Tuesday, 28 August 2012

My Sick Bowls' Well Better Than Yours

Teens on busses. I try my hardest to avoid East London busses between three and four in the afternoon because this seems to be when screaming teens seem to be at their most hormonal. They pile on busses in clusters of about eight and give everyone on the bus tinnitus. But when boys get on a few stops down the line they get even louder. I try and imagine the soft voice of David Attenborough explaining to me it's all part of the natural mating process but it's flooded by a high tempo argument about who's phones better than who's.

It makes me wonder what we used to argue about when we were that age, a time where there was no such thing as an “aye” phone. Someone defaced my Guess Who game. And someone else accused me of stealing her tights. Then someone fell out with me because a boy she fancied asked me out and even though I said no she still picked on me for the rest of my life.

I was always an easy target because I was rubbish at arguing back. The words would get jumbled up as I tried to say them which gave them even more to play with. As a cry for help I soldered scissors together in woodwork class but no one noticed, read extracts from my stories about drugs, prostitution and suicide in English class but no one even listened, and then I bunked off for nearly six weeks and still no one noticed, except the dinner lady because I still owed her for a doughnut.

Around aged ten when we all started smoking, which we did wearing hideously eighties make up, I was still in nappies at night-time (nervous child) which was very weird.. fags check, make up check, nappy... sounds like something from a beauty pageant contest... it wasn't. I wore a brace that went all the way around my head, pressing against my chubby cheeks, a tight perm, and big Sue Pollard glasses covering my whole face.

Back to the teens on the busses, talking about how “mash up” they're gonna get later. Oh the glamour of getting so intoxicated they'll be spending the following day over a bowl, trying to remember who said what to who and who's no longer speaking to who. Crawling to the pound shop for a pregnancy test to do in the bogs of Macky Dee's. “I'm gonna get way more mashed that you” surely they may as well be saying “My sick bowl's well better than yours”

Will there ever be a time, when we'll hear kids on busses say things in reverse like “I'm gonna get proper balanced this weekend.. I'm gonna eat a well balanced diet and get a well early night”  

Knitting Cakes In Crack Dens

I can't stop knitting cakes. I spend many evenings and weekends alone constructing doughnuts out of wool, sprinkling glitter dust on French fancies and tying ribbon around Swiss rolls.

I've used up all the recording space on Sky + because I'm banned from watching my murder programs on my own I have to record them. I've even had to wipe all my episodes of Embarrassing Bodies and Animal Hoarders to make room for something I'm not allowed to watch.

My guinea pigs are happy I have something else to obsess about, the more time I spend knitting the less time my face is pressed up against their cage staring weirdly at them breathing cherryade (which is the new cava) onto them.

Knitting keeps me out of trouble. I initially taught myself to knit when I gave up smoking, and then accidently started a craft business. It gives me a distracting focus even though I can zone in and out of thoughts at the same time. I think it's marvelous for sufferers of both OCD and anxiety, as well as those recovering from addiction. I can't imagine myself back in a crack den chasing the dragon whilst darning pom poms onto tea cozies somehow.

Recent projects and exhibitions involve knitted toilet roll dolls (with action men), cakes (even a full size wedding cake), and 80's memorabilia (rubix cube).

In East London it's considered cool to knit but I haven't joined any clubs like Stitch n' Bitch because I'm terrified of new people and talk too much as a result which in turn irritates them.

If ten years ago somebody told me that one day I'd give up, late nights, drugs, “frequent encounters with the opposite sex” swinging round the pole on the back of a London bus, and throwing up in bins. for knitting, I would've told them it's rude to spread lies.

Maybe it's age, maybe it's lithium, maybe it's both or neither, but I think everyone should try it. Ironically many pharmacies sell wool..

“I need something for tinnitus - the Hokey Cokey's been in my head on full volume for nearly a week now”

“Take this eight ply yarn, a set of four millimeter needles, follow the instructions in your head and you'll have a nice long scarf within two weeks”

Coat on
Buttoned up
I'm off

Thursday, 23 August 2012

Now The Olympic Is Over We Can All Ignore Each Again

Now the main games are over, the general public of London commuters seem to be back to their old selves - if a stranger speaks to them on the Tube they pretend they don't hear for being engrossed in their book. 

During this time people seemed genuinely nicer to each other, whether they were on their way to see the games or on their way to work. Shop staff were friendlier, transport staff were more helpful and the general public had a sense of pride about themselves, not in the smug sense but in unity. This seemed more evident in clusters, like on busy tubes or trains, platforms and queues, and even in long queues people, even me, moaned less. Volunteers were singing silly made up songs into their megaphones, there was a refreshing amusing attitude that would raise eyebrows and spit tuts any other time but now.

As with the World Cup, strangers world-wide can make conversation because we all have one thing in common, even though they may come across as worlds apart. 

I don't usually use the "C" word but I couldn't help myself lap up the community spirit and that bonding sense of belonging -  I personally belong to a minority group, I'm one of those people who talk to strangers on tubes and get ignored in exchange for <em>The Da Vinci Code</em> - and my friend and I have even been pumping the tyres of a tandem, decorated the basket with red white and blue flowers, flags and bunting, ready to parade along the canals of East London to mark the completion of a once in our lifetime event. If you see us, stop, we have treats!

Admittedly I'm no sport enthusiast, in fact I couldn't be less enthusiastic, but living so close to the Olympic Park- in fact my car park and balcony were in use by friends and family eager to get to the site in twenty minutes door to door or photograph the fabulous fireworks displays - I was surrounded by Olympic Mania the minute I left my home to the minute I arrived back. It was like living in a giant Camper-van at a music festival.

Stratfords Westfield Centre is my local shopping centre, and during very hectic shopping trips I found myself getting excited and borderline emotional every time I saw someone in a shell suit, until the realization hit me that I was after all in Stratford and that wasn't uncommon at all.

I was fortunate enough to get tickets into the stadium on the last day of the main games, 
The very firs thing that came into my head when I walked into the Olympic Park was that it seemed like a very clean Glastonbury Festival. It had the crowds, diversity and friendliness but not the litter, perfume de portaloo or the mud.

I was surprised to see such casual attire, I had no idea what people were wearing to the Olympics as the only people I'd observed in full attire on TV were athletes and Kate Middleton, so formal dress of my nations' colours, red heels and royal blue fascinator hat it was... and of course everyone else is in comfy lights and trainers. 

I even saw the very last game from the front row, and witnessed a world record, things I'll never experience again in my lifetime. However I can't tell you what either of these were, I was buzzing from the experience as a whole, scanning the crowds, listening to a medley of languages and playing less attention to the games. Besides, there were three games running at any one time and I didn't know where to direct my focus - a bit like Sunday lunch arriving whilst you're starving and you don't know what to dig into first - not saying the Olympics is an exciting as Sunday lunch of course, merely just a rubbish metaphor. 
From someone with no interest in sport I was certainly easily excited and only stopped cheering to breath. I even clapped and whistled at volunteers as they entered the track with buckets.

And of course I got to see the winners and runners up be presented with their Jim'll Fix It badges, as we stood and pretended to know the words to their national anthem. 

And finally, speaking of singing, describing what I'd seen to friends was a bit like singing The 12 Days Of Christmas there were eight poles vaulting, seven ladies running, six hammer throwing, five gold rings..

Oh well, I guess we'll have to wait another three years, eleven months and two weeks before we start being nice to people we don't know again.

For the Huffington Post version of this, click here.. http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/kerry-hudson/now-we-can-start-ignoring-each-other-again-post-olympics_b_1817759.html

Sunday, 19 August 2012

‎"People with bipolar disorders are dangerous serial killers" Anyone fancy a picnic in the woods?

Just thoughts I'd share this little lady's post on the popular misconceptions of bipolar ..


Recovery from Domestic And Psychological Abuse

Apparently one in four will suffer from domestic abuse in a lifetime so I spoke with some survivors and wrote an article which lives here.