I intermittently contemplate giving up the blog. I struggle to express myself because I can't think of a reason why anyone would listen to me. It all feels a little pointless and self indulgent in the face of wars, global climate change and the terrifying rise and normalisation right wing ideology. I am horrified by the state of the world, so much death and destruction in Gaza, and governments acting in the last few days as if they only just noticed it was happening. I write to my MP and donate money but the bigger it is the more insignificant your efforts feel. What else is there to do.
'The Fell' by Sarah Moss finally came and it was a quick and engaging story. I like books that cover a a brief period of time, it makes them feel very immediate, as if you read them in real time, as the events unfold. Kate goes out for an evening walk. It'll just be an hour, up to the top and back down she reasons, she needs to be out of doors ... but she is supposed to be isolating. Her neighbour Alice, sees her go, but is more worried about her own situation. Her son Matt surfaces from his video game to find her gone, and when he realises that she's not just in the garden who can he ask for help when his mum has broken the law. And Rob from mountain rescue tromps across the moors with the team of searchers, not judging or blaming, only hoping that she will be still alive when they find her.
Kate follows a raven up the hill, he seems to be waiting and coaxing her on, and then after she falls he hovers around, waiting to peck out her eyes she muses, but in her delirious state she imagines him taunting her:
"Another mistake, says the raven, shall we make a list? We could go all the way back, couldn't we, tell me, Kate, what was the first mistake you ever made, would you say? What poor choice set you on the path to where we find ourselves this evening? School, she thinks, school was all mistakes, though whether this night was determined by the time I left school - Raven, you're not my mother, you're Miss Boucher, aren't you, Miss Boucher who told me off in front of the whole canteen on my first day because my shoes were the wrong colour and she wasn't interested in my weird duck-feet and my mother's admittedly hereditary last-minute approach to matters such as shopping for school uniform, it's as if both of us and probably now poor Matt as well think that if we ignore for example Christmas or summer or the beginning of the school year it might go away and we won't after all need presents or sunscreen or the right shoes, which isn't entirely mad because the end is nigh, we do know that, and if we're about to die in a nuclear war or that one where the magnetic poles swivel which she always imagines as the planet flipping, Australia on the top and Greenland on the bottom and all the fuses in the world blowing like fireworks as the planet spins through the darkness, or a more conclusive plague than the current slow-burning one or any of the many other reasons for the streets to run with blood, who wants to have spent their last days of ignorant normality looking for navy lace-up shoes in a size 2H?" (p.114-5)
And as she struggles to reach shelter and drifts in and out of consciousness he harangues her further:
"So yes, mistakes: the two big relationships of her life, her education, the lack of a carer, not to mention not being a great mum, not really understanding how to be a mum until it was probably too late because don't they say it's the first thousand days that determine the course of a child's life, Matt's future already damaged by her drinking coffee in pregnancy and crying when he had colic, not to mention not being a great daughter either, not to mention failing to cope with lockdown even though she hasn't been sick, hasn't lost anyone, and not only failing to cope but actually failing to isolate herself when told to do so, not to mention failing to go home before dark, not to mention failing and falling off the rock, yes, you could say there were mistakes.
Breathe through the pain, but it's the sort of pain that stops you breathing." (p.139)
Lovely atmosphere and the insides of people's heads, which works well in a book that has not much is happening, and of course taking place during lockdown when people were very physically isolated from each other. It is weird for me to read a novel like this; lockdown did not happen for me, I went to work, where social distancing barely happened, and did not get any of that navel-gazing time when everyone was wiping down their shopping and looking out of the windows and counting how many times their neighbours left the house. And it feels strangely all so long ago now. Has life returned to 'normal'? In some ways yes. I still have a 'wash your hands' reminder sign up in the hallway.
Anyway, Kate sings to the raven, and she mentions this song, so for your enjoyment, The Manchester Rambler:
Many years ago I used to drive my kids to the station in Cheltenham on a Friday night to go and visit their dad. We listened to the Chris Evans show on Radio 2, and he did this little feature about mishearing song lyrics. Mondegreen is the word that refers to this phenomenon. My favourite mondegreen that came up on the show one Friday was from The Killers song 'Human' in which the person writing in heard their child singing the chorus line as "Are we human or are we hamsters?" And so ever after this is how I sing the song whenever it comes on the radio. And now you know, I'm sure you will too, because that is way better than the original lyrics.
Stay safe. Be kind. Sing like nobody is listening.
p.s. and because Dunk is magic and remembers everything and is a superhuman internet searcher also enjoy this version:
So, I very nearly beat myself up for completely forgetting to follow my literary diet, then Monkey told me off. We scanned down the list for today's offering but paused at the 10th: the wonderful Tom Lehrer:
and just because there's always another suggestion on Youtube:
Gallows humour about nuclear war was quite common for a while, I wonder whether he's written anything about climate change.
Last week I came across this lovely interview with Joan Armatrading in the Guardian. I do not recall how she became someone who's music I love, she had very few 'hits' and was not someone who attracted attention, but something about the quality of her voice gives me chills. It is good to see that she is well and happy and has new music coming out. Enjoy.
'Cautionary Tales for Daughters' was one from my list that we did make it to, and it was very well worth while. Tanya Holt regaled us comedy songs containing motherly advice for offspring venturing into the big bad world, cautionary tales against the evil temptations of tattooing, dieting and advanced consumerism. She makes an early start at 10.15 am in Space 53, every day until the 29th.
We met Tamar Broadbent outside her venue (32) down on Cowgate, like most solo acts she was doing her own flyering. Armed with a trusty keyboard she interspersed her songs with tales of her adventures in far flung places, and other places less far flung. Very human stories that anyone could relate to, a powerful singing voice and an engaging personality made for a very enjoyable show. A free event, so please give generously. I was only disappointed by the lack of a sword.
Our only event on our last day was 'The Oxford Gargoyles'. Singing a cappella this accomplished group of young people gave a stunning performance of a selection of musical genres, all held together with amusing little skits where they played gargoyles on the cathedral commenting on the music. It was their last fringe performance unfortunately, though I am sure you will be able to see them elsewhere, so keep an eye on their website. Highly recommended.
(Tickets for all events can be booked through the Edfringe Website.)
So it's the last week of November, and you all know what that means for the posties of south Manchester ... yes, it's 'Chocolate Advent Calendar Week'. All those mums and dads who anxiously saw their precious offspring off to university in September are now eagerly anticipating their return for the Christmas break, and are reminding them of their parental affection by sending them a chocolate advent calendar. The good thing about delivering to the students is that there is usually someone home ... it's getting them out of bed to answer the door that is the difficult bit.
On the plus side I delivered a letter addressed to someone called Ferryman, and when I read the name this song just popped into my head and stayed there all morning ... very annoying since I only know the one line. This is unfortunately how my mind works sometimes. Whatever. Enjoy!
A wonderful afternoon was had by all, and it was quite a crowd that ventured out to the Whitworth. The event was put on by Poets and Players and included some very mellow jazz from Matthew Halsall, Taz Modi, Gavin Barras and Chris Davies, followed by readings from Suzanne Batty and Simon Armitage. I have written about his collection 'Seeing Stars' and his most recent book 'Walking Home' so I consider myself quite a devotee, so while the audience loitered I took the opportunity to get him to sign my copy of Seeing Stars. I was a little awestruck and just thanked him for the reading and told him I had written about him on my blog.
