West Side Story at Abbeydale Picture House

I was surprised last night that there weren't more children in the audience, but I guess not everyone wanted to pass on their childhood of Sunday afternoon watching musicals like I did. Plus it was an evening film so was destined to be a late one, although when I booked the ticket I hadn't recalled that the film is 152 minutes long so it was destined to be rather later even than I had anticipated.

Ah well, parenting for me involves throwing in a few unusual experiences for the kids and this was one.

I love Abbeydale Picture House and in particular the passion of the volunteers working so hard to bring it back to life. The cafe (open Friday and Saturdays 10-5 at the moment) is beautiful, with excellent drinks and food and the thoughtful provision of blankets - it is a little nippy. The building itself is stunning and hopefully one day will be restored to it's former glory.So I couldn't pass up a night then of watching West Side Story with my lovely family in such brilliant surroundings, helping them raise a little money in the process.

West Side Story with children requires a little groundwork. In particular we talked about Romeo and Juliet and braced them both for people dying. We discussed racial tensions and the different meanings of the word 'gay". Other than that it's brilliant songs and cracking dancing so I didn't anticipate further problems.

Things we didn't think of explaining:

• That Shakespeare didn't exist in 1961
• Where Puerto Rico is
• Why people burst into song when they are supposed to be keeping the noise down
• That "Daddio" does not mean Daddy. This particular confusion made character relationships a little confusing - no one person can be a girl's brother and father at the same time surely?
• How the men's teeth got so shiny
• How unlikely it is to fall in love on the spot or indeed to forgive someone who has just killed your brother, even if he was cross at the time.

"What on earth was happening in that scene in a garage? They were already cool, why were they singing about keeping cool?" They know all about homonyms really.

Then we came to the crux - the problem with all Shakespeare tragedies. Tony is told that Maria is dead and goes into emotional meltdown at which point my eldest said "you'd think he'd have checked first". Absolutely, you will go far.

It was a lovely night. Retro snacks, comfy seats, a live intro from two lovely singers from Easy Street Theatre, a great view and a wonderful setting - they are truly putting heart back into a beautiful building. Add to that the craziness of explaining the world of the 1960s to an 8 and a 10 year old and you feel really alive.

As we walked out my daughter was discussing who the baddies were. She said she thought the Sharks from Puerto Rico were less bad because they'd had such a tough time already. Wow. There was me thinking we were the ones was teaching her not the other way round.

Middle Aged Gig Goer

I go to a fair few gigs. One only last week in fact. But last night made me feel a bit old. Which is ironic because most of the audience were the same age as me and in fact the band members are my senior by a few years. But they have something I will never have. A desire to dress up in a boiler suit and a beanie hat and play dramatic extended electronic music most nights of the week.

The whole thing made me question myself and I'm coming to terms with what I have known for some time. I can no longer cope with rainbow lazers seemingly pointed directly into my eyes. I'm not sure about extended electronic dance tracks. I know I'm short but I could barely see a thing. Apparently there are five people in Super Furry Animals and yet I definitely only counted two. The only way I could see them was if I jumped on the spot like House of Pain. If I jumped I caught a brief second glimpse of a life I could never live and don't wholly understand.

Great view isn't it?

If truth be known I like my gigs to include a reasonable eye line to the musician or musicians, a bit of conversation with the audience, the band playing some actual well known tracks and more than a square inch to stand in. I want to sing, to dance and to access the toilet without having to practically crowd surf my way there. I don't particularly want to be blinded and my love of boiler suits and yeti outfits has left me, if indeed it was ever there to begin with.




I'm sorry. I know others loved it, it says so on Twitter. To me it was a good night because of fantastic friends, not because of the formulaic, sensory depriving gig. My head is still spinning.

Bellowhead

Talk about being late to the party. Twelve years after Bellowhead got together I finally saw them live, on nearly the last gig of their final ever tour. What was even worse I loved it.

I have never before seen a band with more ability, enthusiasm, comedy and drama. There are several things I couldn't get my head around:

1. How you jump off a speaker playing the violin
2. How you dance wearing a large brass instrument
3. Why a sequinned waistcoat seemed appropriate for a folk gig
4. Their never ending supply of bizarre percussion instruments
5. How they got so many middle aged people to stand up in City Hall so early on in the set
6. Why Jon Boden is so appealing
7. What the hell is a helicon
8. How the three year old who went was still bouncing at 11 o'clock at night when he left the venue
9. How the audience were encouraged to raise their arms up and down with very little resistance.
10. How it's possible to make playing the cello look jaunty.
11. Who knew there were so many forms of concertina
12. Why "whores" are referenced quite so often (but my friend says thats usual for folk music as are songs about death)

There are probably many more questions but I was so blown away I forgot the rest, along with the word for tambourine.

I'm not really sure why I'm writing this. A review of something you will never see (unless you have a ticket for the rest of the tour) isn't overly helpful I guess. Hopefully it might encourage you to look up all eleven players individually and go and see what they are up to next. Or buy Bellowhead albums if you don't have them already. But my Mum is right, nothing is like seeing Bellowhead live. Sorry.

Moving More

Two weeks ago I decided I would put my Fitbit back on. I haven't been wearing it for the simple reason that if I drive to work, which I have admittedly been doing for months and months now, I only ever walk about 5,000 steps in a day. There are few chances to exercise in a small HR office. When I wore my Fitbit it told me on a daily basis how I hadn't walked 10,000 steps. No-one likes to be criticised that regularly.

As a result of a freakish moment of commitment the Fitbit is now back and I am walking to work most days. This means I manage 10,00 steps most days too. I managed 13,000 on a day where I barely left the house but did shed loads of cleaning. I could do this instead of walking but the cleaning thing only works if I don't do any for at least 3 months prior which leaves me with a quite a few days where I'm a bit under target.

On the days where I've had to drive I have been guilty of syncing my Fitbit in my pyjamas and running on the spot because nothing is more satisfying than the three seconds when your wrist buzzes before you collapse into bed sweating.

One day in the pursuit of steps I even went running. That was until I met a friend walking her dog in the park. We spent so long talking I'd quite lost the enthusiasm for running but I still had to walk home. Since this is the same amount of steps I figured it didn't matter all that much.

My best day yet I wracked up 18,000 steps by walking to work and going to a Bellowhead gig.  In reality I suspect there were  quite a few claps plus a few air punches added in for good measure, all increasing my total. Maybe clapping is as good for you as walking.

Today I was hopeful of achieving a good number of steps by walking around shops on Abbeydale Road (I accidentally ended up eating a scone and coming home with a pair of boots and a new handbag but the numbers all add up don't they? ). It was only mid massive walk around Longshaw this afternoon that I noticed the Fitbit was actually flat and thinks I did 70 steps today. Brilliant, what a waste of time all that walking around waterfalls was.

It's back on charge overnight, which actually isn't a bad thing because it seems to have also set me a target for sleeping. It's bad enough being criticised for not moving enough, but being criticised for not sleeping enough seems very unfair. One day out of fourteen it flashed up with "Hooray you have met your sleeping target today". I felt buoyed for five seconds until I realised it really isn't that much of a success and, in fact, the 13 days weren't in any way an actual failure. Yey go me I slept eight hours last night. Anyone want to sponsor me?

So I'm trying. Moving more and in the process shopping more and eating more cake in tea shops. Win.

Reuse...Confuse the rabbit

Imagine how lovely it would be if, when you recovered from a recent illness or two, some kind family member purchased you a brand spanking new home. One that didn't have bits missing where you had chewed a bit too hard, and didn't smell of wee. Bliss.

A few weeks ago we did such a kind thing for our rabbit. A brand new hutch to replace the one with a collapsing roof and a fair bit of mould.

We had put it together a while back and put some of her straw into it. A gentle introduction if you will. She went in, then promptly came out again. Clearly it didn't have the wow factor.

Three weeks later and enough is enough. We only have two rabbits so three hutches seemed a little excessive. Paul spent the afternoon taking the old hutch apart, not so ably assisted by the rabbit who refused to move out. As screws were removed she held on in there for dear life.

After a while she tentatively went into the new hutch, ate some of the wood then came out again.

An hour passed until she ventured in again. We acted fast and trapped her in, waiting for her to acclimatise. She started trying to dig her way out. We let her out again.

Another hour later and Paul had taken large sections of the old hutch and fashioned quite a natty planter. Petal got in the planter and looked like she wished to take up residence despite the fact that it has no roof and currently no floor. Clearly she likes the idea of a project.

The day ended and I lured her back into her new home with carrot peel. Let's hope the whole experience doesn't stress her out so much she stops eating again. Seriously I know a house move is one of the most distressing life experiences but it's hard not to be offended. Talk about ungrateful.

Rabbit Peril

As I write this my 3 year old rabbit is sitting in her hutch looking absolutely fine. I know she's fine because she spent the morning trying to eat the sucker off Tilly's arrow and eating hosepipe.

Two weeks ago things were different. Two weeks ago I thought she'd died. I refer you to this blog entry where I discussed how bad I am with dead animals. Or even animals that look like they are dead. Well Petal looked dead from the two metres away where I stood and squealed at Paul. It turns out she was just extremely poorly.

It was a Sunday evening. Of course it was. No-one's rabbit gets perilously close to death on a week day when the vets are open. Oh no it had to be a Sunday and hence an emergency trip to the pet hospital in Attercliffe. Who knew there was a pet hospital so near a large number of brothels.

I am, of course, exaggerating about how easy it was to ascertain that Petal was near to death. She looked dead, then when we lifted her into the pet carrier she hopped out of it like there was nothing flipping wrong with her. We drove across Sheffield well aware that the appointment alone was going to cost £125 and thinking she looked a lot better really. We didn't have long in the waiting room during which we very nearly decided to go home to avoid the cost. The short consideration time turned out to be a good thing.

Apparently because rabbits are prey animals they will do anything other than show they are poorly, because then something might eat them. So with her last ounce of willpower she tried to leap off the examination table and gave the vet the run around. Then she flopped over and looked, well, nearly dead.

I won't go into details about the examination. Sufficed to say there was more flopping over, some scurrying, the insertion of a thermometer somewhere unpleasant and a blood test which confirmed that she was very nearly dead. At one point there was even talk of diabetes. Had I not had pet insurance i might very well have flopped onto my side panting too. The expected cost was £450.

£450 to keep her overnight, give her medicine and fluids and try and get her to eat.

In the morning I had to drive back to Attercliffe and pick her up, terrorising her further by driving her back across town. If rabbits hate having thermometers stuck up their bottoms it's nothing compared to how much they hate car journeys. I then left her at our vets for the additional sum of £120.

To say my flabber was ghasted would be an understatement.

£580.

I mean I do like her but £580 would be enough to fly her to Amsterdam first class to visit her ancestors (she's a Dutch rabbit). You'd at least expect five star treatment. The hospital she was in was nice I'm sure but she didn't mention anything about chocolate coins on the pillow.

Just as a point of note, three weeks ago we called our pet insurance to cancel it because £12 per month per bunny seemed expensive. It was a Saturday and they were shut. Thanks be to the god of pets. Otherwise Petal would have been joining the great rabbit warren in the sky.

So now we are back to normal. Two rabbits who can't seem to stand each other and eat anything and everything they lay their teeth into. And one rabbit who isn't keen on us going anywhere near her bottom...

Emotional

Everything seems to shift in importance when someone you love is in intensive care. Small things don’t matter at all yet at the same time sit enormous and unmanageable.

For the last ten days the only thing I really wanted was to hear the news that he was improving and that he was going to be ok. That was the only thing that mattered. Sometimes I simply sat on the sofa, watching TV. Because what is the point? Just waiting. In other moments I’ve been fired up and determined to live life to it’s fullest. Stop pissing about and just get on with stuff including everything from planning to travel the world and cleaning out that kitchen cupboard. Because after all there is no bigger eye opener than this. He is only 42. Anything could happen to any of us any time. Grasp life by the horns and shake it. Oh and sit there doing nothing. Because what actually is the point? We just have to wait until he’s better then we can get on with life. It’s a somewhat contradictory and confusing way my brain is processing things.

So it’s evident from my blog silence that I haven’t quite known what to write about all this. It felt as if I couldn’t write anything down in case I wrote something wrong, confused somebody, or didn’t get everything absolutely spot on. In case I didn’t adequately get across how big this is and how very much I care. It felt like if I wrote anything he wouldn’t get better. I’m not superstitious at all but it felt wrong. If there was little sign of improvement I wasn’t writing anything.

But after 12 days he seems to be improving and I’m on my way to see him on a train. I saw him last week and it broke my heart. Today will be more positive, I hope. I want to offer what support I can to him and his family. Even though it can’t be enough. 

I won’t go into detail. This isn’t my story to tell. What I will say is, at the risk of becoming overly sentimental, this has shown me how important family and friendships are. Sometimes we don’t prioritise those relationships. It’s no-one’s fault but it needs some thought and some action. 

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I’m writing this on my way home. Today was hard. This will be a long journey. It’s already been the hardest thing in the world and it may continue that way.

I love him. I certainly never have told him that enough.

So just take the time to tell those you care about how much they mean to you. Thanks.

Updated to add
Things are getting much much better. Sod off Jeremy Hunt you know nothing.