Capturing the moment

On By Laura MorganIn Navel gazing, Photos

I read a piece this morning – I have forgotten where, and it’s too early in the year and too late in the week for me to summon the energy to find out – which was all about how to make sure your photos and videos are backed up safely, so that you can be absolutely sure you’ll never lose them. The author, whoever he was (I remember that he was a he), said that he has “thousands” of photos and videos of his children, and that he would be devastated were he to lose any of those precious memories.

But photos and videos aren’t memories, are they? They’re not even aides-memoires, I don’t think, because once a slice of a memory is sealed up inside a photo, you lose the rest of it. So I think I remember my sixth birthday party, but when I examine the memory, all I can really remember is being in the back garden holding my birthday cake, and that’s because there’s a photo of it. I don’t really remember it at all. Perhaps I would, if there wasn’t a photo, but in the same way you don’t bother remembering anyone’s phone number now that you have them all stored on your mobile phone, if we think that photos are a substitute for the act of remembering something then we might not bother to remember it.

I have been to Cyprus twice, once a year ago and once about ten years ago. I can’t remember exactly when I went the first time, because there isn’t a set on Flickr labelled with the dates of the trip, but I do remember the vivid red of the flowers growing outside our apartment, and the way the swimming pool seemed to melt into the sea (I had never heard of infinity pools then, but I think it was one), and I can still feel, if I try, the slight chill in the air that arrived on our last day and made the locals laugh at us for sunbathing.

But when I think about last year’s trip, which at the time I remember thinking was the nicest holiday I’d ever been on, I just see the photos in my mind’s eye. And the problem with that is that what you decide is a good subject for a photo is not the same as what you independently recall later, because your conscious mind isn’t necessarily the best judge of what will appeal to your unconscious mind. So you get photos of the sunset (I have SO MANY photos of sunsets, and they all look EXACTLY THE SAME), and of each other grinning (DITTO), and of cocktails and feral cats, but you probably miss the groyne covered in barnacles, or the blood-red roof that stands out like a flag against a bright blue sky, and you certainly miss the chill in the air and the taste of kleftiko, unless you put your camera down for five minutes and let yourself be in the moment, rather than frantically trying to record a facsimile of the moment for posterity, when it’s never a substitute for the real thing.

Once in a while I forget to take my camera somewhere, and although I love taking photos and I love having photos, I’m sometimes secretly glad that I can forget about keeping a record, and just be where I am for a bit.

The ideal solution, I think, is to live your life as though cameras don’t exist, but have three dedicated photographers recording your every move, so that you end up with a beautifully random set of photos which may or may not tally with your own recollection of events. I managed this on my wedding day, but I haven’t worked out how to make it happen the rest of the time. I’ll keep you posted.

Dreams of a Life, Weekend

On By Laura MorganIn Films

My last cinema visit of 2011 and first of 2012 were to see two films which are completely different in theory but which each left me with a similar set of feelings. If you haven’t seen either or both of them I won’t spoil them here (not that either film is the kind you can spoil, really), but I suggest that you stop reading NOW and go to the cinema to watch one or ideally both of them.

Dreams of a Life is the true (or “true”; the impossibility of arriving at an independent truth about another person being one of its central themes) story of Joyce Vincent, a young Londoner who died alone in her flat in Wood Green in 2003 and wasn’t discovered for three years. If that sounds harrowing, it is, but it’s also fascinating, and touching, and thoughtful, and ultimately life-affirming, if that isn’t too much of a contradiction in terms. What happened to Joyce was shocking, of course, but the film is as much about her life and love and friendships as about her death, and I came away with what felt like an intimate and tender portrait of someone quite a lot like you or me. It’s not like any other film I can think of, and I think it will stay with me for a long time.

Weekend is a love story – a romance in every sense, although again, it felt very close to home. Watching it, I thought – I know these people; I’ve been to these places. There is, I think, something very English about both films, which is part of what makes them feel so familiar. But you don’t have to be English, or live here, to recognise something fundamental in each of them, because they are about real people with real uncertainties and doubts and secrets, and both make the point that you can never really know another person’s secret. And they treat that truth with an honesty that makes both films seem very grown-up, in the best sense of the term. They are both made by people I’d like to know in real life, which is praise I’ve never used about a film before, not counting Woody Allen films (and people get cross when I say I’d like to know Woody Allen in real life, so I tend not to say it any more, even though it’s true).

There are no neatly wrapped-up endings to either film and both contain a lot of sadness, but I came away from them both feeling uplifted, perhaps because both stories are also about happiness, albeit transitory happiness (which is the only real kind, because if you were happy all the time you wouldn’t know you were happy, so it wouldn’t count).

Weekend has left most cinemas now, but you can probably still catch Dreams of a Life if you hurry. But they are also both the sort of film which would work just as well on TV, so one way or another, I hope you will get to see them.

Next up on my to-watch list: The Artist, about which I am ridiculously excited.

Agatha Christie

On By Laura MorganIn Books

For as long as I can remember in my adult life, I have been vaguely attempting to amass a complete collection of Agatha Christie’s books. My love affair with them began at university, when I went to stay with a boyfriend whose family were weird and intimidating (though not as weird and intimidating as he was), and I spent most of the weekend holed up in the spare bedroom, which contained a shelf full of battered old detective stories. I gorged my way through three books – I can’t remember which ones – and was hooked.

Back in Colchester, I was already in the habit of visiting the two secondhand bookshops on the High Street to look for cheaper copies of university text books (a hint to teenagers: art history is a very expensive subject to study, bookswise). The next time I was in town I went and had a look at the “Crime” shelf in the larger bookshop, the one inside someone’s house, and was delighted to discover dozens of aged Christies, all priced at 70p. I bought a handful, then periodically went back over the following weeks and months and acquired the lot. I discovered that I’d inadvertently struck gold the first time out and that not all the stories were as good as the early ones, but there was never one I didn’t enjoy reading.

Having gotten hold of about thirty books for pennies at a time, I was loath to start spending £6.99 a go on the remaining titles – it seemed somehow against the serendipitous spirit of the affair – and I found myself content to check every car boot sale, thrift store and charity shop I passed in the hope of picking up an unread Christie.

Last year, now the owner of two full bookshelves of battered Marples and Poirots, I arranged them in alphabetical order, found a list of her complete works and made a meticulous list of everything I didn’t yet have. Some of them, borrowed from friends or libraries or lost over the years, I had read but didn’t have a copy of, and I decided it would be lovely to have an absolutely complete set, not counting the romances which I find readable and entertaining but nothing like as exciting as the detective books and which in any case are written pseudonymously, so don’t technically count as Agatha Christies.

Using this more systematic approach I acquired a dozen or so more books, and of the remaining ones on the list some are US versions of books I already have, some are thrillers rather than mysteries (although the dividing line is not always clear, of course) and others are titles I know I have somewhere, but I can’t think where.

So what next? The answer is obvious: sign up for a book club offering brand new copies of every single Agatha Christie, sent out fortnightly at £5.99 a pop.

Yes, I know it sounds a bit mad, but in another piece of beautiful serendipity, I went into a newsagent yesterday to top up my Oyster and spotted a copy of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, complete with accompanying magazine, for £1.99. So naturally I bought it, and discovered that Hachette are republishing every single Christie, in hardback, in a facsimile of the original binding and cover art, accompanied by a magazine with contemporary detail and modern analysis of each story. Plus, you get free gifts – a bag, some mugs, glass coasters – if you subscribe, as well as the obligatory free binder with part two.

This is exciting for me, even though I’ve read almost all of the books, so it ought to be even more exciting for someone who hasn’t read the books and would like to, which is why I think you should also subscribe. £5.99 for a book is quite cheap, especially as the first one is £1.99, the second is £3.99 and the third is free (if you subscribe by post, rather than just buying it from the newsagent), AND you get a load of free stuff, AND the bindings are gorgeous, AND, well, Agatha Christie is just really lovely to read. The stories are so cleverly plotted and have been so ripe for TV and film and radio adaptation that it’s easy to forget that they are also beautiful evocations of an England – of a world – that few of us knew but which we can all recognise. And more than that, they provide an eloquent social history of a particular class of English life of which Christie herself was a part. So if your new year’s resolution was to read more, I think you should sign up now and join me in reading a Christie a fortnight in 2012. Sorry if this reads like an ad, it wasn’t meant to. Also, if you don’t want to subscribe but do want to try one of the stories and I know you in real life, let me know and I will pick one out for you and give it to you.

New year’s resolutions for 2012

On By Laura MorganIn Navel gazing, Uncategorized

Looking back at last year’s resolutions, as I traditionally do at this time of year, I discover that I kept all of them, more or less. But it’s less impressive than that sounds, because there were only three and they were all kind of lame, apart from the first one which I am technically still working on, although I am definitely nearly finished.

Anyway, this year has needed no thought at all. I know exactly what I want to do, as well as the order I want to do it in. So without further preamble, my plans for 2012 are these:

1. Get the beloved to show me how to use Audacity.

2. Move Ella‘s two paintings out of the bedroom and into the front room, and hang the mirror we got from my sister over the mantelpiece (note: this will require the assistance of A Man. Not a man, but A Man, or quite possibly A Woman).

3. Hang up the paintings which are currently on the bedroom floor awaiting the removal of Ella’s paintings from the walls.

4. Upgrade to pro membership of the voice artists’ site to which I belong.

5. Throw away all the rusty old kitchen stuff that the previous occupants of our flat left behind, and;

6. Use the resultant cupboard space to reorganise our kitchen storage in such a way that we can find the things we need to use without having to empty whole cupboards at a time.

7. Audition for some voiceover jobs.

Seven is quite ambitious, I know, but only number 7 is anything but routine. It is also the most exciting one, so that’s OK. Oh, and number 8 is to finish writing that bloody story. It only needs about three more days’ work; I just can’t seem to get around to it. But I’m going to use a wedding, a house move and two changes of job as an excuse for not getting as far as I should have in 2011, and say that 2012 will absolutely, positively, without a shadow of a doubt, be the year it happens. Hold me to that, please.

(And in case I don’t make it back here tomorrow, happy new year! 2011 was the funnest year of blogging for me so far, so I hope you enjoyed at least some of it too.)

Advent song for December 24: and the winner is…

On By Laura MorganIn Christmas, Music, Reasons to be cheerful2 Comments

OK, there isn’t a winner, I just couldn’t resist the headline. As I said before, I didn’t really have a plan as to which song went where on the advent calendar this year, but I did promise myself that if anyone voted for my personal favourite, they’d get the Christmas Eve slot. So I was delighted when Donna plumped for Mistletoe and Wine, because Donna is completely lovely and utterly deserving of the final place.

Donna and I used to work together, in the first proper job I ever had. Well, second, if you count four months doing 20 hours a week in Streatham Under Fives Centre, which I’m not sure I do. This job was in a bookshop, and in the late nineties and early two thousands Donna and I had the most fun anyone has ever had at work, because she is the sweetest, silliest, most genuine, forthright and hilarious person in the world, and spending eight hours a day in her company was sheer out-and-out delight.

When good things happened to Donna she would fill the room with beams of joy so intense they felt tangible. When bad things happened to Donna she would cry, then find a way to feel better about them, usually with the accompaniment of a lot of laughter. If I was in a bad mood, I would sit and glower silently. If Donna was in a bad mood, she’d announce it, explain it and within a few minutes we’d have talked around it from every angle and both be feeling better.

Everyone should have a Donna, especially if they are occasionally inclined to unhealthy levels of cynicism and negativity. Donna was so open and so engaged that I couldn’t sustain my sneering teenage posture, and had no choice but to become nicer, and for that I will always be grateful to her.

Happy Christmas, Donna! And happy Christmas to everyone who has read any of this year’s advent calendar. It’s been a lot of fun to do, and I’m only sorry that there wasn’t room for all the songs people nominated. But, you know, there’s always room for Cliff.

Advent song for December 23: Happy Christmas, Niamh!

On By Laura MorganIn Christmas, Music

Niamh is my sister-in-law, as of thirty-four days ago. She said:

I love Driving Home for Christmas by Chris Rea. I love to hear it on the days leading up to the main event, when you finish work and all the shopping is done!

For most of us, today is hopefully one of those days. I finish work this afternoon, and I have done all my shopping already, although some of it isn’t coming until tomorrow, EEK.

I expect Niamh finished all her shopping a month ago, because Niamh is incredibly organised, which I think you probably have to be if you’ve got a house and a job and a husband and two teenage sons, who are not only involved in about twenty out-of-school activities each, but are two of the nicest teenage boys you could ever imagine meeting. When I first met them they were 9 and 13 and they were lovely, and now they’re 13 and 17 they are, unbelievably, still lovely, and also very funny and grown-up. I don’t know how she does what she does, but I hope it runs in the family, because if we can one day raise children half as nice as Niamh’s, and if we can do it with as much wit and warmth as she does, we’ll be doing well.

So happy Christmas Niamh, to you and all the family. Christmas has crept up on us a bit this year, but we’ll be back in Dublin soon!

Advent song for December 22: Happy Christmas, Lucy!

On By Laura MorganIn Christmas, Music, Reasons to be cheerful2 Comments

Lucy gave me several songs to choose from, but she will forever be associated in my mind with George Michael, and since we were both supposed to see him sing this year and neither of us did, I have chosen this, which I also know is lots of other people’s favourite Christmas song too. It is an excellent Christmas song, and although you have to sit through an ad to watch it, it’s worth it because the video is even better. It has the best hair – and the most hair – of any video I can think of, not including November Rain.

(Goes off into 9-minute November Rain reverie. God, I love November Rain, about as much as I love Phantom of the Opera, and for most of the same reasons. I still can’t believe we didn’t have it as our wedding song. It’s set at a wedding! And we got married in November!)

<Cough> Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, George Michael. I love George Michael, but not as much as Lucy does. Lucy and I were at university together. We weren’t in the same year or doing the same subject, but we were both subversive leftie troublemakers so we got to know each other anyway, and then we got to like each other because – I hope nobody takes offence at my saying this – not ALL subversive leftie troublemakers have much lightness of heart or sense of the ridiculous, and Lucy had, and has, both, and was, and is, one of the funniest people I know.

(I think I treasure funny above almost anything else, when it comes to my friends. I mean, always assuming they’re not actual murderers or Tories or anything.)

Lucy lives miles away now – or else I do, or else we both do – so I never see her, but we are still in touch and we have a shared history that means a lot to us both (marginally more to her, perhaps, since she is married to a part of it) and I know that if we bumped into each other tomorrow we’d pick up exactly where we left off. I’m not sure where that was, but I’m fairly certain that wine was involved, and I’m almost sure that it would be again. Ah, good times.

Happy Christmas, Lucy!


Advent song for December 21: Happy Christmas, Mum!

On By Laura MorganIn Christmas, Music, Reasons to be cheerful1 Comment

Mum wanted “When Santa Got Stuck Up The Chimney – with actions”. I can’t imagine it’s actually her favourite Christmas song, and at one point I thought I might actually have to record myself performing it, but then this little girl came to my rescue.

Which is not to say I don’t know the actions. I know the actions to every song, because I am the daughter of a mother who ran music groups for children through most of my childhood. She is also the reason I know proper Christmas songs as well as Wizzard and Slade, because when I was little she used to play LPs of real choirs singing in Latin, in between Dad playing Roberta Flack on the piano or Davy Graham on the guitar. They also sang in a choir (“Oh MUM, do we HAVE to come to your concert?”), and at the summer camps we used to go to in Wales, and at our wedding (and at their wedding), so if you have enjoyed any bits of any of the Gladallover musical advent calendars over the years, you really have my parents to thank for it.

Happy Christmas, Mum!

P.S. Dad doesn’t do Twitter or Facebook, but I am reliably informed that he enjoyed this clip very much recently, and as it’s Christmas I don’t see why there can’t be two songs today:

Advent song for December 20: Happy Christmas, Krista and Mike!

On By Laura MorganIn Christmas, Music, Uncategorized1 Comment

I have a confession to make. Weeks ago, as I was putting this selection of songs together and trying to determine the order, and deciding whether it was ever OK to have two songs for the same person (no!) or two people for the same song (no!), I thought to myself what I will do, though, is put Krista and Mike on the same day so I can write about them together, but I’ll give them a song each.

And then last night I went back through the song list, ready to write this post, and I realised that Mike’s “O Come O Come Emmanuel” is, of course, the same song as Ed’s “Veni Veni Emmanuel” from three days ago.

So instead of doing the same song three days apart, I will refer you back to Ed’s post for Mike’s choice, and here treat you to Krista’s, which is, I think, the happiest song so far, and since Krista might just be the happiest person I know, that is entirely appropriate.

Mike and Krista are our longest-married friends, and if we can do it half as well as them we’ll be delighted. They are one of those couples who exude warmth, and everyone who meets them can’t help but fall in love with them. A few months ago Krista and I were at our friend Kate’s house and Krista was telling us about a job interview she’d had. “They seemed to like me”, she said, and Kate and I looked at each other and laughed, because the idea of anyone’s meeting Krista and not liking her is so ridiculous. She is, they both are, two of the loveliest people you could ever hope to meet, and I feel very lucky to be their friend, because we figured out the other day that the reason we know each other is that my ex boyfriend’s brother’s best friend’s wife’s sister’s husband used to work with Krista, which is the kind of connection that won’t always sustain for years. But this one has, and for that I am super grateful.

Happy Christmas, Krista and Mike!