My Bedside Table - My Space

A mock Tiffany lamp with a dimmer feature sits on top of my bedside table, which is a fitted unit matching the headboard. A Mr and Mrs pair of teddy bears from the Outer Hebrides and dressed in authentic Harris tweed occupy the remaining space.

Below this, my bedside table is a work of art in the style of Tracey Emin’s unmade bed. The clutter is contained within the small area, and I know where everything is. It’s functional and how I like it. A biography of Agatha Christie, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte, a couple of poetry collections and a fantasy/horror novel make a tower of books topped with a notebook, a journal and a box of tissues. It never looks balanced or neat. Hand cream, an assortment of pens, a bookmark made by a child and another with ‘Desiderata’ on it, a straw coaster, plastic water bottle and just enough room for my phone which I rely on for an alarm. Don’t mention the dust.

Half a dozen perfumes, mainly Christian Dior are grouped together on an internal shelf. I have no sense of smell anymore, but I remember my favourites and still use them. Also on the shelf is a small torch, just in case. A jewellery box which belonged to my late mother and contains some of her things, special to me, takes up the rest of the shelf.

I keep my glasses in the drawer, with several spare pairs, a few charging cables for various devices and an iPod Shuffle music thingy full of Moody Blues albums which I take on holidays.

Beneath the drawer is an open space where keepsakes and bits and pieces are safe in a perfectly fitting box.

I would love a tidy, minimalistic bedside table. It will never be, not in my busy house.

My Haiku,

I do not lose things
They’re on my bedside table
With everything else.

It’s only some keys,
They will be under something
Not exactly lost.

A crumpled tissue,
Used for cleaning my glasses
Had covered them up.

PMW 2025

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Essence - A Lifetime's Fragrance

There is a perfume that I used to call ‘The Essence of Me’. Of course, it has a real name, Dioressence by Christian Dior. I can’t remember my first introduction to it, but it was possibly in a batch of perfume sample phials my father brought back from a trip to France, late 1970s, early ‘80s. There was another one I really liked but never knew the name. Anyway, I adored Dioressence for its light, subtle fragrance. I don’t like strong perfume that takes over a room or announces an arrival before the wearer is in sight. It was my only fragrance for many years. I had the matching soap and talcum powder, eau de toilette and perfume. Expensive, but long-lasting and I always used it sparingly. It suited my personality, along with my collection of Laura Ashley summer dresses and hippy style embroidered jeans worn with floaty tops.

Sometime in 2004 I lost my sense of smell and it hasn’t come back. I put the blame on chemotherapy, radiotherapy or the illness. A small price to pay for survival but how I miss all the familiar smells, not just my favourite perfume but everyday things, like the house smelling clean and fresh, home baking and the pleasant aroma of appetising cooking going on. Occasionally I think I get a waft of something very slight and not for long, or it might be my imagination. I continued to wear Dioressence. I couldn’t smell it myself, but it wasn’t lost on others and it was still very much a part of me. It disappeared for a while and now it can be hard to find. Other Dior fragrances have pushed it out of vogue, like J’Adore, but I have no way of telling if I would like it, if it would suit me. For now, I treasure my remaining tiny drop of Dioressence and hope to find more soon.

The Laura Ashley frocks have made way for M&S long skirts and tailored trousers. Jeans are a staple wardrobe item, but plain and functional without embellishments, yes, boring even, and worn with tee-shirts or jumpers. If I remember, I’ll wear some beads but I usually forget.

My Haiku poem,

I Miss My Dioressence.

It was a scent of
Individuality
And it became my

Signature fragrance
Subtle, light and delicate
Ev’ry day and night,

For so many years
In my Laura Ashley frocks
Or embroidered jeans,

A hint of jasmine,
With a spicy bergamot
Accompanied me.


PMW 2022

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Hipster - Has Anyone Got a Cowbell?

All I wanted was a bell round my neck. Everyone else had one. The ‘everyone’ in this case referred to the groups of fashionable young people parading the promenade. I watched them from our upstairs living-room window, above the pub. They were older than me, but they were how I envisaged myself in the near future.  My Nan, always fascinated by the sights that walked by, tutted and thought they sounded like the donkeys on the beach. My Dad said they were ‘hippies’ or ‘Beatniks’ and I wasn’t going to be joining in with them. He was being boring, but he let me have a troll doll instead and I chose one with beautiful, long orange hair. I had her for many years. By the time I was old enough to please myself about strolling along the prom with a cowbell round my neck, the trend had passed and I was involved in more worthwhile activities. 

 

In making an effort to be individual, someone’s style can be so popular and copied to the extent that it becomes almost a uniform, like Teddy Boys, and defines opposites, like Mods and Rockers, Skinheads and Greasers. It is not just fashion, it’s a way of life, a culture.  Hipster, none of the above and not a hippy, but no label required, they are people of this generation.

 

My son has grown a full bushy beard. It looks good, even though it covers so much of his handsome face. This must be the opposite of ‘designer stubble’ that didn’t suit everyone and gave a look of scruffy and unshaven to some unfortunate fashion followers. Beards seem to be more popular than ever and the bigger, the better with young men, like medieval warriors. I can’t imagine my husband without his goatee and my daughter’s partner suits his rich auburn full beard, neatly trimmed. I hope it is a trend that lasts. I like it.

 

I’d love to feel bold enough to have colour in my hair again. I had my blonde highlights done at the weekend. It doesn’t make a lot of difference, it’s just a touch of natural looking enhancement. A hint of a rainbow beneath the top layers would be perfect. It could be a retirement gift to myself, perhaps, if only that were soon. My daughter has purple hair at the moment. It will be another colour before long.  She doesn’t like false nails, sweeping eyelashes or lip fillers all of which seem popular with young ladies. She had a tiny facial piercing as soon as she was old enough to have it done. I wish she had wanted a cowbell for a necklace. I would have happily bought it.

 

 

I love this poem I found by Porche Freeman,

 

I can't hear you over the sounds of The Shins on my iTouch.
I watch your mouth move but I don't care too much.
My music sounds like an orgy of broken computers.
My thoughts are too complex for you to clutch.

I am a Hipster and these are my confessions.
Scalene triangles and vintage are my obsessions.
My hair is so messy.
My life style is formed out of homosexual repression.

I don't wear skinny jeans, they're called fitted.
I love this hat that my grandmother knitted.
I carry sticky pads and sharpeys for artistic expression.
I got a ticket for being so cool unpermitted.

My name is John, but I tell people to call me Noah.
I once fell in love with a girl named Ramona.
I listen to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs but she said No No No.
So it was over fo eva.

I carry a camera because I am indie.
My favorite band is Breakfast with Cindy.
I love freaking coffee.
Look at my ironic t- shirt, I'm so trendy.

I am a Hipster and these are my confessions.
Scalene triangles and vintage are my obsessions.
My hair is so messy.
My life style is formed out of homosexual repression.

 

Porche Freeman

 

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x



 

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