Rants, and flashes

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I Hope You Like Feminist Rants issue 2

It’s been a messy old week, what with the EU referendum, but a couple of nice things have happened to me. We need to cling onto whatever lovely things there are, I think.

Issue 2 of indie publication/zine I Hope You Like Feminist Rants, edited by Golden Boy author Abigail Tarttelin, came out on Friday. The theme for this issue is motherhood. I have Baby Love, an essay on non-motherhood, in it. You can buy Rants online, but if you are fortunate enough to live in Liverpool you will find it for sale in the News From Nowhere bookshop on Bold St, which is wonderful news.

Also, yesterday was National Flash Fiction Day. The annual Flash Flood Journal carries my short story Good Manchester Rain.  I’m glad I submitted this story, it’s quite European in nature – romantic, smutty, and with lots of rain. Like a European short film! You can read Good Manchester Rain here.

@cathbore

£2.50 is a lot of money when you’ve got sod all

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Of all of this weekend’s charity shop swag, I am most proud of this

I was in a charity shop at the weekend, nothing new there. While I was on my knees (ditto) rifling through piles of books and records, a woman came in wanting to return a purchase.

Staff behind the counter were perfectly nice to her, but the shop’s policy is to issue credit notes and not cash refunds, and they told her so. This lady became very distressed, saying there was nothing in the shop she wanted and could she have the £2.50 please?

The answer was no, sadly. Shop policy is king.

The lady was vulnerable, I think. It’s not my place to judge, but the I reckon she fell firmly within the remit of the people the charity tries to help. She needed that £2.50 pretty badly. £2.50 is a lot of money when you’ve got sod all.

I “bought” her credit note from her, so she got her cash in the end (I was buying something anyway, I’m not fishing for compliments here) but I do think sometimes charity shops forget what they’re actually there for.

They raise money for their charity, yes – but they provide a service.

It’s all very well for the likes of me indulging in a cultural pick me up of a weekend, so I can smugly post up pictures on Facebook of nice things I’ve bought at pocket money prices, but in many cases charity shops are the only place where some people can afford to buy clothes, and the basics.

I honestly believe that in my community some wouldn’t have cutlery and plates to eat from, if charity shops weren’t around.

So yeah, I thought I’d get that one off my chest.

On a lighter note, I have a personal essay on fan fiction in Glasgow’s Fuck What You Love, out next month. It’s crowdfunded, and has exceeded the amount that editor Claire Biddles asked for by a fat margin, so that means there will be even more copies printed. (wahey to you, Glasgow)

@cathbore

Paul Gascoigne interview

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When I told friends I was being offered the opportunity to put questions to footballer Paul Gascoigne, the response was mixed. Most enthused “ahhh, poor Gazza”, but football fans were annoyed and angry at him, furious. A wasted talent. He could have had it all. He pissed it all away, literally.

Of course Paul Gascoigne – Gazza – was a footballing genius in his day, and so passionate about the sport. Who can forget him crying in front of millions when England failed to make the World Cup Final in 1990? But his early promise on the pitch was never truly realised. Problems in his private life swamped everything.

The notion of a wasted talent is a valid one, but the biggest source of sadness surrounds Gascoigne’s personal life and health. Gascoigne has published three books in which he talks about treatment for his bulimia, obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), bipolar disorder, and alcoholism. Stories of domestic violence within relationships are well documented, as are convictions for drink driving and assault, and more recently the harassment of a girlfriend.  He’s been sectioned under the Mental Health Act at least three times. And of course in 2010, Gascoigne intoxicated on alcohol and cocaine arrived at the scene of a six-hour stand-off between police and the fugitive gunman Raoul Moat, aiming to play peacemaker with some chicken, a Newcastle shirt and a fishing rod.

And yet despite all this, he’s someone who still garners warmth and affection from the public. His regular “audience with Paul Gascoigne” events around the UK are packed out and it’s telling that the most common question he gets asked from fans is ‘how are you keeping?’

Gazza, the normal guy, everyday jack the lad, one of us, that’s how we think of him, even now. I tell him about a friend who met him once in a bar. You were quietly sipping a pint, I say, and mulling over afternoon’s races in the newspaper. My friend said you were quiet and nice, spent most of the time asking him and his mate about their taxi driver jobs and “ordinary” lives rather than talking about yourself. My friend didn’t expect that, I hope you don’t mind me saying.

‘I don’t think most of the public see me differently to that, basically I’m a normal down to earth lad, but the tabloids lie about me all the time which doesn’t help,’ he says.

The press reporting issues around his alcoholism and other health problems must get to him, surely? Especially the red tops’ prim reprimanding tone “here he goes, Gazza at it again” and I know he suffered during the phone hacking enquiry/scandal. Does all that make him reluctant to trust people?

‘Sometimes the press are right, but mostly what they write is a load of rubbish which is very hurtful. Keeping to myself is the best policy. I’ve been let down by people close to me quite often and that is sad and difficult.’ The image of Gazza as a lovable drunkard endures. He talks of well-meaning members of the public lining up to buy him a drink, so they can say “I’ve had a pint with Gazza”.  ‘It happens every day. My agent Terry Baker gets annoyed about it but I’m used to it. They don’t mean any harm, people are just being nice, but it doesn’t help me really.’

Back in 2013, stories emerged about Paul’s “showbiz pals” Chris Evans, Gary Lineker, Piers Morgan clubbing together to pay to send him to The Meadows rehab clinic in Arizona. It’s noticeable that Paul doesn’t credit celebrity acquaintances as those who are helping him the most right now in his recovery. “I’m best talking to my Mam and dad and sisters. Terry and Freda (Baker of A1 Sporting Speakers) are the people outside my family that I can trust the most. I know they have my back and try their best for me,’ he reckons. ‘Terry and Freda try and look after me. They get me work, take me to it, help when things go wrong and generally stay in touch with me and we have a laugh.’

And things do go wrong. December was a tough patch for Paul, with reports of falling off the wagon whilst staying at a health clinic and his controversial comment about a black security guard being difficult to make out in poor light.

‘I’ve been in various rehabs over the years.’ Seven at the last count. ‘The Providence Project (an alcohol and drug rehab centre) down here in Bournemouth were great with me and after their help I moved into he area. It’s hard to cope sometimes but I try to keep busy, keep fit and stick to my daily routines. I miss playing football more than anything. I loved playing and the great times I had on and off the pitch. The day to day dressing room camaraderie with my team mates is something I miss a lot.’

This year, he aims to ‘just to be happy and stay off the drink. I have probably only drunk for an average two or three weeks every year and I’d like to try and stop that.’  I hope he gets to that point, in 2016. It’s no more than he deserves. ‘And world peace and GAZZA peace!’ he adds.

Gazza peace sounds good. He deserves some of that.

Originally published in Hooked Magazine (Jan 2016)

 

 

On the telly box tonight

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On the 52% sofa at BayTV

It’s the final episode of the current series of 52% this week. We look back at our best bits!

The show is now taking a break for the summer, but we’ll be back again in the autumn.

52% is broadcast at 6pm tonight (Thurs) on Freeview Channel 7  and Virgin 159 in the Merseyside and Cheshire areas, and is repeated over the next fortnight. The episode goes online on YouTube in the next fortnight or so.

@cathbore

 

New stuff

I have work coming out in some really nice places over the coming weeks. This blog post reads a bit like a list, so I apologise in advance for that!

An essay on sisterhood will be in the A Room of Our Own anthology, the book is raising money to keep the organisation’s website going so they can continue their valuable work.

Another essay, about my non-motherhood and choice to not become a parent, is in issue 2 of I Hope You Like Feminist Rants later in the summer. My writing on housework is in issue 1 of Rants, which you can purchase here.

My flash fiction Good Times, originally published in Slim Volume 1 : No Love Lost (2015), is published in CRUSHED, a book of writing and art on the subject of heartbreak is out this month (May 2016). Editor Charlotte Apsin is producing a zine to go with it.

I’ve got work in the University of Liverpool Centre For New & International Writing’s journal, on  page 18, published last week.

I was made up to have a flash fiction, The Other Woman, included as part of Hayley Webster’s All The Words book festival also last week, you can read it here.

I wrote about LightNight here, and Liverpool Biennial here, for Getintothis.

52% starts its summer break next month, I make my final appearance in this series in a fortnight. The next series starts in the Autumn!

That’s it, I think. For now…

@cathbore

Wondrous Place

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It is early morning and Liverpool is opening its eyes, ready to wake up, stretch, yawn, and welcome the day.

There’s a tune, a breathy bass riff. A voice, smooth and clear, high but not too much.

I found a place full of charms.

I hear the voice singing, and I know who it is. Billy Fury. I know the song, Wondrous Place.

I know the singer and I know the song but what I don’t know is where it is coming from at ten to eight on a Tuesday morning in Liverpool city centre. I follow the song. It takes me to a pub, the old boozer type, doors flung wide open. I near and hear singing, a voice on top of Billy’s. It is thin, slightly shrill, out of tune and time. I peer inside.

The pub’s cleaner in her apron is dancing with her mop, humming. Billy Fury sings to her from the jukebox. She’s seventy-odd with crab-apple skin, turned girlish. She’s smiling, eyes closed, slow dancing. It’s beautiful.

I wanna stay and never go away –

Wondrous place.

She dances with Billy Fury every morning, I think. I hope.

 

(First published by Silver Birch Press 2015)

@cathbore