Leveson & Get Me Outta Here

On the day of the Leveson enquiry publication, via the Today Programme, I heard about a stunt on the previous night's 'I'm a Celebrity (questionable) Get me Outta Here'. I'm incensed and as my internet is down I can't vent my spleen in a tweet. So, after the event, here it is. My spleen, posted on my blog (splog).

Apparently there was a trial that, if won, would have resulted in a contestant being reunited with the 7 year old child they hadn't seen in weeks. They failed. I don't give a flying whatsit about the parent, but I feel for the child, I can only imagine their acute disappointment. As a full grown adult and a parent a red mist has descended on me. I'm angry and incredulous of all involved.

It's like Jeremy Kyle. Why is that scummy show still on? Why do people want to be spoon-fed the same horrific sob stories EVERY single day? WHY do they want to appear on it? And please Ikea, why is it acceptable to broadcast people's despair in your returns department? I don't want to be forced to watch it. Why don't more people complain? Am I really the only one? I'm told it's what people want. It's what society wants.... A freak show. I despair sometimes.

It's this 'lions and christians' bloodlust that society thirstily pays to be satisfied that fuels the press to sink to the depths of phone hacking and the telephoto lens. Indeed lines are crossed and barrels scraped when reporting turns into the hounding of victims, innocents and the average Joe, but this would not happen if we didn't bay for titillation. No wonder clever boy Hugh Grant campaigns, and he and many like him will continue to campaign to halt the meddling into personal affairs. I don't blame him, but I cannot back him. I feel its like binge drinking, the problem won't be solved by laying down rules in law. Its a change in attitude and society that is needed. It's not a quick fix.

I do not want to see regulations of ANY kind imposed on the media as I do not want a legislative result that may muzzle any worthy political journalism. If that were to happen then we'd all be stuffed. The whole world would be, as a nation we are well regarded for our freedom of speech and press. We may not lead in much, but we lead in this. The world is watching Leveson and the results, and I am scared of Big Brother. I do in fact mean the original Orwellian concept, but the same can be said of the crap programme too...

Let's campaign to stop giving the media the impetus to provide us with inane and salacious crap. It is more harmful that it might seem. Let's stop watching and buying the crap. Please. 

I wrote above on the morning of 29 November. Later that day the Leveson report was released. He seems to conclude that some form of media watchdog and watchdog of watchdog should be set up. It's come to this, regulation via legislation. Words written in law. Incredibly it's also come to my siding with David Cameron for once. "Bonkers".

I never dreamed the day would ever come...

Merlin

BBC's Merlin possesses all the right elements which make it excellent family viewing. There's an onus on helping those in need, showing bravery, standing up to bullies and being loyal to your team. These factors could, in fact, form a list of qualities which might make up the code of chivalry expected of a noble knight. In Merlin these elements are delivered with an ample helping of banter and camaraderie. The programme has quests, dragons, adventure, good and evil, love interests, heaving pecs and chests, plenty of humour and an illicit, magical secret. It's a winner.

I've had a vested interest in the show from the start as my husband has worked on the post-production sound since the first episode. In the past five years much has happened in my life and also in Merlin the show. There have been plenty of highs and lows in both, with a few boring bits in between. So yesterday's official announcement that the show was to end was a somewhat momentous occasion for my family, one that has put me in nostalgic and reflective mood.

My kids have grown up watching Merlin turn from boy to man. However, as the characters are so much older than they, as well as watching 'Daddy's show' it was definitely the prospect of seeing the dragon that initially held their attention. My youngest, then two, would remove her seemingly superglued thumb from her mouth for just enough of a fleeting moment to point and say "Draaaagon", not in fact unlike Merlin says himself. She's a great mimic. The thumb would quickly be replaced. My boy, being older and aged five when the series began, felt the suspense of the baddies in his very being, running to the kitchen and peeking from around the corner, wanting to watch and not to watch all at once! The man (let's face it) listened more than watched, considering each sword clash, magic whoosh and sound level. He and the post production sound team have done a fantastic job. You might think I'm bias (OK I am!) but you haven't heard the raw recording, full of traffic noise, unforgiving drumming of Welsh rain beating down on the corrugated roofs of the sets and on the plastic sheeting used on external shots to keep the actors dry while recording. All this is removed, every word of dialogue made audible... even Gwaine's mumbling... I'm so proud. I think that even without the work connection I would have got into the series with the kids. It's exceptionally well made. I prefer it to Dr Who, who is always there, in competition, lurking, waiting in the wings of our Saturday nights.

It was a happy moment when the first series was recommissioned as both the man and I are freelance and we often live from hand to mouth. Sometimes its feast or famine, but Merlin has helped maintain us by bringing a modicum of stability to our lives and a new carpet to our home. I'm so grateful!

Series' have come and gone, fashions have changed, interest rates have fluctuated (not much actually) and last March, whilst wrestling with a frustrating job that even now drives me slightly insane at the thought, I turned to Twitter for an outlet and some light relief. I stumbled across Eoin Macken (see other blog) and made a twitter acquaintance with him which has given my Merlin viewing another angle. This acquaintance has also brought an insight into Merlin Fandom. I knew it was popular, I've seen the viewing figures and know it's sold to 80 countries. It is indeed one of the BBC's most successful exports ever. But it was only in the lull between series four and five that I discovered the YouTube videos and fan fiction which is lovingly and astonishingly well crafted. Boy... what a revelation! I'm astounded and in awe of much of it, and amazed that I'd been in complete oblivion of this mini phenomenon for four years.

I met many of the fans while helping at the convention for Eoin's film 'Cold' recently. Another amazing eyeopener which also proved to confirm that the actors playing the knights on Merlin, as well as Colin Morgan and Bradley James, are indeed as gallant and noble in life as the characters they play on the show. That particular day's quest was to reach the conference in London on time, having started in Dublin! Loyalty was shown by the bunch of actor/musician/photographer friends in helping each other out by being there in person and on Skype; and it goes without saying - loyalty from the fans attending! The bravery of Alexander Vlahos was formidable. He held the fort for Eoin and Tom Hopper at his first event of this kind, facing a large audience of fans falling on his every word, whilst not feeling at all on tip top form. Also the feat of stamina shown by all these guys in meeting hundreds of fans, signing hundreds of photos, and having hundreds of photos taken, all done with no sleep due to filming the night before, and with consummate charm and grace. A noble thing. What a day.

I admire many people greatly, but I've never been much of a fangirl (of anyone living....) so this fan thing was alien to me. However, I have enjoyed witnessing the flourishing friendships and support groups that Merlin fans have created. I feel I have my own little network of friends made at the conference and online from around the whole world, all because of Merlin! I love that! I've even felt the benefit and support of that group on this very day. (Thank you all! xxx)

Merlin, as well as its target audience, has grown up a fair bit. The acting is superb from every last character. Prominent characters have come and gone, notable Uther (Anthony Head), Morgause (Amelia Fox) and a favourite Anglo-Spaniard Santiago Cabrera who played Sir Lancelot. The plot lines have remained pretty formulaic throughout, with only the merest of nods to the classic legends with the connection ending pretty much at the character names. The weekly story arc is always artfully shoehorned into the forty odd minutes of each episode with double episodes at the beginning and end of each series. There is the longer story arc of Morgana's evil witchery and effort to oust Arthur with has progressed through the five series; and up until now, the 'Keep the Magic Secret' theme has run throughout. These are all observations, not criticisms, as I believe the creators are providing what the modern target audience wants. My kids have never complained. Not about the stories anyway! I know older teenage fans and adults remain unsatisfied however, Recently the last few episodes have seemed lazy and in my view, fillers, with confusing, illogical holes in the plots. So near to the end, it seems to be coasting and its almost as if the makers have lost interest, perhaps having more than half an eye on the next project. Merlin was always a five year plan the producers say, and its beginning to show.

As we near the finale of the show, my kids now prefer the camaraderie and banter of the characters, the sword fights and the monsters. They do in fact want blood (which is seemingly, and perhaps rightly, non-existent in Camelot). They're frustrated that Merlin's heroism and achievements are never acknowledged.

So is it not time now for the big reveal?  Can our desire to see Merlin's magic acknowledged by Arthur not be satisfied? A happy "Oh you little so-and-so, but I could've done it all without you, go clean my boots" moment between the two... or will there be a final, damning conclusion, bringing a definitive end with a full stop and an underline? Perhaps the makers will hedge there bets? Could a spin-off for the much underused knights be made? (Look at Sara-Jame and Torchwood...) Or, as suggested and hoped, maybe a series of feature films? Who knows? My children and I love the funny bits - the teasing and banter, specially among the knights. We all want to see more of them, its the best bit in my view. Let's hope the final five episodes bring all we want and leave us with a satisfying ending, possibly baying for more. That's the way to go.

Whatever happens, one thing's for sure: those actors have talent in spades and will take off and fly. The world is their oyster and their careers will be watched and supported by the fans they made during the Merlin years. There are many other projects, many more years and many many more fans and followers to come.


In my dotage I will sit back in my wing-back chair and watch my Merlin Box Set (or the streaming of it straight to my retinas) recalling the time friendships were forged. Most of all I will remember the cold autumnal and winter nights blissfully spent in a jumble of arms and legs with my family on the sofa, watching this wonderful, brilliant show.

Sandwich Generation

What it is and why the Sandwich Generation should join the F***-It Club

Try as you may, there are some things you can never prepare for. I thought I was ready for parenting, how laughable it all seems now. Also there has been a blow in my life that I never even saw coming, that of the massive and sudden decline of my parents health and a switch in roles in our relationship. My parents' GP called me "Sandwich Generation": when, at the point of seeing your kids off to school and getting a semblance of your old life back, you are called upon to help elderly or long-term infirm parents. I was offered support initially, but being in denial, I didn't take up the offer. As time has passed, my outlook has changed.

New parents will know that childrearing is the toughest job you'll ever do. You can try and prepare, but can't actually know what its like until you're there, weak, sleep deprived, with a raw, scoured complexion and a joyous, crazily beautiful bundle in your arms and sheer euphoria in your heart. Even before becoming pregnant I was smug in the knowledge that I'd done my homework, read the books, was armed with facts I'd sought out myself and facts that had been thrust upon me by friends and colleagues. All would be well, after all, I'd been a kid myself, right? Oh sweet ignorance. I'm glad I anticipated an abrupt change in the pace of my life and so, during the months before becoming pregnant, I dove headlong into work and play, burning the candle at both ends, and in the process, experiencing the time of my life.

So yes parenting is tough and your life changes forever, but one of the things I hadn't counted on was the worry. The ever-present, all consuming worry that even after the colics, gripes and rashes of infancy are over, it never, ever wears off......ever. Have I packed them off warmly enough? Will they overheat? Do they need sunblock? Are they Vitamin D deficient? Should I be enrolling them into fencing classes? Will it scar them for life if I don't... Oh FFS.

Just as I began to relax and get ready to head back to an existence that would cater for myself as well as the kids, there came the diagnosis of my father's Alzheimer's. This was an unexpected blow which I'm still reeling from even 18 months after diagnosis. (...Ah, his memory was not conveniently selective after all, and the times his rudeness to others had made me wish the earth would open up and swallow me... the penny dropped). At the same time, the arthritis my mother has suffered since she was a teenager flared up, perhaps aggravated by the toll of living with my father's illness as well as her own. Its not easy watching the decline, it is in fact hellish, and its not right to see your nearest, who have always been strong for you, become so weak and needy. And then you realise that you will lose one parent not once, but twice. So for a long time, rather than face this inevitability I chose to ignore the fact that it was happening at all.

Coming to terms with being a carer has been a long journey for me, a virtually vertical learning curve comparable in fact to becoming a parent for the first time. As I've mentioned denial is the first stage you go through, followed hot on the heels by a long period of blind anger (at my folks for letting me down *sigh*), then guilt for feeling so angry, and finally, well, resignation and acceptance because there's nowhere else to go.

I've taken as much help from the wonderful NHS as I can, but even so, time is never my own and sometimes I feel like I have four children rather than two. I am thankful to be a homeworker, fitting family commitments around deadlines and I often work into the night as my working day gets bitten into by dealing with the people that make my parents lives tick. And then there's the time spent on kid worries and the busy activity timetable that means chauffeuring the kids to clubs and fencing (not really.... but I'm still considering...).

Easy it ain't. Your goals get put aside and you feel like your life has been hijacked. But if you find you're in a similar situation, specially with ailing folks, the best advice I can give is take all the help and respite you can get, but most of all, try not to get too angry for too long. Push through it. If you do need to let off steam now and again, find an understanding mate who will allow you the occasional rant, and then move on. If you absolutely have to be angry at something, be angry at the diseases, not the poor souls who are suffering them. After all, the alternative is much worse. So count your blessings and cling on to what you have for as long as you can, cherish your loved ones, and even though its hard, enjoy this time as it won't be with you always. One day you may look back on this period and miss it, for one way or another, all things must pass.

Life is both long and short and whichever way you look at it you must minimise the bad and make the most of the good. One of the best things I've done to get me through is to become a fully paid up member of, what my girlfriends and I have labelled "The Free-Falling F***-it Club". I suppose it's the guilt free club you join that lets you to do stuff you haven't done for a while or maybe have never done at all. Its about allowing yourself to be totally carefree for a moment, it can be as simple as a night at the flicks or a little more hedonistic, like blowing the expense, getting a sitter in and going out dancing till dawn. Or getting a naughty tatt' on your arse. Singing Karaoke passionately at the top of your voice. Joining Twitter. Being creative - going totally nuts, and writing a blog about your life.

Twitter, Proust & Eoin Macken

Why I tweet, why it's taken this long, pit falls and cyber crushes

I've always thought of myself as a pretty self-sufficient individual, maybe it comes from being an only child and having grown up a mile outside of the arse end of nowhere.  I don't use FaceBook to keep in touch with far flung friends and family, nor do I need to broadcast pictorial moments of my life to the crazies on a stalking binge or trolling high.  I communicate with folks I care about via email and Skype, and sometimes actually meet up with them face to face - you know the concept, sharing a meal, going to the pub and such.  I think of myself as a bit of an analogue girl in a digital world.  I'm not a technophobe, but I do hate the thought of the likes of Google owning me.  Its a Big Brother complex.

So given this, why, once the boat has departed and many have already jumped ship, have I given Twitter another shot?  Well I blame Proust and Eoin Macken.....Let me explain.

Being 'Sandwhich Generation' (see other blogs) I'm 'caught' between looking after young children and often having to drop everything to care for infirm parents.  So work from home is my best, and frankly, only option, and I'm immensely grateful to have found a niche in the sound editing of audio books.  I can fit my life around the deadlines, often working into the night when I have to.  But it is a solitary occupation, requiring absolute concentration, a world away from my past jobs in media, where I kept a dozen balls in the air to the soundtrack of raucous, innuendo-laden team banter.  Right now I really miss that banter.

Proust's 'masterpiece'  "A la Recherche du Temps Perdus"  is the tome I'm presently working on.  I've tried to like it, to find something redeeming in the despicable characters or some profound social comment on humanity, but I'm afraid it all eludes me.  Perhaps there is something lost in translation? After all, compared to the French above, "In Search Of Lost Time" sounds more like an episode of Dr Who...  Proust is new to me and I dearly wish I could promote him, but I have to say - please don't bother. Read Camus, Flaubert, or my favourite - Le Grands Meulnes by Alain-Fournier.  You see I've suffered Proust for six weeks now, so you don't have to.  God is not in the minute detail here, and as you can tell, Proust is killing me.  Really, truly, he is.

For the first time in my working life, I've found I have to get up and get away from the screen and actually switch off in case I throw something, or fall asleep.  I can't take a much missed fag break as I gave up the Gaulois along with Sartre and black polo-necks.  So having exhausted my music lists, and without wanting to be drawn into lengthy chats with mates, how do I survive this arse/brain numbing ordeal?

Somewhere during the 50 page description of Albertine's white cotton and lace blouse, (but never, ever, what lay beneath - oh, come ON, get it ON...) I revisited my old Twitter page.  The one I had found so strangely alien a couple of years ago when I was too cyberphobic to continue with it.

There were my old mates Stephen Fry (@stephenfry) and Russell Brand (@rustyrockets).  Rusty was mute, presumably testing out his newly released rocket on a couple of floozies, and with nothing to promote, he wasn't even asking his mum to send condoms.  Mr Fry was doing marvellously darling.  What a guy, really, I love him but I won't go into it, as we all know he is consummate in everything he does (how come the busiest people find the most time?).  There was brainy Brian Cox and his-ever-so-much-more interesting tweeter wife @giagia, who I WANT TO BE.  Not because of her husband - oh no.  She's just my type of girl, brainy, sassy, with an amazing ability to squeeze a baby anecdote into 140 characters that will leave you cheering with delight.  She ails a bit poor love and tweets about it. But I forgive her all this and sympathise. Check her out.

And that was just about it.  So with a conviction not to check out mates and old boyfriends, I started to search for people I liked, and there were plenty to choose from.  I picked a few prominent folk and sat back and watched in bite sized, work friendly chunks.  I chose Ed Sheeran, as my former music breaks had allowed me to discover his genius, but I ruthlessly fired him shortly after because, as it is, there's enough Lego talk in my house thank you.   Unfollowing people seems a bit dispassionate, but my break-time is precious, and if you don't amuse, I'm afraid you're out mate.  I love comedy and Bill Bailey and Eddie Izzard are firm favourites from my first twitter attempts.  Bill has a healthy sense of the absurd with a passion for conservation, and Eddie isn't really funny on twitter, but I like his politics and the pretty pictures he takes on his runs.  I tried tweeting all of the above and more at some point or other, but everything fell on stony ground.  I also shouted out my frustrations over Proust which only succeeded in making me feel properly mad.  I was sending out a shout, and with no followers, it felt like I was talking to myself.

Could I survive without followers, someone to make me feel less crazy? I tweeted an old mate in the film industry who was signed on, and as film is a passion of mine and as she's really busy, I thought she might be just the candidate for my longed for quick virtual water cooler moments.  I tweeted @InsomniaFilms and waited.

In the meantime, after watching an episode of much loved - best family viewing ever - Merlin on iPlayer, I searched for the cast.  No sign of activity from the leads, but there were three of the knights of Camelot - probably two too many knights to handle... even for me.  I like the look of Eoin Macken, the charismatic Irish actor who plays Sir Gwaine with a smirk and a swagger, and I randomly (almost) clicked his follow button (@eoincmacken). Little did I know that within his timeline lay an epiphany in the ether, my conversion and perhaps indeed, my downfall.

Right then.  Lets go - I tweeted a succession of Merlin-based tweets in a row that would amuse no one but myself and the result was, unsurprisingly, nada.  I got on with my life.  Over a baked spud I saw Macken had tweeted a message to check out a mate's trailer for a short film.  Fab.  I've always loved film and used to work in the industry, perhaps Twitter would satiate my thirst in the quest for perfect film making.  Good man.

I clicked the link and stopped chewing my lunch as I watched a stunningly shot teaser for a WW1 short called "Coward". Bingo!  Oh, I love that trailer and an image of a simple chair in the snow is achingly poignant and beautiful, with a ethereal, evocative soundtrack. I had to write, but failed miserably in squeezing my thoughts into 140 characters. So I tweeted twice and clicked @droddham 's follow button, pleased at finding someone immensely talented to follow.  Later that evening I was rewarded with a response from him - Blimey. I politely asked for a follow, as I was new and felt mad, and he kindly reciprocated.

My mate Emma got back to say hi and and let me know about the radio play "Jailbird Lover" she'd directed for Radio 4.  I listened to it on iplayer on a Sunday morning.  It was warm and funny with a great ending - perfect lay-in material, so I tweeted her to let her know how much I'd enjoyed it, she then retweeted to her followers and I promptly got another follower in the name of the play-write Craig Hawes. @CRHawes1 has turned out to be a fabulous, favourite tweeter making hysterical, informative and irreverent appearances on my timeline.

Watching Eoin Macken's timeline one evening I saw he'd responded to someone's question as to how to do something within a film editing package.  It was a long string of tweets full of technical phrases.  I thought it impressive and also touching that he'd taken the trouble to help - I really warmed to him.  I've always found computer talk funny and innuendo ridden, so I tweeted "Oh sweet Lord no, I've just seen Eoin Macken's tech talk. I'm done for.. #cybercrush", then I went to bed.  In the morning I'd received a mention from him containing some tech talk innuendo that made me laugh aloud.  I loved that this guy actually read his many hundreds of mentions and that he bothered to respond so cheekily and amusingly.   I told him to go wash his mouth out, and chanced my arm for a follow.  Oh dear.  This was good fun.  I felt myself beginning to be won round.  Would I be waving my deadlines goodbye?

In between Proust banging on about cups of tea and biscuits I researched Macken.  I  visited his website I found a post that, well, knocked the stuffing right out of me.  He'd posted a tender, heartfelt poem written about his father at the time of his passing, and he'd left it there for all to see - peers, his fans, everyone.  I'm immensely private, hence the pseudonym, and was more than slightly awestruck by this public show of love and grief. Some of the comments made by others on this piece were equally as heartfelt and moved me just as much.  I don't know if it's because I've been living in fear of losing two of the closest members of my family to different but equally cruel diseases, anyhow, all the words on that page struck a massive cord with me.  The display of emotional guts and the mutual support shown there helped me with my own fears and silently, strangely, shifted my perception of blogging and social networking.

Just a few days ago, having been given some great news about a loved one's health, I felt a weight lifted from my shoulders and a mist from my eyes.  In my massive euphoria and inspired by the writing of Macken and others, I've began to write myself - not for catharsis as I have done in the past, but for pleasure.   I've always worked in art and media fields, always being the organiser and fixer, but never the creator.  I wondered if I could ever be brave enough to pin something up, as it were, something of my own making?

As the paper tower that is Proust's script slowly diminishes and I see light at the end of the tunnel, I again wonder if I will actually be able to post a blog, or in fact keep this twitter thing going.  What initially felt like rummaging through someone else's knicker drawer and shouting in the darkness, has evolved and became not just a lifeline during my Proust ordeal, but also a pleasure.

I received a great boost when Mr M retweeted a Proust related comment of mine to some 10K followers.  It was thrilling, and I felt that there was someone out there who had actually heard of the navel-gazing author and understood my pain.  Then, having thanked him, he only went and quoted favourite comedian Bill Bailey's take on Proust at me!!   "so what's this Proust book about then?"(sic) "well this bloke wakes up, walks around a bit & imagines he's a biscuit...for 3000pages". Damn it!  I don't care if I never get a mention from him again, he has to spread the love - but there'll always be a corner of my heart that is Macken's.

And for how long will Eoin lead this twitter fest?  In the future will he have the time or inclination, or indeed like other well-knowns, will he become overwhelmed by sheer numbers? After all, his following is ever-growing and I imagine, becoming less manageable.  He is a shiny new star in the making, set I believe to hit the stratosphere by whichever route he chooses to take.  For now he is chucking out whimsical thoughts, or starting hashtags which get devoured, digested and spat right back at him in a hundred different colourful ways.

I have to say that if I gave up this ethereal pocket cyber planet, as well as the Frys, Hawes, Gias and Mackens of the ecosystem, I would miss the contributors to EM's timeline who have proved a perpetual source of amusement and hilarity in my mini breaks. These  predominantly female followers from all points, all ages and backgrounds, are highly articulate, funny and creative and have made me laugh aloud every day since I discovered them.  I'm jealous of their abilities and they hardly seem to suffer the terrible "Twitter Tourette's" that I do, which I put down to the bad influence of former smutty-minded colleagues.  That's my excuse anyway.

Well after a month of being connected, Twitter may not have proven quite the virtual water cooler I had imagined or hoped for, but that's a very good thing.  It has in fact given me an awful lot more.

So, post Proust, will I stay or will I go.......?   I say "Bring on Ulysses!"

For a parting is, by jealousy rendered cruel, but, by gratitude, impossible.                          Marcel Proust

You can check  out  any time you like, but you can never leave.                                             (The) Eagles

PS: I reinstated Sheeran, I missed the chappy.....