Recently over at The View From Down Here, journalist Lucy Webster wrote and posted something of an unexpected nature. She wrote - by her own admission - an unexpected essay about disability and self image, having just come home from a holiday. You can read that here.
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Later on, she also wrote on how the relationship can sometimes be in a state of flux, in terms of acceptance. That revelation came from the attendance of a Beyonce concert - and you can also read that brilliant piece here.
This got me thinking, in connection with a private conversation I’d had with my boss (hey Carrie-Ann if you’re reading!) Which is how this newsletter is with you today.
See you soon x
Having waited for months after the feverish anticipation of buying tickets, with an interview for a local arts magazine, Anastacia was finally back in Brighton to perform.
The pandemic had begun to feel but all an eerie dream, with the Dome suddenly alive with movement. Here was the woman with a huge voice, numerous health battles under her belt, doing what she loved to do; a woman who gives herself completely over to music has infinite power in the universe for all but a moment. At just over 50, she entertained us for almost 2 hours. Energetically. And she was also dancing with a cane to the dirty funk baseline of a song as old as me. It was Halloween, and it was a night of noughties nostalgia. And it was one of the most fun outings of last year. Not That Kind opened the show, with the cane - and I was besotted in seconds.
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