Sharing our stories to show life in contemporary Hastings in 2016.
Monday, 17 October 2016
A Day in the life of..Mrs Frisky!
Lovely variety of diaries came in after May 12th. This was is a day in the life of Mrs Frisky, who...well you will see who she is...
Psycho-geography Walk
I am delighted to embed Marybeth's beautiful psycho-geography film here - We first premiered this at our spoken word event last month. And here it is for those that missed it, or would like another viewing...
And if you'd like a quick low down on psycho-geography do check it out here
And if you'd like a quick low down on psycho-geography do check it out here
Thursday, 13 October 2016
Monday, 10 October 2016
HS082 - Mayor Judy Rogers
Hastings Diary Day 12 May 2016
Sharing our stories and making connections…
Cllr Judy Rogers, Deputy May of Hastings
I spent the morning until 1pm talking with and meeting all the businesses in the America Ground area of Hastings along with Gayle Benet. We are both members of Hastings Rotary who are supporting and helping to organize an event on 2nd July being held in the America Ground to promote businesses. We were collecting sponsorship towards the promotional material and updating them on our plans.
I then spent the afternoon working as the Safeguarding and Ethics Manager for Table Tennis England mainly sorting out questions about DBS checking.
In the evening I visited the Pier and was guest of honour and introduced the film Re: A Pier making a short speech to all the people attending the event. It was a wonderful film 10 years in the making by Archie Lauchlan and I enjoyed every minute. Despite the sunny day the evening sitting outside on the pier was very cold and windy but well worth it!
HS081
Hastings Diary Day 12 May 2016
Today has been really busy – I normally get up around 7.45 a.m. just in time to see the children off to school. My husband usually has breakfast with them as he gets up around 6.30 a.m. and leaves the house at 7.45 a.m.
However, this morning I was up at 6.30 a.m.- had a quick breakfast of marmite on toast, my staple breakfast. Though, I would prefer something with a bit of protein in like yoghurt, fruit and cereal or even on fancier days Bircher muesli. I rarely make time to have a decent breakfast though.
After working all day, I came home exhausted and more importantly felt ‘peopled out’. I am still unsure whether this is a proper phrase but it is how I describe times when although I can be relatively extrovert I just can’t do it anymore and need time on my own.
I opened a bottle of beer as soon as I got home, again unusual for me but it was a warm day and sitting in the garden with my feet up drinking straight from the bottle seemed right. We’ve been watching a TV crime series Marcella (played by Beth from Brookside who was famous for having the first lesbian kiss on mainstream telly – I always get her mixed up with Natalie Imbruglia who was on Neighbours about the same time), and when she gets home from work the first thing she does is crack out a cold one. Not sure if that has influenced my beer drinking behavior today, but it is a bit like when people on telly and in films – although less common now – smoke a fag and it has me suddenly fancying one.
This year has been a weird one for deaths of famous people – David Bowie, Victoria Wood, Terry Wogan and Prince to name just a few. Then this week a local resident – an ex Elle magazine editor killed herself by walking in to the sea in St Leonards. I didn’t know her personally but have read her work and admired her from afar. She had had depression for many years – some accounts say bipolar disorder and this last bout was just one too many. Just really sad news.
On a more positive note, Hastings seems to be getting a lot of positive press at the moment – articles about some of our cooler pubs – the newly opened pier – boutique b and b’s etc. It reminds me that when we moved here nine years ago Hastings was quite different in some ways. There were less places to get a flat white – though still some lovely café’s. The original eat@claremont being an early favourite with its great fresh salads and homemade quiche’s. Also very child-friendly. I think the town was and is just as quirky and fun then as now though.
The art scene seems to be growing all the time here, or it may just be that my head is lifted up from the early days of looking after small children now, or that I just know more people involved in the arts. However, I am keen that the changes involve all local residents and I am not sure they always do.
The Jerwood has been fantastic as inviting the local schools in for workshops and more – hopefully this will lead to a new generation believing art galleries are for them.
I was fifteen or sixteen when I first went to an art gallery – The Tate Modern in London on a school trip. I’ll never forget the widening of my world that, and my English teacher taking us to the Young Vic and to actual plays gave me. My art teacher, English teacher then later A level tutors are to thank for broadening my horizons beyond my little village and county life.
HS080
Hastings Diary Day 12 May 2016
3pm - Driving from Hastings along the M4 to my aunt’s funeral, thinking about why we started the diary project. There is something about motorway driving, the combination of concentration and boredom that aids thinking. The idea originally grew from the ‘Pop Up Museum, which focused on objects but really ended up being about people’s stories – who they were, how they got to be who they were, what they wanted: the story of me – which, essentially, is what diaries are about beneath new territories explored - the story of who I am, what I do, what I think and feel. They are both private and public – a solitary escape and a longing to connect, to have someone empathise with our thoughts and feelings. Do we always imagine a reader when we write a diary, if only ourselves in ten years time? I think putting pen to the page is in itself an act of connecting.
In places like Hastings people live cheek by jowl, yet often know very little about each other – that funny man who comes out of the house at 7.30 every morning with his pug, that woman in the Spar buying a tin of carrots - the diaries are also a way to connect, to legitimize our nosey tendances, to find out we’re not so different after all.
4pm Westerleigh Crematorium – Bristol
It’s been seven years since I last came here, and then it was October, an early snow, white sleet on our black coats. Now, cherry blossom spirals on the lawns, the last of the tulips flop over remembrance stones.
How final it is, seeing my cousins carry Auntie M’s coffin down the aisle, knowing her body is inside, that I will never see her again. Tears, sadness for my aunt, for my cousins, for Uncle B, and for me, for all of us, because how can you not look at a coffin, heavy on the pallbearer’s shoulders, and not be reminded of your own death?
My father stands next to me in the chapel, singing out of tune to All Things Bright & Beautiful – not knowing the words, humming enthusiastically, rejoining the chorus – there should be a word for that sort of half singing, half humming –shumming or himging? How excruciating I used to find this when I was younger, at weddings, harvest festival, Christmas (our family was occasional church goers), his loud tuneless groan audible above the tuneful melodic voices. It reminded me of how embarrassed I was by him generally growing up – a memory of SP’s overnight stay flashes to mind - (circa 73/74), him walking along the landing to the bathroom in his brown and orange Y fronts.
We came out of the chapel, across the bridge into the memorial garden; the same space where we stood after R’s funeral – all of us then with fags in hand, despite her dying of lung cancer – how sad that was, snow on the ground, and the absurdity of R’s death, so young, (who hardly smoked), and us smoking – in defiance, or denial, a snook at the Gods, or our own powerlessness - I don’t know. Maybe it was just nicotine.
On the way into the chapel, I handed my car keys and sunglasses to my mother. I’d changed into my funeral clothes at Membury Services and forgotten to bring a handbag. After the service, I stayed a while in the memorial garden talking to my cousins, uncle, nieces, nephews, step-cousins, and as the crowd began to thin out, and cars passed on their way to the wake, I looked round for my mother who was nowhere in sight. I walked back to the car park where my car stood alone in a sea of white gravel. My mother, father and brothers had gone, my keys forgotten. My phone was also inside my car. I walked down to the gate and managed to flag down a distant relative and asked them to send someone back from the wake with my keys. It was gone five by now, and I was totally alone in the crematorium. I wandered through the gardens. Every tree, bench and shrub was dedicated to someone’s memory. Between stone plates, blue silk lilies and fake red Chrysanths, purple and orange Gerbers, bunched in pewter pots, out of kilter with the soft greens and greys which ran into frothy hawthorn hedges.
Auntie M was 84 or (85) when she died: a good life, a good death, a good funeral, one could say. I remembered an interview I’d seen with Paul Eddington years ago (Gerry in The Good Life), when he knew he was dying of skin cancer. The interviewer asked him how he would like to be remembered. He said, ‘as someone who did no harm.’ He was a Quaker, I think. Auntie M was Catholic to the end, and definitely someone ‘who did no harm’, who (as they said in the service) gave to her family, who made teas/cleaned the church/did the flowers/worked on her allotment, drove trainee priests around, (which was perilous for all concerned) helped people with English lessons, with a cracking sense of humour, and much kindness.
I was sitting on a stone at the entrance of the car park when my brother pulled up in his Ford, wound down the window: ‘Come here often?’ He said.
9.30pm: Picked up email from B - first of the diaries have come in.
HS079
Hastings Diary Day 12 May 2016
12th May 2016
Got up at the normal time, but not my wife. Can’t remember the last time she was up so early. She got out of bed when I got out of the shower at 6.45. I sorted out breakfast and listened to my daughter’s friend’s mum give an interview on the radio. Very unusual.
At 8 I took my daughter to school. She opened the front door over her foot and though on the way out and skinned her toe. Big drama! Even had to write her a note to get her out of PE.
Got to work about 8.20ish which is actually really late for me. Also felt a little nervous because it was the final day of the Year 6 SAT tests. Maths Paper 2 began at 9.30. I had a group of children for the test.
Reading the DFE script at the beginning I had a bit of a panic, it did not list a rubber as necessary equipment for the test. I nearly collected the rubbers in after thinking about a few years previously when a friend of mine was running the tests with me in the room along with moderators to ensure it was administered correctly. The only feedback that was given to him, (rather strongly I might add) by the moderators was that rubbers were not allowed for the test. Anyway, I made the decision to keep with it and read on. It then mentioned rubbing pictures out later in the script. Vindicated. One of the kids mentioned that the person writing the test must have been having a bad day. I actually think it was just me.
The test was completed after much reading of questions to the group and I almost felt a bit flat knowing there was nothing else I could do to help. Just waiting and praying now that the children have done well. Good luck to them all.
At lunch I went over to the canteen and ate with the kids. Had a great discussion with a few of them about whether TVs should be allowed in bedrooms. Me not having one in my bedroom makes me weird apparently. I also learnt to spin plastic plates in the playground. More tricky than it sounds.
Had a very busy afternoon where I dealt with a few incidents and after school met some parents for various reasons.
Finally, I rushed home a little earlier than usual to pick up my daughter from a friend’s house, order pizza, and tell my wife she’s great. Not a bad day all in all.
HS078 - at work
Thursday 12th May 2016
I didn’t have to get up until 5.27am which is when my alarm was set
for but I woke at 4.45, lay and dozed a while until the Shipping Forecast
pulled me to attention. Think... “what day is it? where do I have to be? by
when?... Hove by 9.00am, 8.30 would be better. That means the 6.39 from Ore,
change at Hastings 6.47 to Brighton. Need to wash hair”. Quickly downstairs,
press boost on the hot water, make a cup of tea, eat crunchy cereal with soya
milk, have a bath/ shower, don’t use the downstairs loo, it’s broken, go
upstairs, my clothes are ready: pinstripe trousers, bought 2003 ish from South
of the River, Crystal Palace.... (clothes used to matter more), black short
sleeve shirt (Matalan, Eastbourne, circa 2010), pink vest underneath (acquired
from sister-in-law?), Tatty Devine bird in a circle necklace from Lorin (circa
2011), dunlop black pumps (Sports Direct, Hastings 2016), denim jacket (New
York, 2010), black lap top bag (free gift from British Association of
Behavioural Cognitive Therapist conference, 2006).
Out the door, walk to Ore station, it’s early, it’s muggy, I love
the walk, just me and my thoughts. The train is there already, it’s 6.31, on I
get, change at Hastings- 6.47 to Brighton. Aaah my memory served me wrong, it’s
to London Victoria, I’ll have to change at Lewes.
Look at Facebook and the other sort of news. Jeremy Hunt lied about
funding the NHS and admits he hadn’t gone ahead with a policy that would
benefit patients because insurance companies/ i.e. business did not buy in.
“Sussex defend the NHS” is launching a campaign to do a mass leaflet litter in
June/ July with posters saying “Fight for the NHS”. I don’t like the word fight
or war at all, I don’t like dichotomy, I like collaboration, words like that
promote division. AAAhhhg the dilemma around being either/ or, I find that
hard.
I start listening to the recording “Mindfulness of thoughts- an
acceptance and commitment therapy technique” through headphones. It’s 20
minutes long, perfect for this journey. I wonder “Am I getting any better at
this and then remember that’s not the point”.
Get off at Lewes, next train to Brighton in 2 minutes, change
recording to “meditations for transformation” by Deepak Chopra. Chopra
accompanies me through Brighton station, platform 8 to platform 1. My train is
waiting 8.23 to Aldrington.
I get off the train, and my bag strap breaks and lap top and bag
nearly fall under the train. A nice guy picks up my dropped phone. I smile
warmly I hope recognising his random act of kindness. I stop at Sainsbury’s,
I’m hungry, I buy sushi, the cashier explains that the sushi is part of a “meal
deal”. I look confused I guess as she then comes out from behind the counter
and takes me to show me other things in the “meal deal” to go with the sushi. I
chose a drink and a yoghurt (the sushi is £3 with or without the drink and
yoghurt, she explains). I buy apples too.
Sally is in the office. She likes to start off the day by telling me
how busy she is. I listen for a long time and ask her to create a spread sheet
of all the tasks that she does, how many hours she spends on each one and how
many hours she would need to be employed to do all she needs to do. It works
out that she would need 86 weeks in the year of working full time to do her
job. I acknowledge how hard she works and think about how to present a coherent
argument for creating a new post to support practice placements for nursing
students.
It’s international nurses day. I stick a sticker on myself that says
“Nurses Day” and eat the Sushi. I go up to the admin office and stick a “Nurses
Day” sticker on everyone I see, this includes the receptionist, database
manager, cleaner, lapsed nurse now employed as manager, e-learning organiser,
the finance guy, the statutory and mandatory learning director. Everyone is
polite about it. I got the stickers from our nurses union, the RCN, they sent
me 50 stickers and 50 flyers advertising insurance (I had only ordered the
stickers). Then... I ask a word wizard colleague to format a preceptorship pack
I wrote and a multi-professional preceptorship policy using the same technique.
I forward the policy to the quality committee to be ratified. This has needed
doing since January, it is now May, we were held up, all sorts of reasons. I
meet with a business manager to find out “How do I get contract sorted out for
Open University students? She doesn’t know either. I wonder who to ask next
about this? It’s the NMC visit next `Wed, they are going to inspect practice
placements. Are we ready? We have 3 placement areas to prepare for the
visit.... things to check on; do we have an up to date mentor list? Do all the
right people know about the visit? Things to check.
And next... Hastings needs support for preceptees (Newly Qualified
Practitioners). I make contact with colleagues in Hastings and put times in the
diary of when to meet.
I walk to the hospital next (it’s a half an hour stroll). First
visit is the acute women’s ward. it is one of the student placement areas that
has been selected for the NMC visit. I meet with the ward manager and a charge
nurse. Things are in good shape. There is a notice board set up for students
and welcome package alongside support for mentors. I can’t remember the NMC
domains off pat.... that irritates me. Next a surprise visit to Crisis
Resolution Home Treatment Team (CRHT), also selected for the NMC visit. It is
very busy, nobody has time to look up from their desks. I see the notice board
is out of date, I ask a nurse about students, he complains that he is kept out
of the loop and doesn’t know anything about what happens at the University. I
make a mental note to increase links with CRHT. And next... I ring the manager
of acute services, recovery and wellbeing, the third placement area selected
for the NMC visit. I mention that the grass needs cutting there, she’s “getting
on to it”.
I walk to Hove station. Two trains are cancelled, the conductors are
on strike. I get on the 18:12 to Brighton and change. The Hastings train has a
fault on it, the recommendation is that I change at Lewes. A lady opposite me
talks to me like she knows me really well. I cannot place her, who is she? She
talks about work stuff. With careful questioning I realise she is a
commissioner. She’s written a helpful booklet for carers going into homes. This
could help me, I am supposed to be an Education Partner for care homes, I could
give them the booklet? I give her my email address because she seems to want to
carry on the conversation. At Lewes we are separated.
I meditate on breath from Lewes to Ore. Lovely. Can’t wait to get
home, I am going to Balinese night at the Stag with my L.
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