Mother-Daughter Retail Therapy

Rejigging some leave from Christmas I’ve managed to arrange things so that I can take a day now to spend with Mum and Dad.

In exchange for some computer help from me over the weekend, Dad has given the go ahead for Mum and I to do what we do best – a girlie shopping trip.

Accordingly, 9am sees Mum and I en route to Croydon. The shops are amazingly busy for midweek – I guess the Christmas shopping rush has started already.

Happily, I’ve already done most of my Christmas buying and Mum’s for that matter, so our trip is free of stress and we’re able just to meander and pick up bits here and there; attempting to suppress the homicidal rages that busy shopping malls bring to the fore.

Of course shopping is really just an excuse for some mother daughter time together. So retail therapy gives way for a while as we get a coffee and chat away.

Keeping to our strict schedule, we meet Dad at the arranged point and I’m taken to lunch at a newly refurbished restaurant near where I grew up. It’s nice to spend time with them both and good that we get on so well these days.

The end of the long goodbye

For the fourth day in a row S and I meet up (I guess we’re both eager to squeeze what we can from these last few days), but I leave for London tomorrow, so this really is our last chance to meet up before they move.



We’ve planned an evening out at the Christmas Markets in town and best of all P is, as hoped, able to join us, fresh from his work leaving do (ever so slightly merry).

As we mooch and munch and chat and laugh, I’m reminded of how much I love these two friends of mine. We just get on so well and are so comfortable in each other’s company. I’ll miss the easy spontaneous meet-ups, but that’s the only thing that ends here, the friendship continues, just on a more organised basis in future. In fact my first trip to Wolverhampton and a shared New Year are already planned.

But, this era ends here, and having dropped them back at their Manchester home for the last ever time, I drive away sad, but at the same time grateful for the gift of all my wonderful friends.

Casino Royale

Mid-afternoon I receive a text message from S: “Unless you feel at risk of social overdose do you fancy seeing Bond tonight? Trapped in box nightmare.”.

I reply that I see it more as the opportunity to get one’s money’s worth whilst one can. Besides it is most surely a best mate’s duty to rescue a friend trapped in packing hell.

So after the gym I head straight to S’s and we just make it round the corner to the Showcase in time.

The intricacies of the poker scene are a little lost on S and I; at the point of high tension when you catch sight of the various card hands, we just look at each other with amused shrugs. This doesn’t spoil the film though, it has to be one of the best Bond films for a good while. Proper acting and dare I say a rather enigmatically sexy new central figure.



Daniel Craig in swimming trunks….mmmmm…well you wouldn’t kick him out of bed for farting would you?

It needs some tighter editing, there are plot holes big enough to drive an Aston martin through and the product placement (yes, yes Sony Vaoi’s are lovely, enough already) is a little tiresome, but overall it’s a cracking film.

Up the Candle

In conversation at the weekend, it transpired that Stuart had only lately come across the phrase 'higher up/lower down the candle' to describe relative styles of church worship.

I suppose I grew up with the phrase, but I share Stuart's fondness for it and have used it many a time in recent years to describe part of my journey as having been one of climbing the candle.

Proof positive of this directional movement must surely be that a bored lunchtime perusal of my SiteMeter shows that I rank 55 on Google for the search Ecclesiastical Regalia.

The post in question also reminds me of an associated phrase that entered my lexicon a while back. Sadly I feel non-conformist Stuart will have less opportunity to use "up to his tits in tat".

Readers may draw their own conclusions about the implications of this blog also enjoying it transpires, a ranking of number 1 on Google for Clockwork Nun...

The Last Sunday

After a quiet day, I head round to P&S's and P and I load up the car and head to the tip. Our local refuse centre is great fun for anyone with destructive tendencies as you fling your rubbish into the 20ft deep concrete chasm.

Needless to say P and I take great delight in lobbing broken computers, lava lamps and all manner of stuff as far as we can.

Then the three of us head back to mine for the now (but short-lived) tradition of DVD and food. This time I've actually been organised enough to go to the shops and hence am able to cook up a lovely meal of salmon in lemon and dill sauce with steamed veg.

I know this won't be the last time we spend an evening like this. It's just going to take more organisation and travelling in future.

Canals, Christmas Markets and Curry

Next weekend will be P&S's last weekend in Manchester. Sadly however I will be in London, so this weekend is our last joint weekend. On the plus side I guess this does at least allow us a private goodbye period.

Despite a house in Wolverhampton still badly in need of decorating attention, P&S head back to Manchester this morning and so S and I can have a girlie day out together.

We head to Castlefield where we find a very polite protest being undertaken, with canal boats blocking the entrance to the Duke's cut.



A lunch in Duke's 92 and time to catch up. An unfortunate phone call midway, brings up the past and for what must be the first time in over a year a few tears come. Thing is there is still anger and remembrance of the pain of back then, but I know the tears owe a little to PMT and a lot to the circumstance of this weekend. But I don't want to ruin this day with tears, so I fight them back.

Moving on in more ways than one, we head onto the tow path and walk along the canal.

This has to be one of my very favourite urban walks. The area has changed so much in the 17 years that I've been in Manchester. The changes continue and the new Hilton tower now dominates the skyline.



We emerge from this slightly subterranean world onto Oxford Road and from here head past Central Library to Albert Square.



It's fun to explore the continental markets here and on Brazenose Street, though I'm still not tempted by the array of white and blue Dutch porcelain.



On the other hand I think Shaun might like this:



We head back down Deansgate and unsuccessfully search in various outdoor sport shops for the elusive non-breakable cafetiere for P.

Then back to Castlefield to pick up the car and then I drop S home - a few hours downtime before we meet up again, with P for a meal out.

As I drive back to mine the tears start to fall again. The reality of them not being just a mile away in future is really starting to hit home.

In need of a buddy, I ring Stuart, who provides me with much love, support and a firm talking to about still having 'family' here in Manchester. It works a treat, I'm still sad about the end of an era, but I don't feel so alone anymore.

Feeling stronger I pick up P&S and having failed to secure a table at the Cedar Tree we decide on the Punjab.

Unfortunately, what should have been a lovely meal at our home from home, is marred by some decidedly lack lustre dishes. After so many years of sterling service and consistently fabulous food, it's been so sad to see this place lose its touch over the last few months. But it's the company that counts.

Mmmmm Punjab!

The lovely K is en-route with J to London for a girlie weekend, staying at Sally's. Sadly I couldn't join them but Stuart and I console ourselves with a trip to the pub and then on to our favourite curry house.

Better still favourite niece K meets us there post cinema.

It's a timely reminder that whilst some friends might be about to leave the city, some rather excellent buddies remain.

The Line

It's long been the joke that Steve and I know where the line is, it's just behind our heels. So you can imagine people's delight/piss-taking on hearing that I've been asked to mentor someone in appropriate behaviour/communication.

Take this space to pause and wonder what that says about the rest of the organisation in question.














I know, worrying isn't it.

Expecting

When I first met M, just under four years ago, she was curled up, silent and clearly terrified.

Having fled her home in Africa following the murder of her mother and brother and her own second period in prison (torture sessions thrown in at no extra charge), she'd arrived in Britain seeking safety.

What she found was an incompetent solicitor and a government who had just passed laws that left people like herself destitute with no legal means of feeding themselves or finding shelter.

Alone, cold, frightened - no wonder she looked like a text-book picture for 'traumatised'.

Very soon though this stranger started to come out of her shell and soon we could see for ourselves the political activist, the fighter, the intelligent, articulate, feisty young woman.

The next year was quite a journey - negative decisions, appeals, and finally 'indefinite leave to remain'.

In the midst of that we brought M to Greenbelt and she worked the Escape to Safety exhibition. I remember seeing her in action, seeing the educator in her come out and seeing her hold the respect of all who she spoke to - finding the guts to tell her story for the sake of the bigger picture, for the sake of others facing what she had. I remember feeling so proud of the community that had her saying that for the first time since leaving Africa she had found herself again.

I'm in awe of her. In my life I didn't need to develop the knowledge and philosophy that "Even at the worst moments when part of you just wants it all to end, you find that something in you still wants to hold on to life. But, you know you must never hold your own life so dear that you won't sacrifice it if necessary, for the sake of the next generation".

I remember talking to her when she'd finally got the positive determination and reflecting that at last she could now really start thinking about the future. Her priority was to train or work in some field that would be of use for the day she hopes for, when it's safe for her to return home. Something that would help her take her part in rebuilding her community.

And so, she's now in her final year of a Community Health degree, working every spare moment still to pay her way.

We've progressively seen her less and less over the years, and that's cool. She doesn't need us now, she's flown that temporary little nest that we were able to provide for her. She's found a new life here now and it's fantastic to see.

But tonight, P, S and myself head a few miles east to her new pad to catch up. It's been months, too many months. We get to meet her new man (who is clearly shy and in awe of her, but treating her well and that's good enough for me) and the bump that very soon will be a new life in this world.

M is glowing both physically and emotionally; a long long way from that scared little creature I first met all those years ago.

As we say our goodbyes at the end of the visit, we tell P he's a brave, brave man taking on our feisty M, but as we leave there's a lump in my throat. It's nice when things work out.

And repeat...

This weekend ended like the last, the key ingredients being P, S, DVD and pizza.

Good friends at utter comfort in each other's company.

It's hard to countenance that these easy, spur of the moment, just round the corner from each other, meetings are about to end. It's been six months in the offing, but still I know I'm not prepared.

Happy evenings together are starting to become tinged with sadness.

Hair and shopping

Years ago I had a real phobia about having my hair cut; a result of numerous appalling disasters. Then, about fifteen years ago, I went to this fantastic salon in Manchester and everything changed.

Apart from the year when P 'retired' due to ill health, I've not let anyone else take scissors near my 'difficult' twin crowned barnet.

His wife S runs the colouring floor and is undoubtedly the best colourist in Manchester, and generally considered to be one of the best in the country.

On top of this they are simply wonderful people and after years as a regular client, a trip in to get my locks tamed, feels like a catch up with friends. What films have we seen, what books have been read, restaurants visited and so forth.

People sometimes ask me what I'm going to have 'done'. Well the truth is I rarely think about it in advance, we know each other so well that all we need is a vague and most general of conversations and from that they do their thing. Leave it to the experts. I'm never disappointed.

S in particular has it down to a fine art. Once, after the nasty break-up of a relationship, I looked in the mirror at the end of the afternoon and found a stunningly bright array of colours on my head or as she put it so succinctly "I knew you needed cheering up". Similarly she knows I'll say if I have a job interview of similar imminent and accordingly she'll wordlessly make sure it's a little tamer.

So several hours after crossing the threshold, I leave with a head of hair three hundred times healthier and with a bag full of anti-chlorine products.

And so on to the shopping. I have a list of items to get for Mum, plus some Christmas shopping of my own and some clothes shopping for fun.

Regular readers will be surprised to hear that not one shoe shop was entered.



With arms achingly full of bags, I walk through the Christmas Markets, spread even further across Manchester this year.

The smell of mulled wine and hot spiced cider, provides a heady mix with that of cheese and salami.

Alongside the stalls of food and some genuinely lovely crafts, there are countless stalls of tat.

You know how people buy things on foreign holidays that make no sense once returned to domestic shores, the Moroccan slippers that fit so perfectly into that world, but lie untouched at the bottom of the wardrobe back home? Well I can't help feeling that a similar thing is happening in the Hansel and Gretel style stalls that line the squares and streets of Manchester right now. Buoyed up by the warm alcohol and the festive atmosphere, the unsuspecting public will be lulled into buying white and blue Dutch porcelain windmills and clogs or Italian lace tablecloths and the once home and sober, they'll unpack their bags and think "wtf did I buy this for?".

Burmese Days

At book group this week we discussed Burmese Days by George Orwell.

None of us had managed to finish reading it, but only due to time pressures, we'd all enjoyed it greatly.

One of the key pleasures of reading a well written book set in a foreign culture is the way it transports you to a different world. Cheaper than the air fare and more environmentally friendly (although I'm aware my bowing bookshelves represent the sacrifice of several trees).

Chlorine Hair

Well my shoulder seems to be holding up to the renewed swimming regime. The same cannot be said about my hair.

Chlorine and hair colouring is not a good combination, hopefully the long overdue trip to the hairdressers will help on this front. I'm hoping S can do her usual magic.

Because let's face it, goggles for contact lenses are bad enough, but I'm not going down this avenue for anyone:



I mean, look at it, they could obviously only find one model prepared to humiliate herself in this way...

iCrib

Well if you absolutely must insist on breeding (and it seems some of you must), then obviously this is what every modern babe needs.



Never too early to start a love of all things white and shiny.

End of the weekend

Strangely enough when I arrived back at the AFO conference, the crew were still up and drinking (pints of whiskey and coke in some cases). I have some catching up to do.

Despite this I still don’t sleep well and decide to sacrifice breakfast for some extra time in bed.

The last few sessions are again worthwhile and as we pack up and head our separate ways, I’m glad that P brought this to my attention. Some good stuff learnt, some interesting ideas to consider, some hopefully useful contacts made.

Back in Manchester I doze on the sofa before P&S come round for a quiet night of pizza and DVD. Perfect mellow end to a hectic weekend.