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We decided to have a lazy day in for the last day of the holiday. I was the only one who left the house, when I popped out for some milk and bread from the local Post Office.
I was glad to have a relatively quiet day as I was feeling pretty crappy after eating too much at the pub last night. You know you are old when food gives you a hangover. Not because the food was bad (it was really good) but because you had too much of it.
I am sad to report that all the weight I lost on chemo has returned. Fingers crossed for a bit more cancer. Disease is the only way I can keep in shape. Luckily holiday based gluttony is usually enough for me to temporarily change my ways once I am home. And if I gave up drinking because of the effects on sleeping and hangovers, then I have to do the same with chips and deep fried haloumi. And then when I have given up everything pleasurable or it has given up me, then I can happily die.
I was hoping to get through a couple of books on this holiday, but I've only managed nearly one. I have a terrific pile of exciting tomes to read ahead of some book clubs, some of them not yet available.
This week I've been reading "All About My Mother" by Rachael Stirling, which is all about her mother, Diana Rigg. I was a bit sceptical about a biography written by the child of the subject, but I shouldn't have been. Rachael manages to be objective about her mum, who to be fair seems like a pretty amazing person and you end up getting stuff that would never appear in anyone else's book. There's a whole chapter about the mother and daughter squeezing each other's spots and cysts. And as disgusting as that is I think it will resonate. My sister loved squeezing my spots and I have fond memories of her getting into a sebacious cyst at the top of my back whilst we were watching Kiss Me Kate in Bristol. It really stank, but she got so much gunk out of there. I remember nothing about the performance. But I do remember what show we were at and that is the power of the cyst.
The book made me nostalgic for my own youth, but also nostalgic for Diana Rigg's youth, even though I wasn't even alive for that.
Plus it's striking how many famous men's idea of seduction was to get out their cocks and see what happened. Which in Diana Rigg's case was to talk about something else and get out of there. Amazing to think that successful men were so hopeless and disgusting that they thought that might work. They probably should just have invited her to squeeze their blackheads.
Anyway, it's a great read and whilst mainly about Diana is also about what it's like to be the daughter of a legend. Both mother and daughter appear a little insecure about their devastating beauty and talents which is a shame. Though Rachael acknowledges the difficulty of being Diana Rigg's daughter and the stupid stuff people say to her as a result.
