In 1970, Britain was suffering power cuts across the country, caused by industrial action. The days and times of the cuts varied each week. I remember having to do my homework by candlelight.
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A couple of weeks ago I made a final visit to the house where I grew up. My dad had decided to sell and I had to pick up a few remaining bits and pieces.
Though I was actually born in hospital, I spent my years from zero to 20 living in that 1950’s semi-detached. In a small cul-de-sac alongside the former A1 — the main London to Edinburgh road — and just a couple of miles from Newcastle city centre.
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I forgot my friend Chris’s birthday, so I made a short video message for him.
Standing by yourself in a busy public place, talking into a camera, is the weirdest thing. Of course, on-screen, it seems like a normal thing to do and if you appear to be anything other than 100% natural, it looks odd. I’m better at it than I was.
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I could hardly walk last Thursday. I’d done my back in somehow. Can’t think how (and certainly not due to anything pleasurable!).
Luckily this only happens about once every five years. The silliest thing can cause it. The last major incident was during a photoshoot in 1994 when I stretched across a background to pick up a small teapot and ended up crawling around the house for two days.
This time I was just incredibly stiff, with a few twinges. I hate pills but an anti-inflammatory at bedtime seemed to ease things. A nasty side effect of the pills is that they seem to make me depressed. Which is unusual, because I’m naturally a happy bunny. Or maybe it’s just the nagging back pain that gets me down? Hard to tell…
I always wonder what would it be like if it didn’t get better. It is so disabling. Glad to say I’m now well on the road to recovery.
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