Saturday 31 March 2012

Could life get any better? asks Gabrielle Jackson


by Gabrielle Jackson

I’ve been hanging out with two gorgeous German girls in India. They’re 25. They were genuinely shocked when they discovered I was 10 years older than them and it became quite a topic of conversation for us. I said I was happy to be 35; that I liked getting older. Why?, they asked, with real curiosity.
I’m glad I went to a lot of parties when I was in my 20s and stayed out till dawn a few too many times, but I’m really happy I’m not still doing it in my 30s, I said, by way of explanation. It’s not that life gets easier, per se, it’s just that it gets easier to be you. To feel comfortable. To know what to do. And the fun doesn’t stop, not when you’re enjoying life because you like who you are and where you’re at. Hell, I’ve taken a year off to eat kebabs: could there be a better stage of life?
And when I look at my mum, in her 60s and still squeezing life for every bit of joy there is, I feel sure that life just gets better and better…forever. 
Gabrielle Jackson is publisher of this blog and is on a KebabQuest. You can follow her on Twitter @gabriellecj
Published as part of Not The Style Pages' SpeedBlog series.

Thursday 29 March 2012

Enjoy who you are, says Dr Pauline Rennie-Peyton


By Pauline Rennie-Peyton
She is absolutely right, if women could accept who they are at whatever age they are they would be much happier.

So, what does it mean that someone your age is slimmer, has less wrinkles than you.  It doesn't mean that she isn't looking outside herself and wishing she was more like you.

My big word at the moment is accept, you for who you are, the way you look and enjoy being you and the impact you have on the world.

Botox, fillers, hair colours, lifts and liposuction are not going to make any difference to your self acceptance when you wake and it is still dark.  Feeling good about who you are and content with what you have created for yourself is more likely to ease you back to sleep rather than you fooled someone into thinking how young you look.

Being 50 plus is wonderful, you no longer have to worry about the things that worried you in your earlier life. Take a look at a photograph of a younger you and remember the insecurities you carried with you then.  Take a good look at that young face and realise that worrying about things you could do little about -  like wanting straight hair when it was naturally curly or wanting larger/smaller breasts than you had  - and realise that you looked just great as you were.

I am sixty this year and this is what sixty looks and is like.

My advice, accept and enjoy who you are at whatever age.
Dr Pauline Rennie-Peyton is a Chartered Psychologist specialising in relationships www.renniepeyton.com
Published as part of Not The Style Pages' SpeedBlog series

A glass of wine will always help, says Naomi Tarszisz


By Naomi Tarszisz

I saw a terrific programme recently about twins - it looked at how our genes shape us - to a degree our health, and possibly our demise, is predetermined. But it also explored the extent to which our diet, habits and even our attitude can influence where and how we end up. Awesome, when science agrees with your intrinsic wisdom isn't it?

Becoming a mother has meant a complete revolution in where I see myself in the world - two little bright eyes watching your every move demands that you live consciously and authentically. This time is so precious, it goes so quickly – I want to live with more vibrancy in every moment of my life, especially when things aren’t as I would like them to be. Not just for myself but for the people I love most.

My offering:

Be present - breathe. Love (wisely is best). Laugh (a lot)
Live every moment fully and completely. 
Be grateful for what you have, don’t worry about what you don’t have. 

And a glass of wine at the end of the day will make you remember all this even if your day is beyond shite, whatever stage you’re at…

Naomi Tarszisz is a mother, digital consultant and yoga buff. She lives in Sydney, Australia. You can follow her on Twitter @naomitarz

Published as part of Not The Style Pages' SpeedBlog series 

Wind down the window, says Wendy Saunt


By Wendy Saunt

“Enjoy every stage of your life” is perhaps the single wisest piece of advice anyone can receive, at any age. It’s particularly pertinent, though, if the person it’s aimed at is in their 30s and thinks their life’s over.  

Having just nudged over from the safety of my mid-30s into the yawning abyss of my late 30s, it seems that this is the decade when you realise your perpetual youth doesn’t exist and the screaming fear sets in.

On a side rant, this is probably because we have a bad habit of fetishising youth and writing off experience as a peculiar affliction of those over, say, 25, but that’s not much help when you’re assessing your loss of collagen in the cold morning light. 

But that’s the point right there: it’s very easy to think about what you haven’t got - be it collagen, the boyfriend/job/flat of your dreams, or even just the sense that time’s on your side. It’s far harder to think about all you have – experiences, memories, nuances and, my God, polished edges, all garnered from the good and the bad bits of your life.

So, as much as this is going to make me sound like a Paulo Coehlo-reading world of pain I’m going to say it anyway: life is a journey. Wind the window down and stick your head out. 

Wendy Saunt is a interior designer, writer and art consultant. She lives in London. You can follow her on Twitter @Wendy__Saunt

Published as part of Not The Style Pages' SpeedBlog series 

Every time, wonders John-George Nicholson


By John-George Nicholson
Every football pitch, every diving board, every running track, every bed, every joystick, every church, every pub, every beach, every thought, every sheet, every screen, every ring, every phone, every hill, every scream, every dance, every drink, every punch, every blade, every tower, every swing, every want, every bleed, every lie, every bike, every kiss, every yes, every no, every giggle, every trip, every click, every song, every film, every shower, every squeeze, every Christmas, every candle, every tube, every bus, every meeting, every belly, every bye, every corner, every book, every word, every lolly, every stranger, every friend, every cage, every fuck, every love, every surprise, every clown, every promise, every purchase, every dream, every square, every bead, every wave, every swallow, every retch, every tear, every cog, every bottle, every can, every can’t, every apple, every cherry, every conviction, every escape, every sorry, every light, every rewind, every shoe, every dress, every speech, every moan, every wall, every fairground, every tooth, every hairdresser, every anchor, every rock, every flat, every burn, every scribble, every trampoline, every touch, every stink, every grin, every silence, every slide, every time I wonder was that really me.

Published as part of Not The Style Page's SpeedBlog series

Oh fuck it, says Alison Lidderdale

By Alison Lidderdale


I guess I am at the 'Oh fuck it' stage!

Things that mattered so very much are now addressed with either a way out or compromise, and that’s not the lazy solution. It often takes more of a challenge to address things, but, hey there is a result! Before, I didn’t always find a solution, and regrets on that - well I might have a few!

There is always a point when you just can't do any more: in the workplace before a big event, a major presentation or meeting. No matter how much you have tried to nail things, you have to pass things over and think, 'Well I have done my best.' The confidence to do that is there now - if people don’t know that one small detail is missing, will they ever find out?

It sounds sly but it's not. The realisation that if you are going to do a job and do it well you need to prioritise and be sure the important stuff is done first. It’s the same in day to day living. I am now probably over half way through a very colourful life, much of that has been lived disgracefully and why change it? All I want to do is be sure I stick to the theme. Priorities are important here too, saying no is tricky but it’s a good word in some instances. Rather than trying to do everything, why not commit to the first invitation and make it a blinding night? What’s the point of running ragged and not enjoying anything?

There are so may F words that mean so much: Focus, Fantastic, Feelings, and the F word remains my mantra for now.

Published as part of Not The Style Page's SpeedBlog series

Tuesday 27 March 2012

My heroine, the Iron Lady.

By Simon Stilwell.

I love the Iron Lady. I do. I really do. She is my Heroine. She was, and remains, an inspiration and I cannot think of a single global figure who had such an influence on my life.

I know she’s not everybody’s cup of tea. She stole the free school milk; brilliant as far as I was concerned. I hated the nasty little bottles and the chore of being the milk monitor and having to drink warm curdling semi fluid. She closed the mines, and stood up to Scargill, which infuriated the Northern working population but meant Dad, a policeman, spent weeks guarding the picket lines and could buy the Volvo estate he craved with the unlimited overtime.

She took on the unions. She defeated the Argies. She stood up for her values and that never makes you popular with all.

I like strong women, principled women with well-thought views, enquiring women who seek out a broad view and see a rounded picture. Women who stand for what they think is right. I think there should be more women on company boards. I think pay inequality is a disgrace and I think the gender differential needs sorting.

I like strong women like my mother. She is tiny but Thatcheresque. Some of my earliest memories of her are on school PTA committees battling for things; more lollipop ladies, more school equipment, a swimming pool, after-school clubs, the defence of a teacher, the right to attend the best school available, not just that which was closest, basically anything that she felt strongly about. She was a reformer and an activist and no doubt a total pain in the arse for any headmaster who wanted an easy life.

She pushed me into rugby and judo for which I am eternally grateful. She made sacrifices and I learnt pretty quickly to make sure I got picked, or did well, so her sacrifices had a return. She took on the touchline bullies and saw them off with shaming looks and longer louder cheers.

So in 1979, when I was 11 and Maggie became Prime Minister, it seemed perfectly obvious to me that a woman should be running the country because I thought they were the invincible of the species.

I do remember election night. Not so much waiting for the results but the aftermath – in particular our next door neighbour’s concerns about a female PM and what might happen to the country. It was the beginning of the end, they said. Actually it was the beginning of a great era.

I loved music and would spend all of my pocket money on singles, new releases – the more obscure, the better. Unfortunately the great bands of the early eighties did not share my enthusiasm for Thatcher. Most of them were equally moody teenagers complaining about spiralling unemployment and the North-South divide, rising interest rates and the general demise of the country.  The Iron Lady was getting it from all angles but especially from Top of the Pops. In any case, it was very hard to dance to Ghost Town by the Specials having spent all night plucking up the courage to ask a girl a dance.

The riots of 1981 in Brixton and Toxteth were massive social events. It was society breaking under a new regime. It seemed totally alien to me but the images were pretty horrific. It became tangible when we were on holiday in France. At the same campsite was a group of teenagers from Newcastle and Liverpool who were racing motorbikes on a European tour. They were the first teenagers I encountered who spoke with true venom and hatred of my idol and why she was ruining the country. Me, the naïve Tory boy, wasn’t going to stand for any of it until one of them pinned me to a wall and threatened to stab me. He’d done it before he said, and I took him at his word. I learned a good lesson that night.

But my confidence in Thatcher surged again in 1982, a time of mid-puberty with testosterone flowing faster than the Severn Bore. The Argentineans invaded the Falklands. Big Mistake, huge mistake. I still get a heightened pulse when seeing the anniversary pictures 30 years later. I inhaled the news then. I loved the fact we went off to war, miles away, to protect British people. That was just what you did under Thatcher. No matter who you were, or where you were, she was there for you. I thought they were golden weeks of flag waving at ports as ships departed, soldiers heading off to fight with big moustaches and crap equipment, long range bombing, mid air refuelling, flash masks, news bulletins, tactical mastery, horrific casualties, sinking the Belgrano, Goose Green, Tumbledown, H Jones, trench foot, ‘tabbing’, ‘yomping’, VCs, the approach to Stanley and Victory. I think if I had been allowed on Mastermind in the summer of 1982 I would have had the Falkland War as my specialist subject and won my own emphatic victory. As a war leader she was up there with Churchill.

With hindsight it seems mad that the nation’s view of Thatcher changed on the outcome of the war, rather than the fiscal and economic reform she undertook. But who cared then? It was all big hair and blue suits and a job well done.

I have no doubt her attitude and determination to protect our country and citizens played a big part in me joining the Army later in life.

Thatcher dominated the early eighties, and my life, in other ways too. She had inflation under control, interest rates at respectable levels and unemployment was falling. To salute this efficient management ‘Maggie’ was our key call in rugby, and very effective it was too. Which other political leader has had a penalty move named after them by teenage boys? Mind you, if the Germans played rugby I bet they would have a Merkel right now. The ‘Maggie’ penalty move always utilised any space on the right wing and when it was called we all knew where to go, an entire pack of forwards charging like soldiers toward Mount Tumbledown screaming ‘Maggie, Maggie, Maggie’!. The opposition didn’t stand a chance. If you called a ‘Cameron’, a ‘Clegg’ or a ‘Milliband’ today your team would be trundling fruitlessly up the centre. Hopeless.

I confess my affections for the lady PM waned in my late teens and early student years but I was distracted and I was also living in world very different from my home town. Until I was 16 I had only been to the Isle of Wight and France. I was suddenly thrust into a world of gap year travellers, political activists, socialists, anarchists, atheists and, if it’s a word, apathists. There was too much else to do and unfortunately Thatcher fell out of focus for me and the country. By 1990 she was gone from power.

My passion was rekindled when, in 2007, I got to meet her. It was an invitation out of the blue and the most exciting night of my life. We had a very private conversation about Segolene Royal, another female right wing leader at the time standing against Sarkozy in the French elections. Thatcher was sharp, entertaining, withering with her look and altogether fabulous.  I could tell she thought Royal wasn’t a patch on her and she didn’t rate her chances.

I met her again one year later and again we had a good five minute chat – this time on the more mundane matters of the UK and Gordon Brown and how gutless he had been in not calling an election in late 2007. Later that night I was delighted to hear we looked so comfortable chatting to each other that another guest thought I was her assistant. I was in awe, a dream come true a second time. She was magnificent even when, as she was leaving, she said she was off to cook supper for her husband who of course had been dead since 2003. The publicised mental demise was true but I didn’t care. I’d seen enough to know who she was.

It was with all this history and personal experience in mind that I watched the Iron Lady at the cinema. It was a deserved Oscar winning portrayal but it didn’t do justice to one of Britain’s greatest leaders.

Thatcher touched my life twice more. Once was on the morning after my recent wedding when my wife appeared dressed in nothing more than a latex Maggie mask - quite a combination. Her friends had realised where my affections lay and thoughtfully presented her with the mask as a wedding present. And finally yesterday I saw a picture of Maggie in one of the broadsheets. She was sitting in the park looking serene and I thought, sadly, it won’t be long before the inevitable.

I am proud to be one of Thatcher’s children. The changes she made, example she set and the spirit she imbued have gone a long way to make me the person I am today. Long live the Iron Lady.

Speed blog #3: Enjoy every stage of life

One of the wisest, most fun and wonderful women I know once told me that the secret to a happy life (and still looking and feeling great at 70) is to enjoy every stage of life. Don't long for the past or future, she says, because every stage of life offers something wonderful.

What stage are you in? (You don't have to disclose your age, don't worry!) How does it distinguish itself from past stages and what makes it great? Or do you wholeheartedly disagree with this advice?

Usual rules apply: be loose with the theme but not the word limit (200 words).

Send your 200 words to notthestylepages@gmail.com
(Please include a one line bio and a link if you want one. Images welcome if you own the copyright.)

NuffnangX