Author: Charlie Jordan

I once got paid to hold Waylon Jennings’ pony skin coat while he sang on stage at a Country Music festival. Well, not just hold the coat, I confess I actually wore it for a while. In my defence it was as heavy as some of the maudlin lyrics, and I had no idea how long he’d be singing for.

I wasn’t just hired as a human coat stand. Us promotion girls were sorting tickets, arranging signing schedules and doing anything else required at the North West London pilgrimage for Country music fans, most of whom had dressed up like extras in a Clint Eastwood B movie. (One that went straight to Betamax video.) But I loved it.

At 18, just moved to London as a student, and having answered an ad in the Evening Standard, I suddenly found myself in this alternative universe for the Bank Holiday weekend. As a hip-hop music fan, I had an instant education into Willie Nelson, Tammy Wynette, Asleep at the Wheel and the man who wrote the Dukes of Hazard theme tune, Waylon Jennings.

They were all friendly, as down to earth as Dolly Parton, and loved their fans who were every bit as dressed up as Comic-Cons. Middle aged Milky bar Kids from Milton Keynes, with dreams of the Wild West on a Sunday while mowing the lawn.

I had never seen anything like it, but my response then, as now when confronted by something completely outside my comfort zone was to smile. Try not to look shocked, keep your ‘game face’ on. A tactic that’s worked well in prison workshops, hospital visits, working with survivors of domestic violence and as a DJ hosting events on stage in front of 25,000 people. Smile, try to ignore the fear inside and hope that inspires confidence in others that you know what you’re doing, even if you haven’t a clue and are trembling with nerves inside.

So why did I suddenly remember something from nearly 30 yrs ago? Well it was another gig….last weekend in Liverpool, the boyfriend’s band were playing at Kazimier gardens. A sublime venue in summer, but an outdoor stage in February?? Shivering while wearing my own coat, as the band went on stage I reprised my human coat stand role and gratefully added my boyfriend’s silver parka on top. My body flashed me back to Wembley Arena. It was warmer back then in the West. The Wild West of North West London that is.

Mindfulness. Easy if you’re sitting cross-legged on a beach, as the sun rises… but how about on a Friday night when a 50 minute train journey home from work spirals into 5 hrs of chaos?

After a hectic week, a curry, a film and the sofa beckon. Instead you get freezing cold platforms, inaudible and contradictory announcements, hours of delays, diversions and the frustration of not knowing when or how you’ll eventually get home.

After 2 hrs of waiting, finally sardined into a train. Not that it’s moving. People are complaining loudly on mobile phones, ‘Why are they doing this to me?’ It’s tempting to join in and wallow, getting more stressed and irate. But what if you can press pause instead?

I first stumbled upon Mindfulness in a book in a Japanese tea shop when I was just 15, and have been practising it since then. I say practising, because I’m not a saintly figure wafting barefoot through inner city chaos wearing silk robes. I have my moments. Plenty of them. But 30 something years later, mindfulness is still ridiculously useful at avoiding melt-downs at stuff you can’t change.

So, back to the train. I breathe slowly and deeply for a few minutes and resist fantasising about where I should be at this minute, or how this has ruined my Friday night. Instead focus in the moment, start where you are.  I’m warm, that’s a bonus. Trains are much cosier than January platforms. I have water and the Hoxton hipster next to me is reading Murikami, so we chat about his writing. A group of teenagers on the table opposite are flirting with each other. Yes they’re loud, but they’re giggling and sharing M & M’s. And did I mention the flirting? Daring and sparking off each other. I grin at one encouragingly and he smiles back, slightly shy and probably thinking I look like his mum.

Focusing attention on where we are helps ground us in the present. Engaging with it helps pause the endless stories of future, past, wrongs and ‘should’ and we can relax into the moment. This train journey is like life, we never know how long we’ve got, and we don’t always have control over it. But we can always choose to find ways to enjoy whatever is going on, when we notice that. My Nan had never heard of Buddhism, but she always taught me ‘Count your blessings’. And she made the best chips in the West Midlands.

How lucky are all of us on this train. To have homes we’re heading to. Loved ones we’re missing. To be used to such order in our worlds that these hours of travel chaos are unusual. To have the freedom of choice to be grumpy or cross about it, and the right to express it. Or we can choose acceptance of what is going on, right at this moment.  That line-side fires mean trains can’t run to normal timetables.  That it’s not the train companies deliberate attempt at ruining our nights.

Think of a fashionable ‘mindulness’ image, of someone calmly sitting cross legged, in what’s called Lotus position. The lotus flower is beautiful, but has roots in the mud. Where’s your mud right now? It could be an irritable boss, a poorly toddler, stroppy teenager, demanding elderly parent, or travel delays. It’s easy to react with impatience, we’re all human. But to think, press pause and respond with mindfulness can be calming and helpful to ourselves and the world around us.

My expert chip-frying Nan used to count to 10 to avoid shouting at my Grandad when he’d ‘borrowed’ her green dish sponge to make trees for his model railway. By the count of 9 they were usually giggling that if it rained, there’d be Fairy Liquid bubbles on the track.

On our train we were mostly kind to each other. Reassuring ourselves that it was ok, and we’d get home eventually. Five hours later than planned, including an hour stranded in a carpark in -3 C which really tested this whole mindfulness business;  we finally did get home. Appreciating it all the more. The curry tasted just as good the next night. And I washed the plates up with a green dish sponge that could one day be a tree.

 

 

14th January, and I realise I’ve not been searching for 14L.

Usually January would involve peering at labels – plastic, fabric and cardboard ones.  All elusive. Often hidden, or with print so tiny that I squint to decipher if they’re the holy grail of sale bargains:  the perfect black trousers. The kind that fit, flatter, are as comfy as pyjamas, and don’t require ironing. I’m allergic to ironing. Self diagnosed when 18 and realised that I’d done enough of it for a lifetime, but that’s another story.

I do love a bargain. Trained to seek them out by my one-handed Grandad in Bearwood Market. The broken biscuits & mis-shaped chocolates at Franks Sweets stall were our reward to tuck into on the bus home. They tasted even better than the perfect ones, because you got twice the amount!

I’ve finally learned the same logic doesn’t apply to trousers though. Buying 4 pairs that don’t quite fit isn’t such a bargain. And when you’re 6 ft tall, most trousers don’t fit.  It is tempting though, when they’re only £9 in the sale….. Let’s just say that my local charity shops have enjoyed my bargain mistakes over the years.  Fossils that marked my evolution. Many mistakes, many years.

Not any more though. This year I resisted the lure of January Sales, and didn’t miss the short lived adrenalin rush of the red ticketed trophies. Certainly didn’t miss the crowded aisles, fluorescent lights and grumpy partners and children arguing in the long queues for the till. Focusing instead on the hygge joys of curling up at home with him indoors. In size 14L pyjamas of course.