INTRODUCTION
SPOKEN WORD
Telling Tales
I'm So Bloody English
Spring Fever
Breasts and the INS
CLOWNING
I’m so bloody English…I think I’m not after all these years but it comes out ... I went to visit Dawn in Seattle. Walking down the street one day she stopped to point out that the store we were outside was one of the few women-owned sex shops in the States. “Do you want to go in?” We go in. I’m trying to be adult, calm about the huge selection of dildos, the selection of huge… I turn casually from the books to almost trip over a couple of women. I listen to their conversation before I realize what’s happening. They are lying on the floor because the cashier is showing the other woman how best to use the double dildo she wants to buy… I couldn’t help it. I turned away, blushing like the daughter my mother raised me to be.
Small town Worcestershire, England, I was a small but chatty little bugger, always asking ‘Why? Why is cow dung crusty on the outside and squishy on the inside? Why can’t I play with the pigs?” “Why do you drink vodka in the mornings?”
I remember my mum also kept reminding me…-“ Sarah, please stop saying I know when Peter tells you something…yes, yes, I’m sure you did already know it, but that’s not the point. Let him act like he’s the older brother, the young man. It’s good practice for when you grow up and get married!” Apparently I didn’tr practice enough.
I’m often asked if I get homesick, do I go back to Britain much?
HOMESICK DO I GET HOMESICK?
Yes.
It’s my dreams you see.
They confuse me.
I dream of calling home
And hearing my mum say
How’s the writing Sarah?
I’d love to read some of it.
I dream of memories.
Not mine, theirs.
That I’ll hear her say
How’s Karee doing?
Has Trenlin sold any paintings?
Instead I hear
When are you coming home?
When are you coming home?
Home as in England?
Are you serious?
This is my home.
After 13 years of living in the states you still think this is just a phase?
Another phase that I’ll grow out of?
Are still hoping that one day I’ll see the error of my ways and realize
Oh my! I don’t really like living in the states…
Oh my! I don’t really like girls
It’s my dreams you see
They confuse me
I dream of going to the chippy around the corner from Claire’s place. Biking through Vicki Park on our way to the firkin pub for a summer’s afternoon’s drinking in the beer garden out back.
Reality is slightly different to my rosy nostalgia.
At the house where I spent my teen years I put my laundry in, make cups of tea and listen to my parents chat with my brother.
I never really know what to say
They never listened anyway
So I don’t say anything.
I’m on the phone
Dad is hovering next to me.
Just standing there.
Mum comes over and hands me a cigarette.
Then turns on the telly right next to me.
I say dog
Dad hears rainbow
I say phone
Dad hears can you do it for me?
I say tea
Dad explains bird-watching.
This could be 1983, 1985, 1992…96? 2003!
Mum is in her room.
Dad is in the living room
I’m in my bedroom
How old am I really?
On a Friday after I’d had another long painful visit to the dentist I was close to tears.
I needed my mum,
To hold me, be gentle with me.
I went to her for a hug.
She flinched.
Took the tiniest of steps back.
It felt like a slap in the face.
I looked at her and walked away.
I call home occasionally
Because I forget
I get homesick.
So I call home and hope I’ll anything but the inevitable question
When are you coming home?
I get homesick.
Still.
It’s my dreams you see.
They confuse me.
I dream of being in the kitchen with mum dad and Pete.
I see the huge willow tree outside
I see the cats sleeping in the shade of the roses underneath.
We’re all chatting, even me, the silent one…
The lasagna is in the oven
Mum turns up the stereo
And Rod Stewart blasts out
And we’re dancing on the chairs, the table…
Laughing and laughing and laughing..
Is this false memory syndrome?
Some things never change though. I was over there in Worcestershire for this Christmas. I had been staying with Mum and Dad for a few days when I came down one morning and my mum asked; ” do you have a hairbrush?” Time froze, my hand stuck in my hair. The question was, shall I react like the fifteen year old I’ve been all these years? Or shall I do something different? I smiled and asked ‘yes, would you like to borrow it? Another pause then I said, would you like a mug of tea?’ She grinned, ‘ no thank you, I wouldn’t want to put you to all that trouble. I’ll have half a cup instead!”
I met someone a few years ago who I thought had a really nice name, so I asked her where it came from. ‘Oh’ she says’ I was named after the village my parents are from. Pilar! ’ Ever since then I am so glad that my parents didn’t have the same inspiration.
-hello! My name’s Bromsgrove!
It just doesn’t have the same ring to it does it?