Women’s magazines, poem
Glossy, shiny full of crap
They’re on the shelves, the woman trap
Luring us with shocking tales
Celebrity stories in great detail
“How to”guides- like shedding pounds
Advice on marriage knows no bounds
Recipes for leftover meat
Make curry for a midweek treat
They patronise like we are thick
The smartass comments make me sick
They tell us how to run our lives
By making us be better wives
They teach us how to fake a tan
Put hair up in a messy bun
A bikini body in just 6 weeks
Sun kissed hair not using bleach
How to wear the latest fashion
Your comfy look will take a bashing
Photographs of stupid styles
Your other half would run a mile
Exaggerated killer heels
To us OAP’s they’ve no appeal
Advice they give on keeping fit
Patterns for cardi’s you could knit
Why not make a summer dress?
Ideas to make you bloody stressed
The agony aunts use many pages
About our marriage and how to save it
How to act when he has strayed
If he came back I’d have him spayed
‘Cos castration doesn’t fit this rhyme
But that would be his fate next time
And ‘cos you’re living in a mess
A “how to get the look” , for less
Make jam jars into something cool
And you have a go, you silly fool
Make clever stuff with chicken wire
For friends and Neighbours to admire
Get busy with the pinking shears
Banish all your sewing fears
They tell us we must all de-clutter
And you try, like other nutters
And when it comes to making cakes
You can’t admit you’ve never baked
It won’t look like their spongy trinkets
Yours resembles doggy biscuits
And yet we keep on buying more
Or free ones drop in through your door
But now you know you aren’t alone
It’s all right there in “Woman’s Own”
- Published in General
Sandy Beach
I’ve spent a wonderful day today looking out onto a beautiful Welsh coastline, and I wonder again why any of us bother to travel the world in search of a perfect holiday location.
I’ve been lucky enough to visit beaches in Florida and the Caribbean, Thailand, Bali, Mauritius, Vietnam, The Greek islands, the Middle East and much of the Mediterranean coastline. All of these places are wonderful, often with exquisite beaches of soft, white, sugar-like sand. They also boast azure blue waters, which are clear, warm and calm, and perfect for swimming and diving. Unfortunately they are all quite far away and require much planning in order to visit them.
Yet there is something wholesome about a British beach, with it’s traditions and familiarities that I find alluring, especially on a sunny day, like today. Looking out from the deck of our static caravan in Anglesey, North Wales, I see children digging in the sand, dogs chasing the surf and teenagers riding body boards. There are a variety of boats too, from tiny 2- man dinghys to large RIBs, fishing boats and small sailing boats. Everyone is enjoying the day and I can hear laughter and children shrieking with delight, whilst ice creams are melting, sandwiches are wilting, and dads are banging the posts of reluctant windbreaks into the soft sand.
What is absent however, are the endless lines of sun loungers, regimented and perfectly aligned with the shore. There are often multiple vendors selling all manner of products from fake designer watches to colourful sarongs and jewellery made of shells. Whilst I enjoy buying some of these souvenirs, in the hope of supplementing the local economy, I soon tire of the endless sales patter and intrusions into my relaxation.
I’m also thankful that today I did not need to arrive at an airport at 5 am, stand in long queues of tired and bewildered passengers, haul luggage across vast expanses of tiled flooring and then face the dreaded security line. I never understand why sometimes I’m asked to remove my shoes, belt, sunglasses, coat, cardigan, phone, watch and kindle, and other times I’m not. We stand in the queue, watching the passengers ahead of us and passing on tips to our friends that it’s “shoes and watches off’, or “jackets on”. There seems to be no standard protocol for this area of the airport, it’s feels like a bit of a lottery. Then when I’m finally squashed into a seat fit for a pigmy I have to hope that by the time the food trolley reaches me they still have a vegetarian option to offer. The plane which we were so eager to board earlier has lost it’s shine now and we are desperate to get off. We can’t wait to retrieve our squashed hand luggage and push our way to the luggage carousel and play Russian roulette with our ankles, or someone else’s.
I really do understand that for many of us it’s all about the weather, and I tend to agree. Sunshine is often in short supply and many a British holiday has been ruined by heavy rains and manic winds. I get that, and I’m no stranger to a tropical beach and a strange looking cocktail myself, but some of the time It’s just too much hassle. I like the fact also that everyone speaks to me in English, I’m not likely to catch rabies and I don’t need to re-set my watch, twice. The ice is safe to consume and It’s improbable that I’ll get a dicky tummy, or an ear infection from a dodgy pool.
Having said all of the above my next holiday, booked for next January, is to Singapore, Malaysia, Cambodia and Hong Kong. I do have a bucket list to get through and I want to see the world, however difficult that may be. The first destination on my list however is Belfast, a city which houses the “Titanic museum” and is travelling distance to the “Giant’s Causeway”, two of my must-do places to see before I die. For the rest of this summer though I intend to spend as much time as possible on “Sandy beach” in Anglesey, enjoying the company of my family.
- Published in General
Beauty Queens
I spent many years in my incarnation as a beauty queen and loved every minute of it. Many people may have ill perceived ideas of the pageant world, so I’d like to set out my views of those happy times and what they meant to me.
In my late teens we took a holiday to a ‘Butlins” camp with my auntie Jean and her kids, there were no dads on the trip. The weather wasn’t so great and to fill our days we had a policy that everyone must enter a competition. These events were varied and included the knobbly knees contest, the most glamorous grandmother, the cutest baby and the table tennis tournament. Having few skills I opted for the “Holiday Princess” contest, here I simply had to walk around a pool in a swimsuit. I won my competition and was awarded a free weekend at another “Butlins” later in the year for the semi finals. I hadn’t realised that this bit of fun was destined to go further.
Mum and I went off to Blackpool in the November to a nice hotel, all paid for, and I thought it was great. Upon arrival however I soon realised the intensity and seriousness of the other competitors. There was to be a rehearsal on the first day in the ballroom and all 50 or so girls were summoned. I wasn’t worried because we were all just there for the free holiday, weren’t we? What a shock I had when statuesque beauties appeared in stilleto heels, make up and back-combed hair. They knew how to stand and walk erect, and smiled at every opportunity. I was dumbstruck and felt like a mouse standing beside them.
Later that day mum and I dashed out the shops to buy high heels and false tan. We then moved the furniture in our bedroom and I began to practice the walk I’d watched the other girls do. There was another rehearsal the next morning and I was gradually getting the hang of it. When I was 16 my mum had sent me on a modelling course in Manchester to improve my deportment, because I was very shy and round shouldered. This course gave me a little bit of experience so I wasn’t completely clueless. The other girls were friendly and helpful, giving me advice about my walk and standing in the line. The compere, Tony, and the 2 organisers Ron and Alan were also friendly and put us all at ease. It was however very obvious who were the proper beauty queens and who were the novices like myself.
By the time the actual semi final began I felt fine, and just enjoyed the experience, looking out for my mum in the audience as I paraded around the catwalk. The time went too quickly and I was sorry when it was all over. We were all sent backstage to await the judges verdict. I wasn’t at all nervous, unlike many of the other girls who were chain smoking and pacing. It apparantly meant a lot to them, but to me it was just a bit of fun.
Finally the results were announced, 10 girls being selected for the grand final in Brighton the following March. I learned then that the top prize was to be a brand new car and £1000. I had no idea that it was possible to get rich at this. Amazingly I was one of the 10 picked to go to Brighton, and I couldn’t believe it. The real beauty queens seemed pleased for me and I was on cloud nine.
By the time the grand final came round, I’d honed my skills, dyed my hair, false tanned my body and I was ready. I came second overall with a cash prize of £500, quite a lot of money in 1972.
I went on to compete for another 8 years, entering many different contests. I was runner up to both Miss England and Miss UK, I won the Miss Britain title in 1976 and many other big titles, making a healthy wage, supplemented by modelling jobs. I made many friends on the “beauty circuit” and are in touch with several of them to this day. After many attempts, and several second places I won the “Butlins Holiday Princess” in 1980, after which I retired from competing. Job done.
During my competition years I had a fantastic time travelling the world, I improved my self confidence, made life long friends and made my family proud of my achievements. Yes there were a few “bitchy” girls, but there would be in any competitive arena, even office based situations where many woman are together every day.
I could never understand the people to sought to condemn us as immoral, stupid, empty headed, manipulated or exploited. I always maintained that I had a choice to use either my brains or my looks to make a living, and I chose to use my appearance for a short time, able to fall back on my brains later on. The public were fascinated by beauty contests in those days, the national ones regularly attracting TV audiences of over 20 million. We were minor celebrities and enjoyed the trappings of success. I knew that the “job” was only for a short time so I made the most of it. I certainly didn’t see it as immoral in any way. What woman hasn’t done her hair and applied make up to improve her appearance? and how many have walked around the pool or beach wearing a bikini? Many have, and will continue to do so. At interviews and in many other situations where a woman needs to look and feel her best she will try to improve her appearance. Most of us try to enhance ourselves by smiling and looking the best we can, and it doesn’t mean that we are manipulated or vacuous. I’ve seen many young girls in night clubs wearing more revealing outfits than we used to wear on the catwalk.
I also want to add that because we won contests it definitely didn’t mean that we considered ourselves to be prettier than the rest. There were many more beautiful girls who didn’t want to learn the “trade” and parade about in a swimsuit, it was a learned skill and as much about experience and knowing how to play the game as it was about appearances.
- Published in General