Singing in my heart

My mind is onstage tonight! Every so often I have moments when I think about the last ten years, everywhere I've been, and what it feels like to stand in the lights and hold my microphone, standing with my girls. As this blog's title suggests singing just as much as writing, I thought it was about time I wrote a post about music - and it's fitting, seeing as I am singing in my heart right now..

My rollercoaster ride with music has been riveting and breathtaking so far; may it continue that way for as long as I live. I don't yearn for what were the more difficult stages of the journey, but the suggestion that I acted bravely in the face of my own personal adversity - eventually, anyway! - makes those struggles worthwhile. Yes, I am a little dramatic by nature, and this probably sounds a bit over the top, but I have been tormented, I have conquered demons and I have worked my posterior off.

A wise friend and fellow singer once said to me, during a very dark time:

"You can't let the fear beat you; you can't let it win, otherwise it might stop you doing what you love. Don't let it. You're stronger than this. I know you can do it."

That conversation has never left me, and she was right. I was allowing the fear to win; I was running, I was overwhelmed, and I was drowning. She was the one, and turned out to be one of many, who held out a hand and grabbed me, pulled me through. Another very dear friend also offered tough love; she was affected by my shaky presence onstage, my constant fidgeting and obvious insecurity, and gave me the strength to realise that it was okay, it wasn't the end of the world, and I could prevail. It was a reflection of what was going on inside, and her faith and belief in me has been unwavering.

They were both there.

Both of these women - strong, opinionated, powerful, talented, beautiful, and incredibly different - perhaps don't really know just how much they gave me, and how they helped me to shake off the debilitating fear that gripped my heart. Music is in my blood, it feeds my soul and heals my heart. I'd like to thank these ladies for eveything. They helped me to fly again.

Who are you thankful for today? I'd love to know.

A little piece of you

This is my mum and me, in the 80's. She had such a beautiful smile. She was only a couple of years younger than I am now in this picture, and I hope that I take after her, in the smile stakes anyway! I miss her every day. I've been thinking about her today, and found a piece of my writing from a few years ago that I had stored on my laptop which I thought I'd share with you.

"When somebody dies, they take a piece of you with them. It is as if everyone that touches your life leaves an imprint on your soul, something that’s uniquely them, so that when they’re gone you will always remember them, and in some small way the part of themselves they left with you can help to fill the hole. So maybe it’s a straight swap; a little piece of you for a little piece of me.

At times, the hole they leave you with can seem so big that you feel like you’re drowning in it; like you’ll never be able to pull yourself out of the depths. Other times, when your heart feels full to bursting with the joys of spring, the hole shrinks ever so slightly, and everything looks brighter. It is impossible to predict when these moments will arise, so they can take you by surprise, make you catch your breath and remember you’re alive. Those who are not here would want us to feel that way. They would want the people they love to feel as much as possible, for feeling makes you human. Feeling gives you heart, gives you soul, gives you hope.

Fear has been the reason for bottling up my emotions. Fear of loss, fear of rejection, fear of consequence. My shoulders hunch, my back aches, my head sits heavy on my poor, sore neck, and all for what? I do let things out - sometimes more vigorously than I’d like – but when I do, maybe I don’t let it go far enough. Occasionally I feel like I have nothing else to give, drained but slightly exhilarated, but more often than not I don’t reach the freshly-deflated-balloon stage; consciousness takes over and I stop myself, kid myself that I’m ‘pulling myself together’ and being strong by holding back. It is true however, that strength comes from truly feeling your emotions, owning them, and not repressing anything. Regardless of whether I am worried that I’ll become a snivelling, sobbing mess or not, it is safe to say that I am no different to anyone else, and if I feel like crying, or jumping for joy, or shouting, I should. Not at every opportunity, but certainly when it feels like I’ll burst if I don’t. You only need to look at how great you feel afterwards to realise that it’s necessary in life to let loose and let things go."

I also found this brilliant picture of my uncle Robert; I like to think that the two of them are up there somewhere, having coffee and talking about anything and everything. Here he is on stage as a priest in 'Romeo and Juliet', with a couple of famous faces!

(For the record, I LOVE Sean Bean..!)

What makes your heart skip? I'd love to know.

Hello autumn

I understand why some people lament the end of summer, and therefore the inevitable onset of autumn, but I love it. Even in the rain (which has been coming down for most of the day here so far!) it's lovely out there. Refreshing, clear air, gusts to blow away cobwebs, and snatches of sunshine every so often that lift the spirits. I even enjoyed my run this morning.

My sister-in-law disagrees with me vehemently; she loves the warmth and softness of summer, the long days and the dry weather, and I know she's not alone in that; as the days begin to get shorter again, she starts to dread the winter, the cold and dark mornings and the grey outlook. I think perhaps my aversion to a hot summer is purely because I dislike being too warm; it makes me uncomfortable and anxious, and I prefer a cool breeze, swirling snow and fat, woolly scarves that you can wrap around your entire head. My leather boots. My beanie hat collection. My huge snuggly winter coat. Heading inside a cafe to get a hot cup of steaming hot chocolate, and sit in the window watching the rain. I'm not saying I don't like summer at all - of course I do! - it's just that I'd rather be chilly..

I'm not expecting many people to be with me on all this, but one thing you can't deny Autumn is her way with light. Gentle, hazy, comforting; this season wins with the light. Spring can compete, after a long winter, but autumn clinches it for me. Some countries miss out on this transformation, skipping from summer to winter without a second glance, but for the parts of the world that get the beauty of autumn and spring, it seems a real shame that not everyone experiences these parts of the year.

Which is your favourite season? And why? I'd love to know.

Before I go, here's a few things I've found this week:

10 iconic winter coat looks

Pandora's autumn mood board

A few ideas for places to visit this season!

Bubbles and memories

Well, I waved my super husband off on yet another tour this morning, and stayed in my dressing gown until lunchtime. I did some pilates, put some washing on and sat in the garden with a steaming cup of tea and some crumpets. I do love a crumpet!! I'm so British..

This afternoon I've been thinking about changes of direction; taking leaps, rocking the boat, making a break from the familiar and stepping into the unknown. How life is an exquisite adventure, and how it is so often over too soon, so you should grab every day, shake it up and do everything you can to make it breathtaking.

A wonderful, talented and unique gentleman was lost last month. My uncle, an inspirational man and brilliant performer, actor, and lecturer. A real one-off, the kind of person people remember with a wide smile and, more often than not, an anecdote or story, and a tale of a funny experience shared. He has left a legacy in more ways than one, and will be hugely missed. Taken by that nasty bastard, otherwise known as cancer, at the age of sixty-three.

My uncle, Robert Demeger, was the first person in Europe to undergo trials for a new cancer treatment, and the BBC followed his remarkable journey. He was brave and selfless, with an acid wit and sharp mind, and ended up frustrated by the loss of his speech. His voice was mellifluous, Thespian by nature and full of warmth, and the brain tumour temporarily took it from him. He got some of it back, but it wasn't going to be the same as before.

At his funeral in London, he got his last well-deserved standing ovation; absolutely fantastic. What a man, what a memory. He was prolific, versatile, intriguing. I remember him scaring me out of my wits in a London theatre, when I was a teenager; he was in The Woman in Black at the Fortune, and my grandmother had taken me to see the show. I had an aisle seat, and during a particularly quiet point in the production, my uncle had to walk down the aisle. He yelled in my face as he passed, and my screams echoed throughout the theatre. When I asked him afterwards why he'd done it, he merely said "Well, you just looked so serious!" and I laughed. I'll never forget it.

His immediate family - my auntie and two cousins - are wonderful. Strong, individual, and talented too. A battle with illness is something you hope nobody you love will ever have to endure. I wish them all peace. It's a double-edged sword, to lose somebody and to also feel that strange but blessed relief that they aren't suffering any more.

So, make memories. Go out there, find the ones you love and make as many memories as possible. Take risks, jump, dance, sing, do whatever makes you happy and fills your life with purpose, joy and passion. My uncle certainly did, and thank goodness for him. Thank goodness for Uncle Rob.