Hoxton Mum’s May Diary

Weds 1^st

Totes excited! So many festies, so little time. Brighton first, obvs. Lovely Mikey Rosen with his droopy eyes and populist spin. Have found cerrr-azy sounding kids’ event for Django, called Flathampton – culturally challenging, plus creative participation: perfecto. And Lysander will heart the play I’ve booked for his birthday treat: We’re All Gonna Die.

Fri 2^nd

Everything on the Fringe sounds amazeballs, but so hard to know which will - like last year’s one-woman monologue I Want To Be A Vicar - prompt Lysander to storm out demanding refund. Mind you, he later made me sit through sub-Frankie Boyle ‘comedy’ show during which I was actually sick into my Chloé tote. I said, Lysander, if I want to hear jokes about mental health problems I will jolly well make them myself, thanks very much! Plus you owe me £1100 for new bag.

Sat 3^rd

Gutted I missed Early Bird for Elderflowerfields. Bought Late Bird tickets, then double-gutted to discover it’s on the same weekend as Meadowlands! When I worked at the Battersea Arts Centre, heads would roll for such a scheduling faux pas.

Mon 6^th

Trotted round town watching the Knots of May do their bell-jangling thang. Lysander, three Harveys down, rudely said that women Morris dancers even less enjoyable than men plus not traditional. Was in midst of eloquent feminist retort, when Django let side down by ripping his flower garland to shreds.  Fear his father is engendering the rigid gender roles we’d agreed Django must reject.

Thurs 9^th

Woke at 3am in cold sweat: had forgotten to book Charleston. Rushed to laptop and spent ten minutes blinded by panic into believing that only Melvyn Bragg was left. Thank god managed to get Joanne Harris and Audrey Niffenegger. LOVE Charleston, I will channel Virginia by wearing long cardie. And by sleeping with my friends. Kidding!

Sun 19^th

Got festival survival kit ready for our Elderflower/Meadowlands weekend (we are dashing between the two). Hunters wellies, tagine, Jo Malone room diffusers.

Fri 26^th

As we were about to leave, those male swine I live with appeared in headbands and TIE-DYE T-SHIRTS. To complete hideous tableaux, Lysander had taught Django to roll a spliff one-handed, and this is a child who can’t yet tie his laces. (His Geox all have Velcro fastenings). Sent them to change and loudly pretended to call divorce lawyer.

Tues 28^th

I remarked that two festivals in one weekend sure is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Lysander retorted that he wished the once had been twenty-five years earlier, rather than now. I am so shattered I went to bed without removing my sparkly festival eye-shadow; face now resembles crumpled glitter wrapping paper.

Fri 31^st

Thank god I have a month to prepare for July: Hop Farm and Love Supreme (both same weekend, thanks again, Scheduling Fiends), and then of course lovely Mumfords. Fired up JohnLewis.com and ordered latest essential festie must-have: portable Nespresso machine. Totes sorted.

Beth Miller. Published in Viva Lewes magazine, May 2013.

                                                     

I’m irate, peeved, irate, peeved

It’s rare to get a phone message from Grange Girl, especially one this excitable. ‘They just announced a massive music festival on 6 Music! In Lewes! We’ve got to go! Runrig! July!’

By the time I reached her house, she’d gone all deflated. ‘Turned out to be Lewis with an ‘i’, did it?’ I said sympathetically.

She sniffed. ‘Who’d have thunk the Outer Hebrides would have a more rocking scene than us?’

‘Nonsense’, I said. ‘There’s tons of gigs every week here. Meadowlands Festival this weekend. Starfish thing in the summer. Rock in the Bog in July. Arthur Brown lives here. The guitar festival, er, used to be on every year.’

Her head slumped into her hands. ‘Runrig have never played here though.’ She was clearly in a slough of despond. ‘And 6 Music’s going to be axed.’

‘Is it? Damn those Tory-Dems and their swingeing cuts.’

‘It was decided months ago, when Labour were in charge.’

I often arrive a bit late to the news.

‘Well, we must protest’, I protested. ‘I listened to it once and it was good. That nice George Lamb was on.’

‘You’re too late. The consultation closed on 25th May.’

I often arrive a bit late to the direct action.

‘Oh. Shall I make some tea then?’

We mused in silence for a while, sipping our drinks.

‘There’s a Save 6 Music Facebook group’, Grangey said, suddenly.

I started, spilling tea on my Hush Puppies. ‘How would you know that, Grangey?’

Grange Girl’s techno-peasantry is the stuff of legend. She listens to music on reel-to-reel tape, and absolutely will not countenance a mobile phone. In fact, she’s still a bit suspicious of her land-line. ‘Letters were good enough for Napoleon and John Peel.’

She looked defensive. ‘They mentioned it on the wireless. Obviously I can’t join, not having the interweb, but you could.’

I nodded vigorously, filing the idea away in the large drawer at the back of my brain labelled ‘Things I probably won’t get round to.’

‘Shall we go to a gig tonight?’ I suggested, perusing the handy Viva gig guide taped to Grangey’s fridge. ‘There’s bands at the Snowdrop, Royal Oak and the Pelham. We should go to all three, demonstrate our support for music in all its myriad forms.’

‘Except jazz.’

‘Goes without saying.’

‘Nah, let’s just listen to the early Peel sessions with The Fall and have another cup of tea.’

This seemed rather a reckless imbibe of caffeine after six o’clock but she read my mind and said, ‘Camomile, obviously.’

She popped the kettle on the gas hob, fired up the reel-to-reel, and we were transported, by the power of music, to 1981. To a time before mobiles, CDs and Facebook, and before 6 Music was going to be axed (or indeed, existed). Mark E Smith sang, ‘You don’t have to be weird to be wired’, and Grange Girl and I clinked our mugs together and toasted to happier times.





Beth Miller, 26th May 2010. Published in VivaLewes.com. Many thanks to Annabel for introducing me to the term 'techno-peasant'.