wendy house

 OMD sang Electricity

OMD quickly earned a favoured position in my teenage heart when I first heard Electricity. This song reminds me of home, of warmth and comfort. Most of all reminds me of Dad getting excited about Pylons, happily ethusing.  His excitement is contagious.

Dad started work for an electricity supply company in the early 1950′s.  Exciting times for an Engineer specialising in supplying electricity to the UK.  Building infrastructure, planning routes to lay cables and overhead lines. Dad is still passionate about the details of the tools of his trade.  He has photograph albums dedicated to Pylons.

He’s recently returned from a trip to China. He treated us to the holiday photo’s on the family TV. Amongst the photographs of temples, rivers, mountains, village streets were numerous photographs of pylons. 

Whenever I see a Pylon, transformer, dam, or insulator I think fondly of Dad.  How his face lights up and he starts talking about what’s interesting about this particular thing, its age, its construction process, its location or ability to withstand high winds.

Not only is his excitment contagious,

I now find myself taking photographs of Pylons whenever I go on holiday.

In 1979 I realised the full implications of an electric friend.   Charged with excitement and a six pack of batteries  I wasn’t too sure where I could get my hands on an electric friend.   I  settled for some curling tongs instead.   This probably explains much of my subsequent love life.

Tubeway army sang ‘Are friends electric‘

Jumping onto a crowded rush hour Paddington train  I slump into the one remaining  isle seat.    Resting my brow against the seat infront. Breathing slowly, eyes shut,  shut-out the crowded world.

Boy in window seat (BIWS):   are you alright?

Wendy:   yes,  I’m alright,  thankyou for asking, you have a kind heart

BIWS: bad day at work?

Wendy:   time of the month, normal pain, nothing to worry about I’ll just close my eyes and drift away

I surf the pain to  some other consciousness, completely missing the train journey…. ….and almost missing my stop…  

At 16yrs, the first time the pain stole my consciousness  was from  a chemist queue.  I clutched a packet of unpurchased  pain killers.    My unconsciousnes  chose to examine the shop floor.   A  kindly woman carried me to the local Health Centre.   I woke in her arms and gifted her the contents of my stomach.  

At the health centre I begged the Doctor for pain killers.    He said pain killers were not warranted  because I’d just puke them up.  That the pain was natural.    He prescribed lying on my back until I felt able to walk.   Then I should  go home.  

With his words the pain merged perfectly with incredulity.   Not offered a glass of water to swill the bile from my mouth.   I could taste the incredulity.    Stung by the  indifference  of  professional caring staff.   As soon as I could I slid from the trolley and stumbled out of the Health Centre.   To the chemist shop.   The kind lady  who’d carried me had gone.    No-one knew her name.   No-one to thank.  

Thank you kind lady.

Since that day I’ve learned to accept, immerse, and surf the experience to unanticipated, inarticulable ways and places.   PMT and Cheese. Mmmmmmmm…

In 1979,   at 15yrs, I was in full fledged teenage identity crisis. A  skinny insignificant white girl living in a box on a 1960′s Wimpy Housing Estate.   Several albums captured the  insignificance, energy and disorientation.   I’ve never liked Supermarkets.

The Clash sang Lost in the supermarket

In 1979 I was about to take my first set of exams,   Oxford University ‘O’ levels.   Family and  the School’s career officer  were encouraging me  to think about my career.    Should I be a

• a police person?   Not allowed,   too short.  
• a  jet fighter pilot?   Not allowed, too girl.    
• a  nurse?   No,   too much cleaning icky messes and being nice to  sick people.  
• a train driver?   No,   I’d have to follow-tracks and I like making my own way.
• an Engineer?   It’s what dad wants me to be,   but it seemed just a bit practical and dull to a 15 year old me.
• an architect?   Hmmmm… …possibilities….      how long to get qualified…   7yrs?!   I arranged some work experience for myself in an Architects office to get an idea of what 7 years would lead to…

Meanwhile, XTC were Making plans for Nigel who apparantly had a future in, a national industry, British Steel