Ball, Cox, Whiley... Bond...

Did you catch it? Did you hear me? Was Saturday 23^rd February suitably enlivened by hearing my voice on your radio app? Look, if you missed it, I totally get it. You were too busy for top quality bantz and exciting radio chat. It’s fine. I’m sure you’re happy in your slightly less-glamorous world. LOLZ. 

The magic is about to happen.

But worry not. If you missed my appearance on Martin Adams’ radio show, I am going to DISH THE GOSS, SPILL THE BEANS, PEEP BEHIND THE WIZARD’S CURTAIN. Are you ready? Course you aren’t. But no matter, let’s go!

I rocked up to Wandsworth Radio’s HQ forty minutes before the show started. I knew I was going to be on air for the full two hours, and that I’d be talking about my book. Other than that, I didn’t have a clue what to expect. At five to one, Martin Adams arrived. I'd say it takes absolute balls to turn up five minutes before a live two-hour show, but fair play to him. He let me into the building, into the studio, and we sat at the desk. 

Maria McErlane! 

I’ve never been inside a radio studio before. I don’t know what they should look like. All I can say is that Wandsworth Radio seemed IMPRESSIVE. There were monitors and microphones, a glass window with people working behind it, and a screen with the time on. Best of all, there were headphones. Suddenly I was Maria McErlane to Martin’s Graham Norton. It was thrilling! 

The show started. A song and some ads, then we were on. The specific questions are a bit of a blur now, but I do remember hitting the ground running with some period chat. Classic. This was not instigated by me (for a change!) but in reference to the concerns of my book’s protagonist. I explained that I’d written a recent blog about the topic. Quick as a flash Martin responded with, ‘Was it called On The Blog’? I found this hysterical. There was more music. There were more ads. Then we carried on chatting once I'd got over my giggles.

Am I talking about Leeza McAuliffe,
Eurovision or the patriarchy? You decide!

So, the other things I can remember. There were some tweets from lovely young people with questions about writing and books. Thank you Abi, Sophie and Oliver! My cousin messaged from Australia - she was listening at midnight. My sister tweeted in with song requests for her kids. The niece was in luck as This Is Me was in the music library, but the Neph was disappointed that the Wheels on the Bus was not. Then Martin started mixing it up a bit. Questions about feminism, the Me Too movement and the Daily Fail cry of ‘Hasn’t equality gone too far?’ He was excellent at pushing the right buttons to make me want to talk at length about a topic. I could have gone forever about consent, and the fact that there is no such thing as ‘trivial’ sexual harassment. I could have talked for days about how we haven’t even scratched the surface at tackling systemic inequality, and so much of what we consider 'the norm' or 'standard' is skewed towards male centrality. But alas, there were more songs to play and more ads to share. Then we talked about Eurovision. There was a question from a listener about what I’m writing next, and a bit of chat about teaching, although that came earlier. Like I said, it’s a bit of a blur. 

Martin Adams - an accomplished
 pusher of buttons, both 
metaphoric and literal.

Martin Adams balanced everything beautifully. There was a seamless mix of chat, ads, music, and listeners' tweets. Not an awkward pause or patch of dead air once. I appreciate that this is probably a minimum requirement for a radio presenter, but it was down to his professionalism that the whole thing felt like a good old natter, instead of what could have been a nerve-wracking experience.

Before I knew it, it was three o’clock. The two hours had flown by. There was a final plug for the book, and I got Reach by S Club played for my family before we went to the news. By four minutes past three, I was outside in the sunshine, saying goodbye to Martin. Then on my way to Queenstown Road Station to start the journey back to Merseyside.

The time flew by! 

So, what have I learnt about my flirtation with live broadcasting? Well, I really enjoyed myself. I found it easy to talk about things I care about, but frustrating when I couldn’t finish a point because we’d moved onto the next thing. I was touched that listeners asked specific questions about my books and writing, and I enjoyed the whistle-stop nature of the whole thing. I do think I communicate better when I get to write things down, but as a lovely change, it was great fun.

There was just the one downside. I’d come prepared with a playlist of song requests. In the end, only a fraction got played. So, just so you can appreciate what you could have been listening to, here’s that list in full. 

Pretty in Pink - Psychedelic Furs
For a Friend - Communards 

Small Town Boy - Bronski Beat

Spin Me Round - Dead or Alive

It's a Sin - Pet Shop Boys

Dreams - The Cranberries

S Club Seven - Reach
Penny Lane - The Beatles
Tomorrow - James

And if you want to relive the fun again, or catch it for the first time, then check out the link here.  Finally, a big thank you to everyone who listened, tweeted, or shared that I was going to be on the show. It was a total blast.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Edited on 27.2.19 to include the link to the radio show once it had been made available.

When PJs Won't Do...

Clothes shopping is the worst. The actual worst. I do it so rarely, that I forget how annoying it is. My daily uniform of 'PJ trousers and old top' is very easy to source. It's when I have to dig a little deeper and buy 'an outfit' that I am reminded of the horrors. Last week, when my defective laptop battery forced an impromptu day of fun and frolics, I tackled those horrors head on. I attempted to find an outfit for my brother's wedding. It wasn't pretty.

Here's what I learnt after visiting every single clothes shop* in The Trafford Centre.

1. Every item of clothing is yellow.
2. There are are high necks everywhere.
3. Everything looks stupid.

I will concede that the third point is subjective. I should have said, 'In my opinion, everything looks stupid.' But the fact it looks stupid, is mainly down to the previous two points.**

It's even happening in Tesco. 

I have known for many years, I cannot pull off yellow. It makes me look paler than usual, and subdues any natural sparkle my eyes, hair, or personality may have. This was probably the reason for my strong aversion to Brownies where in the mid 1980s, it was the uniform's accent colour. (That, or the sexism - Home Maker's Badge? WTAF?) Obviously, there are some people that absolutely love a yellow dress, come the spring. I have no problem with yellow clothes existing. It just seemed - during my exhaustive research last week - that there is very little else out there right now. The powers that be have decided that the colour of Spring 2019 is yellow. And there is nothing I can do about that. Or is there? We'll come back to that in a moment. 

But next, high necks! I have a long-held distrust of them. This has come up before, but the revelation that high necks are not flattering to the larger-chested lady was a complete eye-opener to me. Trinny and Susannah informed me of this via their show What Not to Wear, which balanced a fine line between clothing advice and body-shaming. I never like being told what to do, but the second I ditched my round-neck t-shirts for V-necks circa 2001, I liked that they looked better. I liked my clothes better. I liked how I presented myself better. (Let's calm down. My choice of neckline had nothing to do with whether I liked myself better. That's just silly. But in terms of the external and superficial? Defo.) As I walked around the shops looking for anything with a deep V, I found high neck after high neck staring back at me. When I did stumble across a V-neck tucked away, it was just my luck that it was yellow. Infuriating! Again, it's not that I want to ban this neckline for anyone else. If a high neck/slash neck/polo neck is your jam, then that is marvellous. I just want there to be more choice. 

So what can be done about this. What can be done for the discerning clothes shopper that prefers to buy styles that suit, rather than styles on trend? Well, it's good old Ebay innit. The evening of my shopping trip was spent watching and bidding on a whole host of suitable options. Some New With Tags, some Used, all lovely. It was empowering to be able to select a colour, neckline, and style and be offered hundreds of options to choose from. (Obvs, some were rubbish. It's not a shopping Utopia. Let's keep it in perspective.) But now I feel like I'm back in control. I can find something to wear, and be reassured that I won't have to sacrifice my strong views on neckline just to fit in. I'll be comfortable - my absolute favourite of all the emotions. 

Splats not spots.
Photo from the John Lewis website.

Despite all this, I did not come away from the shopping jaunt empty handed. Oh no. I found a black and white shirt dress in New Look, a white shirt with black splats*** in John Lewis, and a leopard print scarf with turquoise edging in Accessorize. None of these items are wedding-worthy, but they're all top-notch birthday presents I shall give myself next month. You gotta find an upside.

Have a lovely week folks.


*Clarification: I probably visited about a tenth of that list.

**Other factors include my refusal to do legs, my 'longer than a cap-sleeve' requirement, and my non-negotiable 'it has to work with shoes that can be walked in' demand. I do admit I am a tricksy customer.

**This amused me. At the till in John Lewis, the woman explained how staff can wear spots on their clothes (she was wearing a black top with white spots as we spoke). However, the shirt I bought had been designated as splats. Splats are not acceptable. Down with splats!

We All Need a Recharge Once in a While...

I had a stinker this week. 
I decided to be proactive about the fact my laptop battery lasts seven and a half minutes without being plugged in. I decided to stop being a victim. I decided to go and grapple that Apple-bull by it's sweet-charging horns and do something about my lack of technological oomph.

Diagnosis: crap battery

Of course, I didn't think it through. When I booked the online appointment with the Genius Bar last week, I didn't stop to think that it might affect my ability to write this blog on time. I naively chose Thursday to drop into town. The fact I write the blog every Friday hadn't entered my head. When it occurred to me that they might not sort my battery out on the spot, I panicked. I started to pre-emptively write these very words a few hours before the appointment. That way, if they chose to keep hold of my laptop, or take it apart and break it accidentally, I'd have this saved. I could hopefully work out a way of publishing it on Monday morning via my phone. Or something. 

It's an empty calendar
of possibility. Larks.

So there we go. That's where we are. As you're reading this, it means one of two things have happened. Either my laptop is being tended to by millennial genii, my foresight has paid off, I've managed to work out the Blogger App on my phone, and you're missing out on the pearls of wisdom I would have come up with, if I'd had the luxury of my usual routine. It means that instead of spending Friday morning, afternoon, and intermittent bits of the weekend writing, tweaking and titivating a wordy post, I'm gadding about the land with free time to my name, feeling the wind in my hair for the first time in ages. That's the first thing it could mean. Alternatively, it could mean that even though my laptop was fixed within an hour and I was sent speedily home with full power restored, I've decided that these brief words will do and I'm taking advantage of an empty Friday. It's gone one way or the other. Who knows at this point which way. But whichever direction the Apple-Gods directed me, this is as good as it gets. I'm checking out a day early. (Last) Friday is mine for the living. 

So, as we all wish my bruised and battered laptop battery a safe journey to a better place, and we get ready to welcome her replacement with open arms, let's enjoy whatever unexpected free time we scrape together. We all need it once in a while. Our metaphorical batteries need a reboot. (I'm mixing metaphors but I don't have the techy knowledge to fully grasp how.)  May that reboot/recharge/whatever be equal parts raucous, rejuvenating, and relaxing. Bon chance and bon voyage, everyone. 

Have a lovely week, folks.