Serendipity rules, OK!

On the eve of the Paralympics, I meet three chair-bound American ladies from Florida, two of whom were former Paralympians. What are the odds? And I'm not a big fat fibber neither. I met them because I offered iced water to their two dogs. It was only later when they decided – very Golden Girls like – that they would 'commandeer' me, ostensibly to thank me and then get the gist on where they should go and how to get there.

Two of the ladies went back to their hotel to bed-down the dogs leaving 68 years-young Ruth Rosenbaum (former Table Tennis champ) to chew the fat and swallow a half-glass of chardonnay with me. It was then that I learned part of her history. The Atlanta Games jacket should have given the game away, but I only saw it when she explained who she was. And isn't that part of the bigger perception problem?

These ladies have been trying to get tickets. They leave for the next leg of their cruise on Friday. Can anyone help? I have a number for them. If you can, please do let me know.

My weeks as Evelyn Glennie

It started the day after the opening ceremony. Wild-eyed children staring at me. Parents telling their kids not to stare at me. Visitors asking if they could take a photo of me. Kids hugging me. And people in the street asking if it was ME. 

My hair has always announced me – advertised me. Wherever I go strangers stop me to tell me they love it. Men and women of all ages and younger girls who want to know who dyes it or where I get my extensions done. Neither is applicable, and I let them feel to prove that I do not speak with Clariol / salon forked-toungue.

My hair brands me. It's what some of our distant cousins call my EVP or personal brand. It's why others (the Jeremy Kyle fraternity) call me a witch. I thought I was a one-off and so it seems did everyone else until that day. Even I had to look twice. "What the feck are you doing there?" "I didn't know you could play the drums." And so on. The texts came thick and fast. They still are.

It was Evelyn, and the resemblance hair-wise was uncanny. Same cut, length and natural colour. We could have been twins except for the fact that I bang-on about everything and she bangs on drums etc, she being a master percussionist.

In certain places, companies – countries even – there is an overwhelming pressure to fit in, assimilate, be the same. Big mistake. Product / personality / presentation - each being crotched together. 

I'll never be ignored. My hair, mouth and output ensures that I have something to sell. I love Shaun the Sheep but I don't want to be him. 

Acknowledge the similarities and celebrate the differences. Just like Evelyn.

A valediction in Primark

I braved Primark’s flagship store on Oxford Street. 

For the brand snobs out there, this was to buy elastic hairbands.

I got to the pay desk. 
The chap serving me was a black, 17-20 something Londoner. “Did you see the ceremony?” He said animatedly.  I replied that I had. “Brilliant, innit!” And then, as he handed me my change, he punched the air with his fist, smiled the biggest smile and simply said, ”British!”

For those who still gripe about the cost of the games and their worth, that gesture, I think, says it all.