Surviving

Day 6

We went to the dogs last night and my lucky red lipstick netted us over £100!

Us with our winnings!

That’ll help us with the credit card bill! Or at least might cover some of the cost the next time Mr P decides we have to have some new music gizmo. My problem is I don’t really understand the technical bits so he can always convince me we’re in desperate need of some piece of technology that apparently will make our lives slightly easier. I have yet to notice a difference.

Being a musicians wife

Being a musician’s wife is a strange thing. Musicians – I’ve learned – do nothing by halves. It’s what makes them good, what keeps them going and getting better. It’s also what makes them complete and utter nightmares to live with... lovely nightmares but nightmares nonetheless! All musicians are addicts; addicted to performing, success, and sometimes worse. I’m lucky that I can count myself as one of Mr P’s addictions – closely followed by the spotlight, shiny new speakers and custard creams.

As a musicians wife you get used to cancelled plans, over-excited phone calls anytime day or night about a new scheme, mysteriously decreased bank balances coinciding with magically appearing bits of equipment, messages from women of all ages gushing about the wonderfulness of your beau (I still maintain any one of them can take him if they can manage to put up with him for more than 24 hours) and endless repeats of the latest song they’re into.

You also get used to excitement, dizzying highs and huge crashing lows. You get used to beautiful extravagant gestures made to make you smile and to never ever being bored. You lie awake for hours waiting for the key in the door, scrub foundation out of white shirts and smile through gritted teeth when you’re asked “So, where is he tonight?” for the 50^th time that day. And you love every single wonderful, infuriating second of it.

I’ve learnt to cope on my own while he is away performing and sometimes (shhh!) even enjoy it. I’ve also been able to start to carve out my own little career doing what I love. One of the best things is when we get to perform together. Even better when we can do it without wanting to kill each other.

 

Surviving

Without Mr P I wouldn’t have discovered a love of all things vintage and I wouldn't have discovered the power of the red lippy. It all comes from that era; it was a time of change, innovation and stars. Women back in the 50’s had to contend with making their way in a man’s world. Particularly true of singers and actresses, you only have to look at the sad case of Marilyn Monroe to see how manipulated and used young girls were. But those women knew how to use their femininity to get where they wanted to go. They weren't afraid to be unabashedly female.

 “I don't mind living in a man's world, as long as I can be a woman in it.”
― Marilyn Monroe, Marilyn

Tonight I am emulating Connie Francis, a true survivor. 

Connie

Me - oh how I wish I had her waist!

After surviving a horrific rape in 1974 she fought back and went public at a time when rape was not discussed. In her own words:

“Unfortunately, some people don't think of rape as such a horrendous crime. People are saying that everyone is screwing around so much anyway, what's the difference?”

Speaking out about her attack and suing the motel that allowed it to happen by not fitting an $8 security lock to the balcony window where she was sleeping cost Connie her marriage, her career and her sanity. But she fought back, eventually becoming chairman for the National Association for Crime Victims Rights. She also began performing again – even going back to the same town where her attack took place.

When asked about her rape Connie said that it was an “ever present thing” with scars that would “never heal”. But she managed to fight her way back to happiness by not giving in. I don’t believe we are able to ignore all the bad things that happen to us because they change us. Whether it’s losing someone you love, being diagnosed with an illness, being screwed over in the workplace or something as horrific as rape. You can’t just get over it and go back to how you were because that’s over. What you can do is hold your head up high and forge on. For me that involves putting on my brightest lipstick and biggest smile and hitting the world head on.

It doesn’t always work, nothing does, but at least I am doing something.

Even if that something is just to put on a little red lippy each morning.

Mrs P

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