I AM Joan Collins

Beltane dawned in a whiteout of mizzle and haar that wasn’t for lifting.  In the afternoon, to amplify liberation, I went to the movies at the ARC Peterhead.  If there’s mizzle here, guaranteed it’s pouring in Peterhead, but somehow that made the journey more bewitching.  The drive along the winding country roads was liminal and spooky.  Passing the ruins of Deer Abbey, I thought to come back in summer.  There are fabulous yew trees there and never anyone about.  Ghostly monks perhaps.  Land drenched in chanting and prayer across millennia.  A standing stone circle nearby.  Perhaps a summer solstice adventure to find it?  I believe I may. 

I saw an Irish film, ‘That They May Face the Rising Sun’.  It’s a quiet film about an aging rural community and a younger couple who have moved there, for ‘the quiet life’.  The scenery is glorious and I felt soothed watching it. 

When I was a gal, it was on the news that Harrods had been closed for an evening for the exclusive use of Joan Collins.  Oh, the glamour!  When I bought my cinema ticket, the manager said, “I’ve put you in D9, but you’re the only one in there so you can sit wherever you like”.  Bliss, of the deep rolling peace of a big screen eyeful of the green trees and hills of Ireland, a tea in my drink-holder and a discount price sweet treat, in a cinema all to myself.  I AM Joan Collins.

Drove home via Fraserburgh for groceries, and bought deep coral peonies.  The day had inhaled, the haar backed off, hovering over the sea, watery lemon sun glimmering through.  New green stubble bearded the wintered trees.  I felt wide awake.  Grateful and glad for my quiet life.

I hope Joan Collins got discount price too.