The Big Leather Chair

What would be your Mastermind subject?

I was thinking about this in the shower the other day, as you do. And it occurred to me that I no longer have a subject that I can honestly say I specialise in.

The revelation made me genuinely sad. Have I let myself down?

I don’t really specialise in anything any more – I just generalise, badly. It’s not the end of the world. I’ve managed to get through life so far. But over the last few days I’ve been asking myself the question – what exactly do I know?

It’s generally acknowledged that you’re supposed to know more things when you get older, right? But in reality while (some of us) become wiser, cold-hard-facts-knowledge is something we just end up forgetting. Life takes over and we stop practicing - getting on with daily life doesn’t leave an awful lot of time for knowledge pursuits. Not unless you’re doing it as part of your day job.

I’d say that my knowledge peaked at 22 and it’s all been drip dropping out like a leaky tap since.

Does part of us stop caring? I’d argue that most of us get to a point where we’re not trying to prove ourselves to the world anymore. You start to relax.

I was quite happy with this relaxing, until the other day in the shower. Now I’m worried - should I be learning more stuff?

You forget what it is like to learn. The confidence it brings. When I was at school, absorbing all that information was effortless. Natural. So much so that I took it for granted. But now as an adult, well – it’s a totally different, scary slog of a story.

Last week – before the shower – I was told that my punctuation is all over the place. At the age of 31 and owner of a Bachelor’s Degree in the English Language this bombshell was hugely shame inducing.

Handily, for some reason I’ve had the Penguin Guide to Punctuation in my bookcase for who knows how many years. So, I thought I’d spend ten minutes reading through that to refresh my ageing memory…

Eight days later, and I still have not grasped the functions on the comma. *At this point I will take the opportunity to apologise for the offensive and incorrect use of commas riddled throughout this blog post.

When the weekend arrived I was at my wits end. I thought I’d give my poor brain a break. Do some relaxing, something I am confident I am good at.

We walked into town. Loafed around the library. Got tired from all that hard work. Sat down in said library for a break. We looked up and realised the square outside was packed. Positively teeming with throngs of over-excited small children literally running, throwing themselves at whatever was going on.

I’ll tell you what was going on. Science.

The British Science Festival had come to town, and my word was it going down well.

Some children were blowing bubbles bigger than the London Eye.

Some children (and grown adults) were running barefoot through a bowl of custard – which held solid under the weight of those who ran quick enough.

But the biggest hitter – and most entertaining to watch – were the mini canisters which, when filled with two reactive elements, exploded.

The sheer glee on each child’s face as the canister propelled itself into the air as if by magic, and the rapt fascination as they were shown how this had happened was really was heart warming. And a little inspirational.

That thirst for knowledge is something I wish I had made more of an effort to hold on to.

But of course, it’s easy for kids. They have tons of time to dedicate to learning. They don’t have any worries about money, work or getting the washing done.

Perhaps the answer is to stop being so damn lazy. Just take up a hobby. REALLY take up a hobby. (Not just buying Kirstie Allsopp’s Craft book and leaving it there next to the TV.)

Because despite it being hard work - and I already have enough of that at actual work - learning new things really does make you feel better about yourself. Helps you feel as though you can go about the world with some confidence - even if you don’t want to take it over any more.

Being a specialist in something – no matter how trivial or obscure – is a small way of demonstrating to the world, and to yourself, that you’re still here. In a small, relaxed way.

So, I think after I’ve conquered commas I will release the inner child with me, and learn something. Perhaps I’ll start by taking out a science book from the library. Who knows, maybe this time next year I’ll be the one showing small children how to walk over custard.

And if John Humphrys invites me over to the big leather chair, I’ll have the confidence to say yes.

The “I’m getting older and enjoy going for weekends away” UK Getaway Guide

Destination #1 “The strangest town in Wales” Laugharne, Carmarthenshire

Embarrassingly, I’d never heard of this place until I read a profile in House & Garden magazine (see, getting older…) last year. In it Kate Quill wrote “there are few places in the world where landscape and art are so inextricably linked.” I was immediately hooked.

When I told my Dad where I was going, the first thing he asked was “Ah, so you’re going to the tin shed, then?”

…Had I made a mistake?

Certainly not. After getting lost in the beautiful, almost melancholy geography of this antiquated hidden gem I can understand its pull. And I’m in stellar company – Mick Jagger, Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, Peter O Toole, President Carter and, er, Pearce Brosnan have all made the pilgrimage to Laugharne in order to explore the town’s links with literature. Most notably, the celebrated poet Dylan Thomas.

Dylan’s relationship with Laugharne began when he visited aged 19, in 1934. Pronouncing it ‘the strangest town in Wales’, he clearly felt a connection to this unusual place, with its lively locals, situation on the mouth of the Taf estuary… and its 14 pubs.

Laugharne became the inspiration for the fictional town of Llareggub in his play for voices Under Milk Wood, and Dylan called the town home at several points over his life, although his returns were fractured by the Second World War.

He eventually moved into the Boathouse – now open to the public as an intimate little museum – in 1949, thanks to help from the American actress, Margaret Taylor. The best thing about the Boathouse, aside from the majestic views over the estuary and marshland, are the displays of letters penned by the writer – he wrote more than a thousand over the course of his life.

The Birthday Walk, inspired by Poem in October, written by Dylan on his 30^th birthday, offers a chance to ponder life and death and nature etc (you’ll find yourself doing a lot of that in Laugharne), as you follow in the footsteps of the poet. The route, stretching up a woody hill that looks down over the estuary and beyond, was originally created to provide access to the cockle beds on the marshes.

This was actually my first visit not only to Laugharne, but also to an estuary – and I was struck by the detached, still mood it created. Almost silent, the peace is very conducive to quiet contemplation, perhaps over a bag of chips – which you’ll need after your hefty walk.

For those readers who admit to being Twitchers, there is much birdlife to ogle in Laugharne, which is home to many curlews, egrets and other birds I can’t remember the names of.

Being new to bird watching and armed not with knowledge but with a slightly dubious app, we saw none of the above, regrettably. Potentially a grey-headed gull…but who knows.

Literary heritage aside, there are a number of other quirky jewels in Laugharne’s crown.

On the subject of crowns, Laugharne has a Castle. Built in 1116 by the invading Normans, it’s another opportunity to climb up high and enjoy the expansive views of that serene landscape. There’s not much else to it, to be honest – the information provided on what ruins remain is a little light.

But this gives you more time spare to spend in what must be the most curious and memorable World War attractions I’ve been to - the infamous Tin Shed Experience. Founders Andrew Isaacs and Seimon Pugh-Jones have created a unique, broad collection of artifacts and memorabilia from 1914 to 1945, all housed in a tin shed.

Once you knock on the door and enter into their world, the passion for history and nostalgia really shines through. This is a museum with a difference – cast off any dusty pre-conceptions you may have! The Tin Shed is very much the ‘experience’ it promises to be – we were treated to a personal tour through the collection by Seimon, and were encouraged to interact and pick up items on display, asking questions about things we had a particular interest in.

He also took us through the story of how the place came about, and it was a breath of fresh air to have such an intimate insight, making the visit special. Other establishments could learn a lot from this innovative enterprise.

My Dad wouldn’t have been disappointed.

__

Not purely an attraction for bookish nature lovers, Laugharne also caters for romantics, young and old.

Browns, described as a pub with rooms, provided a chic and rather luxurious base for our trip – complete with fluffy flannel robes, sumptuous bed linens and a prime view out on to the main street from a gorgeous bay window.

You won’t be surprised when I tell you there is another Dylan Thomas connection here – Browns was the favourite watering hole of the poet, and this is evident in the photographs and books that populate the bar area

And as we’re talking romance, I really must mention The Cors - a charming restaurant set in magical surroundings. It’s only a shame the food isn’t served out in the garden! Once a bog (translated as cors, in Welsh), this breathtaking space is now home to trees, ponds, sculptures and some sensational gunnera. We were gutted that we couldn’t explore fully in the rain we met with on the night of our meal – fortunately the scenery inside matched up. Flickering candlelight, attentive service and a gently bustling atmosphere accompanied the delicious local food. I could live there.

They say the people make the place, don’t they? What made Laugharne special, for me, was it’s friendly residents. Greeting you with big smiles, throwing delicious cake at you left, right and centre and relaxing convivially in the many pubs still left in town (not quite 14).

Recommended on a Saturday night is The New Three Mariners, boasting a brilliant atmosphere fuelled by a jolly local crowd letting their hair down. Literally – on our last night one long-haired crooner joined the live band in a number of rowdy Rolling Stones renditions. It’s like Jagger was back in town...

Hours later, we polished the whole experience off in the more sedate surroundings of the Browns bar with a special edition ‘Dylan Thomas’ single malt whiskey – unashamed of the cliché, it was a real treat - gutsy, warm and timeless. Just like Laugharne.

http://www.browns-hotel.co.uk/

http://www.newthreemarinersinn.co.uk/

http://www.thecors.co.uk/

http://www.dylanthomasboathouse.com/

http://www.dylanthomasbirthdaywalk.co.uk/

http://www.castlewales.com/laugharn.html

http://www.tinshedexperience.co.uk/

The best board game ever? (...hang on, there's no board)

I did something old and boring last night. I played a board game. Yes. On a Monday night.

And I had such fun I feel compelled to bang on about it!

So - for those who don’t enjoy the intensity and general seriousness of Scrabble, I present to you – Bananagrams!

The banana – everyone’s favourite suggestive fruit. Happily, the game is just as jolly as the name.

First off, the game is shaped like an actual banana. Well, the bag it comes in is. Despite the less-than-attractive combination of lurid yellow and brown, I think I’d rather like a handbag version.

And secondly, who doesn’t love shouting out silly things? Split! Peel! Bananas!

Basically it’s a word game using little square tiles (who doesn’t love that satisfying tactile thrill of little tiles). So far, so Scrabble.

But the difference with Bananagrams is its simplicity and same-time solitary play.

All tiles are placed face down in the middle of the table, with each player taking a number for themselves. Once play starts (signalled by the shout of Split!, naturally), each player works independently to arrange their tiles in a grid of connecting words. The winner is the first person to complete a word grid with no tiles remaining in the game. (You get to shout bananas! at this point – that is your reward.)

So, the banana Tourette’s (sorry) is the extent of interaction you will need with your fellow game players, making for a pretty effortless, low on social commitment game. Perfect. It’s also low maintenance on the ‘stuff’ front. No hassle - just little tiles, in a little bag. As long as there is a table where you are, you can play it there.

On first glance, Bananagrams couldn’t be more 70s. All it’s missing is that strangely comforting sepia image of enforced family fun in action.

…But wait! It was made in 2006 by an American in Rhode Island!

Well, bananas! You had me fooled.

Anyway, I heartily recommend this slice of faux-nostalgia, and can’t wait to play it again.

http://www.bananagrams.com/

The Pirate Ship

When did you stop being fearless? Can you remember?

I remember. I can pin it down to the exact moment.

I was eleven. I was on the Pirate Ship at Alton Towers, something which I’d loved being on since I was tall enough to be allowed on it. I’d go as far as to say it was my favourite of all the rides. (Unfortunately for my Dad, who was consequently subjected to a string of back-to-back trips on it…)

And then, out of nowhere, I hated it.

Everything was normal until the third swing, and then I started crying hotly. I thought I would be sick.

My Dad, sat next to me as usual, was oblivious to my abject terror. He just thought I was enjoying myself. Not that he could have done anything to stop my terror had he been aware of it…another frightening thing I learned that day.

My stomach swung up and down with the movement of the ship. I used to love that.

I gripped on the measly railing, miles away from my actual body, which I scrunched up like a contortionist, one knee up by my chin in an attempt to contain the lurching sensation inside me. No use.

I remember thinking I was going to fly right out of the seat, that colossal and hostile ship taking over what little control I had of my small body.

And the worse thing was it seemed to last forever. Well, at least MUCH longer than it had ever lasted before. Like the ship’s operator was in on it.

I haven’t been on a ride since.

It’s when we start thinking about stuff, isn’t it? That’s when the fear sets in. Too much thinking.

I went out on a boat, a real one, recently. It was a little boat, the kind where you are close to the water. The conditions were mildly choppy. I was totally fine as we lurched about a bit, enjoying it even – whooping and whee-ing with the toddlers, actually (I have no shame). But then the Pirate Ship popped into my head, as things do when you don’t want them to, and I instantly started to feel sick. A ghostly nausea.

When I think about it, and I do a lot, I’m scared on a regular basis.

Pretty much every day. An irrational fear, mostly, about things that aren’t even a reality. Just potential realities, looming darkly on the horizon.

And whilst I don’t think this fear ultimately stops me doing things, making decisions, progressing in life, it does make for a great deal of unnecessary stress. Stress I recognise I impress on to those around me, involuntarily.

But I just can’t help it. Fear is almost a reflex for me now. An element of my personality.

Never mind fairground rides. Its terrifying just being alive.

Wine helps. *She says, as she types this blog article, wine glass in hand after a hard day at work… But this obviously isn’t a wise life choice.

I can’t imagine what life must be like for those who are unfortunate enough to not possess as many of the coping skills as others do - as I seem to, despite it all. Daily life must be a genuine struggle.

There’s still hope though.

One of the reasons today was such a challenge at work was because we welcomed students, returning and new, for another academic year. Whoopee!

But it strikes me in this job, too regularly, just how damn resilient kids are. I know, you hear it said all time.

But really – kids, especially the older teens, are absolute fighters. After nearly ten years in this job I am increasingly aware that some (an alarmingly high number, it always seems) of our young people have to cope with horrors much more vast, complicated and intimate than a slightly nauseous experience at an amusement park could compare to. It sounds like a tired cliché, but I doubt most of the young people I’m thinking about have even been to a bloody theme park. 

And long may they steer clear! Maybe then there’s hope, hope that they’ll hang on to the last shreds of bravery they have. Perhaps they will go on to be even stronger in their adult lives, leading the way for others. A good deal braver than I am.

Image courtesy of http://www.alton-towers-breaks.com/themepark/thrills.html