"Luck has left me standing so tall . . . .GOLD . .

 . . . always believe in your soul."

BBC Local Radio has an annual bash and awards ceremony in honour of it's founder Frank Gillard, imaginatively called The Gillards.  When I first arrived at the BBC I'd heard this term banded about every few months, it sounded so important, so grand.  I never thought for one minute that three and a half years later I'd be sitting on the front table of the awards ceremony, not only there but as a nominee!  The Frank Gillard awards celebrate the best from the 46 local radio stations across England, the project I had initiated and run last year 'Singing City' had been nominated in the Community Award category.   The Community Award recognises a stations active engagement with their audience, inspiring people to make a difference to everyday life in their area. 

I had been told by my Editor that if we won I had to go up and accept the award and make a speech.  This had been made worse by an email from a colleague shown to me just before we went into the hall, it said "if we win, make sure you mention . ." as if I wasn't stressed enough about it, they were already piecing together a trail to celebrate! Every part of my body was wanting to win but I was also terrified about going up on stage.  There were possibly 400 people sitting in the hall, many of them big BBC executives, editors from all of the local radio stations, not to mention our Director General Mark Thompson up on stage handing out the awards. 

We won!  "Brilliant . . . oh shit!"  Well, I got up on stage and did my thing.  We were now a twice award winning radio station in 3 years, not bad going.   I think I said what I should have and it could be heard on BBC Coventry & Warwickshire every 20 minutes the following day. 

Here is the full audio clip from the Gillards. It sounds like I'm crying but I wasn't, just shocked and nervous.  (I've added the pics from my archive)

I'm an award winning radio producer.  Hooray.  

The only daunting thing is that people are already talking about Coventry Market the Musical being the next award winner.  Blimey .  . I'm only just getting my breath back from this one. 

I usually love my job

but today I've had the worst day I've had in years. 

Coventry Market the Musical! is my latest project, another big scale whole station community project.  It has been a struggle and a very steep learning curve so far, I've never done TV or film before so I feel like a fraud as I talk confidently about Track and Dolly, DSR450s, adrenalin edits and the like, not really knowing what they all mean.   I'm getting there though. 

Yesterday I had to make a brief visit to the Herbert's recording studios, lay down a track, whizz down to the East End of London to finish the mix down.  Again, I may sound like I know what I'm doing but I'm merely orchestrating others to get the job done.  Yesterday was full of stress and fun, I got back late at night and had to email the finished track through to my Editor.  I was exhausted and I'd hardly seen Tilly at all.   

Today, was an all day shoot, a 12 hour shoot.  It was an optimistic timetable with lots of scenes, participants (all of whom have never done this before), a student film crew (who had only just been taught how to use the kit), a cameraman I'd never met before and did not know the market, expensive kit that needed to be kept an eye on, lots of anxious market traders worried that we'd cause too much disruption and affect their trade and to top it all off,  three show OBs!   

It didn't start well when Benjamin (the director) texted to say he was stuck in traffic and from then on my day got progressively worse.  I had to deal with the lot, be the one responsible and keep my head.  I think I may have coped better if I hadn't had two six day weeks at work for the two weeks before and nearly 8 months of disturbed sleep, and not been to London the day before. But that was what had happened.   The film crew were fantastic in the end, they went on through breaks, they didn't want to stop.  The exhausting timetable was too optimistic and by 5pm we were an hour and a half behind schedule (even without any breaks) and 100 chorus members were charging through the doors waiting for 'their moment'.  The market wasn't open to the public at this point and we had to keep them all entertained and contained.  We had to rehearse them for the final scenes which was so hard as we only knew roughly what was supposed to happen and Benjamin could turn up and change it all.  Finally the film crew did get a 15 minute break.  Sadly I couldn't join them there were choir members all chomping at the bit and I had to make sure that they didn't feel cheated in their experience in this project. 

rh aside I had almost had enough.  I knew it was starting to show.  I wanted so many times to walk away, instead I carried on dealing with problems, this time with security men threatening to close the car park with everyone's cars in.   

I chatted to a member of the choir who is 8 months pregnant, she'd also brought her daughter with her.  As I stood and chatted watching her daughter, I realised how much I missed and felt so guilty about the time I wasn't spending with Richard and Tilly due to this project. I could feel myself getting emotional. 

The shoot was supposed to close at 9pm.  We finished the shoot at 9.20pm.   After escorting the last choir member out, packing up the kit and tidying up I had well and truly had enough.  

We'd finished. I felt like I was finished too.  I packed up the kit into the car and said my goodbyes to the film crew.  I walked to my car and I could feel the tears form in my eyes, as soon as I got into the car they flowed and then turned into hollering all the way home.  I am exhausted.  As soon as I walked into the house I broke down.   I'm sacrificing a lot for this project.  My health, my mind, and more importantly my daughter and my husband.  Richard has been a total star throughout, he'd practically been a single dad with the evening rehearsals, weekend recording and filming days.  I have a lot of making up to do once this is all over. 

Daddy time

I have been at work again today, on a Sunday! Yet another day taken away from me spending time with Matilda but a wonderful opportunity for Richard to spend more time with her and gain more confidence as he is brilliant with her. Over the last few weeks, we have changed the routine as it was taking me so long to get to and from nursery, so Richard now takes her and picks her up. This has been great as I have seen him just grow in confidence with her. Spending a whole day with her is lovely and I'm pleased Richard has done it, done it really well and most importantly really enjoyed himself. It is a beautiful thing watching them together so bonded.

The same could not be said for me and my own father. Don't get me wrong, this is no sob story, in fact my immediate family history has always been seen by me as a bit of joke or a good dinner party story. "Did you know I am the daughter of a Catholic Priest?" Always an interesting show stopper really, I quite enjoy watching people's faces as they suddenly stop, not knowing whether to laugh, if I'm joking or carefully treading an imaginary path to unpick evidence to see if I am scarred by such a sordid past. No I'm not. My mum had an affair with the local priest, she was already married with four children and fled down south, married him hastily and had me a few months after. This could have been fairly romantic I suppose but the tables soon turned for her and he walked out and left us for another woman on my fifth birthday. Anyway, long story short; after my mother's breakdown and a custody ruling which meant I had to see him every Saturday for seven years before I rebelled, I stopped seeing him when I was about 14. Given all of the above I think I've turned out considerably well balanced.

After I left Uni, I wrote a letter to him. I was curious, what did he think of me? Did he ever think about me? It wasn't something I was pining for, a relationship with him. I don't really know him.
I wrote him a letter stating that I wanted nothing from him, just to let him know where I was, that I didn't want to go over who did what and who should take the blame. I've had so much of that from mum and I'm not interested. As an adult I realise that people fuck up, people make mistakes and sometimes don't always make the best decisions, there is no guide book for life. Well I was shocked when he wrote back. I remember falling to the floor in floods of tears as I realised the letter was him.  That was back in 2000. Since then I have had fairly consistent contact with Elodie, my half sister and some brief contact with Damien but very sparce contact with Pat. My and Elodie's contact heightened before our wedding, a difficult choice as I wanted her to share my day but didn't mention it at all as I knew that they could not attend the wedding. Mum was there and it would have screwed up her day and mine, it wouldn't have been my about my wedding it would ahve been about them, me and the rest of my family. It was best for them not to know, so that is what we did. I later sent them a picture and carefully crafted letters to Pat and one to Elodie.

I let them know with everyone else when I was pregnant. Now this was slightly different from marriage. I was making Pat a grandfather. I didn't get much of a response, a brief email. These things don't bother me much. I'm just fascinated to think what he really thinks, I get some very kind and bland mails but nothing that gives his game away. I'm never sure if it is because I laid down the law so clearly in that first contact letter, and I call him Pat. Maybe I've set the tone, he is not my dad. He is my father. The two are totally different. A dad is loving, caring and shares a life with their offspring, a father is purely functional, a giver of life.

Since Matilda has been born, he has sent her a few outfits. Each time she has a change up in size we receive a unceremonious parcel with some new outfits for her. That is as much as he has shown an interest in his first grandchild. I have sent a link to photos of her to him but with no response.

My reason for blogging this today is that I have received an email from Pat, out of the blue today. A reply, 4 months late to my last mail thanking him for the last set of clothes for her.

PAT
"That was it!!! hope you're all ok.. autumnn selection to arrive, hopefully, soon......when are you next in the south??"

MY ORIGINAL MAIL: On 13 Jun 2008, at 13:30

"Thank you very much for the parcel for my birthday. The little outfit for Matilda is lovely and perfect for a hot summer - which I hope comes back, it would be typical if that was it!
Hope you are all well. You must be pleased for Damien and his degree.
Lotsa love
Shiv, Rich and Tilly."

Well I'm not sure what to think. I'm agog.  Does sending me a parcel of clothes every three months suffice?  I've had more information in text messages from service providers or spam.  I would rather have an email with contact, some human interaction.  I am not someone to be bought.

All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth

Well she's got them!   

I feel like a terrible mother. I've been at work all week - a special case as The Musical gets into full swing we've been in the recording studio so Tilly was at nursery for 5 days this week.  I've missed her a lot as for 2 nights this week I've got back just after she's gone to bed so I have savoured today, making up for lost time with lots of stories, playing games and songs.   The nursery feed Tilly all her meals; breakfast, lunch and tea and we give her bottles before she goes and when she comes home.  Today I fed her breakfast and I noticed resistance on the spoon, I placed my clean finger in her mouth to feel a sharp tooth. I was so excited but also felt a slight tinge of guilt . . when had this key moment happened?  If they came through mid week I hadn't noticed, how awful of me, but without feeding her food I couldn't have.  I managed to get a better look and it wasn't just one but two, both bottom teeth had broken through her gums.  This maybe explains the fact that she has woken up the last few nights a few times, apparently it happens more with teething.  

Richard was in the shower, so I waited until he came back down and told him to place his finger in her mouth.  He casually replied "Oh to feel the teeth." Oh my goodness, he knew and didn't think to tell me!!   He thought it had been like that for a long time and noticed last night.  

Today we've been out to buy Matilda a toothbrush.  I think that this is quite a poignant moment, looking at the holder in the bathroom, it is the first sign that there are three 'people' in the house.   

Milky milky

I'm not quite sure how I feel about this, I am half disgusted and half surprised.   In the shower this morning I noticed that my breasts were still producing milk.   It has been six weeks since I stopped breastfeeding and I find this totally facinating.  I knew that if I regretted my decision that I could restart it but I was under the impression that I'd have to restart within a week.  The milk is yellow again, presumably it has returned to being colostrum.  Although I'm not planning on starting again I'm curious to know if I did would I have to go back through those initial stages again, colostrum through to the milk coming in.   They just don't tell you this stuff.    I wonder when it will all just stop and my body will return to 'normal'. 

Chorus of "Bye Bye Matilda"

A wonderful moment today that I wished I could have recorded.   Collecting Matilda from nursery, I was putting her into her car seat and the other children were out in the garden looking anxiously for their parents, they started to shout "Bye Bye Matilda" . . . "see you tomorrow".  It was so lovely, a little chorus from small voices to Matilda, her new 'friends'.