My Stage is the World

Down Memory Lane

by mystageistheworld

Anne Boleyn she kept a tin,
Which all her hopes and dreams were in,
She plans to run away with him, forever (never to be seen again)
Leaves a note and starts to choke,
Can feel the lump that’s in her throat,
It’s raining and she leaves her coat in silence…

These lyrics are from the McFly song Transylvania. I’ve always loved this song (not because of these lyrics), but when I was at Wembley Arena yesterday, it struck me as odd that Anne Boleyn is mentioned at all. Most bands pick more significant characters to mention in their song, especially portrayed in an almost romantic light.

Anne Boleyn died 467 years ago today, executed in London after being found guilty of the charges laid against her. Yet she still remains a popular figure, popping up in songs, plays and TV programmes.

What is it about her? I featured in a documentary about Anne Boleyn last year, along with several other girls who felt a strong sense of admiration for this young woman. Strange perhaps that we admire a woman who was labelled an adulteress, a witch, a whore and countless other things.

So what then?

It’s still a man’s world out there and women still struggle for power as men continue to dominate. Anne rose from almost nothing to become queen of England, one of the most influential people at the Royal Court. Her position benefited her family and friends, enhancing their wealth and status at court.

She was also a significant player in England’s break with Rome and movement towards a Church of England and Protestantism. She shaped the future of our country and gave birth to one of the strongest rulers in British history.

So what happened?

Anne was a woman. We’re all headstrong, passionate and determined. The world’s changed a lot, but men still seem to resent powerful women. I know that men often find me a bit too much to take, especially when I’m constantly busy, doing this and that, with no time for them. Yet, I still expect to get my own way and want them to be around when I want them.

Maybe Anne is still present in modern day because she is the epitome of what women want to be-beautiful and powerful.

Personally, I don’t see anything wrong with that, and if that means I would have lost my head, almost for just being female, then at least that’s something I don’t have to worry about nowadays!

Just My Luck

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Oops I did it again

by mystageistheworld

24 hours in A&E

So ice-skating is slippery? You’d think, after my excursions in Brussels, that I would have realised this, but no – yet again I found this out the hard way several weeks ago.

I didn’t feel well and was hungry, but didn’t want to miss my lesson.

So I enter the ice hot and bothered with a fuzzy brain.

Practise: turn on one leg, backwards arabesque. Repeat. Blunt skates, rough ice.

A fall, a crack, intense pain and embarrassment.

Left wrist swollen, pale, throbbing. Stand up, dizzy, nauseous and skate off the ice followed by a doctor in the group below me. She declares the arm broken. Ice pack, bed.

Two lovely paramedics provide a sling and water and a ride in the ambulance to Kings College Hospital.

Abandon hope, all ye who enter here

Homeless people, hypochondriacs and the lonely gather inside, ignored by all until they’re asked to leave, clutching their possessions, imaginary ailments and life stories close.

I’m bundled inside, my forms lost in the hustle and bustle of A&E, into a waiting room of injured people.

Gunshot and stab victims raid the vending machines, children run riot and nurses take verbal abuse in their stride.

Nobody notices me clutching my skates, swollen arm, pale face until I demand some drugs and sit alone waiting…

…and waiting. Nobody’s moved, people are frustrates and I’m in serious pain. It’s been two hours and I’ve had enough so I ask when I will be seen. Seven people in front of me, two people going in per hour… I’ll never get home!

Journey to the centre of the earth

I act quickly and jump into a taxi in front of the smoking pregnant woman in pursuit of the tube. The driver chats away on his mobile phone and drops me too far from the entrance so I run…

A small girl with a sling is ushered through barriers without a thought and I reach Waterloo… one minute too late.

My luck turns and my train is late so I get on it and get a seat, surrounded by sympathetic people offering me help, love and assistance. Commuters have never been friendlier; I’ve never been so mollycoddled.

Everyone is eager to share their own stories, offering me their number or a lift in case I am stranded in the middle of the night.

A night to remember

At the Royal Surrey the wait is short, yet inpatients steal my X-ray slot and my tears fall as I remember a previous trip for another’s broken arm. Those waiting for relatives comfort me and tell amusing stories to cheer me up.

Around 2am my worst fears are confirmed – one broken wrist, two fractured bones and surgery likely.

There’s nothing for it but to try to get some sleep…

…but that’s a silly idea as my arm has to be half plastered and I have to be swabbed, stabbed and squeezed. The ‘nil by mouth’ sign goes up and at 4am I’m left alone.

Except that the other patients are intent on keeping me awake as one brought in starts to scream and hit out at the nurses who are trying to kill her.

I’ve never felt more alone.

Oh what a beautiful morning

Sleep comes eventually until I’m woken at 6am by the hoover and a nice nurse telling me she’ll sit me up for breakfast… which I’m not allowed because of the possibility of surgery.

Books are brought but I can’t turn the pages so it’s tiring and all I want to do is scream and sleep.

My body is exposed to radiation several more times as I am wheeled around the hospital and a new cast is put on.

Nobody tells me anything and I still don’t know if I’m having surgery.

I’m tired and starving and annoyed that they’ve reduced the amount of morphine in my drip.

Despite my polite frustration I’m still a favourite of the nurses (I’m young and sane), so I do get extra drugs and am promised food once they know more.

At the end of the day

Finally just before visiting hours finish I’m told that surgery won’t be necessary and I can go home.

It’s almost 4pm. I’ve missed three meals and am edgy to say the least.

A wonderful nurse brings me sandwiches, tea and biscuits and I’m so hungry I don’t even mind that it’s fake bread with butter, cheese and tomato which normally I wouldn’t eat.

As I’m discharged and everyone hugs me and waves me goodbye, I have only one thought in my mind:

I’ve definitely got my money’s worth out of the NHS this year!

Just My Luck

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Go Go Power Rangers

by mystageistheworld

I have quite a vivid imagination and often forget that I live in the real world… usually when I’m walking home or sitting on a train. Daydreaming or fantasising is something everyone does and as children most of our games are based on this.

The trouble is that these days, when I wake up and realise I’m back in reality, I always feel disappointed.

A few weeks ago my friend mentioned he was watching Power Rangers: The Movie, as you do. Now I happen to LOVE this film and always wanted to be a Power Ranger when I was little (the pink one, obviously because she kicked ass, got the hot white one and was a gymnast).

So when he said this I begged him to wait until I could see it with him (quoting along no doubt), and although we haven’t quite managed it yet (dude – we should really organise this), when we do get around to it, it will be awesome.

Last night we went to a party at my hot nurse friend’s house and afterwards when we were waiting for a bus, we were very tempted to rent the newer ULTIMATE Power Rangers movie.

We didn’t and instead of losing myself into a fantasy world of monsters and dinosaur shaped vehicles, I ended up sat on a train next to a drunk man in a suit who passed out with his head on my shoulder… although he then thought it was a good idea to cycle home.

When I finally got home I ended up dreaming I was a Power Ranger and had to fight armies of putties who were taking over London and climbing over all the buildings. I was a heroine and felt that I’d achieved something.

This morning, I woke up it was to a day of housework and filing (although my room is now clean and tidy and the recycling bin is full of old bank statements, payslips and other rubbish) so for those people who say ‘to live is the greatest adventure of all’ – right now I’d rather live in my imagination.

And yes, we were standing at the bus stop singing the Power Rangers theme tune.

Don’t judge us – you’re just jealous.

The Glad Game

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Anne Boleyn – The Most Happy

by mystageistheworld

“Good Christian people, I am come hither to die, according to law, and therefore I will speak nothing against it… To Christ I commend my soul!”

Yesterday marked the 476th anniversary of Queen Anne Boleyn’s execution and I know I am not alone in mourning her death.

I’ve admired this woman since I was 6 when I first studied the Tudors, and as I grew older I found myself thinking about her more and more, as I realised how similar we are.

I own a replica Boleyn necklace, dyed my hair brown when I dressed up as her and have visited Blickling, Hever, the Tower of London and many other places on my quest to know the real Anne Boleyn.

The recent series of The Tudors, plus the dramatisation and film of The Other Boleyn Girl, has suddenly thrown Anne and her family into the public eye and the glamour and beauty that she evokes in people is quite startling. For what is it about someone who died so long ago that makes us all admire her so?

Twenty years ago when I was in Hampton Court in my school uniform, clutching the hand of my current best friend, I ran about looking for the infamous HA engraved in the ceiling. Later I would write a script with my ‘boyfriend’ – a conversation between Anne and Henry as they talked about Wolsey. I was already a madam and a writer.

Back then I was merely insensed by the seemingly arrogant man who dismissed wives as if they were going out of fashion. As I grew older and studied Tudor history again, I became intrigued by the flirtations and excitement that surrounded Anne at court. I was turning into a feisty, headstrong girl and I started to see similarities between us.

We were both manipulative and perhaps a bit spoilt. Clever and determined, we wanted our own way and would stop at nothing to get it. Men were nothing more than a tool, useful in some ways, as long as they could get us what we wanted in life. I started to realise the trouble I would have been in if I’d lived 500 years ago. Had it been in my power I would no doubt have risen and fallen in much the same way.

I read The Other Boleyn Girl before the hype, one summer in Barcelona when I was 17. I was fascinated and realised there was so much more to learn about Anne Boleyn. Unfortunately my A-Level History coursework was not allowed to be about Anne Boleyn and her sister because there ‘wasn’t enough information about her and it was mostly conjecture’, but one degree and a Masters later I had done plenty of research about this ‘conjecture’.

Every time I argued with a boyfriend I thought how lucky I was that he couldn’t chop off my head, although one caused my neck to become very delicate and I can now no longer bear to have it touched. Another left me with a broken heart, which I think was because I was too passionate and argumentative, just like Anne. I even remember thinking about their heated relationship where they would argue and then she, full of remorse, would apologise… just like me.

I recently appeared in a documentary about Anne Boleyn, alongside Philippa Gregory and Alison Weir. One question I was asked was why Anne Boleyn was suddenly so popular.

There are many reasons why I wasn’t the only person who wanted to leave flowers for Anne Boleyn in the Tower of London’s chapel this weekend. To me she’s always been a beautiful, intelligent woman who rose to become Queen, changing our country’s religion just because she was loved by a king. That’s power.

Power all of us women would long for. Some of us have it – the power to control people through our emotions and actions. Walk into a room and everyone wants to speak to us.

Passion. Lust. Power. Danger.

When I am 50, she will have been dead 500 years. I wonder if she’ll still be remembered by so many.

Sunshine and Light

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Animal Antics

by mystageistheworld

As most of you know I’m not a particularly charitable person and my patience is often tried. However, for some reason or another I have recently developed a heart and am being affected by stories I read (and write about). Here’s another that touched me in a way that Endal the guide dog did.

I saw an interview with James in the Metro and I was very interested and when I was writing an article about famous pets, naturally I included him. I did try to get my company involved, but it was too complicated. Never mind. Here’s James and Bob’s story:

James Bowen had a troubled life which eventually led to him being thrown out of his sister’s house and living on the streets addicted to heroin. Eventually he started living in a flat in Tottenham and busking around Camden and Covent Garden.

One day he came home to find a cat sitting outside his flat. Nobody seemed to own the cat and gradually James let him into his life. But Bob was no ordinary cat. He would follow James onto the bus or tube and sit on his shoulder or in his guitar case when he busked.

Soon Bob had quite a fanclub as people came to see the little ginger cat with a scarf who sat so serenely while his master played. This little cat has given James a new lease of life and something to live for and he has written a book ‘A Streetcat Named Bob‘ about their journey together.

I am a cat person and had seen James before all the hype. Their partnership truly is lovely and I’m glad that they’ve found each other. Good luck to you both!

Follow James and Bob on Twitter: @Streetcatbob

The Glad Game

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Just whistle as you (commute to) work

by mystageistheworld

Been very busy recently – working five days a week really takes it out of you… I’d forgotten! Plus I’ve been a social butterfly as well so I have loads of posts to write. But enough of that – more about the fun of commuting!

8.25am – train guard reminds us all to take our umbrellas with us when we leave the train

8.36am (Waterloo) – girl laying on her back, staring but not seeing whilst a policewoman takes photos

8.40am – twin girls ask me if I was on Dancing on Ice

8.45am – bus driver lets us on bus early because it’s raining

8.46am – fat man sits down and encroaches on my seat, glaring at me, even though there are loads of seats

5.35pm (Victoria) – Announcement “please do not stop at the bottom of the escalator” so woman in front of me immediately stops dead and I crash into her

5.45pm (Green Park) – man pushes into me and I fall forwards towards track; another man grabs me to stop me ending up in front of a train.

9.10pm – lights go off on the train because of computer software

9.55pm – Guard “I hope you have a pleasant journey… or at least as pleasant as possible.”

Things what I done

Went to work wearing wellies and an anorak
Wore navy tights with a charcoal grey skirt and didn’t change when I notice
Wore studs to work
Spent £122.99 on a pair of trainers
Decided I really don’t like nuts
Appeared on TV again

Commuter Corner

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Mean Girls

by mystageistheworld

Boo you whore!

Women are mean, there’s no doubt about it. You may wonder why men put up with us, but it’s because we’re all the same. Girls seem to revel in bitching and moaning – about, and to, everyone.

I’ve never been much of a bitch, mainly because I like my friends, my boyfriend’s never done anything too awful and I just don’t see the point.

However, everyone needs to vent and let off steam and there’s been many a time when I’ve sympathised and ranted with a bottle of wine and a friend. It makes life easier for your partner because all your emotion has been spent and all men are like mascara – they run at the first sign of emotion. The less they have to hear about it the better – they don’t care about Suzy’s pregnancy, Jane’s wedding or ‘that Mary in accounts’.

I hear women moaning at work, on the train, in the shops… I actually find it quote irritating, especially as everything they’re moaning at is so trivial.

Everyone at work (myself included) has berated their other half for wearing their running trainers out out. I’m glad it’s not just me who loathes this fashion faux pas, but if that’s all they have to worry about, then they should count themselves lucky!

Girls make cutting remarks which aren’t intentionally hurtful, but are in fact upsetting.Half of the time, I swear we don’t realise we’re doing it. Someone admires your dress and says ‘it’s very you’ which could mean it suits you, but also means ‘I wouldn’t wear it in a million years’. It’s meant as a compliment, but in a vindictive way.

Men should probably stop listening to the things we say – we don’t mean it when we aren’t fully supportive of your £400 games console, we just wish we could spend £400 on shoes or baking equipment. We have to put it down so we feel better – it’s just jealousy.

If we’re upset, we snap – we don’t mean to, it’s just our way of saying ‘I’m not cross with you darling, bu I am stressed and a bit sad – please hug me and tell me you love me and I’ll snap out of it.’ We always do.

Boys are easier to deal with – honest, straight and rational. My male friends have been better at supporting me recently than some of my female friends. They’ve sent messages of love, sympathy and compliments.

With girls you never know if they’re being sincere or if they’re smugly congratulating themselves that their life is better than yours.

If your friend asks you if she looks all right, you take in her (too) tight dress, (ridiculous) high heels and (streaky) fake tan and tell her she looks great, when she actually looks like a TOWIE reject. Are you being nice or nasty?

It’s a catch 22. A girl may think setting you up with a drunk guy might cheer you up after having your heartbroken, but it just lowers your opinion of her, especially as you’re still very upset. Helpful comments make things worse because you don’t know if they’re being nice or nasty. Nobody will ever know.

My male friend put it simply. ‘Girls are mental. Men are knobs. It’s just who we are.’

I’m more confused than ever – who will win the Battle of the Sexes?

Sunshine and Light

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Service with a smile

by mystageistheworld

Shopping is a girl’s favourite pastime, especially after payday when the size 6 fits you!

Of course the experience is made by the customer service you receive in the shops. Now, I’ve worked in retail and trying to be nice to everyone when you’re having ‘one of those days’ ain’t easy. Except that it is. A smile costs nothing and even more fun is inventing stories and characters to amuse or flatter your customer.

“Oh I love this top – I wore it on my birthday.” you say to a lady buying a hideous gold sequinned vest. Flirting with old men buying jewellery for their wives… and mistresses. Endless fun and I really enjoyed it.

Positivity really does make a difference and people respond and cheer up because of it.

I went shopping on Wednesday – the anaesthetic was wearing off and I felt a bit dizzy – retail therapy seemed a good idea. But who won the customer service awards?

Not Primark.

I’m not a huge fan of Primark, but they do quite nice baby clothes and occasionally they’ll surprise you with a total bargain. Aside from looking like a jumble sale and smelling… well, cheap, the staff often leave a lot to be desired. My cashier (I bought some AWESOME wellies – whether they’re waterproof or not is another matter) ignored me completely and didn’t say a single word to me. Her colleague was chattering away nonstop to her customer, but I let her be – perhaps her husband had died and she was struggling to get through the day?

As I walked into Specsavers to pick up my new glasses (exciting) I was faced by about eight members of staff, all hastily trying to swallow the chocolates they were eating. They all started forward in their race to service me. A young(ish) boy won and apologised for his chocolatey face. He adjusted my glasses and was very smiley and chatty – it was his first day. No problem there – bad service wouldn’t have put me off! My Karen Millen glasses were £125 but because I have lensemail they were only £45 so even with extra-thin lenses and anti-reflective coating they were a bargainous £85!

The boy in HMV looked tired and overcharged me. He apologised profusely and explained that he’d given his dissertation in that morning and hadn’t slept in 3 days. I could easily sympathise with him – giving in my MA dissertation was one of the worst days of my life (until Sean Bean hugged me) and I was sent home from work for looking like a zombie. I told him to go to bed.

But the overall winner is Marks and Spencer. I was trying to buy lunch – not easy when it’s a) raining (soggy salad anyone?) and b) you can’t eat wheat. I couldn’t find the free-from range but a nice lady not only showed me the range, but brought me samples of each product. Her colleague then printed off a list of all their gluten-free foods – which includes Percy Pigs HURRAH (but not Smarties as I found out at the hospital) – a list of some FORTY pages! I also got a free carrier bag from a friendly cashier.

So if you work in retail – and even if you don’t – it really does pay to make someone’s experience pleasant.

Go on smile at someone on the tube or ask the grumpy man on the bus a question. I dare you!

The Glad Game

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With nothing but my T-shirt on

by mystageistheworld

So I’ve signed up to the 10k London race and started training. I get a race T-shirt, plus a special Diamond Jubilee shirt and I also got an email from Nike saying they’ll give me one too as I’m wearing their trainers…

Then yesterday I got a huge parcel from my charity KidsCo… containing two T-shirts!

Now I have to say that the logo on the shirts is pretty awesome and matches all my running gear. This may be because their logo is pink, grey and indigo – naturally I am happy to run in these colours.

My only concern is which T-shirt do I wear for the race? I’m also doing the Royal Parks Half Marathon (for the same charity), so no doubt I’ll get another top to wear for that one.

I’ve also decided to apply for the London Marathon 2013. I’ve always wanted to do it and now is as good a time as any… hopefully I can race for my charity so I may get a place that way which would be good for them and me. Will I get another T-shirt? I hope so!

At this rate I’ll never have to buy another pyjama or running top ever again!

Run today was pretty good as I went before the thundery April showers and did 5k in 25 mins (and had a skin test on the way back).

General fitness has been mostly walking – no chance to go cycling(!) as the weather is threatening to be horrific all weekend – but I am ice-skating on Thursday! It’s been almost two months (tore a ligament in my wrist) but I can’t wait and hopefully will meet a new circle of people to hang out with when I move to London.

I keep bumping into old friends actually – including one in Fez Club last Saturday (more on that to come) and one on the Tube yesterday.

Tonight I’m seeing a few more old friends at a gig at The Fox and Pelican in Grayshott – an awesome band called The Son are playing and I’ve not yet seen them so I’ll review them at some point.

In other news the gluten-free diet is going fairly well… so far I’ve eaten yoghurt, salad and a rice cake. Next up vegetable lasagne with ‘special’ lasagne… Not had coffee for a week either, which could explain why I’m so tired.

The only question left now is WHICH T-shirt do I wear tonight?

http://www.justgiving.com/MCH4KidsCo

Sunshine and Light

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She’s a perfect 10, but she wears a 12

by mystageistheworld

Michael McIntyre does a sketch where he talks about shopping with his wife and ‘if she’s an 8, we have a lovely day’ otherwise they go home and she cries about it. That’s life. That’s women.

I know how she feels. Having been a size 6-8 (I’m very short) most of my adult life, I used to get distressed if I needed a size 10 and wouldn’t even try on a 12. I’d be a in a foul mood the rest of the day cursing my inability to avoid chocolate. Lovely.

It’s no wonder so many girls have anorexia!

My mum and her friend recently went shopping and her friend was aghast at the fact that she was a size 18, when she’s normally a 12-14.

My friends are all the same… Topshop lost out on a lot of sales when their jeans were all at least 2 sizes smaller than they claimed to be because nobody wanted to buy ‘the wrong size’.

This sort of behaviour makes us all miserable, with no clothes (although probably more money, but that’s not the point). Very few of us would buy the wrong size shoe or bra – we know that they’re always different in every shop.

If the hat fits then wear it

SO – what have I decided to do? Buy whichever size that fits me and then cut the label out! Nobody ever says “Oh I love your dress, what size is it?” The question is always “where did you get it?”

Of course some people do admit it, in a voice full of remorse and guilt “It’s not my normal size – it wouldn’t even go over my knees!” or they exclaim with glee “it’s an 8! I haven’t been an 8 for years – I love that shop!”

Size doesn’t matter

So when I went shopping the other day (and got loads of new clothes), I came away with several dresses – ranging from size 6 to size 12, and some tops – ranging from size XS to size M.

Yes I had to be coerced to try on the bigger sizes, but they looked much better and nobody needs to know!

We’re all guilty of it, so be brave and buy the size that fits, not the size you want to be!

Sunshine and Light

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My Stage is the World

Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive

Down Memory Lane

Oops I did it again

Go Go Power Rangers

Anne Boleyn – The Most Happy

Animal Antics

Just whistle as you (commute to) work

Mean Girls

Service with a smile

With nothing but my T-shirt on

She’s a perfect 10, but she wears a 12

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