This Woman's Work

My husband is the best, most amazing man in the whole entire world. I knew this anyway, but let me explain why.

A few months ago; Kate Bush announced that she was doing a series of concerts.  I would like to say that I have been waiting 35 years for this but I was 4 in 1979 and I hadn't heard of Kate Bush until I was about 8 and I didn't like "Running up that Hill". I may not have been 8, my encyclopedic knowledge of her back catalogue is no longer at the very forefront of my mind.

Many of my friends who I hadn't spoken to in years messaged me on Facebook. Even people I have only met recently posted the link.  My obsession is more well known than I believed.  Or perhaps,more worryingly, I look like the kind of person who would be a Kate Bush fan.

So, the day arrives. I have already given up hope.I am at work.  At 9 o clock I look at my watch. I pace the room. I tell my year 13s what is the matter.  I play them a clip. They are still none the wiser.  I sigh and return to Chaucer.

The next day is Saturday. The weekend of mothering Sunday.  There is a huge box from Thorntons delivered.  Neither of us have mentioned the tickets.  I can't help but feel a building anticipation about my Mother's day gift.  The tension is too great to bear.  The one amazing surprise present my husband has managed and I have to spoil it. I had to know.  "No," he says. "I'm sorry. I had 3 browsers open, the tickets sold out in 15 minutes." I understand, of course.I head back downstairs. But less than 5 minutes later he is confessing, he did it. He got me tickets. The single most important event of my life. After my wedding, and the birth of our children. He is the most remarkable man.  And he tried to do it just for me.

The first track I heard of Kate Bush that had resonance for me was "The Sensual World". On the strength of the track I bought the album; on vinyl, the 12" picture of her in black and white striking on the cover.  At the time,I wasn't aware that the lyrics were based on Molly Bloom 's rapture from the end of Ulysses, but the lyrics were compelling. "He loosened it so if it slipped between my breasts, he'd rescue it"  I had never heard anything so erotic,it was beautiful.

My boyfriend lent me the greatest hits album and from then on I was hooked.  Throughout sixth form I trawled second hand record shops and record fairs to collect all the 7" singles, the blue Russian flexi disc of "Babooshka" and a marbled cassette of "Hounds of Love".

I seem to remember that Take That were famous at the time. I  hadn't heard anything by them and I was experimenting with skinny black jeans, lace tops and back combed hair (still purple though) at the time.  I later wore lots of stripey trousers and army style boots, (but definitely not Dr. Martens - everyone had them). Somehow Kate Bush remained consistent with all these other passions.  "Wuthering Heights" was gothic enough to fit in with "Severina" and "Temple of Love",  "The handsome Cabin boy" followed a folk tradition that The Levellers and The Tansads would have understood.

And she was on her own.  For other girls like me who were on their own, hanging around with groups of boys. I couldn't follow a crowd of other girls screaming at Take That, and the subjects of her songs challenged standard topics - narratives of poisoning, gay lovers, dressing as a rocket,dancing with Hitler and very rarely falling in love .  Many of her women were strong and independent and she seemed strong and independent too, she produced her own music and dictated her own terms.

As someone said on tv the other night, after the rave reviews of the first night, I think it was the former drummer of the Sex Pistols, she wasn't part of a movement, she had a fan base all of her own.  I felt special being a fan.  I was part of something bigger - I went to a convention and it was slightly scarier than a Morrissey gig. No one else was a fan.  Actually that's not quite true, everyone was a fan of something by Kate Bush.  But they weren't a fan.  Not like me.  Eventually I did meet some fans but after a few bizarre encounters I has to break off contact with most of them.

Oh, and she played the piano.  You don't need even a band when you play the piano.  As proved later by Tori Amos, but that's a whole new blog.  I had been learning the piano for ten years and knew I would never  be a pop star.  I was too snobby to be a "keyboard" player, based on my experience of 80s two finger moochers at the back of the group.  But I could be an artist. Or artiste. Or performer, or any of those things Kate Bush was.

She was a positive role model for a teenager, the independent woman I wanted to be.  She even had children late and so we ended up almost as contemporaries.  I will try and fit in a blog before I go, but I may be too busy being excited.

The eye of the storm

I wrote a song once called "Katy the hurricane".  Bit of oversharing really; I wrote songs, I called it "Katy" because of a girl I was in awe of called Katy who I thought my boyfriend might prefer, but mostly because I had just been reading Cixous. I couldn't believe I had never noticed before that hurricanes and natural disasters tended to be named after women.

I won't share the whole song with you, I couldn't cope with the awkward silence and feet shuffling that usually results from one of my songs/poems/readings, but the gist was that she was "turning/turning the whole world upside down...buildings and institutions come tumbling down" I'm squirming a bit just writing that actually, a bit like reading my teenage diary. I really admire Caitlin Moran for writing "How to be a woman" (Read it now...right now, if you haven't already..
http://www.amazon.co.uk/How-Be-Woman-Caitlin-Moran-ebook/dp/B0052CK5PQ/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1407682461&sr=1-2&keywords=caitlin+moran+books). I couldn't possibly be so reflective or use my young life to provide any insight into the state of the world.

Anyway, back to the point - I will explain the reason for my disjointed train of thought shortly. I'm not sure what bothers me about the practice of using female names,and I don't think it's done any more, it could be the accusation of random destruction, the repeated association of femininity with nature as opposed to the more civilised masculine/culture link, or perhaps it's that the power granted femininity is only "natural" or innate. What's caused is caused by accident.

All of which brings me to my distracted mind. Bertha, or whatever the tropical storm is called has caused very strong winds and rain making the children bubble over like cherry Pepsi max and so I am here, a generic soft play warehouse,with the car packed full of a tent, sleeping bags and gas stove, seriously impeding my fuel efficiency.

I once made one of my friends come to one of these places, she doesn't have any children and I don't suppose she'd go to one again.  It was purely for my own sanity that I invited her.  Parenting law dictates that you can, if alone,strike up conversation with another lone parent, as long as you are in one of the more middle class areas. And not a father, fathers must remain unmolested by their own and other children and adults, this is signified by a broadsheet newspaper raised in front of the face, a tablet; held up rather than rested on the table, or in emergencies,a phone.  A new development I have only noticed today us headphones.  This obscures screams and the usual panicked reaction to a cry of "mummy!" Before you realise it's not for you and lapse back into concentration.

So instead of reading a book, as I used to, I am typing on my new Kindle for the first time.it's nor easy.  See?

I've been waiting all year for this.

Six weeks!  It's that time of year again!  What all teachers have been waiting for...

I've planned to go camping on Sunday.  According to BBC weather; the only forecast I trust; there is "yellow rain" alert on the day I intend to go and it will rain for the rest of the week.  Don't get me wrong, much of my camping life has been spent in the rain, most of it was in the Lake District; I once walked the Pennine Way, taking 19 days and it rained on every single day.  Bar one. But the idea of putting the tent up in the rain, battling the remnants of a former hurricane, seems to be setting myself for failure.  We will see.

So far the holiday has been delightful.  I have successfully vacuumed one floor properly for the first time in three weeks in a post- marking blitz but strangely I feel like I am working harder then before.  All I want is a cup of coffee, watching "Homes Under the Hammer" with everyone back at work.  However, now Depressed Aggressive Neurotic husband is working from home I can't see that ever happening again.

I miss my Tuesday lunch time, my one day off - it's like my pub night.  I haven't yet done enough work and I am so anxious about it that I haven't yet summoned up the courage to check my email.  Any of my emails.  There could be a whole load of unspent Pizza Express vouchers in there.  Not quite sure when the relaxation begins.

Once again I have only myself to blame.  What's wrong with me?  I worked 5 days a week, Dan worked 3 before July.  I did all the bedtimes, packed lunches and dinners, now it's the "holidays" and I am still doing all the bedtimes, all the dinners and, oh yes, the packed lunches!  How are all these cheerful people so happy about not making cream cheese sandwiches, chopping up carrot sticks and wrapping oat biscuits in foil?  We seem to be picknicking (Not sure about that verb...) every day.  And these picnics seem more difficult than your standard packed lunch.  (Actually, that is mostly my fault.  I want salad which is more fiddly.)  We have crisps.  Crisps! And biscuits.  And for some reason, we have plates.  All of which creates more washing up and substantially more work.

I am rubbish at this.  I should probably go back to work.