MILE OAK MUTTERINGS

25TH AUGUST 2010

Bomb the Bass once sang about ‘Winter in July’ – what madness, people cried and yet here we are in the middle of winter in August. One good thing about gale force winds is the fantastic waves. I expect it is a surfer’s paradise at the moment. Driving back along the coast road from Alfriston on Monday we could see the waves crashing over the walls of Brighton Marina and the ruin of the West Pier always looks far more striking and eerie against a backdrop of gunmetal grey waves, which crest and crash over its poor withered frame. I think this is why the prettiness of the English countryside does very little for me. It is pretty, I can see this rationally, but I think that true beauty, as opposed to prettiness, is found in things which are more dangerous - such as the raging sea, which, to personify it, would be horrified at being called ‘pretty’. 

My life is of a far different nature here in Mile Oak than it is elsewhere. I think it is partly because all of us tend to revert to type when we are with family or old friends. It has long been a cliché in film that the violent and evil criminal can’t stand up to his own mother (although it has to be said that my mother is a sausage). I find myself reacting to things in the way I would have reacted 20 years ago because that is how people are expecting me to react. When I actually react as the Catherine I now am, rather than the stunted, tired and repressed Catherine I once was, it takes people by surprise and they become uncomfortable. We all have characterizations of people in our heads and when they change we baulk against that, because, and this is the cruncher, it means that we may need to change to accommodate them and the majority of us are terrified of change. Another cliché, in novels in particular, is that of the parent who after being with one partner for many years suddenly finds themselves single for some reason or another and starts to behave in a different way. How appalled the ‘children’ always are by their embarrassing parent’s behaviour, woe betide that their dad or mum should finally start having interests or opinions outside those that they have had hitherto; and definitely woe betide a person growing. It would be easier if we all remained stunted and never changed. It is tiring fighting against this and I am blowed if I am going to pretend that I am someone who quite frankly the real me never was in the first place. My opinions are treated as bizarre by some members of my family, or friends, yet little do they take into account that I actually find their opinions bizarre. In fact I find some of their ideas pretty gruesome, yet because these particular ideas are in line with the current media propaganda it must be my ideas that are wrong or outlandish. So because I dare to think or say something that the general populous might disagree with this automatically makes me mad or weird. Personally I think that hatred is weird; not caring about the planet we live on – utter madness; and closing our eyes to the world around us and the effect we have on the rest of the human race absolutely bonkers – but what would I know. I am, after all, completely barking!

Saying that, I have been doing some nice things whilst I am back in Sussex. I went to meet a friend in Arundel for lunch last week, which was lovely. Arundel is a very pretty town with a castle and a cathedral that dominate its winding streets and indeed the countryside for miles around. My sister's mother-in-law has also arrived to stay for a while from South Africa, so we went  to have lunch in Alfriston for her birthday. This is a beautiful little village which nestles in the South Downs, near Cuckmere Haven. The oldest pub there has had a license since 1397. All the buildings are hundreds of years old and are built in the local flint. This, although being pretty, has a very grey effect and thinking about it I wonder if that is why I associate Sussex so much with greyness, as flint buildings are everywhere. On the way home we drove by the Long Man of Wilmington. This is a giant figure that has been cut into the chalk; however, there is much controversy over whether this is actually Neolithic or from a much later period. Whichever it is it is very impressive as it is 69 metres high. Nearby the village of Litlington has its own white horse carved into the hillside, although this is definitely 19th Century it doesn’t make it any less attractive. 

Also, in honour of the South African visitors, we went on a hay ride over the Downs from Mile Oak Farm on Saturday. We all turned up in the pouring rain in the morning as, being British, we weren’t going to be deterred by the weather – we had made an appointment and dammit we were going to keep it. The top of the Downs were shrouded in mist and I couldn’t help but say to all the dripping people: ‘look, I’ve got a certificate to say I’m mental, what’s your excuse?’ The farmer, Mr. Cross, appeared to agree with me and suggested we came back later in the day when he might actually be able to see to drive his tractor! So, we trolled back up the farm in the afternoon when it was relatively dry and the mist had cleared. We sat ourselves down on the bales of hay in the trailer at the back and started our odyssey over the hills. What we had all forgotten, and I certainly hadn’t realised, was that it was the Shoreham Airshow that day. So from our vantage point heading up Southwick Hill – from where on a clear day you can see the Isle of Wight (unsurprisingly we couldn’t quite see that far on Saturday!) – we got a free air display. It was commemorating the 70th anniversary of the Battle of Britain, which my father (aged 7 at the time) had watched from Whitehawk Hill the other side of Brighton. So, we had Spitfires and Hurricanes darting around over our heads. We did tell the South African contingent that we always arranged flypasts for our visitors, but I am not sure they believed us. As you can imagine I wasn’t terribly comfortable with the whole war plane thing, so I paid very little attention to them. Besides, there was real beauty to be seen back down on the earth. There was a kestrel hovering over its prey; beautiful horses; the old dew ponds at which the shepherd’s used to water their sheep and once we were atop the Downs the whole of the Bay from Brighton to Worthing stretched out before us, with the rolling Sussex countryside bringing up the rear. Why on earth would I want to look at metal weapons of war spinning about above me? This, you will not be surprised to hear, is one of my weird and outlandish views!

On Thursday I went to the Komedia with my brother to see Steve Hughes. He was the main act, but there were also other acts. The Komedia do this every week with different comedians. The first spot is given to someone fairly established, then the middle shorter spots are given to people who are up and coming, or who need to practice new material, with the final spot being taken by someone better known, all ably and amusingly emceed by Stephen Grant. All this for £8.50! Bargain; get yourself down to the Komedia! Anyway, Steve Hughes was brilliant. I was with him every step of the way. He was very effective in that he made us laugh until we were nearly sick and then started highlighting some issues which made the room quiet and uncomfortable, before making us laugh again. My brother, although he thoroughly enjoyed it, found this quite difficult, but I said to him that people don’t ever think about things until they are brought to a point of discomfort. Until then they carry on with their everyday lives and don’t care about the consequences. I mean, just look at J. B. Priestley’s ‘An Inspector Calls’ – case closed, I am sure you will agree! However, what I found most bodacious (I know, a tad American for me, but I love the sound of the word, although you do feel you need to add ‘dude’ to it really) about Mr. Hughes’ act was his closing sequence on all time being an illusion. This is something I harp on about a lot. I seem to spend most of my life trying to explain the fact that time is holographic and just something that gives our lives framework, but that it doesn’t actually exist. People have been known to take the mickey out of me quite frequently when I ask what time it is: ‘what do you mean what time is it, all time is now, right?’ Which isn’t helpful when I am on the way to an appointment! Anyway, Steve Hughes has now given me the phrase: ‘look have you ever seen an animal wearing a wristwatch?’ That and: ‘the future is a fucking concept, deal with it!’ Absobleedinglutely Steve! So, I would be eternally grateful to him, but in that there is no eternity, just this constant dimension that we are all living in at the present, I will just be grateful ... now! Quantum physics, Buddhism, Mysticism, modern psychology – take your pick, but they all agree that time is a fallacy. 

As you can imagine, fitting in catching up with people and doing all that I have been doing has led to a fair amount of collateral damage. So, I have also spent quite a while (well, when I say quite a while I mean no time at all really, but it seemed like ages!) lying on the sofa. I had forgotten just how comforting it is to lie there with my cat. I know I haven’t mentioned Parkin since I got back, but I do adore that cat. Within minutes of my return she was sitting with me and purring, her head against my cheek, as though we had never been parted. (Which we hadn’t, because she is a cat and all she knows is that I am here right now – oh blimey, this is getting involved!) We are inseparable once more and she is the best company in the world. So, I am going to break my heart all over again when it comes to leaving her. Last time I didn’t stop crying until half way over France! My mother and my brother saw me off at the airport and I was being quite dispassionate saying goodbye to them, after all they are only a Skype away these days, but I was sobbing my heart out over the cat. ‘If anything happens to her, let me know and I will be on the first plane back’ and my last words as I exited towards the departure gate: ‘take all my love to Parkin’. I know, pathetic really, but she is just a huge ball of gorgeousness and unconditional love. 

Reading back over last week’s blog, I found I wanted to say something about the people I have met in Cyprus. I was raving about Totnes, because I love it and its people so, but I also love Cyprus and the people I know there. I need both. Without all the amazing people I have met in Cyprus, who amongst many things have taught me the following fabulous lesson: its fine to have fun just for the sake of having fun. This is something my puritan soul has always struggled with and now I understand what the point of pleasure is. Without this lesson coming from all the wonderful people out in the sunshine I would not be able to appreciate the life of the mind and soul that Totnes offers me. Yet, without Totnes having taught me all that it indubitably did I would not have been ready to learn the lesson that Cyprus was waiting to teach me. So thank you, all of you and a big thank you to all the lovely people here, who put up with my chameleon-like behaviour every time I come back. There are a hardcore group of people, who know who they are, that I would welcome anywhere in the world and who have coped with me through all my incarnations. Bless you all, you are all Sausages First Class (which are obviously vegan sausages, because they are non-violent and not full of balls!) 

I was going to end with Albert Einstein’s quote: ‘The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.’ but I’m not going to. Instead I am going to go with Douglas Adams, who is just fab on a stick, and who said: ‘Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.’ I would say that I would write the next one in about a week, in which I will deal with the fact that nothing in the universe exists until we take notice of it, but thankfully the fact is that it is probably already written and you’ve all read it already, so we can all go down the pub instead!