Now’s just not the right time…
I have a rule about showing yourself up in public: don’t do it for fck sake.
Always has been and always will be best to hide the crazy for just those closest to you, and of course, behind closed doors too.
It really takes a special kind of someone to lose all decorum in front of complete strangers, and whilst we shouldn’t care what people we don’t know think of us, there’s just something rather uncouth about someone losing their shit in full view of the general public.
Lest we forget, stranger spectators don’t even know your backstory and that would really trouble me if my meltdown was public. After I’d dried my last tear and mopped up any blood from the recipient of my outburst, I would then feel the need to go over and give my audience the full lowdown as to why I was getting all fcked up in the street. Sure, I’ve had many occasions where I’ve lost all cool in public, but I have trained myself in recent years to keep it on the DL. Also, I have a very strict rule about crying in public. Not because I’m an ugly crier, I just don’t want to show weakness. Is that a problem?
Now, the story
So with all this information in mind, I went to a funeral recently.
I had to attend an elderly family member’s final goodbye. And the first thing to say is that this goodbye was far from a sad one. He had lived to the ripe old age of 90, disease-free, and he wasn’t even ugly at the time of death. A fantastic innings and a wonderful life.
But having to go to this meant I was faced with some family members I hadn’t seen for around seven years. But more than that, they were ones I’d never really seen much or spoken to in the first place. I would say we were strangers.
So at the after party, (or ‘wake’ as they all kept calling it as they came up to me in the VIP section (or ‘corner of the pub’ as they kept calling it)), these stranger semi-family members decided to get totally trashed and completely accost me in a manner that I found to be frankly startling.
I have like a half sister, who I’ve never really spoken to. She followed myself and my brother out into the smoking area (I was stress-smoking this day) and I’d clocked about five other people just round the corner enjoying the quiet of the outside with their chosen cigarettes and suddenly there she was in front of us talking super loud, adding tears into the mix, and doing shoulder crying actions which really makes me uncomfortable and go very silent.
Then her boyfriend, who I’d never met in my life, was suddenly very close to my face asking me all manner of quite personal and deep shit. This public showdown was most fckin weird. It was as though we had descended to become The Gallaghers from that Shameless TV show, and this sent me into my sunken place.
As our family history, of which I have no recollection nor interest, was being laid out at the top of voices amidst crying and arm movements, all I kept thinking about was the strangers around the corner, whilst also sometimes wondering if the venue had a panic room. Anyway, I just told them to be quiet and have some respect for the dead, for themselves and for the smokers around the corner. I don’t need therapy from the non-qualified.
We can’t always speak to all our family members all the time. I’m too busy. Sorry. I have a mother and that takes up all my spare time. What do you want from me? “A relationship,” came the reply. She don’t know me at all – that would be the last thing she wanted if she did.
When I finally managed to escape the whole circus, I thought to myself: “I can’t believe all that deep shit just happened at a funeral after party. I mean, is that really the place to do it?”
As I said before, it seemed to me to be most uncouth. To ambush somebody at a funeral. But then the next day I realised actually, if you’re going to start going mad and showing yourself up in public, big events like that are totally the funnest way to do it. So now I think it was super cool.
I thought of some imaginary moments where a public meltdown at a public event would have been cool;
I imagined Scary Spice yelling at Ginger Spice during the wedding of Posh & Becks, telling her that she smells of Farley’s Rusks and human piss as they were perched upon their purple thrones. I thought this would have been very cool.
I Imagined what might happen if at Gianni Versace’s funeral, Kate Moss and Naomi got so pissed they stripped and started crying and screaming that Donatella just wouldn’t cut the cloth.
I’m now hoping for a proper showdown at Harry and Megan’s wedding. Something involving William getting so pissed he cries to his Grandmother about Harry’s full head of ginger hair, and his lack thereof.
I’ve now decided we should stick to the being chic in public rule, but with the following exceptions:
At pivotal birthdays
And at health spas…
As for my long lost family? Well…