Centre of attention

On Monday I took myself off to the Hackney Picturehouse to watch people talk about their experiences of being the centre of attention hosted by Spark London.

When I walked into the unfamiliar building and was told to get in a life and go right up to the top floor-the attic- I was a bit dubious.

I went to the toilet first as I am a woman and it is important to check out the facilities when somewhere new. Be it a theatre, a restaurant or a friend’s house. A toilet says a lot about a place/person, but if anyone wants to come to mine I will need a phone call about an hour before, I don’t want anyone thinking I live in a pigsty when it is obviously the kids.

Back to the Attic -I feared the centre of attention was going to be on me the following day by way of a newspaper front page. The light in the toilet went out leaving me in the dark mid flow, and the creepy music playing didn’t help my imagination go full throttle and convince me there was someone lurking in the next cubical with a Scream mask on. It was a good job I was already in the toilet else I would have wet myself.

Thankfully I walked out of the loo with my jugular still intact and I went to watch people speaking about being centre of attention. At the start of the evening everyone was a bit reluctant to take part- it was an open mike night but I think we all thought we were there to be entertained by other people.

I sure as hell wasn’t going to get up there, maybe one day I will have the guts. Next week the talk is ‘nature’. Hmmm, I could think up a few naturist experiences I have had I’m sure, but speaking in front of an audience and feeling naked is a completely different kettle of fish.

The centre of attention stories were funny, random and interesting. Though I am gutless and didn’t get up on the night, I have been thinking about when I have been the centre of attention.

After a hell of a lot of thinking I found recently in the past few years I haven’t really been the centre of attention, not in a bad way just I have been going along in life without it really happening.

However, when I was younger around 8/9/10/11... ok up until my late teens, I used to always want to be the centre of attention -with boys.

There was a boy in my brother’s year that I used to live a couple of houses away from. Me, my brother and his brothers all used to play together. I liked him – a lot. So I tried to get his attention – a lot.

In school I used to get friends to go and get him to him because I wanted to speak with him, or because I was upset, or because, just because. Needless to say, he did not always come running. We used to play in my back garden (not a euphemism) I used to not do as he told me purposely to make him pay more attention to me, nothing drastic just silly little things.

I also used to run away from weddings a lot (something I did in later life too). My ‘husband’ would be waiting for me at one end of the playground and then there was me at the other. When the crucial moment came, I would send my friends to tell him I didn’t want to marry him while I happily ate my ketchup and butter sandwich.

Another boy attention moment I remembered while writing this was having three rings from 3 different boys when I was about seven. I lost two of them in straw bales in the school field, the third didn’t last much longer before being lost in the abyss of the bale.

Sadly as I have got older the treat them mean keep them keen has not always worked, especially after a bottle of wine. (Why do women get soooo mean on wine? I would blame the sugar but we don’t get angry on chocolate. Oh no, bloody love that sugary stuff.)

The below are some other times I have been the centre of attention....

When I had a panic attack in PE class (I know I have told you a hundred times).

When some boy threw a stick against a tree and a bit flew into my face and got stuck there.

When I thought I was a badass and tried to climb on a beach shelter and broke my wrist.

When I gate crashed a house party and had to be taken to hospital after drinking too much. (Should apologise to my brother and his frien- who had the party- for that again. Sorry!)

When I fell over and smashed a microwave with my head (The glass bit- I was fine thankfully and so was my glass of wine.)

In France when I said I didn’t want tequila because I would be sick but had a shot anyway then threw up all over the bar, and was then told to clean it up. So did and then fell over in the toilet, then went back to my cabin had a shower and pole danced for the rest of the night. – The party don’t stop when I throw up.

When I was giving birth, there were a lot of nurses prodding my centre of attention.

Well, best get off and make some memories to add to the bullet points! Maybe minus the wine though.