Tattoos

My daughter has got her tattoo. I am sad. I am also wondering why I am sad, because, actually, it is rather nice, it suits her, it is well done and I am proud of her for having the bottle to do it. She designed it, checked around for a reputable and respected tattooer (?) and drove herself to Whiteley Bay to have it done, having first saved the money she needed. So what is my problem ?
I think it is because, inevitably, I am a product of my age and upbringing. Girlchild sees it as body art chosen by her, I see it as a sort of mutilation that will mean she is judged by some, who will take it as a badge of affiliation to a subgroup in society, I am concerned she will regret it in later life, she says it is part of who she is.
So, a worried Mother or someone who should be happy her daughter is confident in who she is ? Perhaps I need to learn from her example, I shouldn't spend my life saying "What if.." but say "That looks fun, lets have a go....."

I'm still not going to get a tattoo though !

A grand day out

Last Saturday we had a "family day out" a phrase that can strike fear to the heart, but in this instance was really rather good. Silent One had bought his mother, sister and b-in-law, as well as our tribe, tickets for Quidam - the Cirque de Soleil show that is currently in the UK - at the Sheffield Arena. Sadly, girlchild was off in London finalising details for her tattoo ( I know, it is her choice, yadaa yadaa, but I can't help feeling a bit sick about it all even though she has promised it isn't going to be anything too ghastly - not sure I could make that distinction ! ) so we had a spare ticket that I forced upon my oldest friend.

The show was amazing - I loathe contrived fun, circuses and all such jolly things and yet every Cirque show that I have been to has reduced me to tears. The whole spectacle is wonderful, but there are also tiny incidental moments that stay with you for a very long time afterwards. The imagery that is simple enough to see without being clunky, the choreography that intensifies the sense of a story, the lighting that lets you see but still enhances a sense of mystery. The problem is the acts themselves would be done no service by trying to describe them and the small intimacies are just that, everyone would see them in a different way.

I have been to 3 of the shows, Saltimbanco, which has an Italianate theme, I saw in Amsterdam with no idea what I was going to and was utterly swept away - a sense of joy is the only way to describe it.

I went to the Royal Albert Hall last year to see Varekai which is based on the idea of a man searching through a forest for who he is, just as the inhabitants of the forest try to work out why he is there. It was mysterious, haunting and beautifully designed.

Then, Quidam, which seemed to be based on loss, being lost and the fear of separation from what you understand. Again, I was reduced to tears, and this time by skipping - no, there was no bullying in the playground - the sheer simplicity of it was astounding. My only disappointment is that is impossible for me to describe any of this effectively.

As that is the case the only thing to do is go yourselves, watch the faces of the audience as well as the performance. It is something you will never forget.

Normal service, ie.flippancy and random stream of consciousness, will be resumed as soon as possible

Relief and anticipation

Another sequence of days full of not a lot........ although I did run away, as threatened, at the beginning of the week to Stratford where I saw Antony Sher in "The Tempest", an interesting production would be the most charitable I can manage. Not sure Shakespeare envisaged the political problems of South Africa as a working analogy, it would probably help if I had an ear for accents or they had gone for surtitles too. OK I am a Philistine. Then I went and stroked things at Bicester, but kept my card in my bag - yay for me and on to Oxford where I had fantasies about quads, groves of academe and ivory towers, so actually it was a perfect couple of days, culture and Mammon. (Although no naked cowboys)

One of the positive points of being a bit older is that often ones children are too. Having read and appreciated the slightly "eyes on stalks/stir crazy" combo that half term engenders amongst bloggers I was quite relieved that mine are past the stage of needing entertaining, now they just need financing ! Girlchild spent the week in London (advanced crayoning aka geography is obviously not a strong point for her - London actually means St Albans, Rochester and Brighton)visiting friends and helping with the balance of payments, and has come back rapturising about the joys of YHA. She stayed in a new hostel in Central London, and if she is to be believed it was better than home ! (Being a jaded teenager myself once, I do remember that anywhere is) The boy meanwhile plods along at Hull, all agog for the game of the year due out on the 4th of March - no doubt there are others that will be in the running for that title but atm I am on standby to get something from somewhere - sorry boy, wasn't listening........

Tomorrow, courtesy Ryanair, "no you can't take luggage, check in, weigh more than....... or even eat" without paying subsidies I am off to Florence (via Pisa) to pay due tribute to the artistic greats and practice Italian. I have advance booked my ticket for the Uffizi, which means of course there will be no queues anywhere, so it will have been an exercise in futility, but actually I don't care, it means I will have more time to eat cakes on behalf of Katyboo (Thank you for the excuse !)

I will also be going to the Bargello to say hello to David by Donatello - so much nicer than Michelangelos, and so naughty - look closely at the picture at the top, admire the young mans enigmatic smile and observe the feather on Goliaths headdress tracing its way up his thigh - provocative, oh I think so . Then there is the obligatory sensory overload in the Medici Palace chapel by Gozzoli. If my jewellery case isn't going to be full of luscious bling (which I promise you, it never will be) at least I can go and stand in this tiny room and pretend that I am actually in a jewel box.

There will, of course, be the necessary and expected trips to bars, trattoria and gelateria, but I deliberately didn't bother mentioning them because it would be unfair, and besides you know I am temperate if not Puritanical, so will only do it for research purposes............. (excuse me while I just go and file my nose, it seems to have grown somewhat)