Is there anybody out there??

My mum won tickets to go and see a psychic medium. She asked me if I'd like to go along. "This is bound to be shite," I thought. 


"Sure", I said. "Why not?"


Now the thing is I'd love to believe there's life out there. Somewhere we can all hang out with our grandparents and long-lost pets. And if I could get proof it ain't all over when it's over, I'd be ecstatic. It just hasn't happened yet.

So it was with a half open mind that I went along to see Shaun Dennis. The poor northern man's John Edwards in an ill fitting suit jacket and bad hair. He was half stand up comedian, half bingo caller, and apparently part medium. 

Sweet Sundowner

I was on an epic journey home yesterday from Ireland, via a very early start, a post-volcano packed ferry, a motorbike ride, tea + cake with my great uncle and many hours driving down through Wales in my old ford escort. I was supposed to be popping in and see my friend Kerry on my way through Aberystwyth much earlier in the day. But as I got there it was getting on for 8pm, the sun was on its way out, and I still had an hour and half of driving to go. I was knackered. 


I texted Kerry and said I'd probably skip Aber so I could drive back while it was still light. This felt uncomfortably like a 'no'. 


She texted: "I'm at the glen pub, on the prom at the far (north) end. Come! x"


Don't mind if I do.  

Rita my escort taking in the view.

Going overground

The other day I met up with my good friend Carrie who was visiting London town. We had no plans, just to hang out. We were heading to the tube station when I said, "how bout we do something different and take a bus?" She looked nervous. 

Our maiden voyage traversed the highways and by-ways between Paddington and St Pauls. OK it seemed to take a very... long... time... But as we headed down Oxford St and Regent St, and through Piccadilly Circus and Trafalgar Square, we got more and more excited, like we were on our own special sight-seeing trip.

Not only did we have a bird's eye view from our top deck, but we got to see things we'd never see from the tube. A photoshoot outside a top-dollar restaurant, rows of leotard-clad girls reciting to a matronly dame, a half eaten pie atop a bus stop. All of it London, all of it beautiful.

Don't follow Rachel

My mum invited me to go line dancing with her on a Monday night. Of course I laughed at her, but then I remembered that I'm a sucker for a dance routine and need the exercise, so I said 'yes'. 

As we walk in to the local hall, mum introduces me to the girls - this is Fran, she’s a good one to copy as she always knows all the moves, this is Pat, she teaches these routines on a Thursday. We smile and say our hellos. "And don’t follow Rachel." I turn to the next lady ready to laugh with her at mum’s joke, when I see that she’s not laughing, she's mentally challenged. Mum's not joking, she's giving me advice. I choke a “Hi Rachel” and spend the rest of the class creasing up at mum's charming social skills.

So that's how I find myself, big grin on my face, step-ball-changing and toe-heeling with rows of ripe aged ladies, following a potbellied dude sporting a grey mullet and cowboy boots as he sashays around the stage in his Madonna style headset. 

I love it. I don't know if it's the lame music, the concentrating hard on learning new routines, or watching the coordinated hips and elbows of the ladies all around me. But I tell you what, it makes me happy. So much so, I keep going back for more. Monday nights have never been so much fun. 

Different books, different covers

Lately I've been covering my notebooks (I LOVE notebooks) in different paper. Scraps of wrapping paper, clippings from magazines, collages from cut-up Sunday supplements. It's all pretty and it all makes me feel nice every time I look at them. Simple, but effective.

I want to break free

My dad asked me to go and see a Queen tribute band recently called 'Mercury'. "Sounds terrible," I said. "Count me in." 

Turns out Freddie's been eating very well in heaven, and Brian's wig has seen better days. Nevertheless I got to dance with my dad for the first time in about 15 years, so it was well worth it.

Free hug anyone?

I was recently asked by an enigmatic new friend to help organise a 'reclaim love' party in Carmarthen town centre. I was dubious, so I checked out their website, and instantly felt more dubious. A bunch of hippies all holding hands and spreading the love. It was very 60s, very Woodstock, very un-Carmarthen. I said 'yes'. 

It was short notice, but we managed to organise some free-loving folk via Facebook. I wigged-up for the event to give myself something to hide behind, and decided the best way to spread the love was to give out free hugs. So I fashioned together some signs from cardboard, old xmas wrapping paper and my mum's bingo pen. 

On the morning of the event I wanted to pull out, this was going to be humiliating. But despite being terrified we'd get punched by Carmarthen townies, or arrested, it went brilliantly. Most people were willing to get a hug, some said they hadn't been hugged all week, people hugged each other, teenagers joined in hugging strangers, and I hugged people I wouldn't usually sit next to on a bus. 

It felt great. Nearly everyone went away laughing or in the least smiling, and I came away buzzing. If we didn't spread love that day, we definitely spread some happiness. Brilliant.