Sir David Attenborough

On the top of the present hitlist for my Husband's birthday this year was:

To take him to see David Attenborough in the flesh.

Attenborough is one of my Husband's childhood heroes. He rates pretty highly on my meter too.  There aren't many like him around anymore when it comes to sheer enthusiasm and knowledge of the natural world.

Last week I got my wish.  We attended  a fundraising lecture at the Royal Geographic Society. The event was in aid of the International Commission on Zoological Nomenclature with David Attenborough and Richard Fortey as the guest speakers; there to discuss the whole scientific naming process. I wasn't particularly taken with the topic and hoped it wouldn't be overly dry or boring.

Sir David Attenborough and Prof. Richard Fortey

As the seats in the audience filled to capacity, the Husband nudged me:

Look! There he is!


No, that's not him, I replied authoratively.  That guy is limping. Attenborough doesn't limp.


I was forced to eat my words moments later when the slightly limping, white hair gentleman took to the stage and sat down.

The Husband remained silent.


Ok. Ok. I muttered . I guess he is 84.

Frail though he may be, the minute Sir David opened  his mouth we were in his thrall.  The guy is a damn good public speaker with charisma to boot.  Bucketloads.  Scientfic nomenclature suddenly became fascinating, humorous and inspiring. It was one of the best talks I have been to.

Afterwards as we filed out starry eyed, into the bitter winter chill, I turned to the Husband:

Well? What did you think?

I'm so glad I got to see him. It was the best.

My work is done. 

Happy Birthday Jimmy*

I'm inspired by many people. Some of them I don’t know or aren’t real (although Yoda feels very real) but today is the birthday of a real life dude whom I find inspiring. For the sake of anonymity (mine, not his), I’m gonna call him Jimmy*.

I met Jimmy through my husband. They were old friends, having survived their college years together. Later whilst working in Kazakhstan Jimmy met and married a rockin’ babe from America and my husband, well he met me(sucker). They both lured their new spouses to London under the pretence that it was the Land of Milk & Honey, which turned out to be not quite true but true enough for now.

As I’ve gotten to know Jimmy, I discovered that he makes his dreams a reality. When I first met him, he was in the transition of leaving his secure 9-5 job to launch his own online business. He hated what he did for a living and he wanted to be his own boss. Developing and launching the business was a fraught time. He still had the responsibilities of a marriage, mortgage and bills and there was no guarantee his idea would work. Nonetheless he ploughed steadily away, making his vision real. Now he has since launched a second online business; has staff working for him and appeared briefly in the Apprentice! Blood, sweat and (some) tears were par for the course I imagine but he did it!

(This is not Jimmy of course but I feel that the force of Yoda resides in all my friends)

I’ve also witnessed the same application of dogged effort and belief to his London marathon training. Less than a year ago he was unfit. When he announced his marathon intentions, I don’t think he could run 200m without hacking his lungs out. Undeterred Jimmy started putting one foot in front of the other. Slowly and steadily just like he built his businesses, he built up his fitness. When the time comes, the marathon will be another of his dreams achieved.

Our friends don’t always know that we may admire them for aspects and qualities inherent within them. As it’s your birthday Jimmy – I thought I’d tell you. Happy Birthday! Keep on truckin’...

*You know who you are (I hope!)

Tanya Gold Chose My Birthday Present

I'm a Guardian reader which apparently, according to the English love for classification makes me a middle-class leftie snot. That said I also read the Daily Mail on the weekend for its trashiness and I buy the Times on a Sunday but read the mags only. If I'm bored I may delve into the Independent and if I'm desperate, I’ll browse the Telegraph.

My loyalty to the Guardian and Sunday Observer is not for its news reportage. I read it because I like the style of writing found within its pages and also for the topics the paper covers. I always keep an eye out for pieces written by Hadley Freeman or Tanya Gold as their writing almost always engages my interest because of the way they say things. As a fledging writer of short opinion pieces (a.k.a blogging), I admire the force of personality and voice behind their words. So much so that sometime in the past year I decided that if I were to write professionally, that these two would be my role models. And then didn’t think anymore of it until two days ago.


Tanya Gold. Role model.

It was my birthday. I was celebrating in an overheated bar in central London with friends. I'd had too much to drink and was trying to be a birthday host which was not going so well. At some hot, foggy point in the evening my mates, Renata and Cassandra sat down next to me. Cassandra had a book on her lap.

This is your birthday present, she said, But first I have to tell you a story.

Ok. I instantly felt more alert. I love a good story.

Do you know who Tanya Gold is?

Yes, I replied, I love her writing.

This was clearly not expected as my mates started squealing in that hyper way that only women and queens can do. I’m a joiner so I squealed:

Why? Why do you ask? She's one of my favourite Guardian writers!

She chose your birthday present! She chose it! Cassandra squealed back.

What?! How did you manage that?!

I didn't know why we were all so excited but we were. Tanya Gold’s ears must have turned purple.

It turns out that Cassandra had gone to Daunts in Belsize Park to buy my birthday present. Browsing the shelves she overheard a conversation between a woman (Tanya) and the bookshop assistant and got the impression that Tanya was someone who knew books. Cassandra is one of those naturally affable people who could chat to stone and get a reply so she sidled up and asked:

Excuse me but I'm trying to buy a birthday present for my friend and you seem to know a lot about books. Would you mind suggesting something?

Tanya to her credit went right along with it.

What kinds of things does your friend like?

Oh, erm. Travelling. New York. Books. Writing.

(note here that Cassandra might have added: She’s also stunningly intelligent, will work for peanuts and needs a writing break. Can you help?)

Has she ever been to Venice?

I don't know. I don't think so.

Well if she's never been, this will make her want to go. It’s the best book about Venice ever written.

And with that Tanya pulled Jan Morris', Venice from the shelf and started to read aloud:

If you take an aircraft over Venice and fly low above her mottled attics, you will see her canals thick with an endless flow of craft, like little black corpuscles.


Maybe it was the word corpuscles but Cassandra was sold. When she went to pay the shop assistant whispered to her:

That was Tanya Gold you were speaking to.

Oh. Was it? Who's Tanya Gold?

Cassandra, not being a Guardian reader it seems, applied the powers of Google and forthwith was regaling me with this tale several hours later.

Renata her accomplice leaned over and looked me seriously in the eye. Well eyes.

You must write to her. This was meant to be.

To say what? Thank you for choosing my birthday present?

Yes. You must. Something has happened.

At that point all that had happened was that I had turned thirty-six and was drunk. But I knew what she meant. Synchronicity is one of life’s random, strange and delightful gifts. It’s always good to acknowledge it.

So thank you Tanya for Venice and the journey ahead. And thank you C & R for brewing up some magic for me on my birthday.

On the Brink

It's my birthday today. I am 36. It feels a little odd. I only had a plan for up to 35. What now?

That said, my plan for up to 35 was not a plan really. It was more an attitude. I'll try and sum it up in five words.

Cram It All In. Now.

For as long as I can remember I have always felt on the brink. On the edge of something. I have no idea what this thing is. A nervous breakdown? Infamy? A lotto win? Whatever it is, it gets stronger with every year that passes.

I look around at my nearest and dearest and see that they too are on the brink. My dear friend Jerome is waiting to find out if he has a lymphoma. My beloved soul sister CTD is about to give birth to her second child.

Birthdays are always points of reflection. But you can't look at your life in isolation. We are all connected and when I look around me and see all that is happening in the lives of those I care about, I feel as if I am on that precipice with them too.

Maybe that's what it is, this feeling I've always had. Sharing in the joys, sorrows and day-to-day mundanities of those around me. An emotional investment in others.

If so, I can think of worse ways to feel at 36.