Tag Archives: oldiscool

Music that makes me go GRRRR

1 Feb

I haven’t yet shared with you my GRRRL POWER playlist! This is a playlist that I listen to when I am feeling depressed or “whats the point”-y. After I listen to it I CAN DO ANYTHING! It was originally named the FEMINIST PLAYLIST but not all of it is feminist music however all of it makes you feel like you can punch the patriarchy in the face!

Here it is:

1) The first one is “Mr Big Stuff” by one hit wonder Jean Knight.

2) The next is “Hot Topic” by Le Tigre (WOOOO)


3) This is “NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS” by Salt’n’Pepper (They speak the truth)


4) Next is “Respect Yourself” by The Staple Singers


5) After that, “Rebel Girl” by Bikini Kill (The music is GUT despite the members faults)


6) Of course no playlist would be complete without NINA SIMONE! Today in the form of “I wish I knew how it would feel to be free”

7) “Your Revolution” by Sarah Jones (Not techniquely a song but amazing never the less)


8) Ending with the classic “You don’t own me” by Lesley Gore (possiblly the first feminist pop song)


I hope you have enjoyed the music!

Lilipop x


I’ve never really known anybody who died before

9 Jan

I think I must have hugged my grandad twice in my entire life.

It was always my grandma, smelling of French perfume, new wool and hairspray, sounding of silver bangles, laughter and poshness, and feeling of squidge and linen, who my sisters and I clamoured to greet. When my grandad died, one of the thoughts running through my head was, oddly enough, ‘why didn’t I hug him more?’

Or maybe I am just making that up. My whole memory of him is blurry.

I can’t remember what I was thinking when I heard of his death, but I remember crying helplessly, then getting up from my soggy bed to crawl to my sister’s room, where she was being read a story by my mum. No tears there. I remember my mum’s tight face and my sister’s indifference. She’d known him even less than I had.

Things I do remember about Stanley Opperman include:

  • His laugh. Rare and hearty and loud. Always at something witty. Usually breathless. 
  • Thin and tall – overwhelming when I was young. An impression of being loomed over is most of what I have.
  • Clever. His room was filled with books, beautiful books, films, insects and stuffed birds and a thin bed with an uncomfortable pillow (Despite divorcing shortly after marrying, they stayed together as friends and raised my mother, uncle and aunt. Sleeping in different rooms of course).
  • Cooking. My grandad had SKILLZZZ. His caramelised carrot recipe is still referred to as “Stan’s Carrots” in our family.

Weirdly enough, I know him better now he is dead. I’m older and I imagine he would like the person I’ve grown up into (or started to grow up into. Maturity is not upon me yet, oh no).

Things I now know about Stanley Opperman include:

  • He was an atheist. The only thing he left me in his will was a plastic folder of papers passionately arguing against religion and God in all its forms. 
  • He used to be a handsome photographer back in the day. I’ve seen photos. Still tall and skinny of course. But he had talent. Once my mum came down into the studio to find a naked lady balanced on top of a pile of lemons rubbing ice on her nipples. My grandad was in the corner setting up his camera. Neither of them batted an eyelid, of course.
  • He used to write as well. My grandma compiled a bunch of his scribblings into a book that she gave out at his funeral. It’s called Thoughts, could have been extremely tacky, but instead helped me know him. Thanks to that, along with mum’s scattered anecdotes, I have a grandad.

It isn’t even near the anniversary of his death or anything. I was just thinking about him. And now you can think about him too.

And yes, the title is from a Killers song.

I love my granny.

17 Nov

Jelly in: My mum found this letter a while ago. It is written by my grandma to her yet unborn children.  On the front is written  “P.Graham. For the future.”

I think that I’ll let it speak for itself.


The Cell


14th November 1951

Dearest son or daughter,

Really, I find it quite difficult to write to someone who just isn’t!

Today, or rather this evening (8:45 pm – to be exact!), is your uncle’s birthday. He’s 21. Really – this is too stupid! What if I don’t get married! Then you won’t read this ‘cos you won’t be! (I hope.)

I’ll present this letter to you just before you go to University – it’ll be a dire warning!

We had a midnight feast on Saturday – first of that kind I’ve experienced. It seems great fun when you plan it but at one o’clock when you’re rudely woken up, I found myself wondering if I would rather sleep until morning – but it all went off very well. We had chips and chicken, spring onions and lettuce, bread and butter, creamy peaches and pineapple (both tinned) and MUSHROOMS, which we heated over a spirit stove . Such excitement. Then we had cake, sweets, balloons, birthday cake – I had a pain for two days after that!

 Hell, I’m a fool. I have done NO work! You must work, when you’re my age. I’m going to plup! (Note- plup is slang for fail) My aunts and uncles and grandmothers (Good grief, they’ll be your great aunts, uncles and grandmothers!) have sent a telegram wishing me luck. I feel ashamed!

I’ve really no will-power! I’ve been reading a book called – something about Baghdad? – by Agatha Christie. Cissy Newdigate came in a moment ago and laughed like hell to see me writing this – she says why don’t I rather go and read my English set work (a terrible book called Pity On You.)

I can’t concentrate! Tricke (a girl called Ingrid Tricke) is playing Christmas carols, hits of the week and odds and ends of her flute.

By the way, I’m at boarding school – never been before! I’ve only been here for about 2 and 1/2 weeks. I came here very suddenly when home got the bright idea that I might work harder if I became a boarder. (I’m very easily distracted!) There goes the 9 o’clock bell. All these bells are getting me down!

Funny to think of me with kids – I’m 17 and 4 months now – I wonder how old you’ll be when you read this. Funny that everything is quite real to me, yet when you read this letter, I’ll be 45 or 50ish! Here I am sitting at my small desk (the one with one wonky leg – the desk not me) in my too-short pyjamas and faded dressing gown, laundry hanging up all over the room, my fingers ink-stained from this awful pen (which I only keep because once Bill Michaels touched it!).

Someone at school told me that he was going to write to me – but I haven’t had anything yet – I’m giving up the ghost!

Oh gee – look at all the swotting I’ve done!!! And it’s twenty past nine! You ought to be shot, wasting all my time like that! I wish I had time to write loads more to you, but I’ll write again when I turn twenty-one, to you when you turn twenty-one!

We have exams in three days, so they let us off lessons to swot! Hell, I pray I’ll study not play!

xxxxxx Hello and good-bye, from Mother (see, it sounds weird!).


Jelly in: This made me love my granny even more than I did before. Just so you know, my granny is the actual best and I’ll be diligently hunting out that letter she wrote when she was 21!

Jelly out.

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