The only person I know to take a regular newspaper,
I am asked by my closest friends “Was there anything good in it today?” Surrounded by bats out of hell from here there and everywhere, I do look for the positive. Can’t live without it.
If you are not a musician, no matter how modest, music is a kind of magic. I don’t know anything about Led Zepplin but the name – great name. Once I saw a documentary about the frontman singer Robert Plant
and was moved by his intelligence/involvement/wish to keep on learning and going … and here we are again – only he is older and it is still more moving because he says unequivocally, no going back – no reunion, no big tour, can’t do it, don’t want to – and talks of a kind of reconciling with self which means he does less and enjoys it, because he can still experiment . And then go home to where he grew up and be a man, going for a walk. Nobody cares about his fame.
I was brought up to believe that knowing when to quit was a big gift. Of course it’s personal like everything else but it’s really refreshing to have a still active and developing world famous artist talk about not doing this or that “because it’s bingo night.”
And Grace Coddington
saying she didn’t want a flat forehead. She wants the forehead she’s got at 85 and has made peace with. A lot of the time not accepting change and setting your face against age takes a lot of energy and is frankly very ageing.
Which takes me to a heart surgeon
– Sir Magdi Yacoub – born in Egypt, now 90 – who in creating new techniques, has always done more operations than anybody expected him to, out of enthusiasm (wonderful when people love what they do) and a love of operative innovation. He is no longer operating but he is still teaching in Africa in hospitals behind which he has been one of the driving forces.
I found a thoughtful piece on allergies and rang Allergy London where the receptionist talked sense and nobody tried to rip me off by talking me into something that was not relevant.
And I found – sight unseen, haven’t read the book – the move Andy Burnham
should make from the endlessly exploited football connection: a book called I am Roland Mouret, the Butcher’s Boy who dressed the world (published by Quercus, £25). This is everything Mr. Burnham isn’t.
It is a story of the fashion world which generates a great deal of income, involves an enormous workforce and touches many lives, even those who don’t recognize the word fashion. And there are those clothes that you have heard of, either because of who the designer dresses (and you can’t know whether than will be important anymore than you can tell who is going to win the match) or because the lines have been absorbed into our world, through publicity and image.. It is a savage world, has become more so because of the relentless exposure of the unknowns who buy the stuff or buy into the dream through the famous who saw it first.
And it’s the opposite of the image Burnham endorses.
Mouret is French, his father was a butcher. He grew up covered with blood, worried about his weight and sexuality (outspokenly gay). The book seems (from what I read) something of an assault, a terrific insight into the price of even trying for success -, coarse, thoughtful and cleareyed. I never owned a dress of his – I only owned a copy of one – and when he helped her begin, he couldn’t have known that Victoria Beckham would realise her dream of being accepted as a designer. Nor that Meghan Markle whom he dressed would become the above herself Duchess of Sussex . His perception of dealing with people who operate on several levels at the same time is insightful – and applies to many lives in different circumstances. Good news? This is all about several people who, in spite of worldly success, are smart enough to realise that if you don’t make your choices actively, somebody else will foist theirs on you. Life is not a fairlytale but it is an adventure.
