YOU DON’T LOOK A DAY OVER YOU

When an older woman, (I make no apologies for concentrating on the female gender), dresses in a certain way, has a certain hairstyle, applies makeup in a particular way (or wears none at all) she is being herself. The same self that she was at 18 or 20 or 30.  Furthermore, the ‘self’ she is projecting is a far more defined and powerful image than that of the younger version, because despite all the brainwashing to the contrary, age brings several advantages over youth. More confidence, less confusion, less fear of people’s opinions, the ability to know who you are and what you want and to be it and demand it.  You have learned from all your experiences and used that knowledge to overcome some of life’s difficulties.

When I apply my signature black eyeliner and check my black (now tattooed on) eyebrows and enjoy that rather bold sultry look – I’m satisfied and even pleased with what I see. When I dress in black leggings and some random black or red top, usually  with an offbeat look to it and usually one of the several versions of smart black boots I possess chosen for comfort as well as ‘coolness’, (I don’t do tottering in high heels or short sausage skin dresses,)  I am in my zone.

 When I’m dancing my jazz moves or imitating street dance (not that well) around the kitchen with my MP3 blaring out an electro beat or a hip hop classic or an old school funk tune in my ears, it is because it lifts my very soul. Great music is an addiction and I can’t imagine life without it.

I find certain looks in men attractive, certain personality traits.  I have certain sexual preferences, fantasies (no details, but there is nothing wrong with my libido).  I want to be attractive, but I rebel against what fashion or society say I should look like, in fact I tend to rebel against things that ‘everyone’ is doing or saying unless it happens to be my thing.  I have always been this way, only now I have the confidence to relinquish doubt about who I am and I don’t worry about what people think.  This is me as a more than middle aged woman.

I have been known to tweet that the phrases ‘at  my age’ or ‘look your age’ should be banned, but to no avail it seems. Do all 16 year olds look or act the same? Or 18, or 20, or 30 year olds? Of course they don’t. So guess what – neither do 40/50/60/70 … year olds.  Do you know why? Because we all look and act according to our own individual (remember that word) persona. It’s called being yourself. The only thing that age is responsible for is the natural deterioration of the body and its severity is dependant on an individual’s  health, lifestyle and genetics – it doesn’t necessarily represent some awful decline.

But this is not a contest and another myth is that older women who dare to challenge the image or behaviour of that ‘certain age’ are trying to be young again. Naturally we would all prefer our bodies to perform as well as possible. Our joints not to ache, our muscles to retain strength and flexibility. But do we dream of being a young girl again? Just because we continue to try and maintain our attractiveness, our sexuality, our style, why assume that we are emulating the days of our youth? If you used to love rock or reggae or funk, do you give up listening to it after a certain age? Should you stop dancing for fear of looking undignified? If you loved a certain look, maybe black or multi coloured outfits, bold makeup or being barefaced, a distinguished or demure look. A bohemian or sensual style. Does your age transform your preferences? Should you cover up, tone down? Cut your hair and go beige? Only tap your feet demurely? Try to blend in and pursue only ‘age appropriate’ activities? OF COURSE NOT.

How you look, whatever your beauty regime, whatever gives your life meaning, your opinions, the way you talk, your preferred activities, your sexuality – all of it is just the same ‘you’ throughout life regardless of the passing years. So the next time you hear someone moan and tut about a not young woman wearing this or that or ‘letting herself down’ with this or that behaviour or using the stupid expression ‘mutton dressed as lamb’ - just laugh at them. Their view is old fashioned, tarnished by media propaganda and anyway being older means you don’t care. Hold that thought close!   

ROOTS AND WINGS

This title is actually a line from a TV drama about the murder of a teenage girl in which the perpetrator turns out to be the son of the female lead.  The actual words are spoken by the mother of the dead girl and are a romantic way of summing up the duties of a loving mother towards her child.  If we do it right, we are supposed to provide a strong loving foundation for them from which to grow into a confident capable adult and then we must step back and allow them to fly the nest and live their own lives. That is the pretty version. But this statement from the mum refers to the fact that her teenage daughter had become distant and uncommunicative in her last year, living a lifestyle totally hidden from her parents and it is an example of how unforgiving and even painful motherhood can be.

You will notice that I have indulged in a prejudice towards mothers but I feel I can be forgiven for saying that in general, it is mothers who face the brunt of child bearing, rearing and backlash.  Yes, I said ‘backlash’ and if you are a mother, you will know exactly why I use this word.  

When we are in charge of babies or children, allowing myself to generalise for a minute, the rules are simple.  Keep them clean, feed them, cuddle them, look after their health and of course show them lots of love. But the ‘backlash’ bit raises its head when our ‘children’ are no longer children and this could not be more evident than in the current era when the recession is biting hard and forcing parents and offspring to co-habit whether they like it or not.

Many mothers will back me up when I describe how motherhood can easily result in the loss of even the ability to remember one’s own needs or wishes. How it can be all but impossible to refrain from worrying or becoming involved in our kids’ problems regardless of their age.  Of the need for a thick skin (not something I possess) when from a certain phase of life, the ‘child’ refuses to allow us to freely express our worries or our opinions for that matter and expects us to not only stop fretting but to back off and mind our own business.

Whilst attempting to morph into this unphased happy-go-lucky mum, we must continue to ‘be there’ either mentally or physically or both when needed. We must provide  support by donating time, effort and if possible finance until they can achieve and maintain independence. We must protect and encourage them in order to demonstrate unconditional love. This supermum must carry out these duties whilst refraining from interfering no matter how badly the adult child manages his or her life, no matter what unsavoury relationships they may enter into or foolhardy decisions they make. This is hard, sometimes too hard. Take a look at how contradictory these expectations are.  Love me, comfort me, help me – but keep quiet and leave me alone when I tell you to. 

Get over it, you say, it was your choice to have children, but isn’t it the case that no matter how much knowledge or experience we acquire whilst rearing our kids, we are not prepared for how tough it can be when they become adults.

I call this the ‘push me-pull you’ effect. You continue to love them to bits, you would die for them, but now you must stand back and not get caught up in their grown up lives no matter how bad it looks and no matter how much greater your life experience is than theirs.  The love goes deep, unalterably so and therefore when the occasions come and they do in spades, where  ones offspring once they become adults, demand that we get on with our own lives and remain unaffected by what goes on in theirs, we struggle to comply.

If you claim that you’ve never been forced to stand by whilst your grown up child embarks on or continues with a relationship that you know is detrimental to their mental or physical well being or just doomed to failure you’re not being honest.   Tell us you’ve never wanted to deter them from leading a lifestyle that is unhealthy or dangerous?  From the ill advised holiday, the late night raves to the helmet-less and light free cycling.  Let’s face it, if a friend worried  you that much you could step back from the situation and just leave them to it, but with your own child – it isn’t that easy.  No – let’s be real, if you love them (a given), it’s impossible. 

Sorry to tell, I’m not finished.  Because of the aforementioned ‘recession’ the concept of Empty Nest Syndrome has all but disappeared.  Living independently, especially in London is becoming a far off dream for many young people and so as parents we have to if possible provide the means to live (in comfort thank you very much) and work or not, at home, until  they can branch out alone.  What this means is that in addition to keeping out of their ups and downs whilst loving and supporting them, we must literally witness it all as it floats by in front of us.  If they get drunk, don’t come home all night or are not in the mood to converse with anyone, (the list goes on), we have to experience it first hand because we live in the same dwelling.

The other unsavoury result of the stay at/returned home adult child is that the phase of life that parents were entitled to when the kids flew the coop, ie. freedom and privacy, are sacrificed in the name of unerring parental support.  No more ‘empty nest’ or at least not until we may be too old to enjoy it (perish that thought!)  Of course there are those who tend to live vicariously through their children, cannot refrain from being over involved in said kids’ lives and feel devoid of purpose once they have flown.  Not to mention those who through long term boredom with each other and a lack of libido have no need of privacy. But for the rest of us – ho hum!

When they were really young, it was tiring and often stressful but I knew what to do and why.  But as a mother of adults, who I love more than words can describe, there is definitely a bigger price to pay.  I always cough up and I always will, but sometimes it leaves me running on empty.  How about you?

Julienne Bannister

June 2013.

JOAN RIVERS - PRAISE FROM THE PAST

THEATRE REVIEW

 

Joan Rivers
A Work in Progress by A Life in Progress

 

Venue:  Leicester Square Theatre

Production Company:  Leicester Square Productions

 

CAST:            Joan Rivers

                       Nathan Osgood

                       Emily Kosloski

                       Carrie Paff

_____________________________________________________________________________

 This piece is a teaming up of play and stand-up, written by Joan Rivers, Douglas Bernstein and Denis Markell. The latter two represent a successful comedy writing career, gracing pages, stages and screens and enhancing the work of public figures and movie stars alike.  First testing the water onstage at this year’s Edinburgh Festival, the play- come confessional’s reviews, despite any misgivings about Miss Rivers’ gory style of gossip mongering comedy, have all been good.  The general feeling that all critics seem to have shared is that its impact is irresistible.

Whether this is an indictment of audiences’ insatiable appetite for no-holds-barred bitching and thirst for intimate knowledge of celebrity lives, is a matter of opinion.  Not normally being a member of the bandwagon society, I nevertheless have to join the consensus and give it the thumbs up.

 Miss Rivers’ first entrance is preceded by Nathan Osgood as her new personal assistant, heavily burdened with the awesome task of catering to her every whim.  Mr. Osgood deals admirably with all that is thrown at him, including the unmasking of his character, when Miss Rivers decides to introduce the cast to the audience.

 t is not cruel to her fellow cast members to say that once Joan Rivers bursts or indeed shuffles onto the stage, her magic presence is enough to make all others disappear.  No amount of self deprecating jokes about age, (“when I fart, dust comes out”) or looks, can deter an audience from cheering her on as if she were a big name rock band.

 The play is centred around Miss Rivers’ dressing room as she waits to interview stars on the red carpet for a TV show, on Oscars night.  As one of many showbiz tips and secrets, we are warned that the complementary cheese plate provided for the occupant of what turns out to be the dressing room of doom, is the perfect barometer for the TV company’s level of regard for him or her.  Indeed this plate, containing Dairylea Triangles, turns out to be anything but complementary.

 On her journey to the edge of unemployment, Miss Rivers’ is accompanied by a tall, almost gangly and definitely fluffy Russian would-be singer, thinly disguised as a make-up artist, with little or no knowhow.  Emily Kosloski attracts her share of attention, fair or otherwise, with an excellent comedy performance and perfect foil for Miss Rivers.  As the play attempts to progress to a climax, we experience the constant coitus interruptus of Miss Rivers’ demolition of the fourth wall, as she regales us with her unique brand of outrageous stand-up.

Par for the course, you may think, but this show delivers a bonus prize, as amongst the vicious bitching that we all expect from Joan Rivers, (due to a plethora of plastic surgery, apparently  Sophia Loren “shits through her ears”), is an intimate talk with Miss Rivers to rival the most private of psychotherapy sessions.

 Not content with the public knowledge of her husband Edgar’s suicide, Miss Rivers recounts in minute detail, the events leading up to the tragedy and reaches the point, to a pin dropping silence, where she considered putting an end to her own presence on the planet.  Actress she may be, but the sight of not quite held back tears, are undoubtedly real.  Adding to that, we become privileged with the information that in her chequered past, Miss Rivers rubbed shoulders with legends such as Mae West and Clark Gable and even rubbed lips with a young Barbara Streisand during a performance as lesbian lovers. 

 Showing unexpected generosity, Miss Rivers labels the late Johnny Carson “the best straight man in the business” and expresses a touching sadness and mystification as to his total banishment of her from both his talk show and his friendship.  Her surname changes to Riveting, as she tells us, “there are so few of us left that actually shared the same sunlight”.  We are treated to an admission about how shallow, fake and backstabbing, the world of Hollywood and indeed show business is.  Yet this world is the one that Miss Rivers confesses, holds the key to her happiness.  This is not mere hypocrisy, this is true honesty.

 Jokes are Miss Rivers’ weapon of choice against pain and rejection, as we find out when the new Chief Executive of the TV station, played impressively by Carrie Paff, enters.  With a smile that could freeze the Atlantic, she temporarily demolishes every scrap of Miss Rivers’ self esteem by firing her from the network for being too old. 

With attitude, wit and determination that could turn the name Age Concern from a charity, to an exclusive society for super heroes, Joan Rivers shows us yet again that she is the Queen of survival.  She has made a comeback in spite of setbacks that would have caused most artists to take their final bow.   I for one am deeply grateful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Julienne Bannister 2008

 

FORBIDDEN BROADWAY - A Satirical High

It seems a fine example of an oxymoron that one can thoroughly enjoy deriding something that, at the same time one is also totally into.  Bear with me – I will clarify.  I have enjoyed many of the iconic musicals both long running and those more contemporary, but the other night I was privileged to be an audience member at a show that pulled no punches when ridiculing those very same musicals and world famous musical stars. In short – FORBIDDEN BROADWAY was not only hilarious, but a top quality musical in itself.  Now just to keep you in the loop, I’m going to cheat on my homework and regurge the history of this show via Wikipedia:

 Forbidden Broadway is an Off-Broadway revue parodying musical theatre, particularly Broadway musicals. It was conceived, written and directed by Gerard Alessandrini. The original version of the revue opened on January 15, 1982 at Palsson's Supper Club in New York City and ran for 2,332 performances.^[1] Alessandrini has rewritten the show over a dozen times over the years to include parodies of newer shows. In the original iteration of the show, Alessandrini was one of the original actors. Michael Chapman directed and produced.^[2] In April 1982, Chloe Webb joined the cast, and Jeff Martin succeeded Chapman as director. Alessandrini assumed the directing position subsequently, with Phillip George, Alessandrini's long-time collaborator, co-directing all of the editions of the revue since 2004.The show, in its various editions, has received over 9,000 performances and been seen in more than 200 U.S. cities as well as playing in London, Tokyo, Singapore and Sydney.

Now back to me. Forbidden Broadway, which has been running at The Menier Chocolate Factory in Southwark,  near London Bridge, and from September 9 can be seen at the Vaudeville Theatre, is in its latest reincarnation a must see for musical theatre fans.  The show will appeal even more to those who really understand what it means to both stage and perform in a musical.  I had originally thought that the massive stream of ticket buyers for the musicals it derides would at best misunderstand the comedy and at worst, take offence and therefore imagined that a transfer to the West End would not happen.  I am glad my pessimism was unfounded.

 The writing or rather re-writing of the lyrics of well chosen songs from iconic musicals is brilliant.  The comedy lyrics are satire at its best and if you need cheering up for any reason, the laughs come thick and fast.  The performances are second to none and although I am sure the actors are far from unknown, to me they all deserve to be household names.  The singing was sublime, the comedy both physical and vocal were fantastic and it reminded me (as if I needed it), how much incredible talent there is in the acting world that doesn’t come under the heading ‘celebrity’ but represents many who deserve more success than actually comes their way.

Perhaps I have been ignorant in not having heard of this show, or indeed of it’s stars past and present, but boy am I glad I spotted the title and followed my hunch that it would be up my street.  After all – ‘forbidden’ is my unspoken middle name!

 

Jules Bannister. 

 

NEWSFLASH - OLDER WOMEN ROCK TOO!

Am I Alone in Thinking …?  

Unpublished letters to the Daily Telegraph (Aurum)

 SIR I have finally come to the conclusion that my 73 year old mother has become a born-again teenager.

She sleeps until all hours in the morning, never does any work and plays the television and radio far too loudly.

Her driving is atrocious (as is that of most of her friends), although she will never admit it or that she is ever in the wrong.Her dress sense has stayed the same for so long it’s actually come back into fashion. Whenever I suggest something she ignores it, until one of her friends says exactly the same thing. Then it becomes a great idea.Many of her friends drink far too much and they are nearly all on drugs (they would claim medical, not narcotic – but I reserve judgement on that).

All in all, I think she’s just at that difficult age.

I have pinched this letter from a little book I found in a charity shop, because although old fashioned in some of its expressions, it contains more than a grain of truth.  That ‘grain’ contains the reality that older people do indeed think and behave in a similar way to their youthful counterparts. The parallel is not due to some kind of regression, but simply because one’s characteristics and behavioural qualities do not disappear with age.  In fact they become more apparent.  This is due to the increase in confidence and communication skills that come with both experience and the knowledge that what other people think of us is given so much less importance than in our younger years.  In other words, we don’t give a damn what they think.

It is my mission to change the public perception of those of us over 50/60/70 and so on and even if one lone not well known voice is not enough to fight this battle, I’m still going to start the ball rolling.   I want to show you that older women can be models, dancers, film stars, explorers, athletes, the list is almost endless.  The sickeningly popular expression that we can ‘be anything we want if we follow our dreams’ should apply to all ages, but in reality it doesn’t. There is a huge gap in the world of the famous, the high achievers, the stars, the sex symbols because it doesn’t include enough older women. I am focusing on women rather than men because generally, older men seem to me to be more highly respected and regarded in these high profile roles.   Of course there are older women who have achieved these heights due to fame achieved in their younger years, but for those women who may wish to pursue their cherished ambitions from a later starting point, there is a massive wall in front of them.  That wall is ageism and I want to knock it down.

Who built this wall?  Why, if a woman is not young, is she regarded as not castable (something I was told more than once)not worth hiring,not  glamourous enough,not  sexual ?  Where do the negative vibes come from?  How do we banish the idea that older women are not sexy, not attractive, not visible even?  I am not sure I have all the answers, but if enough of us use our voices in any public way we can, perhaps the media and the public will sit up and listen.

I for one will keep trying until something changes. Why?  Because I and all you other older attractive, experienced and talented women out there, deserve better. Life after youth should contain more, not less.  It should involve new experiences, excitement, worthwhile relationships, glamour and indeed career success. Later years are only seen as ‘downhill’ because the negative image has been around too long. Lets get out there and prove them wrong.   Vive la change! 

MUMSFRET

As a mum of three, I think I qualify as an authority on the trials, tribulations and emotional highs and lows of motherhood.  Being a hyper sensitive nutter as well is the Masters Degree on top.  So tell me, is there such a thing as ‘tragiphobia’?  Am I the only mum who dreads tragedy knocking on my door?  I blame the media (even though I long to be a paid member of it).  Turn on the radio or TV, open the newspaper and there are the shocking and sad stories that slip quietly into my brain and pierce my heart because they are about the awful things that happen to peoples sons and daughters (not to mention husbands, but that’s another blog altogether).  Because I have little or no sensitivity barrier, this seemingly violent and dangerous world has given me such jitters regarding the safety of my adult babies, I skip sensibility and jump to worst case scenario at the least opportunity.  When they fail to text when staying out overnight or cycle somewhere (no helmet) or announce that they will be travelling to some distant country, my overcrowded mind conjures up a list of potential hazards in advance as if such thoughts could somehow prevent them occurring.   Don’t get me wrong, I have never been a clingy or interfering mother and there are no apron strings in sight.  I do actually look forward to the permanent occupants of my house only consisting of me and my man and the freedom of not having to cover up my bits and even use them more often!  Luckily I do have hidden under all my neuroses a sensible streak that gives me the strength to deal with fait a complis and tell myself that they must live their lives as they wish and that worry and panic changes absolutely nothing. But the worry demon will always sit on my shoulder and I am sure all mums have to live with that little green monster because it comes with the territory but  I value my time on this planet and as far as I know, living in fear of tragedy is nobody’s idea of fun.

An Empty Trophy

I’m just saying, is it possible that there is such a thing as women who make being a wife/mother/housekeeper into a ruthless career move? I’m not referring to ordinary stay at home mums of which most of the time I was one.  It’s just that I sense there are some for whom maintaining their position, (one which some men literally can’t function without- SAD), no matter what compromises are involved, is their sole ambition.  To hell with independence, to hell with real freedom, and often to hell with their husband’s fidelity as long as he doesn’t flaunt his behaviour, ie make it obvious.  As long as she has the house, the money, the holidays and the kudos attached to their husband’s career, (this whole description tends to apply only to wives of the rich, famous or at least successful) she is her version of happy. She cares not for the soulmate aspect, the confidante, the sexual match, things that to me are the things that make a marriage work.  They forsake all this so they can stand proud in the family photo as the perfect image (operative word), of official wife, dominatrix of all she, or rather the outside world surveys, no matter how hollow it all is inside.  Not my idea of happiness that’s for sure!