Savile Row – Saluting the magnificent sheep farmers of Britain.
My heart swelled with pride at the thrill of these sheep farmers bringing their sheep for a day trip to London to meet with the tailors of Savile Row – evoking as they do ballrooms & the larkiness of the endless cascading #Vintage-Champagne-fountains of my youth, & the floppy-haired boys fencing in chandaliered ballrooms.
Dapper Gentlemen in White-Tie who always stood when a Lady entered or departed a room & were perfectly happy to remove their jackets, roll up their double-cuff Edes and Ravenscroft sleeves in order to assist in birthing a lamb or foal mid-ball only to return to toast the lambs birth in champagne & swing from chandeliers & dance till dawn.
Armed with a slash of red-lipstick, tiara wearing ballgowns in bed & looking at life through rose-tinted glasses I’ve managed to endure the unrelenting-pain, daily vomiting & thinning hair; that hollow sense of helplessness which makes me a burden to the very people I want to support. It may not be practical vomming in a ballgown, but I have no other occasion to wear them, so why not? The key to surviving a brain tumour is living, not just in the moment but vicariously through the happiness & adventures of those one loves & immersing oneself in literature & art.
I’m grateful for my faith & I’ve survived by the loss of freedoms this bally tumour’s stripped away & focused on what it couldn’t touch; my love for my children, a pretty rose-bud tea-cup, a rose, a ring, a memory of a bluebell pathway that I once skipped along as a child, for these thoughts lead to hope & hope has been my only friend at times.
My life is very small: a bed, a vomit-bowl & a table crammed with medications & medical accoutrements, but I’m surrounded by pictures of my family & my pretty bibelots & paintings. I am blessed.
I live through my children & the bright vitality of all those I love.
It is very easy to be virtuous when your life hangs in the balance, so I do rather relish naughty gossip…sadly others shy away from sharing naughtiness with invalids. It is a great injustice.
Ultimately the triumph of my tumour’s fought in daily skirmishes with sick bowls, medications that take more than they give, EKGs, chemicals & catheters. But it’s a battlefield nevertheless, littered with sacrifices & fear like any other.
The Victory of the invalid comes in living the Glorious Life Vicarious!
Life is precious & in those dark nights of the soul, I have excavated all the treasure chests of memories buried throughout the larkier decades of my life. Mining my Mayfair past for precious memories & moments that seemed so ubiquitous & banal at the time, but as I rediscover my sons first tooth, first words, first pictures, my daughter’s first ballet lesson, a day feeding the ducks in St James’s Park all now sparkle with the radiance & glory of the Koh-i-Noor Diamond
My Granny told me; “A man is only as valuable as the women who speak for him.”
Raising the profile, position, & access to opportunity for all women across the globe is the most pressing issue facing us all.
In financial terms alone, women account for over 50% of the the world’s talent & yet bigotry & petulance, prevent men utilising female talent for fear of being undermined.
It is time to pack up the Male-Hegemony.
It is time to topple it.
And what better time in history do it?
As the daughter of a gentleman, the mother of two gentleman, Granny to a gentleman & wife to two gentlemen & friends to numerous gentlemen I have a vested interested in seeing women unshackled.
While one half of society is in servitude to another, none of us are free.
And so I make my Call to Charms!
For while we deny women options we are only utilising 48% of our talent & running on 48% of our potential – it’s irrational & cloth-headed.
Bigotry cannot be permitted to reign if we are to leave the world a better place than we found it.
Unleash the talent of all & we all prosper.
A man is only as valuable as the women who speak for him.
Please Forgive my inexcusable grammar, syntax & punctuation. My brain tumour blinds me with pain & photophobia, so at times I rely on Siri.
Poor grammar is the thin edge of the wedge, swiftly followed by bad-manners & before you know it lapses in proprietary.
I do not wish to live see the day when a lady enters the room & the men are too slothful or wicked to stand. “For when a man is stripped of gentleness he is but an oxen worthy only to pull the plough the fields.” And whilst I do love a nicely ploughed field & an oxen, I prefer my men urbane & gentle xx Tyne