Judith Lacy’s Jottings: ‘It’s myself talking to myself about myself’

Tommy Shelby in Peaky Blinders. “I am my own revolution.”

OPINION

Tommy Shelby yanks the nun’s glasses off her face and smashes them.

Peaky Blinders is chock-full with violence, most of it unnecessarily gruesome, but it’s that scene of Tommy showing his anger at the nun hitting orphans with a brick that made me start.

And I’m on my second viewing of the Netflix series.

Having relied on glasses to function since I was about 7, I remain petrified of breaking mine.

I used to be petrified of the interview question: “What are your weaknesses?”

Good grief, where does one start? Probably with the three Ps. Punctuality, presentation and parking.

I can do all three but they don’t come naturally. Growing up, we were often known as the Late Lacys (lazy alliteration no doubt) and Mum would say it was better to be late than dead on time.

She’s correct.

Thwarting my pursuit of punctuality is the increase in traffic in Palmerston North and changes to make the roads more cycle- and pedestrian-friendly.

Yes, yes, I hear you cry. I just need to leave earlier.

Fun fact: I was 20 minutes late for a job interview once and still got the job. I don’t recommend giving this a whirl yourself though.

Presentation as in physical presentation. Polished shoes, shaved and moisturised legs, and combed hair are about my limit. Bra on. A quick check there is no chocolate smeared around my mouth or spinach stuck in my teeth.

Then there’s parking. I can’t parallel park. I didn’t have to do it to pass my driver’s licence and I have never learned since. It’s good exercise to park a bit further away and walk anyway.

After some inventive parking the other day (on private property I hasten to add), an acquaintance commented it was good to see I wasn’t living my life within the lines.

When have I ever? If I were to slip on the proverbial banana skin tomorrow, I would go skidding into my plot at Aramoho Cemetery in Whanganui knowing I have never coloured my life within the lines of others.

Why would I want to? More importantly, who drew the lines in the first place?

On Saturday, I shared these thoughts with a woman I went to boarding school with. She didn’t bat an eyelid. She knew.

Listening to George Balani on my walkman after lights out, getting the matron to wake me at 5.30am so I could do my washing. She knew.

Challenging the status quo of only seniors being able to bags showers. She knew.

No kids. No husband. Everyone knows.

One of my favourite Tommy Shelby lines is when he tells his housekeeper he knows what is wrong. “It’s myself talking to myself about myself.”

Yep. Maysie knows.

Colour outside the lines by all means, but don’t throw out the colouring-in book that is civil society.

Park between the lines so people can use the next park. And don’t park over the footpath so pedestrians have to navigate an obstacle course.

Even I can do this.