In conversation with my 18 year old self

Ok, 18 year old me, I’d like you to calm down a little bit. Just…. calm down. You’re a bit crazy and all over the place. You’d do well by scaling it back a bit.

Also, I don’t want to ruin the dream but that ambition you have, to marry Michael Jackson… That’s, um, it’s not going to happen unfortunately. I won’t tell you why. The other ambition, to see him in concert, also doesn’t come true. He does plan a tour in England but, um, he doesn’t make it. Again, I won’t tell you why.

Also, your expectation that you will have a terribly meaningful and world-changing role in life… yeh, turns out you’re a bit ordinary, like everyone else. What a thought, hey?! After all that time being convinced of your own superiority and differentness.

O, and your thing about being ‘boring’, you hate that idea, right? Hate it. Urgh, imagine being boring, that would be the worst! Well, you’re not that bothered anymore. You enjoy the simple pleasures in life – cooking, being outside, growing vegetables, seeing other countries, having lunch with nice friends. Just calm down about the ‘boring’ thing. It’s going to happen. Get over it.

You know how you love going out dancing? In a few years, you won’t really ‘go out’ at all. You hate the idea of being squashed in next to a load of sweaty strangers, actually. You dislike the drunken nonsense that you talk and that other people talk to you. In fact, in about ten years, you’ll barely consume alcohol at all, a few times a year maybe. It’s better that way, trust me. We both know what we get like with a drink in us.

And you don’t wear make up at all. I know, after all that time poking your eyes out, trying to work out how to wear eye liner. No, you don’t wear anything now. You’re too lazy. Sorry to break it to you but you’d rather spent the time in the morning having a cup of tea and blogging than poking your eyes out.

Yeh, you’re a ‘blogger’ now. You’re mad for it! You’re one of those. One of those sad people who thinks others want to read about the minutae of their everyday life. Yup.

And tea is very important to you. Very. Important.

You’ll run off to Africa soon, little Laura. And it will be fabulous. You’ll be enthused. You’ll be good at something. You’ll be in your element. For the next ten years after your gap year, you’ll refer back to it as a time of excitement and adventure. Just a few words of warning though – don’t get too excited by your new friends who take you in on the first night, they’ll drift away in a few months; also, please try and eat better – a plate of rice with some sweetcorn mixed in does not constitute a real meal, unfortunately; another thing, you’re going to mess up the article for the Namibian Independence Day by sleeping through the celebrations, shame on you.

And now, last but not least, F. Scott Fitzgerald still rocks your world. That fact is unchanged throughout your life. They make a new film of The Great Gatsby with Leonardo DiCaprio. I’m going to let you watch it for yourself and make your own mind up….

The Theatre-Goers Manifesto

I have been to two musicals in the past few days and it gave me some food for thought. At the end of Thriller (which, strictly speaking, isn’t really a musical), there was a moment of seriousness when they sang Heal The World and Man In The Mirror and told us to think about Michael’s message of peace. This then descended into chaos when they did Bad and everyone got up and danced like maniacs but as we left, I was feeling the MJ love and thought I might try incorporating a little of his lyrics into my day to day life.

Then last night, we went to see The Rocky Horror Show and my mind was blown. I didn’t really have a clue what was going on but it didn’t seem to matter. There was much wooping and dancing. I do like a good woop. Every time one of the characters said something, a group of dedicated Rocky Horror fans up the front yelled something and then everyone laughed.

The best example of this was when Brad and Janet knocked on the door of the house to ask if they could use the phone and the butler guy said something like, “Well, you’d better…”

And out of the blue, a large section of the audience yelled, “FUCK OFF!”

Clearly, there was a lot of fun being had and I do think it is important to remember to have fun so I have made the following theatre-based manifesto for my life….

If ever I feel something is wrong, “I’ll start with the (wo)man in the mirror” but, more importantly, whilst doing so, I will always “jump to the left before I step to the riiiiiiight.” That part is important. The good thing is that “I’m gonna make a change” and “it’s gonna feel real good.” But while thinking about what’s wrong, I realised that “maybe the rain isn’t really to blame” and maybe the problem is that I’m a “sweet transvestite from Transylvania.” You can see how that would be a problem, right? People say, “I’m bad, I’m bad, you know it,” but I haven’t got time for that nonsense. Because I know what to do when things get tough. I’ll remember not to “get flustered, use a bit of mustard.” Great advice.

Well, that’s me sorted. I was getting all bothered about what to do but the theatre this week has sorted that all out.

And before I go, a little word on MJ and his song “Liberian Girl,” which I love. I definitely thought it was called “Librarian Girl” when I was younger. And I think that’s why I loved it. And loved Michael Jackson. I knew he recognised the importance of books and what a fabulous job librarians do.

On that note, I’m off. Enjoy your Sunday…..

Things I once believed

That rottweiler was pronounced ‘rock-weiler’

That my mum was telling the truth when she said, “O, Laura, you’ve got to eat your sprouts, I got them especially for you.”

When a planes flies over and you stop and wave to it, the red light that flashes on its under carriage is the pilot waving back.

Sausage dogs just hadn’t grown up yet.

One day I would marry Michael Jackson.

I also believed that Lisa Marie Presley had ‘stolen’ him from me.

That I would grow my hair until it wad the longest in the world and get into the Guiness Book of Records.

I had a singing range similar to Mariah Carey’s.

My diary would one day be published, like Anne Frank’s.

There was a boy living in my attic like a fugitive.

That my Dad was saying “Whitey Ess” when he talked about a work training programme called YTS.

There was a possibility that I might well be stolen by monsters who could make my bed sink into the floor and into a pit where children were kept as slaves.

Life was like Famous Five books. I was always looking for adventures and was puzzled by the lack of smugglers and baddies.