings were of twins, but as babies. It's true that now Perran and Carenza are very much adults, people rarely congratulate me on my multiple birth, or say , 'You've got your hands full.'

Even in the cafe where we went for lunch afterwards, the waitress heard us discussing 'the birthday' and brought a single scoop of tiramisu with a candle....and set it in front of Carenza. Perran (who actually made the booking) said, 'And it's my birthday too,' only to have the waitress smile non-comitally, as if he were some kind of dessert fraudster.

So does twinnyness really diminish in adulthood? 

Not at all.

The twins arrived at the RA from different parts of London - although they hadn't seen each other that day, they were nattily dressed to match, both in baggy black trousers and outsize jackets.

Twinergy.

Turning Sixty

 Earlier this month I turned sixty. 

Several weeks have elapsed and I now feel familiar enough with sixty to submit a review.

I’m not sure how many stars to give it, so I’ll work through the factors.

Pro’s

I never thought I’d still feel so young at sixty.

Learning to pace myself and to take better care of my diet, exercise and sleep – these are new skills I am acquiring and wish I’d learned earlier.

I enjoy my work, and with retirement on the horizon, much of the stress has vanished.

I have accepted who I am and have learned to be kinder to myself.

My values have crystallised, meaning I am not torn between different worlds.

Free prescriptions!

Con's

My body sometimes creaks even when I don’t know what I’ve done to cause it.

I go to more funerals now and even look forward to the tiny sandwiches.

I often do not recognise the music of current top ten artists.

 

Over all I’d probably give sixty a rating of four stars

So I’ll just submit my review now – but where to?

I shall go away and look for the metaphysical version of Trip Adviser.

Birthday Surprise

Nigel’s birthday was coming up just at the very end of Lockdown.  There weren’t many options for celebrating.  As a family we are largely vegetarian, so scotch eggs were out.

I proposed to the children that we meet up with just a few old friends to have a surprise Zoom quiz for Nigel.  I arranged the call and the kids came up with rounds on topics which would interest Nigel – growing fruit and veg, lightbulbs, getting arrested while sitting in the road and ‘What was Nigel doing in that photograph?’

The day dawned and Nigel was none the wiser.  I personally defrosted a lovely birthday supper and unwrapped his birthday cake.  (I go to endless trouble on these occasions.)

Then we began what Nigel expected to be a call with the kids.  As his friends rang in, he said umpteen times ‘I wasn’t expecting this’.

And there was a surprise for me too.  Apparently I had forgotten to tell the kids that it was supposed to be a surprise, but somehow nobody had blown the secret.

Over the Zoom call with friends, I said to the children,

‘But didn’t you wonder why I’d set up a new WhatsApp group to make the arrangements?’

‘No Mum,’ said Carenza, ‘I just thought it was some sort of manipulative behaviour.’

Thanks, Girl.

Birthday with Trees

 There have a lot of trees in my life this year. 

Just before Lockdown, Perran and I visited ‘Among the Trees’, an exhibition at the Hayward Gallery.

Twice this year, we’ve done the tree trail in our local park, and my tree identification has got much sharper.

I’ve read:

Ghost Trees by Bob Gilbert

The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Woehlleben

Wildwood by Richard Deakin

The Overstory by Richard Powers

I’ve produced reviews on books about trees both for Radio Verulam and for the St Albans Podcast.

And I’ve written a short story for WRITERSREBEL – Tree Girl.

So I didn’t mind at all when we decided to keep my birthday celebrations outdoors and visited the brightly coloured Autumn trees of Kew Gardens.  What could be nicer!

And as the evenings draw in, I am looking forward to the October finale as the trees around me turn to gold and bronze and I think I shall read ‘The sixteen trees of the Somme’ by Lars Mytting (passed on to me recently by my neighbour Alex).

 

Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill – please help your planet

Please follow the links below (which will take you swiftly and easily through to your MP’s email) and ask your MP to support the Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill which will be debated during this session of Parliament.

A Birthday without sticky patches

This week it was  Perran and Carenza’s birthday.

In the past the weekend closest to their birthday has been packed with activity.

We have held a Pirate Party, a Harry Potter Party, and one year, owing to a blizzard, even a Build-Your-Own-Igloo Party.  Each year, I have baked two cakes and decorated them elaborately to match their current interests. We have bought and made cards and gifts to capture their imagination.

But a year after the twins moved out to share a rental in London, this birthday was different.

When the weekend arrived, I had nothing better to do than clear out the Welsh dresser; Nigel painted the downstairs loo. 

Finally, early on Sunday afternoon, we pootled into London, took Perran and Carenza to the amazing Bill Viola exhibition at the RA, then on to an early dinner at Sagar, where Will joined us.  I handed over two small and frankly disappointing token gifts and Nigel BACSed them a proper present.

Then we dispersed to our homes. 

It had all been kinda easy.

I felt a little flat until we were opening our front door and Nigel pointed out that we would not be needing to mop up sticky patches of lemonade from the floor, nor pick crisps out from the sofa cushions.  There had been no breakages nor any weepy kids.

All we had to do was watch the last episode of Les Miserables on telly.  And even that came to a more-or-less happy ending.

“doing” family

Pascoe left for his PhD in Edinburgh four years ago.  Perran and Carenza moved out to rent together in London ten months ago.
We are having to figure out how we “do” family now, and it is getting complicated. 

We all work, so weekends are the available time slot.  But that is also when the social life happens (the kids’, not ours).  Weekends is also when we travel great distances to see our ageing parents at the farthest extremes of the country.

Plus there are church commitments (ours, not the kids’).

Nigel and I never wanted to be the kind of parents who issue a three-line whip and demand the attendance of our children at frequent events.

But last weekend, it was Nigel’s birthday and we asked Perran and Carenza to spend it with us.  
We did not invite Pascoe.

We had a great time, taking a barge trip from Little Venice to Camden and going to a comedy club there. 

We thought about Pascoe, but decided not to Skype him.

Why didn’t we include Pascoe?

Because some things are even more important that a parent’s birthday.  The deadline for handing in his PhD thesis was roaring towards him like an express train.  We did not want to interrupt.

And then yesterday we got the message that he had met the deadline with several hours to spare.

Hooray!

When at last we all get together for family Christmas, it will make it all the sweeter.

The thesis-writing hat Pascoe's  friends made for him.

Pascoe hands in his thesis BEFORE the deadline.

Journey into Technicolor

Ten weeks after my foot surgery, it was my birthday, and Nigel and I made a trip to meet Perran and Carenza at the Turner Prize Exhibition at the Tate Britain.

Life on crutches has been limiting, but on the journey, I felt like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, when the world changes to Technicolor.

In the tunnels of the London underground, I spotted a young woman carrying in front of her a homemade birthday cake topped with glistening white icing and silver balls.  She obviously lacked suitable tupperware as the cake was uncovered. Her face was shining, and I wanted very much to see the end of her journey when her friend received the cake, hopefully unharmed.

But the press of people carried her on.

Then on the platform were two young men.  One was showing the other a gift that he had wrapped for their friend.  Inside the parcel was a large piece of art.  I couldn’t see the picture, of course.  However, I could admire the way he had carefully cut and folded several different sheets of colourful paper to make an ingenious pattern.

When we met Perran and Carenza, I told them about these Birthday-themed sightings.

And after the Turner prize exhibition, there was one more.  I thought I had left it too late and missed Anthea Hamilton’s mischievous Squash, creating havoc in the main hallway.  

But there it was, a performer dressed as a gourd, loitering and lounging among the older Tate exhibits. 

Carenza said that when she saw the Squash before, it had been much more lively.  We wondered whether it was perhaps a hung-over Squash today. 

Maybe it had had a birthday too.