The Elephant in the Room and Trafalgar Square, South Bank etc.

There are a noticeable amount of elephants all round the capital just now in an attempt to publicise the dearth of this magnificent creature because man is encroaching on their space.  Man (and woman)kind have not got a lot to be proud of - we are wrecking the planet, polluting the seas, over-populating the land etc. etc.  I could go on, but it would be too depressing.

However, the presentation of colourful elephants all over London is a bright and interesting way to highlight the problem - there are 250 apparently and I am going to try to photograph them all before they are taken away some time in July.  There is even an elephant parade at the Royal Hospital Chelsea at the end of June and I spotted a jewelled one, situated appropriately in Coutts Bank.  However, I have put a taster with this blog.  Enjoy!

Then I started to think about the expression 'the elephant in the room' and couldn't help remembering the Rise and Fall of Reginald Perrin with him seeing a hippopotamus every time his wife mentioned her mother.  My, very rude partner, suggested someone big to dinner one night and remarked that then we really would have an elephant in the room.

The expression of course means the presence of something not talked about or ignored, usually causing an atmosphere.  When I have an argument with someone and they think I am in to the wrong they may sulk and not speak to me - a punishment I don't enjoy.  I suppose that is 'the elephant in the room', but it usually refers to something much more sinister such as abuse, violence and sadism.  Fortunately, these days those subjects are shown the light of day more and no longer cast as dark a shadow as they used too.  However, there are still children and adults subject to abuse and violence and it is time for more refuges for the battered and care for the abused.

I believe the 'elephant in the room' in another home I know of was addiction - parents never referred to it and never even visited when their son was in treatment, nor his brother who was in hospital for drug-related problems at one time.  When I first mentioned addiction in that home, saying that Hepatitis C was probably caused by 'recreational drug use' the mother said she didn't know what I was talking about!  Now that is an enormous 'elephant in the room'.


I am not sure there was an 'elephant in the room' in my family home because we were encouraged to be honest and open and our parents were open and caring.  I was probably the one of us four children who shared least, being a rather private and secretive child.  I suppose sex was a little glossed over - my father was a minister and sex was considered taboo outside of marriage.  They had to give way on that after I moved in with a boyfriend, but it was at least a steady relationship - we were together for over 20 years and married seven years into the relationship.  Over the years, of course, they changed with the times and became less rigid in their beliefs.  I was proud of their honesty and belief in all of us children and couldn't imagine them not visiting us if one of us had been in treatment for anything.

Dedicated Follower of Fashion!

I saw Ray Davies (formerly of the Kinks to those of you who were born after the 70s) at the Albert Hall recently.  The concert was excellent and he and the band played many new numbers as well as some of the old favourites.  One of the old ones was 'He's a dedicated follower of fashion' and  I got to thinking how much I was a slave to fashion in my youth (many years ago).  I cringe when I remember many of the appalling clothes I thought I looked good in (I think it was called  'groovy' then).  I wore mini-skirts at the end of the 60s/start of the 70s  that were so short I couldn't sit down on the tube or sit anywhere except behind a desk  in case I showed my knickers and tights.  Thank goodness for tights though - imagine miniskirts with stockings.  I also wore hot-pants on a few occasions - I shudder at the thought.

Then in the 70s it was flares which got very wet and dirty, as well as downright dangerous if they caught in anything.  And the platforms -  which being 'vertically challenged' I wore a lot and have lost count of the times I fell off them when sometimes the worse for wear, but more often just because. ...  Then there were those awful tank tops and 'big hair' - I had an Afro which I could never quite manage and must have looked like a lollipop with a small, skinny body and a big head.

The long flowing skirts were a much nicer fashion and it meant you could be as undignified as you liked sitting down.  However, I never got up the courage to wear a see-through blouse - not got the boobs for it.  The hairstyles then were long and straight and I probably looked like a Amish and I coloured my hair with henna so I was red at that time.  I remember my boyfriend of the time had long, curly hair and wore an Afghan coat - he was always being stopped by the police who thought he must be on drugs to look like that.  I used to wear Patchouli Oil myself until a kind policeman told me the smell was similar to pot and I stopped - I was very naive then.

In the punk era I never really had courage for the chains, slashes and dangerous haircuts, but then I lived in Devon at the time and fashion was slow to reach Tavistock to say nothing of frightening the horses.  But I do remember an extreme punk hairstyled young man being refused employment because of the chances of him piercing the tyres in the garage where he was going to work.  There was the hairstyle I call the 'toilet brush' because that is what it resembled - hair pulled straight up.  There was a memorable occasion in a hospital shop when one of the elderly volunteers said, 'oh my dear, I am so sorry' - I presume she thought something had happened to cause her hair to be so bizarre.  Anyway, the young woman concerned came to work the next morning with her hair in a conservative ponytail.

In the 80s I became a great deal more conservative, not being in the first flush of youth, but I remember wearing a pale orange cheesecloth skirt and top on my wedding day.  I think my hair was mid-length and straightish by then.  But the ra-ra skirt was a step too far and I was proud of myself for avoiding this particular fashion - made you look as if you were a toddler going into a party.

In the 90s I went blonde and short - had a haircut similar to Annie Lennox but without her style and poise.  My own (then) husband walked past me in the street when I first had it done so it was a radical change.  It grew very quickly though and I couldn't be bothered having to keep having the roots done so grew it out and went for a different ringletty sort of perm - this was a disaster.  It looked fine to begin with, but when I washed it I couldn't get even an Afro comb through it and on one occasion my mother cut out a tangle which happened after a swim in Brighton.

In 2000 I am much more content and confident in dress and don't subscribe to being fashionable any more.  I look with fascination at the low-down jeans with the thongs showing at the top of them - I am always afraid they will either fall down or someone will tug them down for a laugh and the thongs make a weird sort of builders bum. Then there is the strange fashion of a pretty dress with Doc Marten's, shorts worn with tights underneath and warm boots with a light dress or skirt.  But I have to remind myself not to be an 'old fart' and remember the fashions I dressed in when I was young were just as ridiculous.