Friday, February 22, 2008

God Bless, Gazza.

I turned on the TV this evening, to see Hunter Davies chatting to Richard and Judy about Gazza and his present predicament. I missed most of the discussion, but gathered that Hunter Davies has a lot of time for him (he "ghost" wrote, or co-wrote, Gazza's Autobiography). So do Richard and Judy (they are texting-friends, apparently). So do I. I remember him as a genius young player for the Spurs - what a partnership he and Gary Lineker made! He has had a difficult life though - he came from a very ordinary background with a completely extra-ordinary talent, and was obviously unable to cope with the pressures of fame and fortune. There has been a coming together of support for him in the last couple of days, which I think is great. The Footballing Fraternity is keen to help and support him in his hour of need. Hunter Davies said that he doesn't cope well without structure and discipline, and that he is very lonely. Richard and Judy sent their love. And Judy said "God Bless". I'm there with the good wishes too.

Earlier today I freaked out again when I logged on to Facebook to see how friends and family were doing. With hindsight, it was very silly of me, but I have been on the edge with regard to Son and his lack of communication lately. There, on his page, was a picture of Kurt Cobain, whom Son idolized from an early age, and who of course, killed himself. Even as I type this, I can see how wrong it is. I very soon snapped out of it - after a sensible and reassuring conversation with Daughter, who was able to step back and take a reasonable point of view - but it's yet another reason why I have to get out more. Literally. I can't go on like this.

This morning over breakfast my Foreign Student took me back probably 50 years when we were talking about gardens. He said that he and his Father have a rather wild garden, just outside Zurich, in which they grow dandelions so that they can pick and eat the leaves in salads. He went on to say that they leave the grasses and flowers to grow tall, and then cut them down with scythes! (They dry the hay and give it to his Sister to feed her rabbit!) I was completely gobsmacked. This is apparently the norm in Switzerland, where there are rocks and stones everywhere, and very few level areas of grass. It brought a vivid memory of watching my Grandfather, whom we called Uncle Gus, moving across the Village Green with the other men in the village, cutting the grass with their scythes. It was a marvellous sight, which I can see quite clearly in my mind, but which you just wouldn't see any more. Unless, of course, you took a trip to Switzerland. I might just do that!

5 comments:

family affairs said...

Did I miss something? I didn't know you were planning to move to France...when is that happening? Do you already know people there? (note how indignant us bloggers get when you begin to feel you start knowing somebody!) What a great idea...thanks for your support re last couple of days...I've got a girlfriend about (I suspect) to go through a similar thing and it all came flooding back. Yes, I think you're right, the break-up was on the cards for a while there....

A Mother's Place is in the Wrong said...

Hi Lulu, no, not moving to France just yet! But am planning to visit friends there in April with a view to looking around. Have always wanted to live there, and now can (hopefully) make that dream come true. At the moment I feel I'd always keep a foothold here, but it's early days yet, nothing's certain. Don't worry, I'll be Blogging, wherever I am! M xx

Retiredandcrazy said...

I know several recovering alcoholics. No-one sets out to destroy their life with alcohol, but for some reason some people have no tolerance for the stuff. I have every sympathy for Gazza. In the words of a Kris Kristofersen song "who's to bless and who's to blame?"

A Mother's Place is in the Wrong said...

Dear rac: words of wisdom indeed - my Dad was an alcoholic, and it wasn't easy to live with! Dear old Kris Kristofferson - lovely music. M xx

@themill said...

I remember Gazza too, as the flawed genius of a young starlet at Newcastle, before his move to Spurs. So sad.