To be honest, I was chuffed.  Previously, my proudest moment had been winning my ‘Jester’ badge in the Brownies, but that was 40 summers ago.  (As an aside, I only lasted three weeks in the Girl Guides before they asked me to leave).

The first meeting of all Theos SBS winners was on Friday 30 March.  I was lucky enough to travel with another Basingstoke winner -Sandrine from The Nautical Company - (check out her website for some lovely French designer clothing).

I hadn’t had many dealings with many SBS winners before…only Dylan Moore from Aqua Design Group who made my lovely SBS winners badge, on my home page…

Over a tomato sandwich and a glass of cranberry juice (no, I don’t have a medical condition) we were finally able to meet fellow SBS winners and their guests – and what a lovely bunch of people.

I especially enjoyed chatting to Chris and Claire Hainstock of LincolnMedia and Acting the Party and also Brett Symes of Brett Symes Photography.  You were all so helpful and I look forward to chatting with you soon.

And another quick thank you to Tina Fotherby of Rymans…I really appreciate your help.

Theo Paphitis was a revelation.  He came through the room, happy to chat, and then took the stage. He was funny and interesting. What came across the most was his genuine enthusiasm for small businesses.  He didn’t make daft promises; he knows he can’t put us all ‘on the map’ but quite simply he’s passed us each a ball…and now it’s up to us to pick it up and run with it.

So what have we gained?  Well, there is now an special SBS winners website designed by Chris Wheeler of Metal Frog Studio.

Thank you Chris – it’s a cracking website, and we were all able to give our input into what we want from it.  I’m really proud to be part of it, and with a £50 online gift credit from Ryman Stationery I think it’s all more than generous.

We also had a question and answer session, with some great questions.

How exactly does Theo choose his SBS winners? Well let’s just say you had to be there to find out.  There were a couple of daft questions too…..but then if you put a camera in the room I suppose it’s inevitable.

So what happened next?  We joined the huge throng of people queuing up to be photographed with Theo.  He’s obviously the George Clooney of the business world and has the patience of a saint; managing to smile with an assortment of (mostly ladies) draped around him.

So, the good news is I’ve had my photo taken with Theo.  The bad news is that mine makes me look as though I’m high on cranberry juice…. so it’s probably just as well that I can’t upload it……

The icing on the cake?  A wonderful Goodie Bag from Rymans, which actually had goodies in it that you didn’t want to stuff into a cupboard and forget about.  Thank you!

And last but not least….a quick shout out to some lovely people who I especially enjoyed talking to:

Neil Jackman from Enzo Retail Ltd - I’ve never before had a business card with a pair of underpants on it…

Heather Maskill from Vintage Chairs - a lovely little business with some super furniture.

Sherlock Herring from Red Herring Games - I can honestly say I’ve never before networked with a fish…

Sarah Evans from Right Bag - another Basingstoke SBS winner.

Barry Slip from L F Designs - lovely to see your smiling face for real..

Louise Barson from Silver Concierge - same again…

and finally the lovely Marketing Expert Jenny Hinds  - thank you for being such good company.

The Girl I Used to Be

People bustle past my bed; they’ve such a lot to do,
I long for conversation, or a caring word or two,
Nobody is interested and nobody will see,
That inside this frail old lady is the girl I used to be.

I used to go to parties, and I fell in love, like you,
I wore a dazzling wedding gown and promised I’d be true,
I danced a lot, I loved too much, I watched my children grow,
I nursed my man through illness then I sadly let him go.

So when you walk straight by me, please remember I’m like you,
I’ve had troubles that you might just have; done things you’ve yet to do
To you, I’m just a problem, just another OAP,
But remember, I was once like you…one day you’ll be like me.

©Jan Jack 2012

Kindly note this verse cannot be reproduced without the express permission of Jan Jack’s Perfect Verse.

This is the Perfect Verse tongue in cheek guide to what not to do….

1. Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to deliver a speech if you are completely trolleyed. It will all end in tears. Most likely, the bride’s.

2. Never begin speaking whilst finishing a mouthful of food. This is not an appropriate point in the evening for the bride to be covered in fresh cream.

3. Never use profanity of any description; even if it does form part of your pet name for the groom.

4. Don’t go into lurid detail about the groom’s ex girlfriends. In fact don’t mention them at all. The guests are there to hear that the only woman the groom has ever really loved is sitting beside him, finishing enough food to feed a small continent.

5. Never refer to the bride as ‘the current‘ Mrs Whatever. She won’t find it funny. Neither will her parents; weddings are expensive.

Please feel free to add your own advice.

Dave was our headline act at Basingstoke Comedy Club Laughter-House the next night.

He’s a superb comedian.

But his foray onto Breakfast TV brought to to mind an interview I had with a BBC radio station just after the 2008 Olympics. They asked me my thoughts on the little Chinese girl who sung so beautifully at the Olympic opening, and was then replaced on screen by someone ‘prettier’. In China, when asked how she felt, the little girl replied that it was such an honour to sing for her country that she didn’t mind.

I said that one of my Chinese speaking friends (yes, I’ve hundreds of those) was out there at the time, and the correct translation was more like “Look, I’m 9 years old, I’m a girl, and I live in China. I’m just grateful I’m not in an orphanage.”

I’m still waiting to be asked back.

If you want to see some pictures of our night, have a gander here… http://www.michaelpalmer.com/laughing-at-people-in-basingstoke/

I’m a bespoke poet who tweets in rhyme.  I use twitter to make people laugh. I help other businesses by tweeting about them in verse. It sharpens my sense of humour, finds new friends, and also brings me new commissions.

But last night it brought me something else…and I’m now part of an elite group known as the Theo Paphitis #SBS (Small Business Sunday) winners club.

Theo loves to support small businesses, and every Sunday night on Twitter he invites us to tweet him between 5.00pm and 7.30 and he personally picks six of us out to re-tweet.  To be honest I sneaked in between the skin of my quill, with only one minute to go, with the following tweet:

“I am a comedian and poet. I write wedding speeches which make people laugh and cry”.

I then carried on tweeting my usual nonsense…until at 20.55 I was amazed to see that Theo Paphitis had retweeted my tweet.

What happened next?  My twitter steam went bonkers….my followers now number 2,440 and are still rising….and my business is on view to far more people.  I love it.

So if you want to shout about your business, then join in the #SBS tweeting on Sunday night. Just tweet Theo Paphitis on @TheoPaphitis and tell him what you do.  Don’t forget to include the #sbs hashtag, and remember to tweet him between 5.00pm and 7.30pm.

I’m really grateful to Theo Paphitis for picking me out for his #sbs award.  It’s lovely to be featured, and with my book Animal Angst due out later this year it will help make more people aware of it.

But will it make my tweets more sensible?

I very much doubt it….

But the Perfect Verse which nestles closest to my heart was the one I wrote for Sue.

A year ago, just before Christmas, Sue telephoned me, very unhappy.  She was 50 years old, and divorced for a year and was on great terms with her ex husband Dave; both parties happily having moved on to new partners.  But when it came to her extended family, it wasn’t quite so straightforward.

Although the divorce was amicable, his parents didn’t know how to relate to Sue any more and completely ‘withdrew’ from her.  They continued to see her daughters, but excluded Sue from family occasions. Suddenly she was without the family – and the love –  that she’d treasured for the previous thirty five years.  She’d always been fond of her mother in law, and also found it painful to miss out on her nieces and nephews growing up.

“Can you help me Jan?” she asked.  “ They’re still my family but I can’t find the words I need.  I want to tell them that I love them and miss them, and that my feelings haven’t changed just because Dave and I are apart.”

The talk we had lasted for an hour. It was a very poignant consultation, and Sue’s pain was tangible.

I reviewed my notes and set to work.  You can find the result,  ’A Letter to Mum‘ on my Sample Verse page.  You will need to scroll down the page slightly.

 Sue cried when I read her Perfect Verse to her a few days later.  And, I confess, so did I.  She told me she was going to put it in her ex Mother in Law’s Christmas card.

A few days after Christmas, she contacted me. “I’ve had a phone call from Mum.  We’re having lunch together next week.  Jan, I don’t know what to say.  I just can’t thank you enough.”

All in all, I think that has to be one of my proudest moments.

She was one of the ‘old school’, one of the stiff upper lip brigade.  A childless widow, at eighty years old she kept herself busy and never felt sorry for herself.

We celebrated her 80^th birthday last June with a boat trip; a beautiful summer’s day.  She cut the cake whilst we sang Happy Birthday to her, in varying degrees of competency.

In July my father died.  The funeral procession left from my house.  My Godmother arrived with a huge bunch of flowers for me; such was her thoughtfulness.   We all commented on how well she looked.

She died in hospital just two months later.

At her thanksgiving service I sat in the church, tearful and overwhelmed, clutching my husband’s hand.

Her nephew read a eulogy.  I listened, shocked, as he told the congregation that she had been diagnosed with leukaemia two years previously and had been receiving blood transfusions every six weeks.

I had had no idea that she was ill.  I found it incredibly painful.  As we filed out of the church, I cried helplessly on her nephew’s shoulder as we shared our grief.

“So you didn’t know then?”   He was surprised too.

Three months have gone by and I think of her every day, usually with a few tears.  I remember our shared laughter, our girly lunches and the love I felt for her.  And I feel bewildered.

Why she didn’t share this with me?

Didn’t she love me enough?  Didn’t she trust me?  Or was it because she didn’t want to be treated differently because she was ill?

My friends are convinced she was protecting me.  I don’t know what to think. All I know is that she’s gone, and I still can’t believe I’ll never see her lovely face again.

I was so proud of her.  I miss her in my life.

She truly was the best gift my parents ever gave me.

RIP lovely lady.

Well..almost all around me.

Because there’s always an exception isn’t there?  Have you noticed that?  The whole room might be laughing their socks off, but there will be one person looking at you as though you’ve  just recovered something particularly nasty from the bottom of their wash bin. You can’t escape it.

A year ago, when I first started after dinner speaking, I performed at a ladies golf club.  They asked me for something a little risque.  Fine by me. Risque I can do!

I started my poetry/storytelling and all was going well.  Until my eyes alighted on three old ladies at the front.   Three very old ladies, wearing tweed suits and sour expressions.  Sitting just under my nose and glaring at me in utter disapproval.   Not a glimmer of a smile.  Nothing.

I continued.  The laughter rang round the room but my eyes inexplicably kept returning to the Three Tweeds.

As I came to each risque poem I mentally did a Risk Assessment and invariably discarded it…..so let’s just say my performance that evening lacked a little oomph.  To be more precise there were Big Chunks Missing.

Afterwards I mentioned it to the Chairwoman.  ”Yes I’m sorry about that” she said.  ”We really shouldn’t have put them there.   They hate entertainment.”

Classic!

You learn a lot with experience.  You learn to get a feel for the audience. You learn never to concentrate on someone who looks as though they are sitting on a pine cone.

But in my defence I firmly believe there were mitigating circumstances.  Ask yourself, with three elderly ladies glaring at you, could  you have recited a verse called  ‘I wish I had a willy’ ?

No. I thought not.

We kept in touch over the years, long after we’d both ceased working for the firm.

In 1995 I separated from my first husband.  Tom had separated from his wife shortly before this.  We were both going through a tough time and metaphorically held each others hands.

Eventually we both remarried. His new wife, whom I shall call Sue, was lovely.

They set up a cosy family home together; Tom forged strong relationships with Sue’s children.  He was so happy.  And so proud of his gorgeous wife.

When she had a stroke at the age of 55 his world came crashing down once again.

It left her incapacitated.  Sue remained in hospital for two years, learning to walk and talk again.  In the meantime he was busily adapting their home to accommodate her disabilities.  After two years he proudly brought her home and changed his working life to become her carer.

We had lunch a few months later. We talked of Sue in depth.  He told me that she was well aware of her disabilities.  He told me that she was insecure about his love for her, which had remained constant.

“I want a Perfect Verse, Jan.  I want to tell her that she’s everything to me that she always was.”

“Whenever you’re ready Tom. Just let me know.”

Over the next few months he would call.  ”I must do that Verse….just a bit busy at the moment….”

“That’s fine Tom. ”

Last February he phoned me. “Jan, I need that Perfect Verse for Sue. Can you help?”

“Of course I can.”

“She died last week. I’m sorry Jan, it’s going to have to be her eulogy.”

Sue would have loved the words we put together.  Sad to think that she never actually heard them.

Or maybe she did.

I’m holding the thought that maybe, just maybe, she heard them from a different place.

RIP lovely lady.

This post is dedicated to a lady who taught me something very important when I was just sixteen years old.

The Power of Words 

As a little girl I would often perch on John’s wall while he tended his plants.  He was a big man; as warm as the sun which crept over his house, to touch on the rows of nodding flowers he looked after so lovingly.

He would tease me, asking gentle questions about school, and magically finding laughter in every subject.  I would wistfully imagine what life would be like if he was my father.  I often remember him leaning on his spade, and coaxing a robin on to his hand with a little square of cheese.  It seems I wasn’t the only one drawn to his garden.

As a teenager I would join him in easy companionship, chatting to him whilst he pruned and weeded.

“I’m going to college to be a secretary,”

He had frowned, and pushed back the cap he had taken to wearing out of his eyes.

“I never imagined you as a secretary.  Is that what you really want to do?”

He was the only person in my life to ask me that question.

I rarely saw his wife.  Veronica, a dark eyed, beautiful woman, would occasionally venture out with a shy smile and then retreat quickly back to her kitchen.  But even as a teenager, I sensed that they adored each other.

I clearly remember the day I heard that John had died.  It was a chance remark; tossed away by people who hardly knew him.  He had lost his life to cancer a month before, at the age of 42.

The pain, for me, was intense.  When I heard the news I ran to his house and stood outside for a while.  It was raining, and the rain coursed down the gutters and splashed into the water butt at the side of the house.  I glanced at John’s pride and joy; his rows of flowers; now bowing their little heads sadly under the weight of the rain.  I’m still not sure why I stood outside his house for so long.

It was a whole month before I saw Veronica.  She was walking on the opposite side of the road carrying a wicker basket.

I stopped. Had she seen me?  What on earth could I say?  As well as I’d known her husband, I hadn’t really known her.  Perhaps I could steal away quietly.  For a sixteen year old, this was an overwhelming dilemma.

And then she looked up.  So reluctantly, I crossed the road with a thumping heart; my eyes avoiding hers in the awkwardness of the moment.

“How are you?

She was wearing leather gloves.  I remember the feel of the leather as she placed a hand in mine.

“Have you time to come in.  Please?”

That afternoon, we held hands across her kitchen table.  She told me of the profound pain she felt, when people crossed the street to avoid her.   “People don’t know what to say.  They never mention him because they don’t want to hurt me,” she said “I long to talk of him, but it’s as though he never existed.”

So we talked of John.  We talked of how they had met at a school dance when she was fifteen.  We both cried.  We cried for a man we both loved in our very different ways.

That afternoon, Veronica taught me something I’ve never forgotten.  She taught me not to be frightened to reach out.  She taught me the power of compassion.  She taught me that if someone means something to you, you should always tell them.

Because one day, it just might be too late.