web analytics

Day: 7 July 2009

My Footballer’s Life

Last year I was given a brief, to write a short story. There was a possibility of me working on a larger project, but recession struck, so the project apparently didn’t move forward. There are a few things I’d leave unchanged about the story when I rewrite it, but I decided to share it in the form it was first written.

My Footballer’s Life

Frankly, I don’t like summer holidays. Being a female writer, I compare myself to the Premier League. Different teams compete in me all year round: a “Woman”, a “Wife”, a “Lover”, a “Friend”, a “Mother”, and a “Writer”. And I feel particularly vulnerable in August when the “Mother” team soars at the top of the League table, while the “Writer” is on the verge of a total relegation, and the “Lover” is having serious problems with management!

The truth is that I feel less confident having kids at home all day. It’s like my entire League is taken for a World Cup where it has to compete against the teams “Tommy”, “Jenny”, “Neighbour’s Kids”, and a few more, who know no rules of the game. I lack the order, the planning because, once August has come, we all suddenly realise just how tired we are after a school year, and the Lord of Misrule appears out of the blue. Or, in case with the team “Tommy”, the Lord of Misrule appears every morning in the doorway, half-asleep – even if this is well after 10 o’clock. And even then he’s too tired to eat the full breakfast.

We always try to take children to the events, but we do it throughout the year, so August is no different. “Friend” and “Mother” teams usually clash on these occasions, and usually draw.

The only thing that I truly enjoy about this month is family cooking. I think it’s when my “Woman” team shines modestly. During the school year cooking tends to be seasonal (like, we cook all together for Easter and Christmas, as well as birthdays and anniversaries). Then there are Sunday roasts. But during the week it’s either me or Richard who cook. The kids do the table, they help to dry the dishes, but we spare them from cooking.

Not in August. One of the biggest problems for me was that my parents allowed me to study more than to learn the “female” stuff, like cooking. I taught myself to cook when I went to the uni, but now this late blossoming probably affects my Premier League competition. Anyway, I’m adamant the kids learn this earlier than I did.

Today for tea we had salmon with pasta, and this awesome dish: broccoli with chilli peppers and garlic. You can serve broccoli on bread, but it can be a side dish, too. For this, you need one broccoli, 2 chillies, 3 garlic teeth, some olive oil, a herring fillet, and black ground pepper. You first dissect broccoli into florets, and put them in the salted boiling water. Once the water is boiling again, you turn the fire off. In the meantime, you heat 4 tablespoons of olive oil in the big frying pan (or wok, which is even better), and throw the thinly cut garlic in it.

I remember frying garlic for the first time many years ago, and I let it burn. At the time I was renting a room in an old couple’s house, and the husband had an extremely sensitive nose. He claimed he suffered from a severe migraine following my garlic escapade. I must admit the smell of the burning garlic is enough to fight off the Dracula. In my case, it was enough to make the old man become extremely irritating. Luckily for everyone, this happened in October when I was already dating Richard, and in early December I moved out from the old couple’s house and moved in with him. I made sure I never burned garlic in our house.

So, after the garlic turned gold, you add thinly cut chillies and the herring fillet. Keep the fire under the pan very low. The recipe suggested adding anchovies OR herring, so through experimenting I chose herring. Once herring dissolves in oil, add broccoli florets, some black pepper, and half a ladle of the water in which broccoli was boiled. You don’t need to get rid of this water – you can still cook pasta in it. Broccoli then needs to be cooked in the frying pan for about 5-10 min: just enough to get your pasta ready.

The first time we made this dish, Tommy cut one chilli and then scratched his nose before he washed his hands. Good job you didn’t touch your eyes, I said to him. For the rest of the evening he’d do short voyages to the kitchen, to apply some cold water to his burning nose tip.

Jenny was cutting peppers today, so Tommy told her to wash her hands before touching her face. “Well, I’m not that stupid”, she replied, and I could feel Tommy shutting up.

– Jenny, don’t call your brother stupid, it’s not nice.

– But mum, he touched his face last week…

– Well, yes, and that’s why he tells you now. He doesn’t want you to suffer. I’d thank him if I were you.

Jenny doesn’t like being told off (who does?!) but I heard her whispering “thank you” to Tommy. He shrugged his shoulders and didn’t reply.

After tea “Mother” vs. “Wife” match begins. We sit outside, if the weather is good, or inside if it’s raining, but invariably I am torn between Richard and kids. I don’t count “Richard” as a competing team: the poor guy is the crowd, and he’s got to please too many players with his cheers. So, as the “Mother”, I have to learn new manoeuvres all the time, while the “Wife” is anxious to win and to get her crowd’s attention. It usually happens anyway, when the World Cup teams retreat to bed, and Richard and I stay downstairs. I know he understands that I am doing more job than any of the footballers out there, although no-one will ever pay me as much money. Thankfully, we both realise there are things money can’t buy – like the butterflies in your stomach when your man gently buries his nose in your neck…

Copyright © Julia Shuvalova 2008.

The image is courtesy of Nicky Reynolds.

The Boxing Club, Mayakovsky, and Manchester

When coincidences like this occur, you’ve got make a point of them. So here goes…

I was reading Mayakovski’s My Discovery of America, and in the very beginning he narrates his journey to Cuba on an ocean liner. He is a Soviet citizen, travels first class, but makes insightful observations of the three classes of travellers.

So, this is the quote from the book:

On the day before our arrival in Havana the ship came to life. A tombola was held – a nautical charitable event in aid of maritime orphans. […]

The highlight was the boxing. Obviously, this was for the fans of this sport, the English and the Americans. None of them knew how to box. It’s repulsive – belting each other in the mug in the heat. In the first pairing was the ship’s cook – a disrobed, puny, hairy Frenchman with black sock full of holes over his bare legs.

The cook was battered for some while. For about five minutes he held his own through skill and for another twenty minutes through pride, but then gave in, lowered his hands and went off, spitting out blood and teeth.

In the second bout, some fool of a Bulgarian, who arrogantly left his chest wide open, was scrapping with an American detective. This detective, a boxer of professional standard, was seized with fits of laughter. He flailed around but, through hilarity and surprise, was wide of the mark and broke his own hand, which had mended badly after a war-wound.

And just as I was reading this, the doorbell rang. I answered it; a man in glasses wanted to leave some leaflets. He left them in the doorway, so I collected and brought them in the building. But try and imagine my face when I saw what the leaflet read:

So, on top of all sorts of things to be found in Manchester, there is now a Mancunian Boxing Club. Maybe it’ll see Rocky
or The Wrestler ; or maybe it spurs the underground Fight Club. Whatever happens, this was an occasion to remember.

P.S. – As it happens, I remembered everything I knew about Mickey Rourke and his latest film, except the film’s name. So I had to google “Mickey Rourke”, and found out that Rourke has a very official website. Also, The Wrestler can be viewed on Amazon as the video on demand. Unfortunately, it is available for U.S. viewers only.

What Would Jean Cocteau Say About the Web?

Jean Cocteau (French poet and artist) died in 1963. We therefore don’t know what he’d say about the web; whether he’d be passionate about it or critical. But he said something else in an interview when he was explaining the design of a postal stamp with the portrait of Marianne, France’s national symbol. Turns out, Marianne was a bureaucrat’s wife, and so on Cocteau’s stamp there was this female head, not really heroic or even beautiful. The journalist asked if Marianne on the stamp was perhaps too typical.

–Yes, maybe, – Cocteau replied, – but I think it’s good. When one is licked by so many it doesn’t pay to be too singular, lest one is licked with disgust.

I remembered this when I read Chris Brogan’s recent post – Is Your Web Presence Multi-use – and the commentary to it. Put simply, Brogan’s idea in the post is to encourage website owners to bear in mind that they are read by hundreds, if not thousands, different people. In addition to all the different things about those people, they may also speak a different language. The latter fact alone puts a whole new spin on the story.

Some commentators, though, were at odds with such suggestion. “It’s not possible to be all things to all people” and “isn’t the web is all about finding the niche and catering for it?” sum up the criticism amply.

I often find that we lock ourselves in a niche, either as producers or consumers. We think that we found the proverbial purple cow, but what few people remind us of is that the colour fades in the sun. The day will come when your cow is lilac or even white – and that’s not the same as purple. So you at least need to paint your cow once in a while, to freshen it up – which, in terms of a website, may mean changing its design, or putting a new spin on your niche subject.

I’d argue that it’s impossible to cater for a niche. On the one hand, there’s always a bigger picture, and if it’s possible to have your niche border on several supportive subjects, then why not? A blogger’s block often happens in a competitive niche. On the other hand, exactly how niche can you be? So, you may be making a website about scrap cars, but so are a few dozen of other people. What makes you different? How sustainable is your business? Imagine the worst case scenario: the day came when no-one wants to scrap their cars. What will you do? What will make your site – and your name – continue appearing in search results?

You therefore cannot be too niche, and at the same time you have to attract different people if you’re working on the web. Some will come for information; others will come to spend money. I’m one of the kind who believes in the possibility of blending humanism and business. And although it’s not possible to be all things to all people, there’s nothing wrong with making an impact on lives of many people – pretty much like what we’re seeing for over a week now since Michael Jackson is no more.

To round up – a quote from the magnificent Peter Blake, about what makes a person an icon: “You’ve got to have your own style. But not so that in a short while you’re out of fashion. It’s not about being fashionable; it’s just a look, a feel“. Perhaps, we can think of our web presence as if we’re Vivienne Westwood, and, should it be our vision, blend punk with tartan, even if this goes against what the savvy folks teach us. Or think of our web presence as if it’s Kate Moss. She can sniff crack; she can wear a dress in royal blue colour at the Queen’s dinner. But when a fashion journo asks people in the street “who is your fashion icon?“, we all know what the answer will often be.

The image is courtesy of Charles Blomefield, the leading specialist in French stamps.

error: Sorry, no copying !!