On Fatherhood and Holy Books

I have just come back from watching my father be sworn in as the first ever President of the Supreme Court of the United Kingdom. (If you want to watch him be sworn in too, you can do so here.) I've never blogged about my dad before because I was worried that people might think of me differently if they knew that he's not Mr but Lord Phillips (though it's something I've never hidden and it's easy enough to find out), but I am too proud of him today not to mention it and he is wonderful and I love him and if people think of me differently because my dad has a title then really that's their problem.

The ceremony swearing in all the justices to the new Supreme Court was short and simple but I felt honoured to be there in the brand new court, watching the first ever Supreme Court judges begin their roles. They sat in a row, in their never-before-worn robes which will be handed down from judge to judge for generations, and one by one took their oaths and signed their names in the book where all the Supreme Court judges will sign their names for years to come. My father's name is the very first name in that book. It is a big book, with a lot of gilt-edged pages, and it will take a very long time to fill. All the judges who sign it over hundreds of years will be able to turn back the pages and see my father's signature there, at the top of the first page, in handwriting I know as well as my own.

During the swearing in ceremony I noticed that three different books were sworn on by the judges, two Bibles - I think one judge brought his own - and a Torah. The atheist judges did not have a book to swear on. This got me thinking, if you had to take a solemn and binding oath on any non-religious book, what would you choose? This is not the same as asking for your favourite book, but for a book whose values you would find impossible to sully by reneging on your promise. In honour of today, I am choosing Winnie the Pooh, which symbolises for me the innocence and happiness of childhood. In particular I am choosing the hardback edition of Winnie the Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner from which my father used to read my bedtime stories to me when I was very young.

And you?

In which I bite the hand that feeds me

This makes me angry.

I don't have any kind of problem with Martine McCutcheon. If you look at the video of her talking about her novel she seems quite sweet (and it's hard to come across as anything other than idiotic and nauseous in those videos, I should know, I've done one, which you should feel under no obligation to watch. Ever.) Martine has every right to write a novel if she wants. She has every right to try to get it published. And she has every right to get it turned down, like every single other person on earth would if they submitted the chapter linked to above, and did not happen to be famous.

Publishing The Mistress is so unbelievably cynical it defies belief. I am, I admit, fairly naive, and I suppose there was some remaining part of me that thought that the point of the publishing industry was the publish books so that people could read and enjoy them. With the publication of The Mistress I have had to finally come to terms with the fact that the publishing industry exists to make money for the publishing industry, and if some good books make it out into the world as a result, then that's just gravy.

There is absolutely no way in hell that The Mistress has been published because somebody read it and thought: wow, that's a really good book. Nobody involved in the production of The Mistress (aside from, presumably, Ms McCutcheon) can in any way have done their job thinking that they were producing a book of benefit to anybody at all aside from the shareholders of Pan Macmillan. It's there to make money. That's all it exists for. And the people who will buy it and read it, admirers of celebrity culture and chicklit - fine by me - will waste their time on a book that will be so much less rewarding than a copy of Grazia or a piece of properly-written chicklit.

It is damn hard to earn a living as a writer. Most writers never will. It genuinely makes me sad to think of the ghostwriter who could have put dinner on the table by writing Martine McCutcheon's book for her. Or the decent chicklit author who could have had her book on the 3-for-2 table where Martine's will go. Somebody else could have got their book published instead of Martine. Somebody with talent. A writer. I don't expect to be offered a role on Eastenders just because I'm a successful author.

I went to a talk the other day given by a panel of publishers who talked about how the days of any authors "thinking they have a right" to make a living from their work are numbered. At the time I thought it unfair that the only people in publishing who aren't expected to make a living from it are the people who actually produce the content of the books. Nobody says that publishers shouldn't "think they have a right" to earn their living from publishing. Nobody says that publishers should be happy with lower wages - £5000 for two years work, say, just like an author. And then publishers choose to take their time and their budgets and put them into a book like this that only the most uncritical of readers have the slightest hope of enjoying? Wrong.

Here's a thought: publishers rely on readers to buy their product. They rely on readers wanting to buy their product. They rely on readers liking reading. So instead of putting out any old rubbish with a celeb name on the front, they could try putting out books that readers might actually like, even love, and then they might find that the readers come back for more.

Inconceivable!

Last night I got together with friends to inaugurate a little film club where each of us shows the others a favourite film, projected onto the living room wall with a proper DVD projector, very exciting.

My friend the Guardian journalist showed us an Italian film called Dear Diary, written, produced, directed by and starring Nanni Moretti as himself. Not nearly as self-indulgent as this sounds, the film was in thee parts: the first, a meditative section in which Moretti quietly rides his moped around Rome, backed by a beautiful selection of music including Leonard Cohen and Keith Jarrett; the second, a more narrative section in which Moretti and friend tour a series of Italian islands, looking for a place where they can work in peace, before the friend goes insane for lack of access to his favourite soap operas (I can sympathise); and the third, a true recounting of the year Moretti spent searching for a cure for a mysterious itch, getting misdiagnosis after misdiagnosis before discovering that he has cancer. Crossing boundaries between fiction and documentary, the film had a dream-like quality but also a healthy amount of Woody Allen-like humour and I enjoyed it very much. Then again, I have had proper training in watching boring films in which nothing happens (otherwise known as my Visual Anthropology MA) so my views on non-narrative film should be taken with a healthy shake of salt.

My choice? The Princess Bride. I had obviously not counted the number of Guardian journalists in the room (two, or to put it another way, 50% of participants). Either that or I care nothing for my credibility, and I refer you to the Strictly Come Dancing posts on this blog for you to decide. Anyway, for those who have not seen it (why? why?) The Princess Bride is a fabulous, over-the-top fairy tale pastiche comprising everything you'd hope for, from pretty floaty blondes in long dresses to pirates, giants, sword fights, albino masters of torture, and rodents of unusual size. It's also got a great selection of cameos from the likes of Peter Cook and Billy Crystal, and the worst special effects you will ever see (check out the very human-shaped rodent feet.) And I adore the script. "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." I think I managed to convince both Guardian writers but the other film clubber (barrister) merely offered: "I can see why it's a cult classic, because it is so bad". Hmm.

Afterwards I was thinking about my choice and why it is that I had gone for a film I loved when I was 12, given that that was ahem years ago now. I have seen better films in the interim, sharper scripts, more striking cinematography, better acting (Cary Elwes takes a lead role, need I say more.) In the end I realised that for a film to be a "favourite" I need to have seen it several times, so that it goes from appreciated to loved. It needs a chance to become a part of me. When I was a child and a teen, if I loved a film I watched it over and over again - films like When Harry met Sally, or Withnail and I. These days I almost never watch a film twice. there are too many fresh films I want to see. So while I might be bowled over by, say The Lives of Others, I am not going to buy the DVD and watch it until I can do all of the dialogue in the original German with my back to the screen.

How about you? What's your favourite film and how old were you the first time you saw it?

Strictlywatch 2009: Week 1 Part 2

Watching Strictly Come Dancing last night reminded me why it love it so much. Not like, enjoy, think is fun, but proper heart does a leap when the music starts love it. There are all the obvious reasons, music / dance / spangly dresses. But there's something less tangible too. Bear with me here, I'm about to get pretentious. It's the ritual of it. The way every detail has been carefully planned and is repeated week after week after week, to a quite astonishing level of repetition that goes beyond mere catchphrases to whole sections of the script being repeated word for word (welcoming the orchestra, telling the couples after the dance-off that they can "do no more"), and the choice of camera shots being exactly the same (the sweep along the couples when they first come on, the link Tess does from the balcony before the dance-off.) It's so comforting. Comforting yet shiny. It's like Christmas, once a week. No matter what else has been going on in my life, I can switch on Strictly Come Dancing and know exactly what I'm going to get.

The professional dancers are a huge part of this. The celebrities change every year but the pro dancers stay the same, and long term addicts like me can really get to know them, not just their personalities but their dancing styles, so I can tell you that Flavia Cacace is the most stunning, dramatic dancer of the women, and Lilia Kopylova the most appealing with the sexiest bum. With last year's new arrival Kristina, they are my favourite female dancers, which is why it was a dis-as-ter, as Craig would say, to see them both in the bottom two this week. In particular I burned for Lilia - out in the first week with Richard Dunwoody - who has not been given a decent dance partner since she was runner up with Matt Dawson in 2006. There was no way of telling in advance that Flavia's partner Craig Kelly was a bit of a stick, but Lilia deserved better after being paired with Don Warrington last year and Dominic Littlewood the year before. It's interesting to note that her husband and dance partner Darren has also got an obvious lemon (Lynda Bellingham) and I wonder if there is a behind-the-scenes reason for them both being flagged to go out early. (Amusingly, if you go to Flavia's website vincentandflavia.com her comment on Craig is "Flavia's celebrity, Craig Kelly is the right age, and Flavia says she was very pleased when she saw him for the first time." Quite.)

Anyway. Are you exhausted already? I'll do the dances.

1. Phil and Katya dancing a cha cha. Comedy gold to match their gold outfits, and as Bruce said (wisely, for once) they'll get away with murder in this competition. Tuffers's dancing is a bit half-arsed but, with his charm, nobody will give a toss for weeks.

2. Craig and Flavia dancing the rumba. In my notes (yes, people, I was taking notes), I have written "I love Flavia, even in that orange dress, which is the exact colour of my free pen from radtac.co.uk." I didn't much love Craig's rumba, but please note: I HATE the rumba, and so my responses today are going to be completely up the spout. Craig came across as quite grumpy - nerves and despair, I think, combined with Mancunian surliness - and I wasn't surprised to see him in the bottom two.

3. Laila and Anton, dancing the cha cha. Horrifyingly, my TV died at the exact moment this dance started, and I missed most of the dance before it revived, but judging by what I saw, the dance pretty much died as well. Bruno made the best comment of the night - "what a waste of that magnificent equipment"!

4. Zoe and James dancing a rumba. Love Zoe, "love" the tail feathers in her outfit (according to It Takes Two, this was a "Grace Kelly" look, rather than - as it seemed to my eye - inspired by wild west saloon bar prostitutes), love her acting the dance, hated the dance.

5. Jo and Brendan dancing a rumba. My scientific research (comments from people I follow on Twitter) suggests that everybody hated this and can't understand how Jo stayed in. In fact this was the only rumba I liked. Perhaps it's the wholesale destruction of the rumba form that appealed to me.

6. Richard and Lilia dancing a cha cha. Richard may be sweet with a lovely smile but he can't dance for toffee and both he and Lilia know it. As a result, this dance mainly consisted of Richard grinning and waving his arms around while Lilia worked her ass off in a costume made of a small amount of leftover tinsel. How Len thought that this was more deserving to stay in than Craig's tango I will never know. In my notes I have written: "Len is nuts". (Nuts and, seasoned Strictly watchers will know, absurdly biased towards sportsmen.)

7. Ricky and Natalie dancing a rumba. Are these two shagging? It certainly looks that way. It was a rumba, so I hated it, and Natalie dances like a stripper which is completely disconcerting, and I have written in my notes "WTF is that pink thing on her dress?" But Ricky is, undeniably, very good, and I look forward to seeing him do a dance I actually like. Also, Alesha referred to his "journey", the first mention of that Strictly cliche this series, hurrah! Alesha is also busy developing her own cliche, giving praise and then saying "I commend you for that", which should be added to the list for the SCD drinking game.

8. Natalie and Vincent dancing a cha cha. Natalie did great dancing faces (this may be the year of the dancing faces) and I love her attitude, but I found this dance oddly underwhelming, for reasons I can't put my finger on.

So a somewhat limp ending to the dances, but fortunately there were some pro dances to liven things up again before the dance-off, including a brilliant quickstep, choreographed by (pro) Natalie. As I have mentioned, Natalie dances like a stripper, and I did wonder how she'd manage to dance like a stripper in a quickstep. Turned out it was in choosing the Marylin Monroe version of "My Heart Belongs To Daddy" in which she gets to mouth the spoken words "My name is Lolita and I'm not supposed to play with boys". Nothing says classic quickstep like an allusion to a novel about paedophile rape. To be fair, the choreography was great.

Then all that was needed was a guest turn from the singing hobbit (Jamie Cullum) and the Dreaded Dance Off before Strictly was over for another week. So until next time... keep dancing!

Full programme and clips here.

Strictlywatch 2009: Week 2 Part 1

Well I have to say, after a lacklustre year last year, mostly remarkable for in-fighting over John Sergeant and me barely being able to remember who the finalists were, this could actually be a vintage Strictly season. Lots of great dancing, lots of personality, and the dresses don't actively make me want to retch. Even Tess's.

First up, Natalie Cassidy. What I said in my preview: "mainly known for her tabloid-chronicled yoyo weight, and thus is the most likely person to go on a Strictly Journey and be told endlessly by the judges that she 'looks beautiful'" The reality: Tabloid weight mentioned in training video (Natalie dealt with it brilliantly, pointing out, entirely believably, that she's very happy how she is, thanks) and was told by Claudia on It Takes Two that she looked beautiful, so tick and tick. Whether she goes on a "journey" remains to be seen, but meanwhile I loved her tango faces, and Vincent's routine. I'd love to dance a tango with Vincent, though his head would only come up to my boobs; still, somewhere for him to blow his nose and for me to rest my drink. So that's fine.

Next, Zoe Lucker dancing a really romantic waltz with (gag) James, but it's not her fault she got James. When did James turn into Brendan anyway? Round about the time that Brendan fell in love and became nice, I think. Do you think all the male dancers had to pick a card and whoever got the Ace of Spades had to be the arrogant bastard? Anyway, what I said: "Take the girl that most of the female viewers are likely to hate and pair her with the dancer everybody hates already." Actually I didn't hate her at all. I thought she was elegant and sensible, which is a tricky combination.

Craig Kelly followed up with a tango. What I said: "he's the sweet, unsexy one from Queer as Folk, and he isn't unsexy any more, plus he is dancing with fabulous Flavia. I am very keen to see his moves on the dancefloor." Still sexy, still dancing with Flavia, and did I say Natalie had great tango faces? Craig's tango faces were incredible. He kept shouting out "ho", though presumably not as a commentary on his partner. I'm not sure he was very good actually, but I enjoyed the drama and the way he dragged Flavia all over the floor, and he looked really gutted for having, basically, buggered the whole thing up. I think, if he stays, he will get better fast.

Next, Richard Dunwoody. What I said: "I can't help suspecting they have dealt Lilia ANOTHER lemon." The reality: they have dealt Lilia another lemon.

Following him onto the floor was Laila Rouass. What I said: "Can it be possible? Have they paired Anton with somebody who might actually be able to dance?" Answer: yes, indeed they have. I LOVED Laila's tango, there was something so... *serious* about it, it was my dance of the night. Also, after years of watching Anton wrestle with crud, it was quite a surprise to discover that he can dance too.

The next dancer was Phil Tufnell. What I said was: "I reckon this could be an early exit unless Phil has secret dancing shoes." I forgot how likeable Tuffers is. He'll get loads of votes for that, and it turns out that he has secret dancing shoes as well. Then again, I was so busy looking at his comedy face that I didn't even notice how good his waltz was and I had to rewind and watch it again after the judges all went mad for it.

Jo Wood was next. What I said: "The producers have pulled a mean trick pairing her with Brendan, because she comes across as sweet but not too bright, and Brendan will chew her up and spit her out within seconds." The reality: she is sweet but not too bright, but Brendan absolutely loves her. I can't get my head around this new, lovely Brendan, it's surreal. Especially as Jo made loads of mistakes. God, she must have been *really* crap to start with. Even so, I'd like her to stay in, as she's entertaining and spirited and there was a good bit where she fell over in training.

Lastly, Ricky Whittle. What I said: "This man is going to LOVE the costumes. And I will love him in them." The reality: he has certainly not been hit with the ugly stick in the interim. He got rave reviews from the judges for his waltz, which I actually doubt very much is his dance - he strikes me as someone who'll prefer to get moving a bit more. Tomorrow he's doing a rumba, which I also reckon will not be his best, and this may be a canny move from his partner, new girl Natalie: get his worst ones out of the way while the competition is easier, and let him shine later in the series. Speaking of Natalie, anybody else think she's the spitting image of Zoe Lucker?

And that's all. After week 1 I thought Ali would be hard to beat, but there are lots of strong contenders in Group 2. Impossible to say for sure without seeing tomorrow's Latin moves, but surely Richard Dunwoody must go.

Brucie Bonus number 1: Alesha was MUCH better this week. She actually showed what she's there for: giving comments from the point of view of someone who's been through it before. Lots of tips on how to get past nerves / deal with criticism etc. I still think she comes across as a bit patronising but there's not much she can do about that, being poacher turned gamekeeper. That effect should wear off next series. And I do not miss Arlene's alliterations, miss them I do not.

Brucie Bonus number 2: Terrific group dance to Michael Jackson. The cameras cut every half a second so it was impossible to see who was actually any good, but I loved Ricky Groves's moonwalk. He is doing a seriously good job at keeping himself in the competition for several weeks before anyone even starts to think about whether he can actually ballroom dance.

Until tomorrow.... Keep Dancing!

Full programme and clips here.

Strictlywatch 2009: Brucie Bonus

Erin's outfit. I forgot to mention it. The lime green coconut bra and matching feather bloomers. Sleep no more, Erin has murdered sleep therefore Marie shall sleep no more.

Strictlywatch 2009: Week 1 Part 2

First week of Strictly, first dramatic eviction: Martina "actually pretty good at dancing" Hingis. Turns out that I was right about the Welsh vote, the Nostalgia vote, and the "cold-hearted competitive woman" anti-vote. Martina is unlikely to have been helped by being Swiss. The charitable way of putting this is that she's not one of "our" celebrities, not home-grown, domestic and well-loved like our soap stars and sportsmen. The less charitable way of putting it is xenophobia. Either way, I was stunned when Len chose Rav to go through. On the strength of that rumba? Really? Rav and Aliona's fist-pumping triumphalism when they were put through will guarantee them an ongoing future in the bottom two, anyway.

To the dances.

Jade and Ian's cha cha was terrific, despite Jade being dressed in a cross between Tweety Pie and a glitter ball. We picked up on some strange body language between her and Ian, but their shared relief at going through was so palpable I'm putting it down to nerves.

Ali was next, I think - it's already a blur - but anyway she and Brian danced a great rumba. Ali looked genuinely terrified before, during and after, and her modesty may well tide her over the curse of being the best at the start and thus looking arrogant by default (the 'Austin Healey' effect).

Lynda Bellingham tried to disguise herself as a lampshade in order to avoid her cha cha being noticed by anyone at all.

Next up was Rav with a rumba which involved him mainly taking a few steps while Aliona writhed around him. I already love Aliona's dancing so I am a lot happier watching her than Rav, but I don't think that's exactly the point.

Chris and Ola's rumba was surprisingly good, especially given that I was not at all impressed by his tango. I liked his dancing faces (although they were about to be seriously outclassed) and I loved his sincere effort to do the proper romantic / sexy thing. Although he may have played his nuclear option far too early by bringing on his parents.

And so to Joe. Oh no. No, Joe. No. Just - no.

Then was Martina's rumba, which despite ensuring her being knocked out, I thought was relatively good, fixed grin and bonkers arms notwithstanding. I would like to have seen a few more weeks of Martina because I think she'd have got much better fast, but alas, we will never know.

And last but not least by several miles was Ricky. After a lacklustre start yesterday, Ricky learnt a lesson that anybody who reads this blog could easily have taught him: if in doubt, go for the dancing faces. I have no clue what was going on from the neck down, because Ricky danced as though he has a series of burning hot potatoes in his mouth of various sizes, from Jersey New Royal to full-sized baking. Genius, hilarious. His dancing? What? Could have secured his position as this year's outside punt.

So farewell then Martina Hingis, if only you had put a series of hot potatoes of various sizes in your mouth you might still be with us now.

Strictlywatch 2009: Week 1 Part 1

Bah bah bah bah bah bah bah! Bah bah bah bah bah!

[That's the theme tune, obviously.]

It's back! Backer than the beast with two backs! Tess is wearing a belt, Bruce looks like a piece of belt leather. The amazing singers, Dave Arch and his wonderful orchestra are all in place. Bring on (as Tess would say) our copples!

And our judges, because this is the first week with Alesha Dixon in place instead of Arlene Phillips. Alesha is minute with gigantic hair and has been placed next to Bruno, with Len moving over to Arlene's old seat beside Craig. My brother suggests that this is so that Alesha is not seen to be replacing Arlene, but I think it's so that Alesha and Bruno can flirt. Because aside from flirting with Bruno, Alesha contributes absolutely nothing to the show. Zero. Zilch.

This is as expected. And it's not Alesha's fault, really. They must have offered her a lot of money to do the job, and she's only had one hit single since she won two years ago, so she'll know her music career is on the skids. Presenting will look like an attractive alternative. But she has no expertise in ballroom dancing so she has nothing to say. She started off slightly critical, marking low and telling Rav his tango was "stompy" (a technical term) and then either lost her nerve or was told off by the producers, because after two dances she reverts to telling everyone that they looked nervous but beautiful / hot, but did a good job, and giving them a six or seven. Meanwhile the other judges are giving actual interesting and useful information about whether or not the hold was right or the dancer has successfully performed their ball-turns. The problem is that Alesha is trying to be a proper judge who gives marks but she doesn't know what to mark on, and is completely at sea. They want her to be the Cheryl Cole equivalent but the trouble is, Cheryl is a professional singer whatever you think of her band, whereas Alesha is neither dancer or choreographer. She can perhaps critique the celebrities, just about, as she's won the show and proved herself first among equals. But how can she ever critique the professional halves of the couples, and what must they think taking her feedback?

So 3 points for Alesha (I've marked her up for likeability.) But what of the contestants?

Well it's our first sight of the celebrities actually dancing so time to compare my first impressions to reality.

Rav Wilding & Aliona Vilani. What I said: "Someone from Crimewatch about whom I know absolutely nothing... I was mesmerised by his incredible dancing eyebrows. This man is going to have seriously brilliant dance faces. Please let him stay in long enough for the Tango." The reality: he dances a tango in week one! But it isn't very good and his eyebrows stay resolutely in place. Also, the training footage reveals a man who is seriously in love with himself, and I am very keen for him to leave. On the other hand, Aliona is quite charming, and I hope she lasts longer as a newcomer than the late, unlamented Hayley.

Ricky Groves & Erin Boag. What I said: "Erin can whip almost anybody into shape, mainly I'll be watching to see whether, as son-in-law to Dennis Waterman, they get him to dance to the theme from Minder." The reality: Erin's going to have her work cut out for her whipping Ricky's hunchback into shape. Rickys waltz was elegant but I can't see him lasting long against some of the more determined or talented here.

Chris Hollins & Ola Jordan. What I said: "I have no idea who he is but apparently he presents sport. That and Ola's boobs should get him a few votes from the dad contingent at least." The reality: The judges enthused about his tango but I found it timid and boring, even if it was in time unlike Rav's. He'll be needing those dad votes.

Martina Hingis & Matthew Cutler. What I said: "highest odds for being a shock early departure because she's considered by the audience to have an unfair natural advantage and an unfeminine desire to win." The reality: She came across as stiff and nervous, out of her comfort zone, but giving it a good go. I think she'll improve fast as she's got that athlete's determination, but while nice enough she's not naturally warm and I still wonder whether the audience will like her.

Lynda Bellingham & Darren Bennett. What I said: "Nostalgia alone should keep her in for a few episodes, surely, no matter what she does." The reality: Hmm. I don't think nostalgia's going to help much. Lynda didn't look like a chocolate box so much as an actual chocolate that's been left in the fridge and frozen stiff. Which suited the tango well enough, but I can't imagine what she'll do in the latin dances. Excellent dancing faces though, the best of the night, and I do like my dancing faces.

Jade Johnson & Ian Waite. What I said: "down-to-earth and rather lovely". The reality: down-to-earth and rather lovely. Some problems with lack of elegance in her waltz - she has giant limbs and huge hands - but I think she'll overcome them and be a real contender. She is also very likeable and incredibly beautiful which will do her no harm whatsoever.

Ali Bastian & Brian Fortuna. What I said: "Likeable. But also, maybe fatally, forgettable." The reality: best dance of the night, a lovely, graceful waltz. But I wonder if she'll suffer the fate of the talented girl, who is seen as too good and over-favoured by the judges from week one, and makes it to the final but doesn't win.

Joe Calzaghe & Kristina Rihanoff. What I said: "A boxer, apparently. Also known as "The Pride of Wales", which should get him into the final no problem." The reality: Even the entire might of Wales will not be enough to shoehorn this dreadful lump of wood into more than a couple of early rounds. KO!

Bonus round: the group mambo. Whoever thought it was a good idea to take Natalie Cassidy - double the size of the stick thin other girls - put her in a scarlet sequined leotard and make her shake her boobs at the very front is either a genius, a sadist or both. She was game, though, a good enough dancer and very funny in the rehearsal footage so I think she'll be in it for a good while yet. Ricky 2 stood out for being good, Richard (Lilia's lemon) for being dreadful, and Zoe Lucker will either be helped or hampered by the fact that physically she looks exactly like the pro dancers and so I kept being very confused every time she did something a bit rubbish.

Tune in later (or indeed tomorrow) for my verdict on part 2! Bloody hell, I'm already exhausted.

The Other Woman

I don't like poetry. That's the official line. The vast majority of the time, I find it self-indulgent and boring to read. So why was I reduced to floods of tears by a poem in Kate Clanchy's recent collection 'Newborn'? Poetry, it turns out, is not pointless when it speaks directly to you.

Here is the poem in question.

The Other Woman

I am running to meet her,
now, the girl who lives on her own,
who has in her hand the key to her own
hallway, her own bare polished stair, who
is clacking down it now, in kitten heals, swearing,
who is marching over envelopes marked with a single name,
who is late, can be late, sleep late, forgets things,
who tonight has forgotten hat, gloves and
umbrella, who is running not caring
through luminous rain.
What shall we say?

Shall I slip off
my coat and order cold wine
and watch myself sip it through
the long row of optics, arching my back
on the velvet banquette? And pick up the wit,
the moue of the mouth as we pass jokes like olives?
And say the right thing and stand up for my round,
tapping the bar with a rolled-up twenty,
tipsy, self-conscious, a girl,
a vessel of secrets, so
carefully held in?

Or down just one glass
and see stars and the whole
room go smeary, have nothing to say
and say all the same - You don't understand.
What happens is someone slips from your side, someone
full-sized. Will she yawn, get her bag, start tucking
her fags in when I get out his photo,
say Look, look how he's grown,
all by himself, he has grown
to the size of my life?


Oh god, I just started crying again just copying that out.

This poem is so unbearably cruel. It is written from the point of view of the mother, but I am not a mother, and so that is not how I read it. I am 'The Other Woman' of the title. Running late to meet my married friend, my friend the mother, whose rich internal life is so beautifully chronicled in the rest of Clanchy's book. I don't have a rich internal life. I just have kitten heels and my own front door. I may look luminous but I am an object of pity. In another poem, Clanchy talks of a friend who is single: "I thought / of her last eggs / the womb staying empty, folded / like an evening purse". What is wit and wine against an empty, folded womb? And then the cruelest blow of all: I don't understand. When my friend shows me her baby photos, she is afraid I might yawn. She has moved on to another place, a place of total fulfillment - "he has grown / to the size of my life." My pleasures are as transient and meaningless as olives. In order to maintain our friendship, she must lie to me, "say the right thing", be " a girl, / a vessel of secrets, so / carefully held in." She is afraid that if she shows her true self, her friend will get her bag and leave, but she does not allow for her friend's empathy. You don't understand. Her friend is The Other Woman. Sexy. Selfish. A threat.

"You don't understand" says Clanchy, but I do understand. On the contrary, it is you who does not understand me. I am not bored of your baby. What breaks my heart is to see my friend sitting opposite me thinking that we have nothing in common - "what shall we say?" She thinks she knows me because she used to be me, but it is her own ambivalence about her lost self she sees reflected back at her. She has moved on, but the one thing she can never know is how it feels to be left behind. The mother in the poem, finding her friend wanting, has one drink and goes home to her baby. But the Other Woman, as with all Other Women, is glamorous but lonely. The mother has moved on to something, has grown a person to be her life. But the Other Woman has no life. Or no life that her friend can see.

The Other Woman a brilliant poem describing the divide which appears between single women and their friends with babies. What I would like to know is whether Clanchy believes that the divide is real or illusory. Fortunately I will have the chance to find out, because alongside historian Helen Rappaport, Kate Clanchy will be my guest at the Firestation Bookswap in Windsor this Thursday. Do join us.

The Choir pt 2

Another episode of The Choir to stoke my Gareth Malone crush. This time, Gareth is adorable with kids. This is hardly fair on the poor viewing public who don't want to swoon all the way off the sofa. Next week, Gareth will be adorable surrounded by young cockney fellas in hats, and I don't think I will survive. So just as well we are discussing this now.

I found myself perusing his website, just passing by chance, you know, and I came upon the 'Contact Me' form, thus.

You'll note there's a drop down menu for 'subject'.

Your choices are: Fan mail; school workshops; teacher training; choral societies / choirs; events; presenting; personal appearance; website feedback; and other.

*So* tempted to pick 'personal appearance' and just write 'cute'...