Catching UP

We're delighted to share this generous extract from Rohase Piercy's upcoming short story collection. This one's from Catching Up, in which a series of nested memories produce unexpected revelations. Read on for the hilarious recollections of the youngest version of the narrator.

He hadn't wanted to go, but they'd insisted he was too young to be left home alone. 

'You're coming with us, and that's that!' his Dad had said, with Mum soothing it over: 'You like poor Auntie Kath, you know she always makes a fuss of you!'

Well, yes he did like Auntie Kath – who wasn't his real auntie, just his Mum's best friend from school - she was lovely and kind and cuddly and always had a calming air about her, with none of his Mum's emotional outbursts, but he didn't want to be made a fuss of at his age, and why was she 'poor' Auntie Kath all of a sudden? And he definitely did not like her husband, whom he refused to call 'Uncle' Tom and who was short and pompous and brash, and would no doubt go on and on about their snooty Chloe who was at Bristol University, and ask questions about Liam's own academic progress, or lack of it.

'But I haven't finished my English homework!' he pleaded desperately, and his Mum said, 'Oh, that won't be a problem, they've got a computer in their spare room, Tom'll set you up. Just bring what you need, and you can finish it after we've eaten.'

So there he was, loitering in the Taylors' lounge where a whacking great photo of bloody Chloe smirked on the wall surrounded by framed certificates, fingering all the stupid arty knick-knacks and eyeing up the bottles in the drinks cabinet while his Mum and Kath passed to and fro between kitchen and dining room with plates and stuff. Tom and his Dad were smoking in the garden, their voices crescendoing as they played their usual game of one-upmanship. So embarrassing - Liam deliberately tuned them out in favour of eavesdropping on the womenfolk. 

'So I've got the date for the op now and it's Wednesday week,' Kath was saying as she passed the door. 'Got a couple of pre-op appointments this week coming - no, honestly, it's fine, Annie, I'm all sorted for lifts and stuff, it's just great to know you're there for me. God knows Tom's no good in that department, I mean, he came with me to get the biopsy results, but he was more interested in interrogating the doctors than in supporting me. Do you know, when we got home he wouldn't even look at it – not even when it went all black where they'd put the needle in. It's like he just doesn't want to know.'

'Oh Kath, that's terrible', said his Mum, as Liam edged closer to the door. 'You should have phoned me, I'd have come with you! At least let me know what I can do to help afterwards – bit of cooking, bit of housework, whatever you need. And I'm just on the end of the phone, happy to chat at any time, if you want to get it off your … you know, if you just want to talk.'

'Thanks, Annie. No, Tom's taking me to the hospital, and to the pre-op too, I mean it's the least he can do, isn't it? But having a friend to talk to makes all the difference … I'm sorry I didn't tell you 'til after the results came in, but I didn't want to worry anyone unnecessarily, you know? Didn't want to share my suspicions in case they came true - which of course, they have. Tell you what, though, the nurses are wonderful, so kind and lovely, they've given me this number to ring if I've any concerns or questions, though I think the leaflets cover everything. I'm just mainly relieved that they've caught it in time – at least, I hope they have, they say they won't know for sure until they open it up – but I'll keep you posted from now on, I promise.' 

Liam lingered in the doorway, frowning – Auntie Kath was having an operation? He hoped she'd be all right … a rush of affection engulfed him and he felt six years old again, cuddled into her comforting, bosomy embrace after a fall, a cool pad soaked in Witch Hazel pressed to his bruised forehead. He wandered out into the hallway in hopes of hearing more, just as they exited the dining room. 

'Liam, what are you doing? Come and help me and Kath, there's side plates to be laid and you can take in the glasses if you're careful.' And that was that.

Dinner was boring and prolonged, with Tom droning on about different kind of asparagus and how the wine had been recommended by someone whose son worked at The Grand. Liam's Dad made a great show of swirling it round in the glass before taking a sip, saying 'very nice, a fruity, cheeky little number' in a faux plummy voice and adding 'no, son, you can't have any' in his own. There were three courses, the first consisting solely of asparagus in green sauce, the second a rather nice pie called a Beef Wellington – both unfamiliar, but he ate them anyway because it was eight o'clock and he was friggin' starving. Then there was ice cream and fresh fruit salad for dessert. 'Growing boy, eh?' said Tom with a leer, as Kath urged a second helping upon him, and Mum said 'Oh, he's always hungry, I don't know where he puts it'.

Then afterwards it was, 'Right, shall we 'repair to the drawing room'? I've got a nice single malt you might like to try, Adam,' and his Mum said 'Oh, Liam's got some homework to finish, could you set him up at your computer?' and Auntie Kath said 'Of course! Tom, take Liam upstairs and put the computer on for him while Annie and I clear the table!'

So there he was, sitting at the big oak desk in what used to be the Taylors' spare room but was now apparently 'the office', with his English books in front of him and the internet winking from an enormous flat screen. Anxious to get back to his single malt, Uncle Tom had merely powered up the PC, commenting that Chloe had done 'all of her A Level research on this machine', cuffed Liam (rather hard) on the back of the head, told him to 'get down to it, and don't go fiddling about', and left him to it.

He dutifully typed in 'Wilfrid Owen, War Poet' and a load of stuff came up. Okay. He'd actually already done most of this, he'd only said it to his parents in the hope of getting out of the visit, it just needed a sentence or two just to finish off – Owen's vivid and graphic poems about modern warfare, almost all of which were published posthumously – hang on, they'd know he'd copied that, he'd better put 'published after he was dead' – helped to advance poetry into the Modernist era. Change 'Modernist' into 'modern', no, they'd already said 'modern warfare', how about 'helped to bring poetry into a new era'? Perfect! Sweet! Well done, boyo. Now, perhaps he could … well, browse a bit, see if they had MSN so he could chat to his friends, nothing wrong in that surely?

He crept quietly out to the landing, just to check that Tom wasn't loitering there, ready to make a bee-line for the loo if he was. But no, they were all downstairs in the lounge with the door open, Tom holding forth about music now.

'Never been to the opera? Oh, you should, you know, it's a whole new world, we went last month with James and Alison and loved it, didn't we, Kath?'

'Well, yes, it was very nice,' Liam could hear the soothed-over doubt in Auntie Kath's voice ..'but I don't think Annie and Adam want to listen to opera right now…'

'Nonsense, you'll never know if you don't try, here, give this a go. It's from Don Giovanni, heard of it? Oh, surely you have … this is the, er, the Catalogue Area, really catchy tune, have a listen!'

Liam shook his head in silent disbelief and slid back to the computer.

Less than five minutes later, a shout on the stairs made him jump out of his skin.

'Liam! Come down here for a minute, will you? We need your help!'

Reluctantly but swiftly, he joined his Dad on the stairs and followed him down to the living room.

'Yes, Liam's enjoying Spanish', Mum was saying proudly, 'He's doing well at it it, aren't you, Liam?'

'Er, yes …' what on earth was this? Surely they didn't expect him to recite something in Spanish, right out of the blue? He'd only just started it in September …Jesus ...

'Our Chloe got A-stars in French and German at GCSE level,' commented Tom, giving Dad the opportunity to say he thought Spanish was considered more useful nowadays before continuing in gleeful tones, 'Now, son, Tom and Kath like this song but they haven't a clue what it means, and it's obviously in Spanish so we thought you could enlighten us.' They all waited impatiently as Tom, sighing loudly, identified the track and reluctantly pressed 'Play'. This development was obviously not what he'd been expecting. Liam listened with growing horror as some bloke with a deep voice started singing very fast – something operatic, he couldn't follow it and it didn't even sound like Spanish.

'Come on, Liam, you must be able to make some of it out? España, that's Spain isn't it?' said his Dad hopefully, and he tried, he really tried, to make sense of what he was hearing and give his parent the victory over Tom he so obviously needed.

Ma in Ispagnia son già mille et tre, oh God, what the feck could that mean? Think, Liam, think!

'He says his mother lives in Spain, and she's a hundred and three!' he blurted out in desperation, and miraculously, that seemed to satisfy them.

'Hundred and three, eh? Well, that's certainly something to sing about, isn't it?' said Auntie Kath brightly, and although Tom grumbled something about a funny kind of catalogue, Liam's Dad ruffled his hair affectionately as he made his escape.

Back upstairs, his hands hovered over the keyboard. Sod MSN – what was he going to say to his mates, anyhow? 'We're at my parents' friends' house and they've just got me to translate a bit of Spanish opera for them?' He'd never hear the end of it! He could tell them about the posh PC, but actually Louis Danvers had one exactly like it in his bedroom, all to himself, and he'd only rub it in. So what? No use asking if they had the parental controls on, they were bound to be on just like everywhere, so if he typed in something outrageous like 'Big Tits' it'd come up with that guff about the song of the Great Tit being half a semitone lower in the country than in the city, or was it the other way round, he couldn't give a toss but was probably about to find out, yet again - 

Oh. My. God.

The Peanut Factory

We're so pleased to share a short extract from Deborah Price's fascinating new memoir The Peanut Factory about living in squats in South London in the late 70s during the emerging counterculture movement. 'Squat life was sex, drugs and punk rock but it wasn’t all fun and games. The Peanut Factory shows Deborah navigating a male-dominated scene, moving every few months and living with drug dealers, sex workers, people on the run and working-class kids like her. Despite the chaos, the squatters were a family. They were kids creating their own rules. Making art. Living life on the fly. The Peanut Factory is an ode to the youthful rebellion of the 1970s and to London itself.'

The Railton Road squat was occupied by a crowd of gay men who co-existed happily with the local community and during the riots were at the barricades on the front line, chucking bricks with the best of them. Getting my hair cut was exciting and as far removed from a normal hairdresser as it could be. For a start, the house was always full of people.

‘It’s a knocking shop,’ explained Conor, the hairdresser. ‘If boys don’t have a room, they come here. We feel it’s a public service.’ There did seem to be trails of slightly sheepish men coming up and down the stairs at all times of the day and night.

Secondly, there was no mirror in the room, so I was never quite sure what was being done until it was finished. ‘Ta-da’ Conor would say and show me his handiwork in a small hand mirror.

The first time I went I was feeling adventurous and fed up with the traditional long hair with fringe that I had had since my teens. With my foray into new music and abandonment of the hippy look, I had inched the length up, but it still wasn’t anything very interesting.

Conor raised an eyebrow as I settled into the chair and put a grubby towel round me and sprayed my crop with water. 

‘Oh, just do whatever,’ I said.

‘Shall I dye it as well?’ 

I paused to think.

‘It’ll take a while,’ he said. 

I had the whole day and Conor had a minion who was making tea, so I threw caution to the winds.

‘Oh go on then,’ I said.

‘I’ll have to go quite short to get rid of this perm. Is that OK?’

I nodded, speechless. It felt like the end of an era.

When he was finished, all that I knew was that everything felt light and I smelt of bleach. There seemed to be a lot of hair on the floor and I felt like Jo March in Little Women. I paid and squinted in the hand mirror and spent the whole journey home trying to see my reflection in the bus and shop windows. I couldn’t see very clearly. I thought one or two people gave me a bit of a look, but I wasn’t sure.

I got home and clattered down the stairs to see if Tessa was in.

‘Oh, my good God,’ she said. ‘Come into the light in the kitchen.’ 

Desperate to find out what the haircut looked like? Visit the Guts Publishing website to buy The Peanut Factory and read more about Deborah herself: https://www.gutspublishing.com/the-peanut-factory

The Magic in Loving Yourself

This week we have some wonderful and timely advice from Magenta Wise in her new book, The Magic in Loving Yourself (just click the title for a link to the colour and ebook, or this link for the black and white version ).

What did you just say?

“Be careful how you are talking to yourself because you are listening.”
- Lisa M Hayes

“I am - ” are mighty powerful words. They affirm whatever you say next. “I am poor” or “I am rich. “I am ill” or “I am healthy” Decide which you’d rather be and have and say that and only that. Those two little words create who you are and what you have in life. Be ultra-conscious when you use them. 

Always watch your words. Never underestimate their power. Words are more powerful than you know. What if your words are a command to the field of all possibility?

They are.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” 
John 1:1–3

This powerful sentence doesn’t have to be taken in a Christian context, there are several instances that acknowledge the creative power of the voice. Their sound is a vibration, they enter into the atmosphere and have an effect. The human voice is the most potent instrument we have, which is why singers are so celebrated and loved. The voice has the ability to move emotions, capture hearts, excite, uplift and soothe. 
Someone once told me that in Ancient Egypt there were some, perhaps they were Priestesses and Priests, who spoke only on the inward breath, lest their words have unwanted results. I don’t know how he knew this, but it could be true. Many cultures around the world  have their own 4creation myths, including the Hopi and Navaho Native American peoples. Spider Woman, Spider Grandmother has the power to create life, She is credited with the emergence of life on earth, She sang the Creation Song and brought the first two living beings to life. They were twins, Poqanghoya and Palongawhoya, whom She sent to the poles of the earth to balance out the planet.
She helps humans by teaching them survival skills, such as planting and growing crops, advising you sing to them to encourage growth. It’s said that playing classical music does it too, and I talk to my veggie plants and tell them they’re my babies, how beautiful they are and how much I love them. And then I eat them. I feel bad that I betray them in such a cruel way, but at least they don’t have a face, a pulse and a mother in quite the same way as animals, birds and fish. 
Spider Woman also teaches the Navajos the art of weaving. Before weavers sit down at the loom, they often rub their hands in spiderwebs to absorb the wisdom and skill of Spider Woman.

“Words form the thread on which we string our experiences.”
 - Aldous Huxley

The spider is a magical creature, it’s fascinating to watch her weave her web, whose threads are incredibly strong. She represents the Spider Goddess, because it is She who weaves life into being on the great web of life, connecting all together and also the great web of the Universe, linking us to it and to all eternity. She is also the symbol of the ability to create something from one’s own body, just as a spider makes her strands. 
In Ancient Greece the Fates, or Moirai, named Clotho Lachesis and Atropos, were a group of three weaving Goddesses who assign individual destinies to humans at birth. These are our true reason for being here, but we forget because we forget to love ourselves and so we forget we are connected to the Great Heart Web. We can regain the power of weaving our way to our higher purpose through loving and evolving ourselves. 
Singing and speaking are tools, we can use them to build ourselves up. If you don’t sing in the presence of others, do you sing in the shower? Get in there and sing your soul! I have the perfect song for you, there are versions of it on YouTube.  ♥ “With a Song in my Heart.” ♥

 Abracadabra is used mainly by stage magicians these days, but it’s a magical word. Its origin is unknown, but according to the Oxford English Dictionary, its first known use is in the second century works of Serenus Sammonicus, a Roman tutor and writer. There are studies that associate the word from phrases in Hebrew that mean “I will create as I speak”, or Aramaic “I create like the word.” The use of the voice, and the words chosen, have been linked to creation for a long time.
In the Wicca, ‘So mote it be’, meaning ‘so must it be’, is said at the end of a positive invocation to seal in the magic, and in using affirmations, there’s ‘It is done, it is done, it is done’ and ‘So it is.’ Remember, all affirmations must be said in the present or as if they’ve already happened.

“If we understood the power of our thoughts, we would guard them more closely. If we understood the awesome power of our words, we would prefer silence to almost anything negative. In our thoughts and words we create our own weaknesses and our own strengths. Our limitations and joys begin in our hearts.

We can always replace negative with positive.”

- Betty Eadie 

It's important to be aware of what you’re saying to yourself because you’re absorbing it, and the Universe is listening. Over time, negative words sink into your subconscious which soaks them up, reacts to them as if they are orders, and performs accordingly. You will get exactly what you asked for. What a dismal thought eh? - but you’ll have worked out the same is true of positive words.

Vocal viruses are unconscious uses of words that seep into the mass consciousness; like ‘right’, ‘okay’, ‘wicked’, ‘cool’, ‘absolutely’ etc. If you were to point out that someone uses a word or phrase repeatedly, they’d deny it, but if you keep doing it, they’ll see it for themselves, and sooner or later catch themselves at it. They’ll be annoyed with themselves, but before long will be more selective in what they say. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with these words, only that the user is unconscious of using them, and we should be conscious if we want our words to be effective. 
Another vocal virus is ‘vocal fry’, which seems to be increasing. It’s a way of speaking in which the voice is quite low-pitched with a characteristic rough or creaking sound, usually at the end of sentences. It can come over as insecure, or an attempt to sound sexy, or can sound like having a sore throat, and both men and women do it, but so far mainly women. Some people don’t mind the sound of it, others find it madly irritating. I’ve heard people use it all the way through an entire sentence and it sounds like a croaky old door. If this is how people want to speak it’s fine, just don’t let it be an unconsciously caught habit. 

The other one is when the voice goes up? at the end of every sentence? like it’s a question? Fine, it might be natural to Aussies? but when used by others it’s a bit odd? I feel I should respond as if I have an answer?

How you say it also counts, people can pick up inflections and hidden meanings, so say only good things with your heart behind them. If you wouldn’t say something to a loved one, don’t say it to yourself.

‘Never complain and never explain.’ Keep your dignity, don’t give more energy to problems by complaining about them. The more you moan about physical and mental health, the worse they’ll get. If you’re asked how you are, don’t say ‘Fine’, instead say ‘I feel so much better thank you’, or ‘I feel great’, or ‘Everything’s resolving itself.’ Test yourself. Ask yourself or have someone else ask you how you are. Bring yourself into your body and mind and answer it by saying, “I feel awful, this pain is getting worse”, or “I’m fed up, when can I get a break?” How does it feel in your body, and what thoughts come up? Now do the opposite, answer with positive statements and compare how it feels. You’ll notice the difference.

Some phrases are pure nonsense, others could shorten your life if you keep saying them, so stop saying daft stuff like:

I’m dead on my feet.
It’s to die for.
Drop dead gorgeous.
I’m ready to collapse.
This will be the death of me.
This is killing me.
This will send me to an early grave.
I’m starving to death.
It’s a nightmare.
It leaves me cold.
It’s a pain in the neck.
It gives me a headache.
It makes me sick.
It’s driving me mad.
I’m so unlucky.
My heart is smashed into smithereens.
My head will explode any minute.
I could eat a horse.
I’m starving to death.
I’d kill for a beer.
I hate . . . .whatever
etc. etc.  . . .
Stop lying to yourself. Don’t tell yourself you’re stupid, unworthy, unloveable, too fat, too thin and all the other nonsense you might be telling yourself. People used to say, ‘I’ll wash your mouth out with soap and water.’ That sounds nasty, so catch yourself at these damaging habits and censor them out of your mouth, they taste just as bad. Away with that twaddle!!

Speak your love. Speak only loving, positive words. If you’re in a triggering situation and can’t, then say nothing.

Stop apologising all the time if you haven’t done anything wrong.

Don’t partake in nasty conversations about other people, you never know what they’re going through. People who snipe about others behind their backs will do the same to you. Seek those who share your interests instead.

“Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people.”
Eleanor Roosevelt 

Take control of your ability to speak things into existence.
Speak the truth. Purify your throat chakra and speak your own magical truth.