I wash myself about a million times and go back upstairs, I feel weak and fragile as I climb onto the bed. How glamorous, if only the audience knew. This is the first time I’m going to be touched by Liam (playing ‘H’), he’s just woken up and was drinking again last night. I think he’s nervous, cold, clammy, alcohol-scented sweat oozes out of his pores. I’ve showered twice, cleaned my teeth twice, washed my hair and down below, I’m spotless. Joanna tells us the shape of the scene – which boils down to H wants sex, D doesn’t – and off we go. I haven’t been touched by a man for over a year, this is so strange, a man I don’t know touching me intimately, with another group of men I don’t know watching me, the microphone dangling over our heads and the blank shark eye of the camera lens recording it all. I’m half appalled and half aroused. To cope with the situation I employ the same trick I used throughout the IVF and cancer investigations, I float outside my body and watch what’s happening from above.
Later during filming I realise I’m acting two people all the time: one is the repressed character D, and the other is the free-spirited actress Viv, who takes her clothes off and isn’t fazed by emotional or sexual scenes with a man she doesn’t know, in front of a group of strangers.
By the time we get to the last sex scene, towards the end of the six-week shoot, I have to make a huge effort to get into it. I’m exhausted, all wrung out, I’ve given every last drop of myself. I talk to Tom Hiddleston about readjusting to normal life, tell him I don’t know what’s real and what’s the character any more. Tom says, ‘You’re feeling the weird, that’s a good thing, good for your performance.’ I also receive good advice about de-roling from the actress Mary Roscoe, who has worked with Mike Leigh. Mary says that Leigh advises his actors to make contact with family and friends at the end of each day, to change clothes, go to the pub, do things that remind you who you are.
One of the last scenes we shoot takes place in a country house. The room is cold and completely dark, there’s no bed, just a mattress in the middle of the floor. Joanna tells Liam and me to curl up together under a blanket. I put my head on Liam’s shoulder, he wraps his arm around me. I start sobbing uncontrollably. Joanna asks me what she should do, I say, ‘Keep filming, I’m not going to be able to stop.’ It’s the position we’re in that’s affected me so deeply. Just how Husband and I used to snuggle up together when we were happy. I cry continuously for the next four hours, the first time I’ve cried since the break-up of my marriage.
35 ALONENESS
2013
Silence is so accurate.
Mark Rothko
I’m sitting at my dad’s ugly, dark brown, chunky-legged dining table, the sort of substantial piece of furniture Victorians would have appreciated. I’m wearing an old black vest with big armholes showing a bit of side boob, not in a good way, more in an ‘I look like my old man’ sort of way. I point out to my daughter how many butterflies are flitting around the lavender bush outside the French doors, just like my father did to me. The warm air and the sound of cicadas rattling their feet makes me feel good. Every time I visit Toulon, I buy a naïve painting by a local artist from the flea market – rough bold strokes suggesting pine trees, waves, the rocky coast – they hang on the whitewashed walls in dark brown frames.
I used to think my father was so selfish and uncompromising, not making the effort it takes to find new friends. I was sociable back then, turning up every summer with a boyfriend or a couple of girlfriends, but now I’m too outspoken for most people, they think you’re rude if you tell the truth. ‘Punk’ was the only time I fitted in. Just one tiny sliver of time where it was acceptable to say what you thought. Perhaps I was lucky to have that. After a divorce friends seem to just melt away, like they’re frightened they’ll catch it off you. Or maybe it’s just that your face doesn’t fit at dinner parties any more. Anyway, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of a decree absolute must be in want of a few good mates.
I hear children across the road splashing in a swimming pool. I can smell lavender and pine. Citroëns putter past the front gate. My wooden shutters, painted eau de nil, bang in the breeze: is the mistral coming? It often comes in August, it can last three days or three and three and three days, that’s what the French say. I get up and wedge an old red towel between the shutter and the sill. Everything I imagined when I used to visit my father, how I would change the flat, paint it white, retile the floor, make it look clean and simple, I’ve done, and now I stay here for two weeks every summer.
I walk along the streets lined with fading villas; there’s the raspberry villa, the vanilla villa, the pistachio villa – and dog shit everywhere. The French love their dogs. I’m always suspicious of people who adore animals, they often don’t care much for humans.
As I near the flat, I imagine how it would feel if I had a boyfriend, holding his hand, brushing past the purple blooms of the overhanging bougainvillea. How nice it would be. Or would he be in a bad mood? How would he feel about me having a quick swim in the morning, strolling home to eat goat’s cheese with fresh tomato on a baguette, then writing all afternoon? Would there be arguments about how I spend my time?
Maybe I’m better off without a boyfriend, no matter how much I’d like one. I find what I do difficult; if I could avoid it, I would. I’d much rather be sitting on the sofa cuddled up to a guy watching box sets, cooking a meal for him when he comes back from work, telling myself love is more important than anything in the world, worth neglecting my music and writing for, than be self-disciplined and write songs on my own all day. It’s scary standing in front of audiences singing and playing, struggling to keep a band together, hustling for gigs and money. If happy domesticity came my way, I’d probably grab hold of it and never let it go. I think of what my mum said to me when I was lamenting my loneliness to her last week: ‘Do you really want to be owned again?’
I’m invited to lunch with two French women, they’re ten or fifteen years older than me. One is in a relationship, the other is alone. One is annoyed by and resentful of her partner and embarrassed to be seen with him, the other comes and goes when she pleases. Here it is, laid out in front of me, the two options: with someone and irritated by them (I think most people in long marriages have a touch of Stockholm Syndrome) or alone and free. Neither appeals. There’s got to be a third way.
Bored, bored, bored if you’re in a relationship, lonely, lonely, lonely if you’re not; Ari told me that when we were in Spain together. I remember feeling her lump. Should have taken control, done more to help her.
36 AN ORANGE
2013
I seem to have run in a great circle, and met myself again on the starting line.
Jeanette Winterson,
Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit
I picture my journey through life as a circle, as if I am travelling around a sphere, like an orange. I started at the bottom and began to climb up the side, becoming more confident as I went along. Sometimes life got difficult and I was hanging upside down, traversing it as best I could. When I reached the top, I tipped over and began to go down the other side. This part of the journey seems to be going faster. I find I’m drawn to behaviours and people that remind me of my past; even if they’re difficult, they’re familiar. I recognise some of my parents’ traits creeping into my character. My true nature – which I suppressed in order to function and succeed as an adult – is surfacing again. I’m shy and inclined to introversion. Still I keep on travelling to the underside of the orange, no way to stop it.
This is where I am at the moment – Winter 2013
A great relationship with my smart, beautiful daughter, my sister and my mother.
A couple of good loyal friends.
A small income and a home/room of my own.
The freedom to create.
I never sit outside my house not wanting to go in, rather I hate to leave it.
I’ve rebuilt my health.
I’m a good weight (no more FFFs).
Occasional despair and loneliness, no big deal, not as bad as flu.
Lovely pool of talented musicians to work with.
Playing some great shows.
Wonder who to put as next of kin on hospital forms.
I still believe in love.
CLOTHES MUSIC BOYS
This is not a comprehensive list of the clothes, music or boys I was into, but it gives a flavour.
NB: I haven’t shagged everyone in the ‘Boys’ sections. Many are included either because they were a musical influence, I fancied them or they were just around at the time. I haven’t included the unpleasant ones.
1963–66: Home and Primary School
Clothes: Black patent T-bar shoes, long white socks and shirt-waisted dress for parties. Maroon twill and gabardine school uniform. White ankle socks, blue leather Clarks sandals, hand-knitted cardigans, Woolworth’s jeans and T-shirts for playing in Highgate woods. Purple cord skirt and jacket and ‘Donovan-style’ purple cap, black leather knee-high boots, op-art dress from C&A, op-art pendants, long hair parted in the middle, homemade capes. Crocheted tights, Levi’s, elephant-cord mini skirts from Kids in Gear, Carnaby Street. Hair: dried over the open oven.
Music: Hymns, ‘Bobby’s Girl’, ‘Seven Little Girls’, ‘Rawhide’, ‘My Boomerang Won’t Come Back’, ‘Sea of Love’ by Marty Wilde (all given to me by my cousin Sally). The Swingle Singers, Georgie Fame, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Small Faces, the Kinks, Them, the Walker Brothers, the Yardbirds, the Moody Blues, Bob Dylan, Dusty Springfield, Marvin Gaye, the Four Tops, Otis Redding, the Troggs, the Beach Boys, Dave Berry, Percy Sledge, Tamla Motown, Sandy Shaw, Marvin Gaye.
Boys: Lucien (Albert) Albertine, Colin and Raymond, John Lennon.
1967–74: Senior School, Woodcraft, Amsterdam, Dingwalls, Art School
Clothes: Ex-military stuff from Laurence Corner. Fluorescent pink tights from Mr Freedom, black mini skirt, shrunken black angora jumper from jumble sales. Black suede over knee boots, striped T-shirts and stripey tights, all from Biba. Cheese-cloth maxi skirts, and T-shirts from Kensington Market. Shoes and boots from Terry de Havilland and Anello and Davide. Hand-studded Wrangler denim jeans, tight denim jacket. Platform boots and shoes from Ravel. Maria Schneider perm (Last Tango in Paris): Molton Brown.
Music: Ska (through skinheads at school), protest songs, Pete Seeger, Bob Dylan, Country Joe and the Fish, Taj Mahal, Richie Havens, Ewan MacColl, Nick Drake, Tim Hardin, John and Beverley Martyn, Steve Miller Band, Gil Scott-Heron, Hawkwind, Cat Stevens, Carole King, Thunderclap Newman, Melanie, Philadelphia Soul, the Doors, Captain Beefheart, Fleetwood Mac, King Crimson, the Incredible String Band, the Soft Machine, Henry Cow, Edgar Broughton Band, White Noise, the Pretty Things, Pink Floyd, Neil Young, James Taylor, the Small Faces (Ogdens’ Nut Gone Flake), Marvin Gaye (What’s Going On), David Bowie (Hunky Dory), Syd Barrett, glam rock, pub rock (Kilburn and the High Roads, Dr Feelgood), Northern Soul, Frank Zappa (I knew every Zappa song like it was a pop song, same with Syd Barrett), Cream, Traffic, Bob Marley and the Wailers, Steely Dan, Sparks, Tim Buckley, Sly and the Family Stone, Sam Dees.
Boys: Mark (Magnus) Irvin, Maurice (Amsterdam), Nic Boatman, Ben Barson, Rory Johnston, Steve Mann (influential DJ at Dingwalls), Russell Hunter, Brandi Alexander, Jan Hart.
1975: Hammersmith and Early ‘Punk’
Clothes: Narrow-legged jeans, home-printed T-shirts, customised leopard-print and lurex clothes from jumble sales. Baby-blue handmade cowboy boots, Converse trainers. Tight, fitted, checked jacket, shrunken T-shirts. Mohair jumper from jumble sale, combat trousers. Brown leather bomber jacket. Hair: Keith at Smile.
Music: Roxy Music, the New York Dolls, David Bowie, Patti Smith, Esther Phillips, Lou Reed, Can, Kraftwerk, Television, Jonathan Richman, Mott the Hoople, the Ramones, Iggy and the Stooges.
Boys: Rory Johnston, Mick Jones, Keith Levene.
Summer 1976–79: The Flowers of Romance and the Slits
Clothes: Sex: black leather jeans, rubber stockings, pink patent boots, tits T-shirt, cowboy T-shirt, mohair jumper. London Leatherman: studded belts and wristbands. Customised black string vest with Durex fringe. Old black leather jacket. Dr Marten boots, Spalding and Converse trainers, torn boys’ T-shirts, tutus, little girls’ party dresses, customised fringed tights. Leather mini skirt. Hair: Keith Levene.
Music: Velvet Underground, Ramones, Iggy (The Idiot), Bowie (Low), Lou Reed (Metal Machine Music), Eno, Patti Smith, Suicide, reggae (dub and lovers’ rock), the Sex Pistols, the Heartbreakers, the Clash, musicals, Dionne Warwick Sings Burt Bacharach, the New York Dolls, the Ramones, Television, Richard Hell and the Voidoids, Black Uhuru, sound systems (Jah Shaka, Sir Coxone, Moa Anbessa, Stereograph), the Carpenters, bit of disco – Gorgio Moroder, the Bee Gees – Linton Kwesi Johnson, reggae played by Don Letts (DJ at the Roxy).
Boys: Mick Jones, Johnny Thunders, Keith Levene, Joe Strummer, Paul Simonon, Sid Vicious, John Lydon, Don Letts.
1979–81: Simply What’s Happening Tour to the End of the Slits
Clothes: Ethnic fabrics from Brixton, Stephen Linard, Betsey Johnson, Scott Crolla and Georgina Godley, Vivienne Westwood. Converse trainers, Dr Martens, Santini and Dominici Mary Janes, Vivienne Westwood boots. Hair: matted.
Music: Reggae (lovers’ rock and dub), ‘world music’ and jazz (Fela Kuti, Sun Ra, Eddie Harris, Olatunji, Dollar Brand, Don Cherry). Improvised music (Company, Steve Beresford, Derek Bailey, Fred Frith, Maarten van Regteren Altena, Tristan Honsinger, Anthony Braxton, Evan Parker, Lol Coxhill, Han Bennink, John Zorn, Steve Noble), Parliament, Chic, Bootsy Collins, This Heat, PiL, the Last Poets, Dionne Warwick, the Pop Group, Rip Rig and Panic, Dennis Brown, Dennis Bovell, Pharoah Sanders, Miles Davis (Bitches Brew), Ornette Coleman (Dancing in Your Head).
Boys: Steve Beresford, Gareth Sager (the Pop Group), Dick O’Dell, Bruce Smith, Budgie, Dennis Bovell.
1982–84: Lost, Teaching Aerobics
Clothes: Boring.
Music: None. Listened to LBC and BBC Radio 4 (talk-only radio stations).
Boys: None.
1985–95: Film School, Directing, Fall in Love
Clothes: 1980s stuff. Lots of money, always down South Molton Street – Alaia, Romeo Gigli, Katharine Hamnett, Margaret Howell, Donna Karan, Sybilla. Shoes: Manolo Blahnik, Patrick Cox, Stephane Kélian, Robert Clergerie. Hair: Daniel Galvin.
Music: Jeff Buckley, Prince, Madonna, Philip Glass, Radiohead, Beth Orton, Nirvana, BAD, Mazzy Star, Van Morrison, Abdullah Ibrahim, Neneh Cherry, the Sugarcubes, lots of tribal and ethnic music – Romanian, Inuit, African.
Boys: Jeb Loy Nichols (good mate), Malcolm McLaren, Oliver Curtis (from film school), Dom Lobo (cute runner), the Biker.
1996–2007: Marry, IVF, Cancer, Become a Mother, Family Life
Clothes: 7 for All Mankind jeans, T-shirts from Velvet and Whistles. Agnes B, Joseph, Prada. Addicted to TK Maxx. TAG watch. Gucci for evening. Tod’s loafers, Prada boots and trainers, Hunter wellies and Nick Ashley puffa jacket for walks on beach. Wetsuit. Hair: Aveda.
Music: Pop because of daughter (all the Now … series; chart music really good at this time), Mika, Gossip, No Doubt, Keane, Bon Iver, Fleet Foxes, Kate Bush, Yoko Ono, the Libertines, Macy Gray, Mazzy Star, Guillemots, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Devendra Banhart, Aaron Neville, the Ting Tings, Albert Hammond Jnr, Björk.
Boys: Husband, doctors (Dr Anthony Silverstone, Prof. Jeffrey Tobias, Dr Shah), Vincent Gallo (sort of a doctor).
2008–13: Art School, Divorce, Music, Film, Book
Clothes: Black Gap jeans, Prada jackets/boots, Clarks desert boots, Topshop, James Perse T-shirts, Phillip Lim, Acne, Christopher Kane for being fancy. David Preston boots. Sue Ryder/Oxfam/ charity shops. Lots of vintage shoes and clothes. Not into bags. Hair: local salon in Hackney, or Kennaland when I can afford it.
Music: Still listen to Syd Barrett, Marvin Gaye, Tamla Motown, and all the old jazz, blues and soul stuff. Chris Wa
tson (El Tren Fantasma), Apparat, Warpaint, Micachu and the Shapes, Leila Arab, Steve Mason, Oval (Markus Popp), the XX, Beach House, Broadcast, Kate Bush, Scout Niblett, Beyoncé, Robert Wyatt, Chuck D, Lauryn Hill and Yuka Honda.
Boys: Made friends with men again through working with them, which is nice. Kissed a few frogs – surely not many more to go now until I find a prince. Well, at least no more nutters (please, god), I’ve kissed enough of those …
ILLUSTRATIONS
Side One
1. Mum and Dad, courtesy of the author
2. Viv and her sister, courtesy of the author
3. Viv in junior-school uniform, courtesy of the author
4. The gang, courtesy of the author
5. Mark, courtesy of Mark (Magnus) Irvin
6. Ben, courtesy of Ben Barson
7. Paul, Nic, Viv and Maggie in Yugoslavia, 1968, courtesy of the author
8. Tickets, courtesy of the author
Clothes, Clothes, Clothes. Music, Music, Music. Boys, Boys, Boys. Page 35