Gratitude. How do you feel on reading that word? Chances are it’s one of two ways: either you love it, as you drop off to sleep each night listing what you are grateful for in your mind; or you hate it because it seems to be bloody everywhere and hell, you aren’t grateful for that.
For me? Well having declared, above, that you probably think of it in one of two ways, I find I am actually somewhere between those points of view. I totally get the thinking behind it. It’s very easy in this, let’s be honest, ‘dismal’ world we find ourselves in, to go to bed only feeling grateful for the fact you will be unconscious for 8 hours.
The Prophet of Doom
What have we got? Well, wars, cost-of-living, the fact it costs £85.43 to make yourself a cup of tea, disinformation, the divisive nature of society, the rise of the far right, the fact that Strictly Come Dancing will soon be back …You get the idea.
All these things are awful but what makes them EVEN WORSE is the fact you cannot get away from them. Social media, online news, TV news, headlines, the person you chat to in the queue at the post office (you’ve still got a post office?…), all want to tell you how bloody awful everything is.
But is it?
Yes.
Grapes and Gratitude
However, there is something you can do to mitigate all this; it’s called ‘gratitude’. Gratitude is everywhere (except the news). There are multiple gurus telling you to write down 5 things each night for which you are grateful so you can drift into a beautiful sleep, dreaming of silver-lined clouds and being fed gold-leafed grapes from the hand of a ripped Adonis in nothing but a gauze loincloth.
There’s even journals dedicated to the process which you can buy (called ‘Gratitude Journals’, funnily enough). Not enough to just write it in a scrappy little notebook you have in your bedside table. No, you need a proper journal! (I have a scrappy notebook – put next to my bed for all the Eureka! moments I have at 3am. It’s been there 5 years. It’s empty.)
PollyAnna and a Tuna Sandwich
To be honest, although I am taking the piss, I’m not actually against all this. What does wind me up is when somebody says ‘there’s plenty of people worse off than you, you know.’ Well, no shit. But what a ridiculous argument. Based on that statement, there would literally be only one person in the entire world who is entitled to moan a bit: The person who really is the worst-off person in the world.
What annoys me about this ‘nugget of wisdom’ still further is that it takes away any entitlement a person has to feeling a little bit grumpy. Of course, there is someone worse off than you but you can only go by how you feel and if you feel grumpy, pissed off, depressed, whatever, you are entitled to that feeling. It’s part of life. It’s part of the full richness of emotions we have the luxury of having as humans.
We can’t all go round being Polly-fucking-Anna. So, if anyone does actually say that to you, you have my permission to slap them round the face with a with a 3-day old tuna sandwich. When they kick off, just say ‘there’s plenty worse off than you, you know’. This works a treat. You’re welcome.
The Antidote to Poison?
Anyway, in order to negate the poison which is the modern world, I decided to try ‘gratitude’. I know I’m late to the party but it’s a party which seems to be going on for some time yet. Here’s what I’ve discovered:
Always have a pen by your bed. You will not be grateful for having to go downstairs to find a pen. This happened to me. I tried to turn it around by writing my first gratitude statement:
I am grateful I have legs to walk up and down the stairs
So far, so good. The next night, first on my list was being grateful I had a working pen next to my bed. I then thought that perhaps I was being a bit too ‘micro’ about this. So, I went bigger:
I’m grateful for my washing machine, because having to use a mangle would be a real bloody nuisance.
Two weeks on and I think I have more of a feel for it. I AM feeling more grateful for things around me. As I write this today, I have been grateful for my husband being at home; my morning walk full of birdsong; the sweet peas, gradually unfurling their colourful petals; the dog’s feet, which smell of biscuits. Later on, I might even be grateful for the piece of salmon we will have for tea (though I always overcook it, so I suspect not.)
I think there’s something in it. I have found it a useful exercise though I accept there will always be times when life gets me down. This, to me, is normal. But so long as I don’t have to use a bloody mangle, I think I’ll get through it.
What are you like when it comes to trying new things? I don’t mean things like a new brand of ice cream, or a marmite-flavoured vodka but things like experiences, or a new hobby.
For me, I’m pretty bad at it; I mean bad at actually making myself do it. When I was looking for a new hobby (glass fusing – which it was at the time), it took me months to summon the courage to book onto a course. I even sent Rich on a course first, just to try it out. I figured that if he couldn’t do it, he wouldn’t lose sleep over it and I certainly wouldn’t. That’s me, you see. Endlessly brave…
It’s called ‘perfectionism’ and it’s fair to say that it’s taken up far too much of my life. So many times, I have wanted to try something but haven’t because ‘I know I’ll be shit at it’.
This is a crazy thing to think because really, who is good at something the first-time round? You can’t tell me that Usain Bolt shot out his mother’s womb so fast that he thought to himself ‘there’s something in this – I can move REALLY quickly’. Or that Edison literally had a lightbulb moment during a nappy change.
It’s not the trying, it’s the humiliation…
Clearly, being really good at something, takes time and practice. So, I’ve asked myself why I expect to be good at something, immediately. I’ve thought long and hard about it and ultimately, I don’t think I’m scared of failing, but I AM scared of being humiliated. You see, in my world, I think it’s OK to try something and not be brilliant, but it’s not OK to try something and be really fucking terrible. Like, the worst attempt from anyone, ever, that’s tried that thing. That’s humiliating.
I’ve realised that humiliation is one of the things I am most afraid of in life. It’s an emotion that feels the most uncomfortable and at the time, the most devastating. I remember one hideous moment taking part in an inter-school gym competition. I was average at gym, but well below-average at vaulting. When it came to my turn, I jumped on the springboard, tripped over the box and landed on my face the other side. I recall the hushed sounds and my gym teacher standing over me, ordering me to get up. I remember being face down and thinking I would rather die through suffocation on that mat than ever show my face again. Total humiliation. At an age when even walking into a room is humiliating.
Be wary of the Red Shoes
Another time, I recall finding a beautiful pair of shoes when I was about 13. They were in the sale for a ridiculous price, so I snapped them up. I soon realised why they were in the sale because you couldn’t stand upright in them. The soles were so slippery that even walking on a piece of Velcro would have had me unwittingly auditioning for Ski Sunday. But they were bloody lovely. The brightest red. With a bow on the front. So, I wore them. And walked gingerly.
One winter evening, I was meeting some friends. I would be literally getting out of my dad’s car, and walking to the front door of the village hall. With such a short distance, surely I could manage that in my Ski Sunday shoes? On arrival, I saw my other friend turn up in her dad’s car. I got out and walked over. I slipped and fell. She hadn’t noticed until she looked up and saw my hand grabbing onto the bonnet of their car and me hauling myself up, only to not get purchase in my shoes, like a cartoon mouse, and fall again. Her and her dad laughed like drains. She was still laughing 3 hours later when he came to pick her up again. The shoes went in the fucking bin.
OK, I wasn’t trying anything new in those shoes. I could, after all, already walk. But the humiliation has stayed with me and it’s the possibility of feeling that intense shame again which threatens me when trying new things.
The Impressive Adult…
About 18 months ago, I bought a glass course on a technique which has always intrigued me. It’s been in my inbox ever since because I’ve been too damn scared to try it. It’s technically advanced, but what worries me most is that it’s…arty. I cannot draw. I cannot paint. This course involves both. What a dick.
I’ll not lie, I’ve been keener to clean out my cat’s litter tray than to begin this course and that’s never a joy.
But, I’ve started.
Wow. See, it’s never too late to become an impressive adult…
The first piece went in the kiln on Friday and came out two days later. It’s okay. Needs work, but it’s okay. It’s not exactly a Usain Bolt moment, but I’ll get there. I thought about putting a picture of it here for about, ooh, 3 milliseconds.
Apparently, in business, you’re advised to continue to write newsletters, blogs, and post on social media throughout January. I understand this, but understanding it, does not make it any easier to do.
Believe it or not, I’m now going to write a blog, which I want you to read, on the subject of having nothing to report. Bear with me…
January…again
I don’t like doing much in January. It’s a time of recovering from the excesses of December, and the realisation that it’s bastard January again. I cut myself some slack because even plants can’t be bothered in January, and they have just one job.
However, I accept that I must crank this old bird into first gear, and move off into 2024 with the caution that comes with starting a 1975 Mini after it’s been parked out in the rain for a couple of weeks. (As an aside, my first car was a 1975 mini. Old minis were notorious for breaking down in the rain because the distributor cap was right behind the grill. When it rained, the electrics got wet. In those days, I carried a can of WD40 around with me like a rancid bottle of Chanel No.5.)
I know, I’ll do a workshop!
With this in mind, I decided to attend a ‘Vision Board’ workshop, with six brilliant and funny women. What’s a ‘Vision Board Workshop’? Well, you create a vision for your year ahead and, well, put it on a board.
I arrived at the venue (the most beautiful house) and on parking my car, was greeted by two black cats. I instantly thought ‘well, this is a Sign’! But then I realised you can’t really interpret animals as a ‘sign’, when you are visiting a place where they actually live. It’s a bit like visiting the bat enclosure at Edinburgh Zoo and declaring it a sign that your chosen career into witchcraft must be right because you’re practically inhaling bats.
Where I practice signing my name
Anyway, at the start of the morning, we were going through some journal exercises to get us into the right frame of mind for vision board creation. They were thought-provoking questions but one of them stumped me:
‘What three things did you achieve last year which you are most proud of?’
All around me, I could hear the furious scratching of pens on paper whilst the six other super-beings wrote down all they were proud of. I, meanwhile, could not think of one. Single. Thing. I wrote my name a few times in my notebook, to make it look like I had something to write, then closed it quickly. I mean, I didn’t want the others to think I was some sort of idiot.
After lunch, it was time to get creative and put our boards together. We had piles of magazines to go through to cut out pictures, words or phrases which inspired us or meant something to our year ahead. Most magazines have eye-catching words in order to get you to read the articles within however, the first page I opened contained an advert for a Stannah stair lift…
Out ratting by the light of the silvery moon
So there I was, literally cutting and pasting. Words and phrases such as ‘getting older is liberating’, ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’, ‘storytelling’ and ‘whippet’ found their way onto my board in a wave of optimism and future manifesting. All the while, the conversations and witticisms of my fellow cut and pasters provided the soundtrack (the horse who thinks he’s a ‘fucking rhino’ and the descriptions of the two ‘Shitland’ Ponies; along with the phrase ‘oh yeah, chickens are bastards’; and the tale of rat brought in by one lady’s cat in the middle of the night, resulting in her carrying the then bag-wrapped rat, by the light of the silvery moon on the winter solstice, in her pyjamas to release it.)
It was a fabulous day, spent with fabulous women. Our awesome hostess fed and watered us with tasty home-cooked food, cake and a heavy dollop of encouragement.
I’ll put this out there now: I’ve never been one for Vision Boards. I’ve always thought them a bit too ‘woo’ for me. However, I now think that I shouldn’t really write something off without actually trying it. I’m glad I did. Dreaming for a day was fun and if just some of the stuff on my board comes into being, well then, I’m happy. Particularly if it’s being able to fly a broomstick – I’ve never been able to master that.
THIS YEAR has been pretty shit…how we can all help small businesses
I know, I know. The year hasn’t ended yet but I feel I can safely say that 2023 so far has been pretty dire for the majority of small businesses. And, to be perfectly honest, although the year is not yet at its end, I can’t see any glimmer of something spectacular in the few short weeks remaining.
However, I am not a monster. I know this year has been pretty awful for ordinary people, not solely those running a business. Let’s face it, just trying to pay for 3 ½ minutes of electricity is on a par with your mortgage or rent. I am an ordinary person, too. I understand. The only living thing which eats like a fucking lord in this house is the cat.
Despite this, I am a small business and this is a small business website so I am going to discuss in this blog why we need to worry about…small businesses.
Will the last person to leave, switch off the lights…
It was at this point in the blog where I was going to impress you with statistics about how many businesses have closed in 2023. However, on searching the internet, I realised I needed a) more time to find this out and b) more intelligence than I have to decipher all the charts and graphs. Therefore, you will just have to humour me when I tell you that lots and lots of businesses have shut up shop this year. The ones I know of have all cited the cost of electricity, but let’s face it, it’s increases in fucking everything. Except air. And I wonder how long that will remain free.
If 2023 was a flower arrangement…
Quirky Shops and Craft Beer
So this is sad for businesses. But why should you care? I mean, you can still get what you want, can’t you?
This is why: small businesses give you something different. Think of all the times you have visited a quaint little town in the UK or abroad and what did you like about it? Chances are, it’s all the little quirky shops there are, selling things you don’t normally find. Or, when you go to a pub, how often do you try the craft beers made by small breweries? I don’t think anyone ever, would be heard saying ‘Barman, I don’t want any of that craft ale shit with all its depth of flavour and uniqueness; give me a nice pint of John Smith’s.’
In short, at the very least, small businesses give you something different. And in this day and age where the internet and social media is saturated with…well, people, don’t you want to have something different? Something not everybody else has? Small businesses give you that.
They also give to the local economy. A successful small business will spend its money locally, keeping other small businesses in 3 ½ minutes of electricity.
And another thing? Without small businesses, there will be fewer jobs. The more of them that close, the more people are looking for employment elsewhere. What happens with fewer jobs? Less money being made to spend in the economy.
I’m not perfect…there’s a surprise
Listen, I am not saying you should never spend your money with big firms. Let’s face it, we don’t have a lot of choice when it comes to things such as…electricity. Also, businesses like Amazon are cheap and convenient. As much as I hate contributing to Jeff Bezo’s rocket fuel, I still do. I am trying to curb this but what I’m saying is that I do it too.
So what’s the solution to this? As I’ve said earlier, it’s shit out there. Some people really are in the situation of having to choose to eat in the cold or not eat and be warm. Others are just worried and are spending less to feel a bit more in control of a world which is consistently showing itself to be anything but controllable. But there are still things you can do to support small businesses.
How we can all help small businesses
Social media: comment and share business posts. Even if it’s just to say ‘I love this’, or ‘I saw you in town the other day and I have to say, you look really quite shocking in black’ (don’t say that – that’s cruel). Don’t have time to comment? Click the heart/laugh/wow emoji. This all helps with the dreaded and really fucking annoying social media algorithms.
Leave a review. If you have shopped or used a business, no matter how big or small your purchase, leave a review. You can do this on Facebook (if they use it, otherwise that would be weird), Google, TripAdvisor or Trust Pilot. It may take you 5 minutes but it will make so much difference to the business you are leaving it for. Just do it in the daylight to avoid the cost of putting the lights on when it’s dark.
Sign up to email lists. Showing an interest in a business by signing up to receive their newsletters can really help. If you read them too, that’s even better. How? Well if a business has lots of sign-ups, it gives them a boost; a bit of hope. And, if emails are opened and read, that also helps the mood of the person who has written them as it makes the sender feel they are at least being listened to. Obviously, it needs to be a business you are interested in; there would be little point in Suella Braverman signing up to receive information from a tent supplier for example.
Visit fairs and exhibitions. I know there is this feeling that you are ‘expected’ to buy something. I used to feel like that, too before I started fusing glass. But, like with the newsletter, showing an interest is just as lovely. Your interest, even without parting with money is hugely valuable and greatly appreciated.
Buy a card. We all send a card occasionally. Consider sending one you have bought from a small business. The added bonus of that is the recipient will be hugely thankful that you have considered them enough to buy a card which isn’t the same old shite with the same old jokes WHSmiths have been selling for the last 35 years.
Spread the word. If you know of someone who would benefit from a small business you like, let them know.
Pick up a business card. If you are the sort of person I mention in (4) above and the thought of not buying anything makes you cringe, then here’s a tip: pick up a business card. That way, you have shown an interest. And, if you do have a friend who you think would benefit, pass on the business card to them. Easy.
So, there are just 7 small ways you can help independent business in the shiteness that is Brexit Britain in 2023. Hopefully 2024 will be a little less bastard-ish and who knows, maybe you’ll be able to buy 5 minutes of electricity for the same price as your mortgage. How’s that for optimism?
It is said that nobody can buy from you if they don’t know you exist. I like this phrase because you don’t need a degree in English to understand it. It’s not ‘psychobabble’. It’s a sentence that even in these divisive times, literally nobody can argue with.
I make things. I want to sell the things I make. So why do I find it SO hard to sell? You know what I’m talking about: having to put yourself out there. Having to present yourself to the world, whether online or otherwise, and say ‘this is what I do.’ Leaving yourself open to criticism.
The Master at Work
But it’s so…excruciating! Anyone who knows me will tell you that I’m not good at sales. In fact, I’m bloody terrible. Here’s an example: at a show a few years ago, a man was studying a piece on my stall with real interest. He walked away only to return 10 minutes later. He studied it again. And walked away. The third time he came back, he pointed at it and said ‘I’ll take that, please.’ And I said:
‘Are you sure’?
Let that sink in. I uttered those words ‘are you sure?’ I mean, what the actual fuck?
‘Are you sure?’
Honest to God, I bet there isn’t anyone else you know in the world, that would have said such a thing. It doesn’t stop there, though. You haven’t heard the apologetic tone in my voice when someone asks me the price of something. “It’s £95”, I say, in the same tone your doctor tells you ‘it’s your age, I’m afraid.’
Why? Why aren’t I saying ‘it’s £95 and that’s the best £95 you’ll ever spend. All your friends will bow down to your superior taste in art and you will be forever known as a guru in interior design.’?
The Master Online
This doesn’t just apply in person of course. I put out social media posts showing a piece I have made. I might make a joke or two about how it’s come into being or the stress I encountered on making it. However, on coming to the part in the post which most people want to know …I can’t do it!IT’S LIKE MY POST IS WRITTEN IN CAPITALS UNTILit gets tothe bit where I tell people it’s £95.
It goes against every single cell in my body to say that I’ve made something beautiful and that I’m proud of it. Yet this is what marketing is: it’s telling everyone how great you are. It doesn’t bother me when other sellers do this because I want to know how great their product or service is, and yet, there is nothing I struggle with more in business.
There is also the issue of networking, or telling people what I do. I say ‘I’m BecciandIownandrunBlackCatGlassDesigns’ so quickly and so quietly that I hope they’ll just fear their hearing is going and are too embarrassed to ask me to repeat myself.
Me and the God Complex
So why is this? I honestly do not know. I am not ashamed of what I do; it’s not as if I pull the wings off ladybirds for a living. It’s obviously a confidence thing but I also think it’s part of my character that’s completely resistant to change. I find that if I dare to think I may be good at what I do, some lightning-bolt of shite will immediately deposit itself on my doorstep, clearly meant to send the message ‘THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU HAVE A GOD COMPLEX’
Maybe I’m just in the wrong job. Perhaps I should have been a librarian or an usher, scooting about in the dark – which is all well and good until I have sell ice-creams, even to those who actually want an ice-cream.
Anyway, on that note, I’ve made this. It’s £150 and it’ll be the best £150 you’ll ever spent. All your friends will bow down to your superior taste in art and you will forever be known as the guru in interior design…
September was exhausting (I appreciate it is now nearly November, but it’s taken me that long to recover!) Some of it was fun, some of it wasn’t. What wasn’t? Well,
Chasing my tail – mostly my fault for not being organised
Driving behind tractors – always a joy…
Being sleep-deprived by a kitten with the shits
Noticing my uncanny resemblance to a fat hamster (followers of my Facebook page will be well aware of this discovery!)
But let’s not dwell on that! Let’s talk about what was fun.
I spent a lovely day in Oxford with my friends, Carolyn of Freedom Yoga and Relaxation, and Chris of Chris Lewis Jewellery Design. I’m not going to dress it up in business-speak because it was a jolly. Pure and simple.
Getting Lost
Chris is driving. She ‘uses’ a satnav but doesn’t listen to it. She also has no sense of direction. As a result, what should have been a straight drive down the A40 became a meander along straw-thin roads OFF the A40, dodging hedges and cyclists, and passing the same pub three times. The destination was one of the 5 park and rides around Oxford. Even with Chris driving, we figured we should manage to find one of them.
Park and Ride
After parking, we find the payment machines. There are 4 of them but what we don’t realise until too late is we’ve paid at the ‘family’ ticket machine: £6.80 for two adults and three children. In our defence, this was really badly explained (i.e not at all), by the completely wank signage.
The bus driver did not buy into the argument that I took up fewer seats than 3 kids and therefore we had to pay a further £4.30 on the bus. A total of £11.10 for 3 adults to get on a bloody bus. They didn’t even serve drinks.
As the bus drove off, Chris and I had this conversation:
Chris: we don’t have to worry about finding the car when we get back as I’ve taken a photo of it.
Me: you’ve taken a photo of the car?
Chris: yes!
Me: the car, and nothing else?
Chris: yes
I realise I have a whole day of this…
The Boat Trip
On arrival, we decide we want a trip down the river. Carolyn and Chris fancy taking a rowing boat. I refuse on the grounds that Chris has fallen off a chair in my presence, and torn a ligament walking along a flat, carpeted floor IN HER OWN HOUSE. I was not getting in a rowing boat with Chris Lewis.
We go for a captained boat. We envisaged a gentle trip, on deck in the sun. The reality was somewhat different. The open-air seats on the boat were taken so we had to sit undercover in the back, with the engine, which was so loud, we couldn’t hear the Captain’s talk about our surroundings. ‘This is not what I had in mind’, shouted Chris as we chugged down the river. Carolyn, always a calming influence, is serene and enjoying the moment as only a true yogi can.
Chris and I, tired of the noise, squeeze into the front of the boat – it’s not comfortable, but it is quiet (at least when Chris stops talking)
The Fish Restaurant
After the boat trip, we walked for 40 minutes to get to our restaurant of choice. On arrival, we were sat behind a large table of adults and children. They were drinking Moet and eating lobster. They also did a runner, leaving the waitress almost in tears. Bunch of arseholes. Clearly there was no intention to pay. They just thought they’d have lobster and champagne and then run off down a dark alley. And to think they had children – what an example to set.
If I was a witch (which contrary to popular belief, I’m not), I’d’ve laid a curse on them. A curse in which they turned into lobsters and had to spend the rest of their lives being not particularly dextrous with their very large claws, and destined to sit on a pack of ice, half alive in a supermarket.
I digress…
Cheesecake
It was unanimously decided to seek out dessert. Chris had to have cheesecake. Carolyn suggested we went to the beautiful café we passed on the way to the restaurant. We got there. No cheesecake.
We googled ‘best cheesecake in Oxford’. It came up with a place and (oh God), Chris set up the satnav on her phone. In twenty minutes, we find the place and walk in. ‘Got any cheesecake?’, says Chris. ‘No’, says the bored, monosyllabic guy behind a sea of pastries.
Cocktails
However, there is a cocktail bar, very close by. ‘Happy Hour, 4-9pm’ it gleefully states on a chalkboard outside (surely that’s happy hourS?) Several cocktails later, basking in the warm glow of the effects of alcohol (well, Carolyn and I were as Chris was driving) and we are ready for more food. Chris fancies sushi.
Cocktails!
Sushi: In Rapid-Time
The restaurant can’t really fit us in but doesn’t want to turn us away. The waiter, as if welcoming Poundland customers to a Harrod’s private viewing tells us ‘ you need to be gone by 8pm’. That gave us 55 minutes. This worried me as I’m a slow eater. I chose poorly by going for a ramen, which whilst delicious, cannot be eaten quickly with a pair of chopsticks and a small ladle.
The Pudding Place
At this point, the plan is to return to the very expensive bus but Carolyn spots a dessert place! The inside of the Pudding Place is totally pink, the walls emulsioned with Pepto Bismal. It’s like walking into a candy floss party at Barbie’s, held in a giant blancmange. But, there is CHEESECAKE!
Having waited six hours to get cheesecake, it is disappointingly bad. Chris prods it with her fork, and declares it ‘fucking awful’. To be fair, the cheesecake was terrible – it was still partly frozen for one thing. If you aren’t going to make your own cheesecake to sell, at least make sure it’s defrosted, otherwise, what is your speciality? On leaving the Pepto Palace, Chris goes up to the guy behind the counter and tells him the cheesecake was shit. The moral of this story? Don’t piss off a jeweller who has built up an appetite for cheesecake over the course of 6 hours.
Hometime
We found the car because Chris had taken a photo of it…(we found the car because it was the only one left in the car park). Luckily, Carolyn takes on the role of navigator so we get home on a straight road, in one piece, only passing the pub once.
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