Ray Morgan Writes.

Rachel. I write poems and blogs. I work in marketing for a day job. I love the sea.

[raymorganwrites]

Essex Writers House, Metal, March 2018

For the whole of March, Metal Southend turned their HQ in Chalkwell Park into Essex Writers House, a pop-up writing centre that was bursting at the seams with workshops, seminars, events and opportunities for Essex writers.

I knew it was going to be a cracker, as I signed up for many an Eventbrite ticket, but I underestimated how enriching, inspiring, and bloody good fun it was going to be.

Writing is, by its very nature, a lonely ol' business. It's not my day job, but I write a lot in my spare time, and it can be quiet, isolating, and put you in a bit of a bubble.

So to spend a month meeting other writers, practitioners, teachers and the like was incredibly rewarding. I put on an event with Jo, my partner, as part of our Sundown Arts events that we put on locally. But instead of our usual mix of music, comedy and spoken word, we put on a solely spoken word night, and it was a great success. People often say to us "I didn't think I liked poetry, but I loved that performance." I heard it THREE times in one month. That's always a win for us. Smashing the stereotypes of painful, boring poetry we're force-fed at school. Poetry can be thrilling. I performed my poems both at this night and at one of Metal's Daily 1pm Reads - every day for the whole month, a writer performed for 10 minutes at 1pm. What a brilliant idea.

I went to a writing workshop where I met some great, great women, and we're hopefully going to keep in touch. Making new friends and contacts is always enjoyable and surprising at these things. I hired a desk for the day looking out on a snowy Chalkwell Park and bashed out more than 6,000 words and planned a book in the time it takes me to complete a normal day at work (with time also built in for many, many cups of tea and snacksies).

Now that March is over, it's made me realise how much I'm going to miss this Writers House. Essex is brimming with creatives, we know this, but so many writers came out of the woodwork to this pop-up. As it was in partnership with Essex Book Festival, the crowd was not just writerly but interested in all things literary - even if people weren't writers, they could still come and enjoy the events.

I wish that we could have this all the time: I know there's New Writing Partnership in Norwich, and New Writing South in Brighton, that nurture writers in their areas and help develop them through similar events to this pop-up. Metal do so much for all artistic mediums, we can't take over their gaff just for writers, as lovely as that'd be. I'd love to think that we could have a space for writers here in Southend. We could run events there, host workshops there, have writers book rooms so they could finish novels and screenplays there... it sounds like a dream come true. I hope more than anything that it could one day be an Essex Writers reality.

[raymorganwrites]

I hate what you did last summer

Summer. The most mythologised season of all? If adverts were true, it would be all sun-kissed skin and cavorting through sprinklers. Endless days of beaches, barbecues and bikini babes. 

But it's not like that past the age of 21, really, is it? Summer holidays are great when you're a kid, or at university, when you have no ties and the days really do seem endless. But as an adult, who works in an office, or a kitchen, or a hospital, or anywhere that only has the standard 28 days a year annual leave, summer is hard. 

You'd love to walk to work, for example, listening to music on headphones wearing Ray Bans and sipping a Coke like on the adverts, but you get wayyyy too hot and sweaty before your working day had even started. So you get hot, non air conditioned public transport, which is also a joyless task. 

You get to work and your hair is already curling at the nape of your neck and temples, make-up already sweated off, and legs slapping together with the grace of a buxom matron. Sweat collects everywhere. In belly buttons. Under boobs. UNDER BOOBS. How is this a thing, you think, guzzling coconut water think you might appear like Rihanna, even though you're possibly the most unhealthy person ever to drink it. 

Lunchtimes are spent with as much time as possible browsing supermarket shelves because this is the only place within a mile radius with air con. Someone in the queue is in board shorts and buying picnic items; you hate them. Why aren't they at work? you bitterly think. A work email buzzes on your phone in your pocket, bringing you back to reality, back from imagining all the things you want to say to people who have loads of time off a year. You wilt. Ice lollies are bought and brows are wiped.

The day impossibly seems to get hotter not at midday, like when we were kids, but around 3pm - yes, the time that offices naturally slump with post lunch crashes and pre hometime blues. You sweat more. You finish work and people are coming BACK from days out, looking refreshed and happy. People sit outside bars, inexplicably four drinks in at 6pm, seemingly part time yet flush enough to drink in said bars. You can't be bothered to cook, and hummus is dinner right? You're too hot to even put the oven on.   You think about going for a walk in the evening so your FitBit jolts into life, and you could take a really great selfie when the sun's going down, adding a much-needed glow to your skin, but in reality you put a fan on full blast, lie in a vest top and pyjama shorts, eating Scotch eggs and watch Gilmore Girls with the curtains drawn, scrolling through other people's photos of amazing days out, holidays, jumping off cliffs into sparkling seas and driving speedboats. You slip down the rabbit hole of Instagram accounts of people you don't even know how you got to, having summer fun and looking glowy and fit and using the hashtag #blessed. You prod your chubby tum, wishing it was Autumn. It's 11pm. You set your alarm for 6. Repeat, repeat, until the schools go back, when the public transport is busier but at least there's a breeze, cups of tea are in their rightful place and opaque tights are a thing again. 

[raymorganwrites]

Darling, I have something to ask you...

I recently read an article in Grazia that I've not been able to shake. I usually love Grazia; it champions women's rights and global stories that highlight the issues for women in different cultures. They have featured stories that haven't just been full of straight assumptions about 'how to please your man' like literally every other women's glossy. They've featured gay relationships and trans articles that make me think the world is gradually coming round to not being so 'man and woman must meet and mate'. I overlook the splashy Kardashian and Taylor Swift cover stories - I get why they're there, they need to shift copies to the masses - but this one article didn't sit right with me.

A woman wanted to sleep with another woman just for one night, to tick a fantasy box, despite being in a committed straight relationship. She asked her boyfriend, he said yes. So she went online, searching for a female one night stand, and ended up in a gay bar, going home with a woman she liked the look of. But then she said there, she'd done it, she'd watched Orange is the New Black and it turned her on  so much she wanted to try, but she wouldn't want to live like that. So she put a lid on it as soon as it was over. She said it even helped her sex life with her boyfriend, because it turned him on that she'd done it.

Call me old fashioned, but this 'try before you bi' situation doesn't sound altogether right because what if she'd said to her boyfriend: I've always wanted to sleep with a Glaswegian man. Would you let me? I promise it'll help in our role play in years to come. No. That wouldn't happen.

I'm all for people exploring sides of their sexuality, but this seemed faddy. I think I felt offence as a woman in a same sex relationship because I know how difficult it was dealing with all that, only for some people to fetishise the fantasy of a same sex experience, to 'go a bit gay' for a test but then realise ew, not forever.

I am so happy that TV is more up to date than it ever has been for gay people being represented; and not just by straight actors too. It's heartwarming to see such a positive presence of same sex relationships which normalises it, not fetishising it.

I guess I just felt the article was a bit 'through the looking glass' - and to be honest, a bit cold. Maybe the girl she 'tried out' had a fantasy about sleeping with a straight girl (excuse me while I choke on my cup of tea). The more we normalise same sex couples, the better. Cara and Annie, Alex and Piper, Ellen and Portia, we need more of you.

[geardrops]

[raymorganwrites]

2014 UK: WTF Scotland if you leave us you will loose of the benefits of being with us, like all the EU things!!!

2016 UK: *votes out*

Scotland: *looks into the camera like they are on The Office*

[salt-sass-and-lyrium]

Me: Ahh, the Brexit is such a stupid idea, there’s no way it’ll pass

Me: *wakes up this morning*

Me:

[raymorganwrites]

Love is stronger than hate

I saw on Facebook that this week, three 10-minute vigils were being held in Southend, culminating in a final one to commemorate what would have been Jo Cox's 42nd birthday. I love that someone had set this up; there was a huge gathering in Trafalgar Square for the MP who was brutally murdered earlier in June, but for people who couldn't make it up to London, this was a chance to mark it in some way. I went along with my partner and best male pal, to a lovely independent coffee shop just outside of Southend. I didn't know what to expect, but I was met with a warm welcome from a female minister called Melanie, who handed out jam jars with candles in, and posters saying things like 'Southend Welcomes Refugees', 'Love is Stronger than Hate', and 'Love Wins'. And the crowd grew. Familiar faces turned up. People wrote positive words in brightly coloured chalk on the pavement. Then the ten-minute vigil started. We stood in a line, holding up our posters, holding candles, and stood in silence facing the busy road and cars that went past. The silence felt powerful. People driving past bibbed their car horns, gave thumbs ups out of windows, clapped and encouraged us. Of course, we did have one negative comment shouted, but to be honest the silent reply spoke volumes. As Melanie had said: darkness cannot beat darkness, only light can. Hate cannot beat hate, only love can. The swelling feeling of love from this group of strangers stitched together from a feeling of wanting to do something good was palpable. The minutes passed. People rode past on bikes and slowed down to read our messages. Pedestrians took their time to walk past. I got the feeling that our message could start to sink in. Ten minutes feels like a long time when you're standing in silence, but to be honest it felt so incredibly meaningful, I could have stayed like it for hours. The silence broke. We let off party poppers and air horns to make noise on what should have been a celebratory day for Jo Cox on the eve of the Referendum which she felt so passionately about. I can't fully explain the feeling I had when standing there holding a poster that said 'Love is Stronger than Hate', but I know it came from a place of positivity and love despite the past few weeks being a growing feeling of frustration, sadness, and despair. For all those people who set up events like this: you're the kind of person that I hope I can be.

Photo credit: Ashley Dalton

[raymorganwrites]

On being angry.

I just read an enlightening article by Casey Wilson in Lenny Letter on women and anger. Men can be angry, it's accepted, but women? That's just unsightly. Thank you to Casey for saying that excuse me, we can be fucking angry too.

It's okay for us to be angry sometimes. Like, every 28 days for example. Something happened at the weekend which has really bothered me and until now I haven't known how to articulate it. My partner and I were in London to see a friend's band and we had a couple of hours before the gig started, so went to get something to eat. I had read about the amazing vegan pizza at Voodoo Ray's so we headed there only to find out that it had sold out (I spent about 30 seconds with my bottom lip out like a tantruming toddler, then soon got over it, the most hipster-ish hardship of all). But walking out of the pizza place, a group of four men stood in the street eating slices of pizza and decided to throw something at my partner. We didn't know what it was at first, but she thought she felt something on her back, and sure enough there was a pile of their shitty crusts forming at the floor. We looked back. They all laughed. I shouted at them: why did you just do that? They laughed again, shocked that I dare challenge them. My partner shouted too. She asked them how old they were, because that was really immature. They crowed and crowed. Then they started shouting heckles; we didn't hear what, we were on a busy road and we were frankly really pissed off that this had happened. I'm not proud of myself but I stuck my middle finger up and shouted back at them.

But then my partner grabbed my arm and we crossed the road and got away. She said to me firmly that classic thing that we have to tell ourselves: it's not worth it. Because it isn't, is it? Four men who are a lot bigger than us, stronger, obviously not nice, gentlemanly types. They're the kind of men who throw litter at women in the street. That's what they think of women. Who knows what else they'd do if we challenged them any more? I'd hazard a guess that they wouldn't have thrown their pizza crusts at two men walking past.

We found somewhere else to eat but I was still raging. I was protective of her, and utterly outraged at them. Sometimes I wonder how far we've really got. I'm lucky to live in a country where I am allowed to have an education, drive, be in a same sex relationship, vote, as I'll be doing on Thursday for the EU Referendum. But really - I don't want to still have to be angry about men disrespecting women. It takes up too much energy that I should be putting into more positive things. I read news stories with a heavy heart about Brock Turner, Clement Freud, the murder of Jo Cox, Trump saying that Hillary Clinton is only "playing the woman card". These feel like dark times for women and we're not getting anywhere. Sure we've managed to create a smartphone that does everything for us from wake us up to tell us how many steps we've walked and calories consumed, but where technology has advanced, we are lagging behind.

I think because I surround myself with nice, liberal left-leaning and open-minded people, I'm in a bubble. None of my male friends would disrespect women like that. They are feminists, intelligent, kind and respectful. I don't want to be an angry person, but when a group of men outnumbering us by four-to-two start throwing food at my partner in the street for no reason, it turns out that when I’m pushed, I can be very angry indeed.

[raymorganwrites]

“What use am I... living against my own grain?”

Last night I watched the movie Carol. It moved me in a big way; not least because a few years ago, I went on a difficult (which turned out to be blindingly brilliant) journey of self-discovery about who I was, not unlike young Therese. In short, reader, I fell in love with my best friend. Watching the film made me realise how difficult life can be for people ‘like us’, who happen to fall for someone who is the same gender. The movie, based on the book by Patricia Highsmith, was set in 1952. The year my father was born. Hardly very long ago at all (as I’m sure my Dad would agree); but here was a woman, Carol, played excellently by Cate Blanchett, being sent to a psychiatrist by her husband to stamp out the ‘bad’ in her that attracted her to other women, so that he could have her back. I know that in 2016, that still happens today. In the UK and other countries, in varying levels of extremism, people are sent to camps and workshops and counselling sessions to try and get rid of the gayness in them. By and large I’ve been really lucky since being in a same-sex relationship. There have been a few wobbles. Some friends weren’t as liberal as I thought they’d be at the start. Some called me a lesbian at every opportunity as though it was my new identity. I hate that word. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. It doesn’t feel like me. Estate agents couldn’t handle two women looking at a one-bedroom flat – often asking “Which one of you is this flat for?” There’s always an awkward moment when people ask if I have a boyfriend, and when I correct them, fall over themselves with how ok they are with it, or listing other people they know who are gay. Or, like at a wedding once, when someone went to ask if we would ever get married, but didn’t quite know if it was still technically ‘marriage’, so stumbled over the question leaving everyone a bit embarrassed. I think they might have actually called it a "civil thingy". Romantic eh? I look forward to a day when it’s no longer so deeply ‘other’. When labels are discarded, and people don’t give a crap who you fall in love with. Because that’s what it’s about, isn’t it? Love. You’d be hard pushed to find someone who wouldn’t agree with the fact that you can’t choose who you fall in love with. You meet someone, and a glance, or chance touch, or bond over something you’re passionate about lights a spark in both of you – it’s not tangible, yet it’s the most physical emotion you have ever felt. That’s what love is: when you’re immersed in a warm bath of feelings, kept alive by being with that person. Whether they’re the same gender as you or not. Popular culture helps massively, though we’ve still a little way to go. TV in the UK is fully up to date for gay dudes. I think it’s fantastic that prime time TV shows in this country are fronted by out gay men like Graham Norton, Alan Carr. The Strictly panel of four features a woman over 40 and two gay men, and is presented by two women (on a Saturday night!), both also over 40. They are ticking all the right boxes and I *love* it. But… gay women on TV, now that’s where I get a little feisty. “But you’ve got Sue Perkins, and Sandi Toksvig!” people will say. Yes, and… who else? We’ve just started streaming The Ellen Show on ITV during the day, which is wonderful. The fact that America has a gay woman fronting their most popular daytime show is inspiring. Can you imagine gay women presenting Loose Women? I certainly can’t, with all the “him indoors” moaning that assumes every viewer is married to a man who doesn’t pick up his socks. Where are the other gay women on TV? Is it just not cool to have a lesbian presenting The One Show, in case it upsets middle England? I’d love to know why we’re so behind on that score. God forbid that Miranda plays a gay woman on her sitcom, because would everyone find it so funny if she was lusting after a waitress instead of the guy who works in the restaurant next door?  I hope that the next generation of young people, in those formative years of self-discovery, don’t bury feelings like generations have done before them. It’ll make things so much easier for them, and who knows? Maybe we *are* on the way now with Netflix and Amazon Prime bringing more up-to-date, relevant TV that’s extremely inclusive. If I’d watched Orange is the New Black, or Transparent, or Carol in my teens I’d have been a bit more bloody honest with myself, let alone others, about what my feelings were. I’ve often read great interviews with people where they’re asked questions like “What would you say to your 16 year old self?” I know what I’d say. I’d tell the 16 year old me first and foremost to NOT pluck my eyebrows no matter what, and then I’d very carefully and clearly say: it’s okay to like girls. 

[raymorganwrites]

Take Courage

When I lived in London, I used to catch a bus that went past a building with one of those brilliant messages from the past on the side; you know the ones, with old bread adverts, or great typography telling you that sewing machines were once sold there. This particular one was for a brewery, Courage Brewery, and it said in huge, person-tall lettering: TAKE COURAGE.

I always used to pass it, and think what a great message it was for life, even though in real terms, it was encouraging people to drink beer (also a great message, I'm not going to lie).

People have different interpretations of what courage means. As someone who used to be quite shy, courage is something I've learned. It's easy to stay in your comfort zone, so a good dose of ballsy courage is a good way to shake things up. Example: I went to a secondary school 10 minutes from my house that had a sixth form college attached to it. I knew everyone there, and hell, even my sister and mum had been there before me. It was an easy route to take. But I didn't like school all that much, and a sixth form college a 20 minute bus ride away had better subjects, and looked like an adventure, even though I hardly knew anyone there. So I decided to up and leave school and go to the college. Me! A shy person scared of most things! Yes, I made my sister get the bus with me on my first day, but after that I was off and away, having an adventure, making new friends and being - for me, brave.

It doesn't sound all that brave, does it? But at 17, for me, it was. It took courage to make that step and I'm so glad I did. It paved the way for my adult life, and for that I am forever grateful. In a Sliding Doors way, I wonder how my life may have been different if I'd stayed at school for those two years. Would I have gone to a different university? Would I have ever met my partner? Would I be doing the job I'm in now and love? It all could have been quite different.

Courage is something I've seen friends and loved ones handle deftly. Friends who have been through, or are going through, cancer with grace and poise. Friends who have brought up children on their own as single parents, children who are beautiful, well-rounded human beings who I love looking after. Friends who have taken the plunge and started their own businesses to great success. What big, courageous things to do - some their own choice, some the hand that life has dealt them.

On Saturday night my best friend Chris held a charity gig in memory of his Mum, who sadly died last year from cancer. It was one of those electric, special nights. 150 people crammed into the big hall in Leigh Community Centre and bands played, and my partner and I performed some spoken word. My friend got up on that stage, dedicating the night to his Mum, did covers of her favourite songs on his guitar, and we celebrated her life while raising money for the hospice who looked after her so brilliantly. For him to stand up there and talk about his Mum and put on such a show in her honour, now that's courage to me. He was brave and confident where others may have shied away, and it made me immensely proud.

It's funny though. His sister came up to me at the end and said how brave I was to stand up in front of all those people and read out my poems. I hadn't given it much thought; I'd been asked to perform and I wanted to do everybody proud. Yes, I'd been nervous beforehand, but I thought about how if my friend had done all that, I couldn't be too nervous myself. But I suppose to someone else, me getting up on stage took courage too.

Sometimes it's good to get a bit scared, but be bold and go for it. Given the subject of Saturday night, it makes you think that you don't know how long you've got. We are only here for a short time, so make the most of it. Take courage. You never know where it will take you.

For anyone who couldn't make it to the gig on Saturday, you can donate on the Just Giving page:http://www.justgiving.com/pet-sounds-concert - all money raised will be going to St Luke's Hospice.

[raymorganwrites]

International Women’s Day

Written on 8 March 2016. 

It's only blimmin' International Women's Day! 8 March is an important day for all people, everywhere. It's not just for us women. Chaps, reading this, it's also important for you. You once lived in a woman's body for 9 months (you probs don't remember, I'm a bit hazy on it too) and also may have sisters, wives, daughters, lady-friends.

This day is a brilliant chance to think about all the wonderful progress we've made, little old us, half of the population etc, the better drivers (winking emoji). Which we have: there's no denying it. Voting, education, and being able to totally ace a management position whilst being a great mum are some of the things we have achieved in our little bubble here in the UK. But it's also day to think about all the work we still have to do in the wider world. There are women all over who aren't allowed to drive, pick a partner for themselves, go to school, have safe ways of dealing with a period, or have a political voice. Little girls who are designated with a husband at primary-school age. Teenagers who don't know what it is to sit in a classroom and learn. Women who are too scared to speak up against overbearing partners. Today is for them.

Gender equality is something massively important to me. Not just because I'm a woman. Because I'm a human. Y'know, with feelings and that. And it bothers me when people - men and women - take to Twitter (the equivalent of shouting through a megaphone from a maximum security safe-house) who say it's not equal to have International Women's Day. Look back through history and take a look at the highlights of what we learned at school (because we were lucky enough to have the option of school). Mostly dudes. Dudes from history, dudes in art, dudes who wrote important books and dudes who bossed dudes around and fought other dudes with swords and guns. So how about being able to celebrate brilliant, pioneering women in history who didn't make it into the textbooks. Which were initially all written by, yes you've guessed it, dudes. This is why we have today.

But there's something very pertinent about today that I must stress. Today is not about hating on men. I think it's a mistake that got caught up and lost in translation on the way. IWD is about everybody being equal, and in it together. We all have a responsibility here to make things good for the whole gamut.

I think it's important today to think about the women who have inspired you in your life, in your career, in your hobbies and interests. Ada Lovelace! Patti Smith! Malala Yousafzai! Mary Wollstonecraft! JK Rowling! Jeanette Winterson! Caitlin Moran! Jane Austen! Mary Beard! Caroline Criado Perez! Emmeline Pankhurst! Laura Bates! Virginia Woolf!

I'm going to stop listing them because I could go on all day. These are a tiny few. There are also incredible women I know in my own life who inspire me. They're fighting cancer, or are brilliant at their jobs, or are great artists, or have lost people too young or are great single mums. I won't list them all, that's boring, but also this is leigh-on-sea.com and you probably know them anyway.

As feminists, today is a day to think about sexism and what we can do to fight it. To think about how to create equality. Shouting loud to close the pay gap, and shutting down gender stereotypes. Us ladies are all seen as emotional, and you fellas are supposed to be tough. But here's the rub: women are tough, and men have feelings too. The more we break down these barriers, the more equality can breathe, grow, and become part of our lives. The less it will be an insult to do something "like a girl" and hopefully men will get less hassle for showing their emotions.

Equality can only be a good thing and if we need a day to recognise it and get things moving, then so be it. Here's to fabulous women all over the world, and here's to change. You can see it coming, and it looks bloody great.

[raymorganwrites]

The Corrie legacy

It was with a heavy heart that I heard Tony Warren, creator of Coronation Street had died. People give you stick if you love Corrie - you're an easy target because it's "one of the soaps" but really, it's much more than that. I remember watching Coronation Street as a child. It was a family event: all round the telly, watching the latest escapades of Curly and Raquel. When I was little, I was allowed to stay up half an hour later on a Friday, as a treat, with a bar of chocolate and Corrie. It stuck with me, and I've watched it my whole life. What Tony Warren created was a rich world that told working class tales.  Classic characters that we'll never forget: Bet Lynch, Jack Duckworth, Reg Holdsworth, Blanche Hunt. Even now, stalwarts like Sally Webster and Audrey Roberts have been given brilliant new storylines. Sally Webster in particular, at the moment, has grown into a perfect comedy character who is so aspirational it hurts - and it's hilarious. Another wonderful thing about Tony Warren was his defiance to be 'out' as a gay man at a time when it was actually illegal. You can't believe that someone who died in their 70s today could have experienced that. Coronation Street has always championed gay rights storylines, and has a wide range of gay characters to this day. As it should be: this is a drama about a group of people who live in the same street and come from all walks of life. Sophie Webster isn't the "token lesbian" - in fact she's had a number of relationships on the show as have other gay characters, and it's always been dealt with in a sensitive way. I think of all the incredible characters that have graced our screens thanks to Mr. Warren's brilliant ideas. Warm, funny, complicated, difficult - you know, like real people. People you feel like you know. As a writer, I've always loved the writing and humour in Corrie. When Mary or Norris are given a killer throwaway line, or Emily Bishop starts talking about Breaking Bad, or Rita throws shade at the Rover's bar by calling someone "Lady", you know it's a testament to Warren's original writing - his legacy. While it's desperately sad that such an inspiration has died, his genius will live on through the current, brilliant writers at Corrie. And as ever, I can't wait to see what happens next.

[raymorganwrites]

The kindness of strangers

As a writer, small interactions with people you don't know can be a goldmine. I went into a shop today and as I was leaving, a tiny elderly woman, stooped and shuffling, tried to get through the door. I held it open for her, and she twinkled. She tried to bend down to pick up a newspaper, but I got it for her, and she was so grateful I wanted to burst into tears right there in the doorway. She told me I'd done my good deed for the day, and ambled off, smiling. I smiled too.

When you communicate with strangers, something interesting happens. It's fleeting, no matter how meaningful, and then it's gone. My lovely Grandad died at Christmas. On the day of the funeral,  we went past some roadworks on a country lane. As our car drove along behind the hearse, a workman stood at the side of the road and took off his yellow hard hat, in respect. We all bawled. It was such a tiny moment; the kindness of a stranger, but it meant the world. We drove on, and he would have got on with whatever he was doing, and that was that. The moment had gone, but I won't ever forget it.

Sometimes I see people on the street who look a bit vulnerable. I worry about them. I can be on a bus and see someone who looks different, troubled, or just a bit like people might take the mickey out of them, and I sort of fall in love with them for about ten minutes, fretting about their lives, hoping they're okay. Sometimes someone smiles at you when you're walking along; nothing meant by it other than just to say hello. A smile in return, and then they're gone, off into their own world, just like you. I also love noticing awesome strangers. Someone wearing a brilliant hat that you wouldn't dare to don, or an elderly person rocking sweet style.

You can go into a shop and chat to the person behind the till and pass the time of day. I get this from my Grandma. She'd tell a person in a shop her life story. I'm not quite that level but I do love a bit of till-chat. I think it's because I used to work in shops. If an afternoon dragged, a sweet old person might cheer things up for you. I remember a really fun, loud woman used to come into the bookshop I worked in, and I'd get so excited when she came to the counter. It would lift my day. Amazingly, when I got together with my partner, it turned out this excellent customer was an old friend of hers. I also remember seeing a cool woman from my station in the bookshop who always had a cool shopping trolley and chic hair. Years later, I would end up becoming introduced to her too and now class her as one of my dearest friends.

Leigh is like that; chance encounters with someone often end up being not-so-chance when you swiftly realise that everyone here knows pretty much everyone else. It's great - I grew up here, live here (after briefly leaving for London but coming back to its estuary charm), and even work here now. It's not tiny, but somehow it feels tight-knit. There is such a sense of community. My partner is reading the local history book Jocelyne's Beach, and reads passages out to me. It seems that Leigh has always been like it - always a fierce sense of community and togetherness. How incredible that even to this day we have that.

Next time you have a small interaction with a stranger in this town, chances are that they're probably not a stranger at all - they might know someone you went to school with. They could have been there when you signed the petition to save Leigh Library. You may have danced together at Leigh Folk Festival, and not even noticed each other. Communities are like that. We should feel lucky that our town is brimming with it; it's part of what keeps Leigh special. Photo credit: www.instagram.com/joverit

[raymorganwrites]

The January purge

I’ve been chucking out a lot of stuff. Like, a LOT. I should mention at this point that I’m what some people may call a hoarder. I personally just don’t like throwing things away. But I live in a relatively small flat, with my partner, who is conversely very GOOD at throwing things away. You can see where this is going.

Like many other January clichés, along our determination to eat less crap and do more exercise, we decided to have a Big Clear Out. A huge IKEA Billy bookcase once housed all our many, hundreds of CDs, but we decided to pick 25 each that we can’t let go of, and ditch the rest. God, it was painful. Painful because I have so many memories attached to them, but also I know how much money I’ve spent on them over the years. Despite this, I found myself flinging CDs into bags for life to get rid of. It was an interesting process; My Vitriol I could happily ditch, but Joanna Newsom, no, no, she’s for keeps. This went on for some time.

The shelf unit now has the remaining CDs, DVDs, and also books that were previously gathering dust under my bed. So I can accept it was a Worthwhile Exercise. It was the other things that were harder. I found a big box under my bed (it’s like Mary Poppins’ handbag under there) that was chock-full of letters. Letters from people I don’t even know any more. Letters I will never read again. I saved ones from my lovely Gran that she wrote to me when I was started university. They said things like “It is strange you not being here and not seeing you, yet at the same time feels very normal, which I hope it does for you too.” She was the coolest. I definitely kept those. I binned the rest.

I ditched dresses that used to fit; I’m not going to wear them again, am I? That French Connection Broderie anglaise dress I wore to my best friend’s wedding really was a peach, but I don’t feel the need to wear it again. Said friend has had two children since, and I’ve still not worn the dress for a second time. It had a lovely day out, once, and now it’s going to a new home. I lobbed aged socks and shrunk-by-washing pyjama tops into bin-day clothing sacks with gay abandon.

In the end, I think I filled two whole black sacks from my side of the bedroom alone (the wardrobe has similar Tardis-like qualities to under the bed). Black sacks, guys. RUBBISH. Old make up, broken alice bands, knackered bags and purses I’ll never repair. Why was I hanging on to it all? Part of it, of course, is that I’m lazy. This epic clear out took up actual time, time I could be spent watching Food Network, scrolling through Instagram, or looking up recipes for vegan cheese (that I’ll also probably never make).

It took time, yes, but I’m glad I did it. I’d hate to suddenly die and people go through my stuff and say “Oh god, why did she keep these old make-up brushes that have 10 year old crusted blusher on them?” – I’d be cringing from beyond the crem. Throwing things out feels good. Hanging on to stuff is pointless. Sentimental things, of course. I’d have to be some sort of heartless wench to throw out things that my late grandparents gave me, or childhood toys that mean a lot, or romantic gifts from my partner. But the stuff that falls into ‘other’. You know, that doesn’t go in the ‘keep’ pile, but you’d not dare to inflict on a charity shop. Get rid of it. I promise it’ll make you feel better.

At time of press, Ray is still grappling with a whole drawer unit of clothes yet to be sorted, and an entire Sainsbury’s Bag for Life full of hair and beauty products she is not sure she has even opened let alone used. She is calling it a work in progress.

[raymorganwrites]

Back to reality

The Sunday after New Year. The day before most people go back to work after time off over Christmas. And boy, the weather sure captured the mood didn't it?

Leigh on Sea was battered by strong winds, bitter rain, and moody grey skies. I ventured out to have a healthy lunch (#januarycliche) at Oaktree Vegetarian Bistro, and fought against wind, my umbrella flipping inside out at every turn. I must have looked a complete state as I fell into the cafe, mascara running, beetroot cheeks and a Jedward fringe, gasping for a double shot (soya) coffee.

It summed up the day. The last day at home before going back to work after a holiday is always a sombre one; the decorations come down leaving you feeling flat and sparse, and you don't want the break to end.

I decided to make the most of the day by having a massive clear-out, moving all the furniture round in my bedroom (who needs the gym?) and then decided to go out with my partner for a final, last-hurrah dinner, despite the howling rain.

I drank a huge glass of red wine, and ate a whole pizza to myself, aware that I'm going to be 'taking it easy' on the old unhealthy foodstuffs now, like we're all supposed to do. I thought about how lucky I am to have actually had a 10-day break over Christmas - much more than many others.

I spent whole days in Old Leigh, eating cockles and drinking local ale, watching the sea and seeing tides go out and come back to me again. We let the wind whip our faces and threaten to take new hats off. We stood on a wild Bell Wharf, a choppy sea churning below, eating hot, vinegary chips out of a cone, bodies bustled by the wind. Sometimes you just need to surround yourself with the unpredictability and wildness of nature.

This Christmas was a quiet, contemplative one. I don't know about you, but there seems to have been a lot of loss, hardship, and just bloody bad news for the people I love in the past few weeks. But instead of writing off Christmas as commercial folly, I took great comfort in small, hygge-ish things; candles and fairy lights, time to think, time to rest and sleep in if my body needed to, and making the most of seeing family. It paid off: I shall return to work rested, not dreading the 'back to reality' blues, but instead grateful for the time off, and for our lovely town's restorative ways.

If you had a difficult Christmas, I'm raising a glass to you. We did it - we got through it. Here's to light and goodness in 2016.

[raymorganwrites]

Music equals friends

I don't usually repost those inspirational quote images online, because newsfeeds and timelines are saturated with them anyway, but one struck a chord this week. It said 'It's amazing the number of great people in my life that I wouldn't have ever met if it wasn't for music'.

Think about it for a moment. If you're a music lover (presumably about 80% of the population; that's not an official stat, don't quote me) I'm sure you will understand. At school in the 90s, I was a Steve Lamacq devotee. I would sit in my bedroom as a teenager and scribble down bands he played on his Radio 1 show, then buy their albums from Fives (in its original Broadway location, 10 points if you remember it) and then scrawl the band names on my school folders/pencil case/hand - yes, like a pretentious idiot.

BUT - it meant that by showing my love for alternative bands, I could bond with the people at school who dug them too. I must say at this point, the number of people into the same bands as me at Westcliff High School for Girls in the 1997-2001 period was scant to say the least. Kayleigh Clark, I'm talking to you!

Then, at college, I was suddenly surrounded by new friends who loved the same music as me! There were more of us than chart music lovers, and it felt great. I went to my first gigs without my Dad (though we still went together and do to this day) - with friends, where there was cheap Carling and moshing and feeling like we were grown up. Band tshirts were worn at college as a badge: this is who I like, therefore it represents who I am.

At uni I went into a black hole of culture, also known as Roehampton University. Everyone was into pop - I'm no snob, I love great pop - but only a couple of flatmates shared my love of alternative, guitary music. But it was here I was sent mix CDs by my now partner (excellent wooing) and discovered new music outside my usual tastes, from electronica to Tom Waits.

Then, I got involved with Sundown Arts, a voluntary-run arts organisation where we put on bands and poets and comedians, and I discovered a wealth of talent from Southend, Leigh, Basildon and Billericay. Good lord, what a plethora of brilliant musicians! And from booking them at Sundown, and seeing them perform there, I am now lucky enough to call a lot of them my friends.

Music is a glue in my life. It was something that bonded me and my Dad from a young age. He took me to my first gig in 1999 (Beth Orton, Northampton), we still love going to gigs together and frequently exchange band recommendations. He gives me his Uncut magazines when he's finished with them (after he's taken notes of which albums to buy next, legend), which I devour. I recently made a Spotify playlist for him which I guess is the equivalent of a mixtape these days.

I can walk up the road in Leigh to Squeeze, or Ten Green Bottles, or Peggy Sue's, or further into Southend or down into the Old Town, and see some brilliant musicians AND always run into friends. This was represented perfectly the other week when I went to see the supremely talented and ridiculously humble M.G. Boulter (again, Sundown alumni and top pal) performing at the Fishermen's Chapel in Old Leigh. As there's no licence, people tend to gather before and after shows in the Crooked Billet. And sure enough, when going for a pre-show pint, I must have bumped into at least 15 friends, all there doing the same. How cool is that?

I think about all the people, just like the quote says, who wouldn't be in my life if it wasn't for music. My life would be very empty indeed.

[raymorganwrites]

Conflicted Christmas

I had a funny moment when my landlord came round to my flat when he tried to navigate some large ladders through all the fairy lights that I've put up as part of my Christmas decorations. I realised that, to an outsider, my flat looks like the work of a Christmas obsessive. Fairy lights are hung in swathes across doorways. Festive knick knacks clutter every surface. I have candles on that emanate cloying, rich smells of cinnamon, oranges, cloves. The tree's up already, and has been since the 1st of December, and in my hallway is a 3 foot high advent calendar of baubles - you hang a different bauble from it on the tree every day until Christmas Eve.

Yeah, in short, I love Christmas. Well - actually, no, I love the build up. It's not about Christmas Day in fact. I love seeing family and eating nice food, but I do that anyway. I guess my love of scented candles and decorations are less about the actual day of Christmas, but more immersing myself in something positive and cosy during dark days and cold nights. It also makes me feel comforted by memories of my childhood, where I was lucky enough to have really lovely traditional Christmases. There are things we did as kids that we still do now. We've moved on slightly to keep up with technology; instead of all standing round when my Mum makes the Christmas cake, waiting our turn to make a wish while stirring, my Mum set up a WhatsApp group so we could all think our wishes at the same time. But the tradition is still there.

It's a strange one to describe: especially when I know a lot of people don't like Christmas, or find it difficult, or are lonely or down this time of year. Naturally, Christmas is really hard for people who have lost loved ones. I worry about the lovely people in my life who have suffered great loss, and feel it more than ever this time of year. There is something about Christmas that just highlights these things. And endings are tough - and we're hurtling towards the end of the year with such gusto, it can only make you reflect.

I feel conflicted this time of year. I feel bad sometimes that I love feeling "Christmassy" when great friends don't like it because of various personal circumstances. I'm always understanding about it, because I know everybody is different, and Christmas can be really bloody stressful, expensive, and emotional. The adverts depict nuclear families with dinner tables laden with expensive goods; a husband and wife, children, grandparents, pets. Tons of presents. Happiness, health and smiles. How many people in your life actually have that? And what about the people who don't?

I'm also an atheist, which means I am a massive hypocrite taking such pleasure in something that is basically all about Christianity. The clue's in the title, Rachel. CHRIST-mas. I manage to swipe aside my beliefs and say "Yay I get 10 whole days off! WOOOHOO" while watching Christmas films in Christmas leggings eating Christmas foods by Christmas tree light.

I also don't like the extreme over-indulgence we take part in. I spent a day Christmas shopping last week essentially haemorrhaging money as we do - taking part in the capitalist game of spend, spend, spend. But then I think about the joy on my nephew's face, for example, seeing his Toy Story themed presents, or the fact I can treat my elderly grandad to some posh biscuits for him to enjoy over Christmas. You see? Conflicted.

But while I know Christmas isn't high on everyone's love list, I try to use my enthusiasm for it in a good way. I will make time for all the friends I know who have had a difficult year. We can celebrate their bravery and strength and ring in what will hopefully be a better year. I will donate to charity as I do every Christmas, because if I'm spending money on presents for my family, I can afford to send some to people who really need it. I will use my time off to take stock and appreciate what I've got and how lucky I am - let's face it, given the horrors of the world today, we're pretty bloody lucky in our little Leigh on Sea bubble.

If you love Christmas - enjoy it, appreciate it. If you hate it - I totally understand. We're almost through; a new year is just around the corner.