I love london, most of the time….

img_9973 London

I’ve just stepped out into Kilburn in the jubilee line to notice the lovely broad old grand mansion streets up Exeter road as I went to look at a Yamaha piano…today’s weather whipped up a sense of old fashion cold and I spoke to the vendor whose emigrating to Canada like a right old Londoner ! I felt exhilarated and nostalgia swept me up remembering all the places I’ve lived in and how!

I started life in London in 1984. A mere Mia 17 year old who flew on the back of a suggestion from my best friends sister, Jackie: ‘Why don’t we go to London for the summer?’ Yes. I said but how would we do it.  She drove us into Swindon and WHSmith straight to buy The Lady and slapped it on my very youthful enthusiastic seeking approval persona and off I went phoning up mothers help jobs. I got an interview two days later and boarded the then national railway train to Paddington. I got that job and moved to London on March 31st. It took all of 5/6 days from suggestion to destination – Holland Park, W11. I had no clue where, what, how London would define me and to that W11 was posh, with its white stucco big grand houses, gardens and on top I came alone. I couldn’t really say that my first position in London was special, if not cliche with my employer trying it on with me one lunchtime. He was old. I was practically still a virgin but not quite. I pushed him off, headed to the One O Clock club in Holland Park to tell my one nanny friend, Leslie from Australia about me going back to the countryside. She told me of another family desperate for a nanny as they were travelling to Le Lavendou in the South of France. I was thrilled, got their number and went round after. I moved in and upgraded to my own little contained flat on Landsdowne Avenue. I travelled with them for three weeks with their sons, Jack & Henry 2 & 4 and experienced my first real taste of France, a country I had always fantasised about. Growing up on a farm in the 70’s/early 80’s, BBC2 did a whole season in the summer of ’79,’80 on French films. I would sneak off from the hay making feigning tiredness to watch these world films. https://www.timeout.com/paris/en/film/les-demoiselles-de-rochefort-1967.

I became fascinated by the sospistication of French culture, sexual education and romantic allure…this French trip had some ooh la la for me on the beach with a character as I practiced my school education.

This became my story. Whilst with this family I met another nanny, Scarlett Van Legge Bourke, aka Susan Tonkin, – this time live-out who took me to Portobello Market & Camden Town. I became initiated and enthralled by the immense organic secondhand/vintage plucks of golden eras materialised in chinon, linen, silk, organza, velvet, polyester, that became my dressing up box. We had fashion at our feet and so cheaply too. I gorged on styling my hearts desire to create a new Mia. And the road to unfolding the unchartered road to the beginnings of Who Am I began to take form in this very exciting medium. I was just 18, and London held me in a trance dance of unimaginable tricks and treasures that unfolded in its own unique path. Scarlett Van Legge Bourke was very louche, full of bravado and dazzled me with her sense of style, she dressed between Siouxsie, and a baroque baroness. She was immaculate and set the bar for my London. I began a life long binge on all things that punctuated the youth of that day. My own swing time was filled with a sense of counter culture spilling our injustices of the day with social class wars, marches, our acute generation turned up to demonstrations as we began to recognise that the Britain we were living in was categorised by wealth, class, circumstance and whom was affiliated with. Tory Britain and its charismatic leader, Thatcher was tearing up the unions, bringing in draconian laws and carving up the housing charters. I quickly began to sense and realise that the path I travelled on was not going to be secure, dusted and put to bed, blanketed in a snuggly wrap – no some innate calling kept me stepping forward into the unknown fearlessly, accepting that my life held some congenial truth dappled by the promise of love, magical leanings, socio-political meaning that identified with the unusual, different and popular underground club/drug culture.

In a nut, the party began in 1984, as a very gullible youth searching for a tribe that offered authentic collaboration brimming with enthusiasm and a courage that may well have been born out that childhood and teenage-ness that was still in me.

I was naive, fairly good looking, and somehow had a very unique love of finding beautiful vintage dresses, ball gowns, lace blouses, crazy Sock Shop stripy socks bought in the tubes station shops. I was a goggle with choice. My senses were alert as Scarlett and I would step out on Saturday to Portobello to eye up the talent and the look.  Mesmerised by the definition of what London had to offer, life began to bubble a blazing new trail as we found Kensington Market. Oh my! We had found our club. Filled with little shops, a throwback to life in a different century with a bizarre theme full of goths, punks, trendies, rockabillies, pyschobillies, mods, and people like me! Kensington market was a brimful of eclectic mayhem. There was a hairdresser on the top floor and a basement cafe serving egg rolls for new-be vegetarians and builders tea. My time spent there can still smell the heady fumed passages of joss sticks, jewellery, banter and finding like minded groups. We were all interested in being trend setters who adventured into the flyered club scenes. Here we discovered The Mud Club (https://shapersofthe80s.com/tag/mud-club/) and would head over to Shaftesbury ave to queue in a line of wannabes to be plucked out of obscurity and into the ascension of being spotted by Philip Salon, host avant-guard who dressed up to the nines, in sequins, dimonte and dazzling dare that gave us fledglings clubbers permission to shine, fly and experiment with our own   de-rigueur.

Between 1984-1986 I look upon these early years in London as growth and education out of something only potentially expressed on the screens of the 70’s watching Top of the Pops, and not so much The Old Grey Whistle Test. That was more to do with rockers, prog rock more precisely . No TOTP carried New Romantics, New Wave, Punk, Two-Tone, Ska, and a concoction of alternative forums dressed to impress that planted peerage seeds of a promise to practise the cultural Einstein a Go Go landscape whilst growing up on a farm. I was set to frame and be me, no matter how mad, bonkers and crazy that looked.

I figured out in the first two years of life on the boardwalk of this capital city, I lived in Holland Park x 2, Earls Court in a bedsit on Courtfield Gardens, then I began to sweep up in the arms of lovers where they opened doors, and gave me a taste for sweet life that stood me firmly in my essence. My second nannying job, on Landsdowne Avenue, had communal gardens and three beautiful landscape gardeners brothers, Johny, Charlie and  Chubb worked in those glorious, private gardens. Charlie took a shine to me and invited me on the back of his British Norton. That bike sped us to a seriously fabulous pub, called The Moscow Arms. This was a premise full of scene makers. A denizen of wild debauchery, very tasty looking people, dressed up in the wild and wonderful abstractions of each others own imagination.   I felt like I had arrived in some theatrical setting, and London really began to move and shake.  Chubb was well to do and my first kind man that showed me the way. He and his brothers invited Scarlett and I to their sisters big party in Purely, Surrey and asked me not to tell my employees of who they were. My employees were odd anyway, I was their 13th nanny allegedly, and asked me not to talk to the gardeners. It was quite strange when I realised upon arriving at the stately home of the brothers family seat, that they were Lord and Lady Keyes children. I was happy to keep stumm! There we were in our dressed up ball gowns, mine a velvet fitted 1930’s bias cut number. I felt shapely, keen and apart of a special group of uber-echelon  crowds. Their sister was the assistant editor of Vogue. It felt like we had arrived!

More to come….

mia-19

1985 – I’m the one with bleached hair sat on that fence with my first real boyfriend, Steve, who I met in The Moscow Arms.

Unconsciousness to Super Consciousness..what does this all mean?

Here is a top line view of how a daughter such as mine, is full of energy, beans, zest, passion and love of all things funny, silly and playful. WE laughed our socks off in the lift that afternoon.

This is a state of being authentic and human that makes this world a wonderful and enjoyable experience especially if you are like me, gets depressed before, after and in the year! I have dips where I am being eaten alive by those hyper dimensional unseens, that I like to call entities. Other societies have in ancient lore, referred to them as demons, ghouls, ghosts that inhabit our etheric, astral, mental and physical domains. We humans are mostly unaware of the feedback loop that comes crushing upon us when we struggle and find it hard to reach out, or look within at our patterns of behaviour that keep us in that loop I mentioned.

I write this because I have been working on myself probably unconsciously all my life, to wake up from some strange long sleep that is imbued with a mixture of dream like qualities that can easily translate to madness, acute depression, fear of this and that, and avoiding the unknown qualities to step into my authentic individual creative self mastery role and become that change I so wish to be. Today I try to work consciously on my spiritual, emotional, physical and mental parts to remain embodied and calm. I am in luck, as I have an Aunty Shelia Continue reading

Aunty Binks

Aunty Binks

This is Audrey or as we were introduced to her on the red carpet in the middle sitting room back in 1971 or 72 as Aunty Binks. My brother Jonathan who was just 6, said: “But you are not our Aunty, you are the housekeeper”. Aunty Binks looked at him and said: “If you don’t call me Aunty Binks, I won’t talk to you”. And she gave him a fixed, cold stare. Lester and I both smiled as two very little children. 4 and 5 years old and very deeply already wounded by the events that had unfolded in our first early 0 – 5 years old. We all were already marked by the entrance of she. She became quite a central figure full of her own design to set up her own two children in our family home. We were under the radar and very quickly we were out.
Dismayed at how life has rushed past my shadows and my day to day.
Who do I think I am? On a good day, willing, open-minded , sure footed and full of vigorous sentimentality; yet am I here to wash away my sins or crack open anew that binds me upwards to Gods country?
I am currently reading a big book on The Russian Revolution that I picked up in Glastonbury Town over Christmas, ‘Caught in the Revolution’ by Helen Rappaport that sends me shivering into humanity that crushes, and loses all sense of being aligned with God. A bigness of tragedy that tells you how bad the aristocracy and big wigs failed to even bring bread to the workers in St Petersburg in the crippling cracked winter of 1917. The men at the eastern front fighting an enemy of brothers whom had been set upon by the covert secrecy of a closed, treacherous and twisted order, whose aims were to carve up countries, and gain resources no matter what- who-how

I call these men The Globalists. And should  more information be asked, should anyone care to read about why wars happen, Terry Boardman is a very important historian and on line lecturer who joins up the dots to show the men whose long term agendas were single pointed towards mass terror to take power at all costs in the name of globalisation. I digress. 

Yet my first blog unfolds and spills outwards as I feel full of tears. 

Then as I read late into the night, I dream of being chased down, found out, caught glaring into the fear based upbringings subconsciously that resonates moment to moment waking me up. 

I awake to the alarm, and gather up my my teenager who is tired of school already and it’s only two days in. 

I get up, make tea and suggest earlier nights and then ask, How is school? 

Out she purges, bad teachers, trying to find groups, it’s hard out there. Then I remember my own. I was alone. Scruffy, unkempt, trying so hard to be liked, and to be accepted by my peers. 

My own teenage hood was short lived on the farm. For no sooner than I d finished my last exam, then I was out, literally being crushed into a life that was of another’s choosing. Namely Aunty Binks. 

She, the lover of my father, and the main character that kept me fed, yet not a one to one who ever became a mother figure, of is she had, my ideas of what a good mother should be, were discordant and extreme to the point of cold, stern and cruelty spelt my underpinnings. I grew up innately targeted as almost a bastard and nothing more than a mistake. 

This impacted my every particle of intracellular living that led me very quickly into a world of sex, drugs and rock n roll. Gosh, I feel sorry for my big middle aged self. Having said that, I enjoyed much of my escapism through finding the elixir that unleashed a giant crude girl/woman mimicking her disgusting father who was a central figure in my years to come. I loved that man. Worship comes to mind. Yet he was an appalling role model who gave hardly any loyalty to his blood and flesh. It meant I grew up in his shadows as forbearance towards my own miscommunication and self love that fast became self loathing. 

I had more character defects built in-& designed to sabotage my life. However I somehow must have been good in another life time, because my inner radar for good, truth, creativity, all abound my make up and enabled me some fortuitous chance meetings with the world at large. 

This is my first unfoldment and here I aim to offer hope, hints and tips that remind me why I enjoy living here right now even under the thumb of fear and fearlessness. 

I have nothing to lose in sharing my story. And I look forward gently to meeting you by meeting me through heart felt, soul searching and honest investigation. 

Thank you

The longest shadows stretching out and inwards to the imagination Somerset 2017

The longest shadows stretching out and inwards to the imagination Somerset 2017