I also adored the ultimate style-it-out story another listener emailed about someone else: a woman standing in front of her on the escalator at a train station did a wiggle, and then at the top of the stairs let her knickers drop, before kicking them off to one side and walking off without missing a beat. (Rather meanly, no one supported her, laughed along or even opened the window! These were nurses, aka the people who know our every bodily groan and moan, and she didn’t do a shift with them again). It is advice that I routinely remember in all sorts of situations – from the light to the dark.Īfter telling my tale, I invited our listeners to share some of their greatest wince-hits and how they styled it out, in honour of Anne-Marie’s approach, and the response was wondrous.įrom the woman who found out her smart shoes were too big for her just before receiving her gong from Prince Charles but had no choice but to go ahead with them, because her only other option were her hiking boots – and then nearly fell over trying to gracefully walk backwards from him post-presentation to the nurse who let out an almighty fart while working with new colleagues during their debrief meeting, such were her nerves. Just as Michael Rosen’s children’s book, We’re Going on a Bear Hunt, wisely says, you can’t go over it, you can’t go around it you just have to go through it. Sharing is almost more important than the moment itself. And, not being someone to lie – she is a wonderful straight-shooting American whom we still call a friend – I believed her and felt I could breathe normally again.īut sharing this stuff of life is, well, life. She was so drunk, she didn’t have a clue. I found the nerve to confront her about it a few months later, having steeled myself, and guess what? She didn’t remember it. The other thing I must share, beyond my husband’s – then boyfriend’s – totally flummoxed reaction, is that there was the most incredible moment of redemption. I just exhale, smile a little and know that we are thankfully not in that moment any more – while simultaneously reliving the horror.
I hope that helps.Īnd then folk usually laugh. To which the answers are: no, my hands aren’t really small my hand was at an angle and it was all of my four fingers and part of my thumb that went in yes, I was standing slightly above her going in for the hug, with her mouth really wide open in elation. When I tell this story – as I did on Wednesday’s Woman’s Hour, the night after the Brits and Anne-Marie’s epic tumble – people always ask a lot of questions. Except I had to return because I had to pull my hand out, really fast, and hug her like it had never happened. Or rather, a serious hole in my mind opened up and I tried, Alice in Wonderland-style, to crawl into it and never be seen again. I can still feel the graze of her teeth along the left side of my right hand more than a decade on. Surprised but thrilled to see a friendly face, I reached down from a few stage steps above to return her offer of a hug and, deep breath, put my whole hand in her mouth. My husband’s old boss happened to be there and ran towards me, opened-armed and open-mouthed to offer congratulations. The story atop my cringe roll call goes like this: I was at a media awards bash in my early twenties, and coming down from the stage, having very happily bagged a gong. Boris Johnson’s delusion about returning to power is proof he’ll never learn from his mistakes 24 July, 2022 Blame the French if you want, but it won’t change the Dover travel chaos that Brexit has caused 24 July, 2022 We need a Love Island style dating show for over 40s - love is wasted on the young 23 July, 2022
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