River Deep, Mountain High

Having spent the last 6 months living in the mountains, overlooking a large flat plain and river, while seeing how the majority of Umbrians in this area, work the land for food and resources. Right now, the olives are being harvested, a really bad year after a long, hot and dry summer. Also, people are out collecting and chopping wood and building huge piles outside their homes, ready for the winter home fires. Italy, doesn’t have its own natural gas resources, so winter energy bills can be high here, which is why so many have wood burners. But it is fuel of another sort that my story today is about. It’s about a brown coal called lignite and a young local man, earlier last century.

That vast plain that I look down on, and drive across most days, was once… well actually I need to go back further than a little bit, in fact a bloody long way back, to 1.8 million years ago, in the Pliocene Era. It was from this time period and the breaking down of plant matter that a huge presence of lignite, a type of brown fossil coal, settled into seams on what is now, that valley floor near Perugia. Lignite was to become so important in the region and wider parts of Italy as a fuel, so much so that in 1925 it was a justified expense to build the first power plant in Pietrafitta. By 1958 a new power plant, called “City of Rome”, including vast almost War of the Worlds looking excavators were deployed to remove the layers of soil and rock, so that an open cast lignite mine could be worked.

One of the huge dredging machines, used to clear the lignite mines.

But this isn’t so much about the coal mine, but about one particular man, who was sent to work in the mine after his father was killed in WWII. His name was Luigi Boldrini, he was around 14 years old and he suddenly had to be the bread winner for his family. At first Luigi worked in the mine, but as he got older, he was given more responsibility and put in charge of running one of the huge rock and earth moving machines. By this time, he was assistant mine foreman, when one day he noticed something that wasn’t the usual rock debris or coal, when he stopped what he was doing and went to look he discovered a huge fossilised mammoth tusk.

Mammoth Tusk on display at the Paleontology Museum

Mammoths were once very prevalent in the area and they had lived from about 2 million years ago to 9,000 years ago, during the last Ice Age (the Pleistocene Epoch). Just for super quick time referencing, the Pliocene lasted from around 5.333 million to 2.58 million years ago. It marked the beginning of the transition from a warm, moist climate (perfect coal making conditions) to the more fluctuating and cooler conditions of the Pleistocene, and saw the first appearances of early human species such as Australopithecus and Homo habilis. Ironically that flat plain was also the site of a large battle between Attila the Hun and Italians in the 440’s AD, he famously arrived on an elephant, only his elephant survived that battle and most of his troops including Attila died of the diseases they caught along the way. Those plains have seen elephants in both their prehistoric and historic forms.

For to march and drill

Over field and hill

Is a military goal

Lyrics by: J.Pat O’Malley – ‘Colonel Hathi’s March’

(With apologies, you try and find a decent song about elephants or even mammoths.)

But back to the main story; Luigi stopped what he was doing and went to the mine office to report what he had found and ask that they stop excavating the coal in that area just while it could be safely retrieved. The mine was hugely important for keeping not only Umbria going, but also Rome. The mine office said no, and get back to work.

Historical photo of the Pietrafitta Lignite Mine.

But Luigi, thank the fossil gods up there, did everything he could to save the tusks. Taking time after his long shifts to dig them out and save what he could. But he kept on finding more and so he worked most nights looking for and removing what he could find and save. He even built iron frames to support the tusks and stored all the fossils carefully on racking in his own garage. This went on for years, and sometimes if he found larger remains, he would pour concrete over it to protect it from mine machinery, and come back later with friends to tip it over and bring it to his garage.

Mammoth Tusks still set in their concrete cocoon, cast by Boldroni

Years later when the mine company had wised the f*ck up and stopped being historical saboteurs, they began to allow the retrieval of remains. Sadly, by then, Luigi had died. But his legacy, his unbelievably unprecedented amount of work, dedication and fascination for what he found was not in vain. There is now a Paleontological Museum named after him, with all the fossils he found, including the upside-down ones, cast in cocoons of concrete, their contents too fragile and valuable to risk separating from the cement. Here in the museum, you can even see the iron frames he so carefully designed and forged.

His paleontological collection is displayed alongside that of the University of Perugia and the Umbrian Museums Department, his finds are considered a flagship of national paleontology and one of the most important in Europe, with current analysis looking at one of those mammoth tusks – from what is now known to be the largest mammoth in Europe, and possibly the world. It is an absolute whopper.

Over all those years, Luigi found thousands of fossils belonging to many animal species, such as fish, amphibians, birds, bears, rhinos and elephants, monkeys, turtles and several species of deer, including an unknown species and many more. Findings of seeds, leaves and shells were also included, as well as that precious collection of Mammoths, the Mammuthus Meridionalis.

Mammoth Teeth

A few years ago, an underground car park was being dug out for a local shopping centre, and they found more mammoth remains, this time, they had learned their lesson and work was stopped while they were carefully removed and preserved.

I guess for me, his story began with such sadness at the loss of his father, and having to work so hard at such a young age. But his discovery and his tenacity in searching for, and preserving his finds, makes him nothing short of a hero. I studied paleontology as part of my degree and its importance as a science and historical reference point is incredible. He had no training but he knew the fossils were worth the hours of hard work and preservation, and he has left a ground-breaking legacy behind him.

One of the original iron frames, forged by Boldroni to support a mammoth tusk.

“I brought them back to see the sky and the Pietrafitta plain, where a million years ago they passed and grazed.”

Luigi Boldroni.

Follow me at: @write.upmystreet

November 4, 2025 0

Rigoletto Redemption

During the infamous fun that wasn’t the pandemic lockdown, like a lot of other bored people at home I got my ass onto TikTok, not so much for my own personal content, but to scroll endlessly and laugh at all the other far more social media creative types on there.

But randomly one day a couple of years later, this entirely legit reel appeared (and yes I checked it all out) asking for someone to write to a life sentence prisoner in a jail in California. I can’t say anymore than that for privacy reasons. And no I hadn’t lost my tiny mind, been watching too much OITNB or fancied a bit of rough on a dark jailbreak night. He was about my age and no, zero attraction, I just thought well… I like writing and he said he loved to read and history and stories. Maybe I could do this thing for someone I will never meet.

And so I wrote to him, no personal details of my address, all through a secure platform set up by the US prison system. Then one day he wrote back and since then we write pretty much every week and I’ve slowly got to know more about him, about his family, his life before he got put away, for now what is over 29 years, and how from the other side of the world we have become sort of friends.

He tells me about his daily life, his cell mate who is also a Latino, his daughter with whom he has now rekindled his relationship- he did some terrible things when he was much younger for which she rightly struggled to trust him again. His son, who is in the US military and quite high ranking and all the comings and goings of yard life in searing heat and his work in the prison kitchens. He’s told me about the 18 years he spent in a high security solitary cell, with only concrete walls and a small skylight so high he could never even touch it. Those years were in part to segregate him from gang members and the risk to his life, as well as meting out his punishment.

But one day I had an idea as he literally devours books and in particular history. I’m a geographer by qualification and I decided to combine the two subjects, but take him on a mini tour of the world – choosing 30 places I’d been to, telling him the history of each, its geography and also a story to add the personal perspective of my time in those countries.

I have his prison PO Box address so every other week or so, I’d pepper his prison platform messages with a real bit of snail mail. The stories lit up his life and he saved each one until after work, reading them on his bunk. I sent him a map of the world with each place listed and marked on, so he could see where we were going to visit on his own ‘world tour’. My idea was to take him to all the places he’d never get to see. I had printed around 4 Polaroid style pictures for each place from my own travel photos and so each story could come alive a little with actual pictures.

One of mine from Siena, Tuscany

It took about a year to complete them all and we both had so much fun, both for me writing them and reliving all those years and holidays and adventures, but also for him it became something to look forward to. And you can argue after what he did, he deserves nothing at all, but I don’t judge and I now know some of what went down. What was also funny was, anything that arrives into the Prison Postal system, as a printed piece of mail, has to be read and approved by someone in the office. Now bear in mind some of these stories were over 4 or 5 pages of A4 long, he one day messaged me to say the most recent letter had been impounded as they said it was printed on cotton. A risk that it could potentially be impregnated with narcotics. We did laugh as it was a bog standard sheet from WH Smiths, but it meant I had to resend it again. This summer I was passing a hand made notepaper shop in Tuscany and started laughing at the shop window… of course I took a photo and sent it to him.

Not to be used for Inmate Correspondence

He told me when he maybe one day leaves, and he’s possibly up for parole in January, as he has done some serious work over many years to get to even being considered, that the letters and photos are one of the only things he will take with him. They’re all now pasted into a notebook and he shares them with his friends. He once told me, ‘we don’t know people like you.’ I sat with that thought for a while, life is full of weirdness and I don’t believe totally in coincidences, people come our way for all kinds of reasons and whether we realise that or even learn from it, is our choice. He even shares my photos with his support groups to illustrate how they have helped him and some of the funny and not so amusing stories we’ve told each other. But also of their importance to him in changing his mindset and perspective on life. And me, I’ve now got a slightly different friend.

We talk a lot about films, and they are allowed to watch some inside – as a now better prisoner he has a tablet, and providing they aren’t hugely violent etc he can view them. Each story, I tried where possible to reference a film he could later watch to give the story of that place some wider context, give it something to bring it alive. So we went around with so many different ones – from The Flinstones, Almodovar classics through to several Bond films, including Quantum of Solace, Spectre (Siena and Mexico City) and also The Living Daylights, which has its opening sequence in Gibraltar.

Gibraltar in The Living Daylights

It’s theme song is about facing the darkness of the world and trying to cope with insecurity and loss. It tells us that we cannot judge another’s life until you have lived theirs.

Comes the morning, and the headlights fade away

Hundred thousand people, I’m the one to blame

I’ve been waiting long for one of us to say

Save the darkness, let it never fade away

In the living daylights

Lyrics by: Morten Harket ‘The Living Daylights’ Sung by Ah-Ha

We also both love music and when I can, I add a song in too – the Gibraltar one for instance, included the story of my uncle, who was a taxi driver. He was picking up a fare from the docks one day, waiting in a line as passengers disembarked from the QE2. A very beautiful and elegant lady got into his cab. He asked her if she would mind if he listened to a Maria Callas broadcast, as she was his all time favourite. If you’ve been reading my blogs from the start you will know my uncle and I used to listen to her cassette tapes when I rode with him in his old Mercedes around southern Spain and Gib. The beautiful lady said yes and as the music was playing, my uncle realised she was singing in the back, in absolutely perfect unison. Now in those days there was no social media including TikTok (where this all started) and pictures on the news or papers only now and then. But there in the back of his cab singing Rigoletto, Act 1 Gaultier Malde – Caro Nome, was Maria Callas herself.

If you’ve watched the incredible film, The Shawshank Redemption, you will know the scene this made me think of, where Andy locks himself in the governors office, puts on a record of “Sull’aria … che soave zeffiretto” which is a duettino, or a short duet, from act 3, scene X, of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s 1786 opera The Marriage of Figaro, K. 492,

Andy Dufresne played by Tim Robbins

Red (Morgan Freeman), famously narrates;

“I have no idea to this day what those two Italian ladies were singing about. Truth is, I don’t want to know. Some things are best left unsaid. I’d like to think they were singing about something so beautiful, it can’t be expressed in words, and makes your heart ache because of it. I tell you, those voices soared higher and farther than anybody in a gray place dares to dream. It was like some beautiful bird flapped into our drab little cage and made those walls dissolve away, and for the briefest of moments, every last man in Shawshank felt free.”

The obvious connection and irony between this story, prison life and my friend far across The Pond was not lost on either of us. We had a few laughs in our next messages.

And so, if you have a minute listen to this, and I hope for a moment it sets you free, as Maria sang like no other beautiful bird;

https://open.spotify.com/embed/track/5XRuaotyEFWJ36A3V5HscZ?utm_source=generator

Maria Callas

October 23, 2025 0

Islands in the Jet Stream

Readers of my cancer blog will know I didn’t hold back on the horror of that particular time, now this story isn’t about that period of my life, in fact it was several years earlier when I was oblivious to that missile heading my way. But, I will nevertheless tell this story in all its somewhat gruesome detail, so if you are the queasy type then scroll on.

I was heading to Annaheim for a food show, the irony of this will come later. Never a Disney fan, too much schmaltz for me, but heading for Disneyland country I was. Turns out alongside all the rides and Mickey Mouse the town makes its money from a big portion of an events, exhibitions and conference sideline. Who knew.

Get in…

My flight was in the morning which meant the horrible early start heading for Heathrow, I’d not had time to eat much breakfast and grabbed a family sized bag of Peanut M&M’s on the way through the airport. I scoffed them down and boarded my flight. Less than an hour in I felt like I needed to do the largest burp, and this was without the gaseous intervention of a can of 7-Up. But I just started to feel worse and worse, and eventually I thought oh crikey I’m going to be sick, and as luck would have it (not) I’m in the middle of a row of four seats and had to climb over the snoozing woman (one foot on either arm rest, style… come on, we’ve all done it) next to me and sprint down the aisle to the bank of toilets, mid cabin. Well I thought that was that, glass of water and back to my seat… you know watch the film and eat something resembling cat sick (excuse the pun) out of a foil tray, but no… and still many more no’s. If I said this went on the entire remainder of the flight I would not be exaggerating.

Ate the lot (no shame)

In between inflight turbulence and trying to blag my way at speed into the First class loos, I spent most of the flight in one toilet or lying on the floor outside another, and believe me sticky plane carpets don’t bear a close inspection, or being handed yet another sick bag by a flight attendant. Long distance porcelain phone calls and cuddling those god awful plane toilets for hours with only brief islands of calm before it all began again. It all got really grim as I had to be seated for the final approach to LA, it wasn’t a smooth descent either, but yes you’ve guessed it, I kept on yacking. The poor people in the row behind me were passing sick bags forward for me in quick succession. The lovely lady, I’d climbed over earlier was holding my hair (I had loads of it in those days) and mopping my forehead with those hand sanitiser wipes. At least part of me smelt vaguely of lemons.

Artist’s Impression in Case You’re Already Feeling Queasy

We landed eventually, and I was told to stay in my seat while they got everyone off first. The poor sods sitting anywhere near me, almost ran off the plane. The flight deck had radioed ahead to get me some support. By this point I couldn’t stand, I was so ill and exhausted, they helped me off the plane with rubber gloves and face-masks. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw Dolly Parton waiting for me with a wheelchair on the ramp. I squinted through my sickie hair and sweat exhausted eyes, nope still Dolly Parton.

DAVID CROTTY/PATRICK MCMULLAN VIA GETTY IMAGES

“We y’all hear you been sick on the plane darlin,’ she said.

I really was either unconscious or they’d slipped me a Mickey Finn on that 747. Dolly wheeled me at a fair lick through the airport, turns out hours of inflight barfing gets you through passport control at speed. We arrived in the luggage hall and I’m eyeing the carousel and it’s rotating just like my head feels, the smell of rubber is well, making me feel… yep one last throw on the arrivals floor (at least it was tiled). I looked sideways at Dolly and said “Are you… ?” And she said, “No darlin’ I’m just a Dolly impersonator and I work at the airport for extra dollars. But you sit tight now, … we can rely on each other,” and she grinned and winked at me. How did she know to choose a line from one of my all time favourite Dolly songs?

Well thank f**k for that I thought as we burned a hasty trail through customs, and she unceremoniously tipped me out onto the pavement by a bus stop, adjusted her ‘you know what’s’ and apologised for not staying with me but she didn’t want to be vomiting tomorrow when she had a show to do. I waved her off and looked for a taxi… the fresh air hitting me square in the face.

I spent the next 48 hours in my hotel room barely moving and room service had been instructed to leave my food outside the room and just knock. I felt vile. Norovirus had left me like an old peanut shell husk. But the story doesn’t end there, and after the exhibition Rasta Prom closing night with Ziggy Marley, by which point I was much better, I weaved my way back to LAX and the flight home. I’m sitting at the gate and I spot the lovely lady who’d been so flipping kind to me on the way over. I asked how she was and she looked weakly at me and said she seemed to have picked up a sickness bug and was ill for most of the trip to California. I bought her a drink and apologised profusely. She was as kind to me as I’d remembered. I did make sure my seat wasn’t next to hers this time, didn’t want to risk a repeat performance.

Moral of the story:

Don’t have peanut M&Ms before a long haul flight. To this day I can’t eat them.

If you think you’ve seen Dolly Parton you probably have.

Always take an extra sick bag.

The kindness of strangers never ceases to amaze me. Just make sure you give some back.

You do something to me that I can’t explain

Hold me closer and I feel no pain

Every beat of my heart

We’ve got something goin’ on.

Lyrics by: Maurice, Robin and Barry Gibb

Sung by: the one and only Dolly Parton & Kenny Rogers.

(Alternative blog title: Chucking 9 to 5.)

September 30, 2025 0

Three and a Half Lions

Cats and me we go way back. Aged two, and Lion number 1; the fam were on a camping holiday in Europe, we went to Barcelona zoo where, as a tiny tot I managed to breach the fence and get into the lion’s enclosure. Cue a security alert and my mother losing her shit while wardens went in with precautionary stun darts, to whisk me out.

Dinner Time

Years later we had a tabby cat show up with its face pressed against the French doors. I’d been begging my 11-year-old arse off to try and persuade my parents to let me have a cat, they’d stoically declined. We’d had goldfish, budgies (which are seriously boring btw) and a hamster which had escaped, chewed through an electric cable and fused the boiler. My father in a bid to save her little life, dosed her up with half a Junior Disprin and some whiskey administered from a thimble. Still not responding he proceeded to give it heart massage, aka prodding gently with his finger. Right… we all know how this ends, she carked it. So armed with a family ability to not look after pets so well, my incessant bidding was declined.

But by now the cat distribution system had spoken, and there she was miaowing at the drawing room windows. ‘You’re not to feed her, you’ll encourage her,’ was the stern warning. I went off to school and so this went on for several days, me rushing home to see if she was still at the windows, looking hopeful. Then one day I got back from school a bit early, it was summer so I popped open the fridge in search of something cool to drink and oh my days there in the door was not only a can of cat food, but it was open and half empty. Hmm… didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to suss that someone was feeding the cat. The story didn’t stop there, turned out my papa was feeding her out of the boot of the car and my mother had said can on the go in the fridge. Anyway, Matilda, and for this story, the half lion, was with us for many years, as you’ve no doubt worked out, she was shortly allowed inside … forever.

Time passed and several cats later, as clearly one wasn’t enough, and while working for a tea company in my 40’s, I came up with a stellar idea to set up a charity arm to my employer and give back to the part of the world from where the tea originated: southern Africa. I was responsible for setting up a fundraising campaign which ran in various guises for 16+ years, raised money for boreholes for 10 villages for the Kalahari Bushmen, a school, an art & literacy project amongst others, and I had some of the most incredible life changing adventures in Namibia and Botswana. On one of them I was with a group from Barclays who were on a leadership management team building thing, during which we visited an art project in Botswana. I’d seen some of their work online before we went out, but seeing it in real life, meeting and talking to the artists, left a massive impression on me.

Gamnqoa Kukama at work

Art is something that should make you feel something whether it is laughter, tears or OMG that belongs in the charity shop up the high street. Feel something you should. I did. As I sat talking to them and looking at their work stacked against the walls of the tin roofed studio in ridiculous heat, I made them a promise – to not only come back but also to bring their art to London for an exhibition and tell their stories.

Ancient Bushman Rock Art – Cederberg Mountains, South Africa

It took a while to persuade the boss and also make a couple more trips out to build a set of paintings and lino prints, to fill an exhibition. Along the way I also discovered an art project in a township in South Africa, they make incredible pieces using tea bags. Well that was too good an opportunity to miss and so I got them a ton of tea bags sent direct from our supplier in South Africa and we began working on some ideas to incorporate them into the exhibition. Now before lion number 3 comes along, I need to tell you about lion number 2, need to keep this stuff in sequence and all that.

It was after one of my trips to Botswana and I was doing the long drive south from Ghanzi to Gaberone, for my flight. If you’ve ever driven over there, you’ll know those endless roads, and much of Botswana sits on a flat plain. The roads are unlit and animals from donkeys to you’ve guessed it, wander around and cause some horrible accidents, particularly in the dark.

One of those long dusty Botswanan Roads (cow subbed for lion)

I was trying to reach Gaborone before dusk, but after a day at the project I was really hungry so I stopped to buy a bucket of chicken wings and some cola. Rather than eat inside I quickly ate a few in a lay-by a little further down the road. Picture a lovely warm African evening, and I was eating my wings and watching the sunset in my rear-view mirror, and the driver’s window was down to let in the slowly cooling air. Something caught my eye, just moving almost out of view. Now a lot of wildlife has been perfectly created to blend in with their natural surroundings, lions not being any different. A quick glance and I couldn’t see anything more than some wafting grass. Back to the chicken and then …OMAFG there she was right by the door, (window still open btw) and eye-balling me and the chicken. She was a stunning adult and hungry lioness, and as much as I wanted to stop, take a photo and enjoy being that close to her, I donated the chicken at speed out the window and hit the pedal. I didn’t so much as stop for a pee all the way to Gaborone.

Now then, lion no. 3… back to the tea bags, and Imizamo Yethu, in Hout Bay. They were going to produce some large pieces of art for us and would be shipped over to London in time for the exhibition. But as, and I believe these things happen for a reason, I was contacted by another charity, one that works with lion rescue and protection. They were about to do a fundraiser with a set of around 30 life size lions; would we like to support one? Didn’t take me long to say yes and as luck would have it (no coincidences in this story), they were being produced in South Africa. Rooi as he came to be known (meaning red in Afrikaans, like the colour of tea) was delivered to the tea bag art project, and while I was kept up to date with the design and it’s creation, what arrived in London (thank you Kenyan Airways for flying it back to London for us), was incredible. Rooi took a focal point in the art exhibition and his auction on the opening night raised thousands of pounds, in addition to the quite beautiful collection of wildlife paintings from Botswana.

The Beautiful Lion, ‘Rooi’ at the Bushman Art Exhibition.

Bushmen believe that during their trance dances, shapeshifting into a lion’s form is one of the most powerful and spiritual forms they can take. They believe that they turn into an actual lion, travelling between the heavens and the earth. The exhibition focused on the importance of wildlife to the San peoples across Namibia and Botswana, and as one of them told me, ‘Wildlife is part of who we are, our art lifts us out of the darkness.’

‘Hush, my darling, don’t fear my darling

The lion sleeps tonight’

Originally written in the Zulu language, The Lion Sleeps Tonight was recorded by Solomon Linda in 1939 in South Africa, but called ‘Mbube’. It wasn’t until the 1960’s that it became a global hit with a new title, by The Tokens

September 19, 2025 0

Emotional Breakdown

No, not that kind of breakdown, I mean the sort where we look at our emotions, take them as categories, if you will, of feelings and our response to life situations. Examine them like an emotional science project. What causes us to feel like this, and we’re talking the good, the bad and the ugly here.

Zero apologies for using this image

Can we square up to them and see what’s contributing to our emotions and how when we need to cope better or even just a little, how do we do that. Well, this is my take on all of this, so if any of this helps spin that wheel of emotions, read on as I’m going to take a little dive into some of the following.

What’s contributing to this
How does loss grief impact us
Are emotions whatever they look like, okay?
What has helped
Why do we push through
Coping strategies

I finished my last blog with how music and also notably bad dancing lifts me up and how in addition, I guess, writing and art are important to me. Not just as coping strategies but also just as part of who I am. They are a core that runs through personality, I try and see life around me as art, whether that be my shoes, a plate of food, a painting, an advert, the way someone moves, life is all about art, and without it we become lesser beings. In my view anyway. Paul Cézanne the French Impressionist painter when he wasn’t swigging Absinthe with Vincent Van Gogh, summed this up, perfectly.

“Life is art. Art is life. I never separate it”. Cézanne

I curated an art exhibition once, it was one of those times in my life I will never forget, I got to organise and buy art for an incredible gallery in London. It was my kid in a toy shop moment. Making it all work, look right, sell right I just had the best time those weeks of planning and proofreading, learning how to hang not to mention carry a life size lion up The Mall. So, ask me again what helps me push through, what’s one of my coping strategies, it’s invariably a painting so beautiful it makes my eyes leak. Whether you like a painting or not, it should conjure some emotion, even if it’s just a snigger, and you see that’s that flipping emotional wheel exactly to a tee. If something helps you, you use it, if it doesn’t find your thing and hold it close for when you need it.

I was watching an Italian series on Netflix the other day, it’s called Storia della Mia Famiglia, (The Story of My Family) and I highly recommend it, even if you need subtitles. I’m not going to go all waxing lyrical about my own family, but the series is a masterpiece in what life is like, the shit end and the bloody funny end. It tracks across a vast array of human emotions, taking in grandma to the children, it somehow (spoiler alert), meshes in drug use, mental health, cancer, death, fear, self-forgiveness and the importance of dancing or at least finding your equivalent thing; remembering what gives you joy or calm, peace or a smile etc, That it is okay to grieve, to worry to be angry and to also (as this was Italian)… throw plates. Italians do emotions out loud and, in the film, each character encapsulates all the sentiments we can think of on that pinging back and forth emotional wheel.

They lie to each other, they are angry, exasperated, happy, hopeful, impatient (of course), they show contempt and are judgemental, even the nuns upstairs are included with their gratitude, sense of humour and belief. But this shows us with every moment, that they are all real emotions, and they are all part of life.

Then the main character dies (more spoiler alerts), with the story moving between before and after his death and how he knows each of his family will suffer, but also how he knows them and what might be their way of coping, not forgetting him, or not feeling sad but of a way to see the light. What emotions he aligns with each of them and how he can get them to see, after his death that they can be happy again. He gives them each the gift of a personalised coping strategy, in asking them to tell him what they love about him, it’s his way of opening their eyes to help them when he is gone.

He says this so perfectly with the words.

‘Ragazzi quando sembrate tristi semplicemente ballate,

ballate perché quando ballate la tristezza si disintegra’

(Kids, when you seem sad just dance, dance because when you dance the sadness disintegrates)

So how would you describe yourself, be honest? People tell me I am funny, confident and smart – that I have great style. (I spend a literal fortune on shoes, I’ll have you know). But I don’t see myself that way, well not always. Been times when I have felt like I am sitting on the outside of everyone around me. They’re in the middle having fun, chatting, getting on, I’m looking for a quiet corner alone. I thought this was because I thought no one liked me or wanted to speak to me, or that I didn’t know how to articulate my feelings, my brain didn’t know how to even begin to express all of this.

Somewhere in the middle of all of that, I think I’ve realised that I did as a child, on occasions, feel stupid, plain, less well behaved, less valued. So, I backed myself away into that quiet corner, over and over again hoping no one would see me or notice. Then I could disappear and not have to face someone telling me again I was less than them. Eventually, I didn’t know how to get out of that corner, so for so long I stayed there, thinking that it was my safe space, but the truth is, that all that corner did was solidify those feeling of being ‘less than’. That it was in fact contributing to how I was feeling. It didn’t matter if they wanted to sit with me or not, it was about how and why I was feeling. It was about allowing myself to accept the bare minimum. What has helped, apart from Fausto getting us all to dance (and he was right by the way). Recognising those emotions and then unlearning those behaviours is vital, knowing that they were never too much.

You know what else; everyone is scared sometimes and that’s okay. At least I’m not always alone in my corner. The film uses all the emotions and gives them all free range to be what they are, and it also teaches us that happiness and joy and all the other thoughts and feelings, however big or small things have a place. That mental health, fear, sickness, love, openness, humour, etc are all normal they are all 100% bloody okay.

This is all about finding a way to turn around and look at life’s emotions in a different way, which has at times been very hard and I’ll be honest at times I didn’t even know it was possible or a thing. I just thought that corner was where I belonged. But now I have to trust myself to turn up the music; to find my tune and to trust that not everyone wants to see me alone and that indeed if they do, they are not worth my time or my joy. My joy is all mine, better still, it is actually there in front of me, not behind, or in that sodding corner.

A real lesson in that Italian series was that sadness can be a good thing, like any emotion, and I mean any of them. Do not shy away, you just need to look hard at it, without fear and discover what is causing those tears or a downturn in your smile, is it grief? And that is totally okay to feel loss and sadness, to be bereft of someone you loved. We need that to understand how to feel happy again. To find a way out but without being scared of going back. Sorrow, sadness or even fear are all emotions that we should respect and sit with them while we can see why and where and how. Then we can find the love again, but knowing that sadness and all the other emotions will pop their heads in from time to time. When we are really happy, and calm and at peace, what and why are we feeling that, can we pop that down in a notebook, can we take a photo to capture it? So then we know when another day or week is causing us to feel the flipside, we can use that time of happiness to cope.

I’ll give you one of mine, (back to music again, by the way). A few years ago, I went to a Peter Gabriel concert, anyone who knows me will tell you he’s my all-time favourite. I’ve not missed a tour since I was 16. I’d been given VIP seats; 4^th row from the front and to see the soundcheck and meet Peter. I was beside myself, but then it got way better, I got an email asking me to be on camera for a film they were making about the tour. Not only was the whole evening amazing but just look at my face. I’ve popped that whole evening in the coping bucket, it’s there when I need it and it’s there when I don’t just to make me love that whole concert all over again.

‘This is the new stuff (This is the new stuff)
I go dancing in, (We could go dancing in)‘

From Sledgehammer by Peter Gabriel

But back to emotional stuff, I wonder sometimes if grief is so hard because we have to eventually find a way to even let go of that sense of loss even a little, in order to have a better life ourselves. But that very letting go, can maybe seem like you have forsaken that memory, but the truth is maybe a little different; what if that letting go was just allowing our pain to ease but that we never forgot the good times and that we take inspiration from those moments.

When we experience a traumatic event, we can sometimes pre-empt any kind of joy, by a sense that it won’t last, or that it might be too good to be true. It’s our way of self-preservation. On the days when our hearts feel full, and to others we seem really happy, we have that sense in the back of our minds that it will be stripped away from us. The thought of this happening can be so detrimental, adding to that cycle – and we can be especially vulnerable to this if you’ve had your happiness crushed by someone, or lifechanging trauma. It becomes like a constant state of preparedness, the bad news, the let-down, for something to go wrong. It makes that corner a safe space, in both our hearts and minds.

Working towards hoping for the best and allowing it to happen if it does is a step forwards. But also understanding that a bad day, doesn’t mean a bad day, every day. But this hoping for and that state of preparedness can trap you in a constant ‘pause’, from life, from, well… from being entirely there in that moment. Think back to me in my corner, what might be your equivalent.

Not wanting to go all psychoanalyst here, but you know what I mean, if you have one foot on the brake, you can never actually drive down the road into the proverbial sunrise. And as Fausto rightly said, when you dance the sadness disintegrates. Its understanding that balance, that need to let go, to remember what it feels like to ‘dance’ or whatever your release is, and to know that it is perfectly okay to feel crap, to process that and to understand what that crap feels like, but also allow yourself to have that dance, it’s your life after all.

And so that’s the point of this one, is that no matter how back to front we feel (Peter Gabriel fans will get the pun), or right way around, or inside out, its actually the right way, for right then. Whatever brought us to that space in time, is right where we are meant to be. And trying to do what I usually do, and block any fearful feelings is not what the universe has in mind, we’re supposed to sit there and experience all the fun, the crap and the in between stuff. Its life.

If you don’t learn how to embrace your emotions when they happen when you feel them, then to protect yourself you go and sit in that corner, and stay there until you find your song, your light switch, your poetic confidence, your favourite shoes, the beauty or energy to see it and not hide from it. Because that hiding keeps it there, trapped, and each time you don’t look at that moment of less than perfection, square in the face, no matter how hard it is… well guess what, it just grows each time you add another piece of sadness, anger, worry… grief. The bucket gets deeper.

If you were lucky enough to grow up with someone who showed you that it was okay to be sad that if you felt sick that was okay too, you had support, someone to explain and sit with you, rather than maybe gaslight or even punish. Not everyone keeps their dream job or has a parent who tells them how amazing they are, passes all their exams and doesn’t miss their train on a cold dark night. Although it may seem like one more thing, or a why me moment… it is absolutely okay if you feel like crying, hiding or even running away. If you hold all that inside you, all those things you hid from in your corner, that pain let me tell you is a sneaky joy sump right there. But you can come back. You can always come back, that’s okay too. It’s life isn’t it. The ups and the mother fucking downs. If you need help or just a hand to hold. Ask for it and keep asking until you find the right support. We don’t always meet the right person first time you look for love. Same goes for support, sometimes the strangest opportunities and people fill that space for you, when you’ve felt others have let you down. I’m telling you, don’t give up.

To finish up with some emotional cheese. How can you help deal with foreboding joy?

Practice gratitude: Try writing down what you’re grateful for and why you’re grateful for it
Practice mindfulness: Pay attention to the present moment
Thank your worries: Acknowledge your worries and dread, and tell yourself that they’re no longer needed

Stay until your love is, alive and kicking

Stay until your love is, until your love is, alive

By: Jim Kerr

March 8, 2025 0

Say it right

Apologies for the lack of posts over the last month or so, I got Covid for the first time. Made it all through lockdown and then boom…Happy New Year. Then right after that kidney stones. Well so far 2024, has been a proper laugh.

But today, I don’t want to talk about me, I want to talk about communication. Not just those verbal things we utter, but also how we say things, how we express ourselves, how we write, and how do we put those words into non-verbal communication.

And yes, as always for me there is a song to accompany my thoughts on this;

In the day, in the night
Say it right, say it all.

Songwriter: Nelly Furtado

And by say it all, I’m talking about those times when we assume that the other person knows what we are saying, so we leave out huge chunks. Sometimes this is true – they can read our minds, knowing us all too well – but when it isn’t so, and they really do not know what your all is. You may not get that second chance, to say how you feel, if it’s important enough to you to your brand or whatever, then speak your truth.

Saying it right is equally as important as the words themselves, do you need to choose a time when it is quiet – just the two of you, or do you need a meeting room and some preparation to ensure everyone engages with you? If you would love that person or people to remember your words, to read what you have said and know it, then preparation can sometimes be as important as grabbing that moment as impulsively as any runaway emotions. But ultimately when Nelly said, ‘say it right’ she was not wrong.

Imagine if a friend comes round to see you, you’ve been really looking forward to catching up, maybe you’ve cooked dinner and tidied the house. But when they turn up, they don’t even greet you or acknowledge you, rather they just blurt out why they have had such a godawful journey and just talk about themselves for the next 20 minutes. Not even a hello how are you. Okay, worst case scenario here, you give them dinner to take out and wave them off on what you will probably now hope will be an equally bad journey back. Or do you explain how you feel – remember, communication is a very big two-way thingmajig?

Conversation, words and visual communication all form the building blocks, the crucial foundations of what we want to say. Leave a bit out and suddenly you have a gap, a chance for missing the point, omitting what matters to you, what might be most important and valuable to the other person. A raised eyebrow or a wry smile can say everything we need to, when that person knows you. That expression can catch them and bring you together in understanding what the other has to say.

These two photos were taken moments apart, but look at the difference in those two moments and the expressions and the communication that took place when they faced each other and made that moment matter.

Namibia, 2010

Communicating can be as eloquent as letting people know that they look great, that you have made their day or that their shoelaces are undone – are all part and parcel of what makes us human. What makes us want to look and listen and understand. Have you ever had a stranger just tell you, that they love your outfit or that your kindness made them smile and feel seen? Communicating our feelings and our wishes is as much a part of being in the human race as it is important to our minds and our understanding.

With the advent of social media now totally entrenched into our lives, it can become more complex still – what font are you using, what colours, is your text in Comic Sans, centred and looking like a church hall tea party invite, or were you after something more captivating? You have a short time frame to grab their attention, but also if you want someone to know that your product is 100% vegan, or that you are only open on Mondays from 2pm – 4pm, then you need to say so.

And before you hit send, check your punctuation….

As usual, I will finish with another eloquent song lyric.

… I’m just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood.

Songwriters: Bennie Benjamin / Gloria Caldwell / Sol Marcus (The Animals)

Contact me at: writeupmystreet@btinternet.com

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March 10, 2024 0

Sing it Back

Someone asked me the other day about what I love most about writing, honestly, I think it is about telling a good story – getting underneath every layer of it, whether that is my story, your story, a brand, a moment in time, an emotion, or a song.

That got me thinking about the importance of song lyrics and how for many of us we connect to moments in our lives with music; whether we were on holiday, a broken romance, a truest love or a long journey with the window down, rain trickling through the gap while belting out rock n roll, so loud as we stay awake for those last few miles home.

I was driving around the M25 one evening, heading towards East Sussex, it was the day after Meat Loaf had died, in a year when way too many people had lost their lives to the pandemic that was 2020 and 2021.

I had remembered when the story broke on the news, about a time when I was singing one of the songs from the Bat out of Hell album, the duet with Marion and Meat, really (really) badly with one of my school friends. It was just after the record first came out; we were all obsessed with it. I even had Bat out of Hell on a 12’’ blood red vinyl special edition. Anyway, I was Meat, as back then I had all the hair. We were appalling, me especially, I have never, ever been able to hold a tune – but we loved the album and the unrelenting passion it had for life, love, and those skin-peeling raw emotions. It was bare your heart out stuff and that’s right where we were as angry teenagers. We were living life loud and with nothing held back, at that moment, dancing on the desks at school.

I think I could genuinely think of a music lyric that connects any emotion to a song, that has in turn meant something to me. It seems completely right when explaining why lyrics and my love of writing are so interconnected as they join those emotions and passions – with barely a visible seam, pressed together sharing words in that moment. I guess, what I want to say more than anything else, is that even when we are at our lowest point, or conversely, even when we think life couldn’t top that precise moment of joy, when telling and living our story, that there will always be so much more.

You just need to find it and live that second. Like a bat out of hell.

And I think somebody somewhere must be tolling a bell
And the last thing I see is my heart,
Still beating still beating
Still beating still beating
Breaking out of my body, and flying away

Like a bat out of hell

By J. Steinman

With thanks to Marvin Lee Aday, for allowing me to realise what a good story really means.

Contact me at: writeupmystreet@btinternet.com

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November 13, 2023 0

Heart to Heart

While I am no scientist, although I did used to read Gray’s Anatomy in the bath, as there was invariably a copy lying about the house, and once I dressed up my brother’s skeleton on the dining room table. That aside, my skills are more on the right side of the brain, I’m the arty creative one in the family. But that doesn’t stop me from having a huge heart and wanting to use my skills to improve patient to physician communications, to encourage better understanding of treatments, drugs and ultimately to improve the health and lives of others.

Years ago, I spent a year studying anatomy and physiology, then another two years training as an aromatherapist and complementary healthcare practitioner. Consumer health for me is a page that should not be left unturned. I spent many hours while living in New York as a First Responder and was part of my towns Emergency Rescue Squad. Weekends saw me driving the ambulance and supporting the crew on everything from bar brawls to transporting critical care patients to high level facilities.

While working for a herbal tea company for about 18 years, I promoted it’s health giving properties – notably for digestive issues and benign skin conditions. I collaborated with dieticians, herbal practitioners, writing and even speaking to nursing staff on continence care. I raised thousands for causes in South Africa, where the tea originated, aligning with key UN Millennium Development Goals around healthcare – in particular, HIV, Malaria and TB. I also volunteered for a year helping a London women’s charity, with their social media on FGM. It was harrowing interviewing and meeting women who had been cut, but each time it just reaffirmed to me that I was using my writing and marketing skills in the right way.

Eventually the pull was so strong that I made a huge decision to step away from the brand world and retail marketing and step into working for health agencies as an Account Director. It’s been tough during Covid (timing wasn’t my strong suit!) but the ingenuity of the teams that work across medical education, digital platforms, media, new drug launches, patient and practitioner campaigns, is endless and never ceases to amaze me and to feel incredibly proud to be part of changing patient outcomes. It has without question given me a fundamental sense of purpose, a long day becomes something incredibly worthwhile, an early meeting has focus, all the while working with a team of like-minded people.

My advice to you is that you should always follow those dreams and passions. Because those goals are what you aspire to be or do, they give you a sense of meaning and purpose.

Your dreams are something that drives you on those long days. By following your dreams, you’ll become a better and happier person all in that one process.

‘Let your heart guide you…it whispers so listen closely. ‘

WALT DISNEY

Sometimes it may feel that your situation doesn’t allow you to fully pursue your dreams, but often there are some tiny steps that you can make – and many tiny steps are as good as one big step. My tiny steps were training in anatomy and physiology, finding ways to use my love of the written word combined with marketing skills to support those in need of better healthcare. Remember when it feels hard that this is your dream and inspiration.

Find what not only makes your heartbeat but what knits your heart and mind together.

And do it.

Knitted heart by Laura Cameron

Contact me at: writeupmystreet@btinternet.com

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October 31, 2023 0

The importance of listening

Listening isn’t just about hearing what the other person is saying, it’s about understanding and interpreting their words accurately, so you can if needed, represent them in a written or spoken piece.

Listening skills are a vital part of good communication. If you have good communication skills, you can start to improve relationships in the workplace as well as in society. Also, you will be able to make decisions more effectively and reach a quicker agreement with others. The person who is speaking will feel appreciated and understood.

My top seven reasons why listening skills are essential:

Reduces misunderstandings – poor communication comes from poor listening.
Builds empathy – being aware of facial expressions, or body positions, can give you a deeper understanding. Do they trust you; do they feel heard – are they in a hurry for example. How can you show your empathy?
Poor listening can limit judgement – give your full attention and you will avoid those sticky situations where you might for example misinterpret.
It increases your productivity – hearing right, understanding correctly and you can deliver the right words first time around.
It makes you a better leader or mentor. You become trusted.
Good feedback – you can only do this well if you are listening, the speaker will feel that you are understanding and actively listening, by giving those verbal and non-verbal cues. Write down what they are saying, don’t be afraid to clarify.
It helps build relationships – both business and personal. We all remember that person who listened, understood and did a great job.

Lastly, I’d like to tell you my story about listening, it was about eight or so years ago, when I was having an ultrasound to locate a tumour in my breast, I had stage 3 cancer. It was in the first few weeks following diagnosis and it was as you can imagine, a stressful and emotionally charged time. The radiologist that day was one of the finest listeners I’ve ever met, he was Persian, and I’ll come to this more in a second. He not only heard what I was saying, but he also saw me, and in a few moments, having asked about and understood my passion for geography and world cultures, he was able to communicate to and interpret my fears. He did this by telling me something that cleverly weaved my articulated pain, emotions and also my interests, but skilfully added something of himself, to reach what he had seen in my face; he told me the following – that the word algebra is from the Arabic word, al-jabr, meaning ‘the reunion of broken parts’. In that moment, I knew he had entirely listened.

So, when you listen to someone’s story, look at them and hear more than just their words, hear and feel what is behind their needs and passions. Only then can you bring them to life.

Contact me at: writeupmystreet@btinternet.com

October 26, 2023 0

Where do we start?

“The beginning is the most important part of the work.” – Plato

I’ve recently had a new start, of sorts that is. My mother’s side of the family are by and large Maltese, with a bit of Italian, Portuguese and we think North African thrown in somewhere back in the ancestral brew.

My mother died several years ago now, and although she was born in Gibraltar she had a strong connection to her parental line and family in a little village called Zejtun. Her father had smuggled himself on board a ship as a young man to Gibraltar, in search of a better or new life. He was sort of adopted by a Maltese family, they took him under their wing as it were, as a fellow Maltese. He fell in love with one of their daughters, my grandmother and the lady who gave me part of my name.

**My mothers’ side of the family.**
**My grandmother, is back row on the right in front of the tree**

Family is also important to me, I have three brothers and a long list of nieces, nephews and a godson. But making that link back to Malta is a thread I began a couple of years ago. I’ve spent hours on-line and scouring microfiched documents of time-faded, priests writing in scribbled ledgers, dating back over 100 years. I needed to find and secure three generations of family certificates to begin my part of this story. Over the course of several months I managed to get all the information and documents I needed. There were some sad stories in there; my great, great grandfather Salvatore, died at Gallipoli, before his daughter my great grandmother was born. The ravages of war never getting any easier. But by way of balance, a funnier tale was that my grandfather was a coal heaver, he carried hefty sacks of coal daily onto the steam ships in Gibraltar dockyard. Years later he was permanently bow-legged from the weight and duration of his job. But back to the here and now, when his marriage certificate came back, a hasty admin clerk had clearly misread his employment and he was down as a goal keeper. Which given the state of his legs, never mind the lack of a football ground in Gibraltar in the early 1900’s made this ironically, very funny. He was a particularly colourful character throughout his life and he would have laughed his head off at this typo.

**Coal Heavers in the Gibraltar Dockyard**
(*Gibraltar History Archives*)

But onwards to why I am telling you this story, I wanted to make that connection to my roots, our past weaves it’s way through into who we are today. From the stellar Maltese family eyebrows to an arm full of aunts who hugged you and pinched your cheeks and an uncle who had the most amazing handlebar moustache and would drive me around southern Spain in his taxi, singing while we played his Maria Callas cassettes over and over.

Last year I finally gained my Maltese Citizenship, the next step towards my passport was to go and register my birth in Malta. I made a quick trip over last week, to do just that. Sat in the waiting room with my ticker-tape number in the queue and in scenes not un-reminiscent of the Netherworld waiting room in Beetle Juice, I sat and waited with a folder with my apostille certificates.

**Beetlejuice Netherworld Waiting Room**

I’ve only ever met one other person with the same name as me, and technically he was a Mario Angel, but the lady who saw me at the registration desk was also a Marie Angela. Then she told me, my birth date was the same as her brothers, and we began chatting like old friends. That’s the Maltese for you, we all make each other feel like family.

***Haberdashery in Valetta,***
***my aunts used to spend hours making lace.***

So my point is, there is always a day and a time to start over again, in some way or another. Not just to know who you are and where you are from, which is one thing, but to have that certainty that as Plato once said, ‘the beginning is the most important part of the work‘, and I’ve just had a new one.

As they say in Malta, ‘għandi pjaċir’

(nice to meet you)

Contact me at: writeupmystreet@btinternet.com

October 24, 2023 0