Latest news with #Tems
South China Morning Post
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- South China Morning Post
Who is Zoe Jackson, daughter of Samuel L. Jackson? She's an Emmy-winning producer with credits including Project Runway and RuPaul's Drag Race – and she went to school with Anne Hathaway
Last October, Hollywood legend Samuel L. Jackson was honoured at the Museum of Modern Art's star-studded Film Benefit in New York – and the celebrated actor had two of the most important women in his life by his side to cheer him on. We're talking, of course, about his wife, LaTanya Richardson Jackson and their daughter, Zoe Jackson, both of whom looked radiant in white, while the man of the hour sported an all-black ensemble. Other celebrity guests included Denzel Washington , Amanda Seyfried, Natasha Lyonne , Meghann Fahy and Tinseltown's newest 'It' couple, Iris Apatow and Sam Nivola, among others. The evening also featured a performance by singer Tems. Honoree Samuel L. Jackson and wife LaTanya Richardson Jackson at the Museum of Modern Art Film Benefit in New York last October. Photo: AP Advertisement The Pulp Fiction star thanked his partner during his speech, in which he touched on what he called the life-changing power of cinema and on his drive to 'keep creating', but he also gave her a shout-out on Instagram, calling her his 'rock'. He then took the chance to thank his daughter, addressing her as 'the inspiration'. So, what else do we know about Zoe Jackson? She's an Emmy-winning producer Samuel L. Jackson's daughter, Zoe Jackson, as a baby. Photo: @samuelljackson/Instagram Zoe Jackson, 43, studied psychology at Vassar College, New York, where a classmate was actress Anne Hathaway . On her graduation day, it was her dad who gave the commencement speech, making it extra special. After graduating, Jackson took to production and worked on huge successes like Project Runway and RuPaul's Drag Race . It was for RPDR that she won an Emmy in 2021. Jackson worked with Hathaway and father Samuel on Funny or Die and collaborated with him again on documentary series Life on the Edge, about gang culture. She helps keep her parents together Samuel L. Jackson and LaTanya Richardson Jackson welcomed their daughter, Zoe, on March 28, 1982. Photo: @samuelljackson/Instagram Zoe Jackson was raised with much love by her superstar parents. Her mum, a prolific actress, took a step back from her career after Zoe was born to focus on motherhood, and her father also made sure to be a part of her life. 'My dad was an absentee dad, so it was always important to me that I was part of my daughter's life, and she deserved two parents, which is part of what informs us staying married for 30 years,' the Star Wars actor told Esquire in 2010. To spend time with their daughter, the busy couple go on a lavish sailing holiday with her every July. She can cook
Metro
23-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Metro
Glastonbury glampers who paid £16,500 left ticketless after Yurtel goes bust
Glastonbury attendees who splashed out on a luxury yurt have reportedly been left ticketless and up to £16,500 out of pocket after Yurtel went bust. The luxury glamping company, which offers packages at the Worthy Farm festival, is understood to have gone into liquidation and ceased trading as of May 8. It has been reported that emails sent to those who booked accommodation and event tickets through Yurtel have been informed their bookings won't be fulfilled. Packages for hospitality tickets and accommodation ranged from £10,000 to £16,500. The BBC reports that these packages 'cannot be refunded' and that details of the claim process for would-be festival goers to get back their money would be provided to creditors when liquidation starts. According to the Liverpool Echo, the email read: 'Yurtel provided luxury glamping accommodation and hospitality facilities to festival goers. 'It ceased normal trading operations on 8 May 2025 due to insolvency and will commence formal liquidation shortly. It cannot fulfil its future obligations to customers.' We've teamed up with SXSW London to give away two pairs of Music Festival Wristbands valid for 2-7 June 2025. Headliners include Grammy-winning Nigerian singer Tems, Brit Award-winning artist Mabel, Crystal Castles's Alice Glass, and East London-based R&B artist NAO, plus emerging talent set to perform at showcase acts around Shoreditch. Click here to find out more about SXSW London's incredible events and how to enter to be in with a chance to win, or simply enter your details using the form below. *T&Cs apply. You have until midnight on Sunday 25th May 2025 to enter. Good luck! * Open to legal residents of Great Britain (excluding Northern Ireland) aged 18 or over. Promotion opens at 06:01 BST on 13 May 2025 and closes at 23:59 BST on 25 May 2025. The promotion is free to enter; however internet access is required. Entrant must visit and when prompted by the form, submit their name, email, telephone number, date of birth and postcode. Acceptance of the terms and conditions (by ticking the relevant checkbox) is necessary to enter the promotion. 1 entry per person. 1 prize available per person. There will be two (2) winners. Each winner will win two (2) Full Week (6 days) Music Festival Wristbands (each such wristband worth £99) granting secondary access to Official SXSW London Music Festival showcases valid from 2 until 7 June 2025. Proof of age and photographic ID is required for entry (18+). The prize, including entry and attendance at SXSW, is subject to and governed by the SXSW's full ticket terms and conditions here. Full T&Cs apply, see here. It added: 'Yurtel is unable to fulfil any ticket and accommodation bookings made for this year's festival. Tickets to enter the festival have not been purchased on your behalf. 'Glastonbury Festival has no involvement with the operation of Yurtel but will be able to outline any alternative options which may be available to you. Please email Yurtel@ to confirm you consent to us sharing your name, contact email and the number of people in your party with the Festival organisers. 'Accommodation booked with Yurtel will not be available. Should you require accommodation you will need to book with an alternative festival accommodation provider.' The email went on to explain how customers could not be refunded by Yurtel. 'In the first instance, customers should make enquiries to see if they can claim from their credit card issuer, under section 75 of the Consumer Credit Act 1974, where payment was made to Yurtel by credit card. 'A customer who does not qualify to reclaim from their credit card provider will need to make a claim in Yurtel's liquidation. Details of the claim process will be notified to all Yurtel's creditors once the liquidation has commenced.' Speaking to Metro, Glastonbury Festival said: 'We were sorry to learn that Yurtel Limited has appointed liquidators, and appreciate how disappointing this is for anyone who was planning to stay with them. 'Glastonbury Festival has no involvement with the operation of Yurtel Limited and as such we have no records of their bookings and are unable to take any responsibility for the services and the facilities they offer. 'Whilst Yurtel was one of a small number of campsites local to the Festival site with limited access to purchase hospitality tickets for their guests in certain circumstances, they had not paid Glastonbury Festival for any tickets for the 2025 Festival prior to entering into liquidation, and therefore no tickets were secured for their guests. 'Anyone who has paid Yurtel for a package including Glastonbury 2025 tickets will need to pursue any potential recompense available from them via the liquidation process as outlined in their communication to you. We are not able to incur the cost or responsibility of their loss or replacement. 'That said, we are asking Yurtel's customers to contact Yurtel@ to confirm their consent for them to share their personal data and details of their party with us. We will then be able to provide details of alternative potential sources for those customers to purchase tickets and accommodation for this year's Festival.' On their website, Yurtel offers 'luxury, exclusivity, and first-class service' in their festival packages, promising 'seriously comfy canvas accommodation' Other perks on offer included bars, spas, hot tubs, and award-winning restaurants in their camps, bespoke to each festival. More Trending Speaking to the BBC, Lydia, who spent £10,000 on a package, said she was 'absolutely gutted' by the development. 'This was a very, very expensive thing that people would save for. It is no drop in the ocean,' she said. Confirmed headliners for the festival this year include The 1975, Neil Young, and Olivia Rodrigo, while Charli XCX, Doechii, Kaiser Chiefs, The Libertines, and Fatboy Slim will all be taking to the festival's stages as well. Metro has contacted representatives for Glastonbury Festival and Yurtel for comment . Got a story? If you've got a celebrity story, video or pictures get in touch with the entertainment team by emailing us celebtips@ calling 020 3615 2145 or by visiting our Submit Stuff page – we'd love to hear from you. MORE: Glastonbury reveals line-up for another stage including chart-topping 80s legend MORE: BBC Radio star teases huge US band will be performing Glastonbury Festival MORE: 9 incredible alternatives to Glastonbury you can still get tickets for
The Irish Sun
22-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Irish Sun
Aston Martin team up with rapper Dave, The Rolling Stones, Dom Dolla and more to bring new fan base in F1
ASTON MARTIN have teamed up with the likes of Dave, The Rolling Stones, Dom Dolla and more to bring a new fanbase into F1. Drivers 1 Lance Stroll and Fernando Alonso have been fully involved in the I / AM DROPS series Credit: EPA Aston Martin recently launched I / AM DROPS, a series of collaborations and experiences connecting the F1 team with the world of music, fashion and sport. Their most recent move was becoming an official Partner of the 2025 Santan Cup, founded by UK rap artist Dave. The Cup aims to bring together a grassroots football community with some of the biggest names in music, football and television for a one-of-a-kind tournament during the Monaco Grand Prix. "We hit the ground running at the start of the year with Tems, who really stole the show. "She was amazing to work with and she brought a fresh audience and perspective int that event. "Whether it's about music, fashion and sports, it's about reaching outside of that core F1 demographic, giving people the opportunity to be part of this team and the sport." The latest drop includes a T-shirt, the signed football by Dave, Alonso and Stroll, and Two VIP tickets to the Santan Cup tournament in Monaco. Most read in Motorsport CASINO SPECIAL - BEST CASINO BONUSES FROM £10 DEPOSITS Aston Martin linked up with British rock royalty the Rolling Stones for an iconic partnership last month. The team is leading the way by tapping into F1's new audiences like young women who are taking over the fan base by storm. Sun F1 reporter Isabelle Barker tries Lewis Hamilton's favourite spaghetti cooked by three Michelin star chef at Bahrain Grand Prix The aim of the drops is to provide exclusive moments and experiences to fans and reach new audiences. Aston Martin have already linked up with Grammy-winning artist Tems at the F1 75 Live event and more is to come. To have a chance of winning, enter the DROP, .
Metro
21-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Metro
Lawson frontman Andy Brown undergoing chemotherapy after rare health diagnosis
Andy Brown from the boy band Lawson has revealed his health diagnosis for the first time which puts him at risk of leukaemia. The lead vocalist for the band, 38, shared an image from his hospital bed as he shared that he has been privately dealing with a rare blood disorder for the past decade. 'For the past 10 years, I've been living with a rare blood disorder. Up to now, it hadn't massively affected my day-to-day life, apart from frequent blood tests and the occasional infection, but as things stand, if it's not treated, I have a very high chance of developing leukaemia. 'I've been under close supervision at King's College Hospital in London, which has one of the country's leading haematology departments. And after a lot of discussions, we've come to the decision that the best way to prevent leukaemia is for me to have a stem cell transplant. He then revealed that he has found a donor – a person who he has never met. 'I have a 100% matching donor. I find it so overwhelming that a total stranger, someone I've never met, is willing to give up their cells and blood to save my life. That's just incredible. With everything awful going on in the world, it's easy to lose faith in people, but then you see things like this, people willing to do something so selfless, and it restores your hope.' He then explained that he was hoping sharing his story would encourage others to learn about stem cell donation and sign the register. He added that he would update fans on his journey and share his story as he hopes to make a full recovery. We've teamed up with SXSW London to give away two pairs of Music Festival Wristbands valid for 2-7 June 2025. Headliners include Grammy-winning Nigerian singer Tems, Brit Award-winning artist Mabel, Crystal Castles's Alice Glass, and East London-based R&B artist NAO, plus emerging talent set to perform at showcase acts around Shoreditch. Click here to find out more about SXSW London's incredible events and how to enter to be in with a chance to win, or simply enter your details using the form below. *T&Cs apply. You have until midnight on Sunday 25th May 2025 to enter. Good luck! * Open to legal residents of Great Britain (excluding Northern Ireland) aged 18 or over. Promotion opens at 06:01 BST on 13 May 2025 and closes at 23:59 BST on 25 May 2025. The promotion is free to enter; however internet access is required. Entrant must visit and when prompted by the form, submit their name, email, telephone number, date of birth and postcode. Acceptance of the terms and conditions (by ticking the relevant checkbox) is necessary to enter the promotion. 1 entry per person. 1 prize available per person. There will be two (2) winners. Each winner will win two (2) Full Week (6 days) Music Festival Wristbands (each such wristband worth £99) granting secondary access to Official SXSW London Music Festival showcases valid from 2 until 7 June 2025. Proof of age and photographic ID is required for entry (18+). The prize, including entry and attendance at SXSW, is subject to and governed by the SXSW's full ticket terms and conditions here. Full T&Cs apply, see here. 'Day 4 of chemo done,' he said at the beginning of a recent post about his treatment plan as he shared an update. 'It's stepped up big time the last couple of days, not feeling the best at the moment, but there's just no way around it. Three more days to go, then the new stem cells go in next Tuesday!' He added that although he was being upbeat, the chemotherapy had been gruelling. 'Staying positive as much as I can, but I won't pretend it's easy. I've spent years being so mindful of what I put into my body, ten years sober, clean eating, all of it. 'So feeling what this chemo is doing hits hard. But I know it's part of the fight. It's about accepting it, getting through it, and coming back stronger.' 'Anyway, next week is when the real battle begins. That's when the transplant happens, and my body starts the process of rebuilding from scratch. It's a second chance at life, and not everyone gets that opportunity. 'Stem cell donors are hard to find. You could literally be the match that saves a little girl's life, a dad's life, someone's world. If you're healthy and able, please consider signing up to the register. It takes minutes, but it can change everything for someone like me. 'This is just another chapter. Nothing is gonna stop me #StemCellTransplant#ChemoJourney' This comes just a week after he announced to fans that he had been living with a rare blood disorder for 10 years. Andy has previously battled other health issues, and 18 years ago he had a brain tumour removed. When the band was actually originally called The Groves but opted to be renamed Lawson after David Lawson, a consultant neurosurgeon at The Walton Centre for Neurology and Neurosurgery in Liverpool, who operated on Andy. The singer credited the doctor with saving his life in 2007 after a gruelling 17-hour-long operation to remove an acoustic neuroma, a non-cancerous brain tumour that was growing on the nerve of his inner ear. Lawson hasn't released an album since 2021, and Andy appears to have found focus in his new photography career. The singer was supported by various fans and friends in the music industry. More Trending Zoe Ball commented: 'sending love 🧡.' Laura Whitmore added: 'Think of you Andy. You've got this! ❤️' Max George commended: 'You got this mate 💪❤️' If you or someone you care about has been diagnosed with cancer, Macmillan can offer support and information. You can contact their helpline on 0808 808 00 00 (7 days a week from 8am to 8pm), use their webchat service, or visit their site for more information. Got a story? If you've got a celebrity story, video or pictures get in touch with the entertainment team by emailing us celebtips@ calling 020 3615 2145 or by visiting our Submit Stuff page – we'd love to hear from you. MORE: S Club icon reveals new life in Costa Rica after quitting band MORE: Joe Biden's 'aggressive' cancer diagnosis: Type, treatments and prognosis MORE: I'm a prostate cancer specialist — don't ignore these 7 warning signs
Business Mayor
18-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Business Mayor
‘Mum, my brain': how I learned to walk, talk and even dance again after a devastating stroke at 36
I am a dancer. The dark is usually a friend to me, allowing me to stretch and move my limbs into unfashionable positions as music washes over me. My music journalism career means I have spent more than two decades at gigs and in clubs, falling in love with music, contorting my body, two‑stepping, making any space into a dancefloor, then going home and writing about it. Two years ago, when I was 36, I was riding high at the launch party for my first book, about housing, home and music, and I danced as R, my husband, DJ'd Tems, Asake and Burna Boy. The publishers had put up a billboard about the book; I remember walking to the petrol station to buy the papers and read the reviews, and feeling relieved that they were good. I began preparing for a summer of talks – oversized suits and heels at the ready. My next event was at a bookshop in Bristol to talk about the idea of home. But my body, unbeknown to me, was feeling very not at home. My brother-in-law picked me up from the station, and as we chatted I felt a wave of heat come over me. I had a migraine and was about to take an ibuprofen, figuring I could do the talk then go and lie down. Then, all of a sudden, my legs gave way and I passed out. When I woke up, I vomited continually until it felt like a good idea to go to A&E. At Southmead hospital in Bristol they told me I had a burst aneurysm. An opening between blood vessels in my brain, known as a fistula, that I had unknowingly had since birth, had created an aneurysm, which had burst, out of nowhere. Apparently, many people have aneurysms without ever realising. They don't always lead to a bleed – but mine did. I had had a subarachnoid haemorrhage – a type of stroke, and a phrase I had never heard before. I urgently required coils in my brain to stop the bleeding that had caused the stroke. Death was suddenly asphyxiatingly close. R says he called my mum to tell her and heard a thud then silence. My sister picked up the phone and nonchalantly explained: 'Oh, Mum's just fainted. But we're on our way.' What followed was four months of many, many operations. I remember flashes: R reading the chef and author Anthony Bourdain to me; my mum massaging my legs, which were out of use, along with the whole right side of my body; and my brother going out for 'walks' to cry. I think there were a lot of tears. I don't remember them all, but I can recall feelings; of abject terror and loss, and also bewilderment. My sister asked me about my book (All the Houses I've Ever Lived In) and I had no idea what she was on about. The operations were to reduce cranial swelling, and part of my skull was removed to compensate for it. My mum said that, once, as I was going into theatre I said just three words to her: 'Mum, my brain.' A fter the surgery, I feel staples in my head, which has been almost entirely shaved. I have lost loads of muscle, and I have an eye-patch, because I can only see double without it; the brain swells during a bleed and your optic nerve goes haywire for a while before, if you're lucky, the swelling reduces. Without good eyesight, I'm reliant on sound to place me. My mum has been dressing me and I have pink cotton pyjamas, as though I'm cosplaying a toddler. I catch sight of myself in a mirror while a nurse is showering me. I am cross-eyed so I can only focus on my outline, but I don't recognise myself. I try to touch the staples but it's just a sore, bloody mess. There is a shunt – a thin silicone tube – in my brain, I guess to control fluid. I have a tracheostomy to help me breathe (with a tube that helps oxygen reach my lungs through an opening in my neck), so I can't speak. I just listen to voices chattering. Later, I become addicted to fizzy drinks, and I'm convinced now that it's because a nurse opened a bottle of Fanta and the 'kshhh' sound stayed with me. Even now I have an idea of the seriousness of brain surgery, but for some reason it doesn't include me. After six weeks, I'm moved to King's College hospital in London. My friends visit me, which is great, but I don't recognise anyone, so I tell my mum that some 'nice ladies' came. It's a constant wave of deja vu, and I can't completely articulate the dreamscape I'm in, so I just stay for the ride. My best friend, whom I've known since school, visits me, and her voice is familiar as she holds my hand and chats, but she may as well be a mirage. I conclude that, right now, reality is too difficult to work out. I have to be content with fragments. Read More Psychoactive drug methylone to be tested as PTSD treatment When I can speak, after five weeks, it's a mumble, but I learn lots of new words I want to repeat. 'Sara Stedy' (a piece of equipment that helps you stand), tracheostomy, blood thinners, catheters, bladder training. My mum and husband are at my bedside every day, sometimes just watching me sleep. R and Mum are living together while I'm in hospital and he tells me that she has panic-made three dals. He texts me a picture of a rajma and aubergine subji simmering on the stove. I guess the freezer is full. The next day, they both come to visit me in tag-team slots. During my mum's visit, I fall into a nap, and when I wake up she's gone, but I have one thick, greasy plait that goes down my back. Every time I feel it I am hysterical because it is the most hilarious and touching thing in the world. Whole chunks of time are lost to the ether as I swirl in and out of consciousness After two months, I move to a rehab centre, which sounds like a celeb addiction hotspot but is devoid of glamour. Although it is evidence of the NHS really working (not something I hear often) and a hospital masquerading as a non-hospital. There are clues: visiting hours and a timetable filled with physio and speech training. Cornflakes every morning. The septuagenarians I share the ward with watch a lot of This Morning on the TV and are desperate to discuss Holly Willoughby with me. After two months, I can't walk without a crutch but I know how to craft Halloween decorations. I become obsessed with time because I feel it slipping through my fingers. Each day just rolls into one in the hospital, by design. I am able to read, so I read about how clock time has been organised – a colonial pursuit, of course – and its links to capitalism; how Māori relied on astrological patterns before the west squeezed them into 24-hour days to make an organised industrial labour force. I read about protests when 'London time' was first rolled out to the rest of the country in the 1800s, and people rejected it by smashing clocks in the street. At 37, I feel it going, going, gone. Whole chunks of time are lost to the ether as I swirl in and out of consciousness, and events that I might be aware of – Saltburn, Farage in a jungle, a new Beyoncé album – all blur into one mass of confusion as I hear snippets of information. My friends make me a zine of pop culture that I've missed – it is one of my most treasured possessions. I keep meaning to ask R what's going on outside when he visits, but I forget. I have a bag full of medication I don't recognise, and I don't even bother Googling it because, what's the point? Knowing what it is won't make a difference to me taking it. I lie under the clinical fluorescent lighting and think about putting more shit into my body, but immediately submit because considering all the drugs it has consumed in my life it would be a bit rich to complain about blood thinners. I let my mind drift over the chemical formulations on the backs of bottles as I think about how weird it is to take medicine for something when I'm not really sick. Or maybe I am sick. As I drift to sleep I think of my life in the four walls of this ward and how the sounds of beeps from the monitoring machine are going to go on for ever. I love the nurses. Stacy-Ann, who stands on guard as I shower. One Friday she does this and I'm so overwhelmed by the kindness that I swallow a little tear. Geraldine, who makes me laugh; the stern warmth of Margaret, of Leonie and Dr Li Yan. 'You're in good hands, don't worry,' she tells me. Usually a comment like this would make me do a fake smile of acknowledgment, but today I really think about it, about all the bodies going through trauma and change, and of people trying to say the right thing, and I'm comforted. A fter four months, a version of me goes home and the doctors tell me that recovery is now physical. Home is a familiar space, but I'm taking an unfamiliar body into it. R is at a loss at what to do and decides to take control of the fridge shelf, filling it with Dr Pepper, Fanta Lemon and Cherry Coke (my post-aneurysm addictions). I'm delighted. He tells me that when he was getting ready to go to Bristol, terrified that I might die, he had seen a cup of tea I had left on the counter, and that this trace of me had made him burst into tears. I can't go anywhere without my wheelchair. In the safety of hospital I can do a few steps with my crutch, but now I'm exposed to the elements and there are new needs, like Nando's and eyebrow threading. Slowly, I graduate to my trusty red walker, then a crutch, then a walking pole, and now, finally, a foldable stick: progress. It's as if everything has frozen while I've been away and every surface is slippery. I want to wait for it to thaw but I know that's not an option. I have to embrace the precariousness. Kieran Yates: 'Thinking in binary terms of Before and After is limiting and false. The two time frames merge until a big bang-type crash happens and I appear.' Photograph: Kate Peters/The Guardian I feel invisible, concentrating on walking around the block, but I'm mistaken because my neighbours stop me all the time, saying 'Well done' as they witness progress. The neighbours are heartwarming but the unsolicited advice – mostly from random men – is tedious. ('Are you struggling cos you took the vaccine?', 'You look nice!') There is a weird sense of entitlement over women's bodies, I think. I am pleased R has witnessed a bit of this, in the way that it feels oddly affirming when your white friend witnesses racism against you, or you are talked over by men at work. This stuff happens all the time. Mostly, I hear strangers harp on about the benefits of sea moss to me and a true quizzical fear that my burst aneurysm came out of nowhere. Was my lifestyle unhealthy? Was I not active? Stressed? Most people want answers to the unanswerable. I glean that this country is made up of people with head injuries, who tell me about them in the most nonchalant ways: at the gym, on a road, anywhere. One guy got clipped by a tube on a crowded platform, one lady had a stroke at her son's sports day and thought she was just dehydrated. I listen to these stories with fascination and fear, and marvel at their breezy tone. Though, I suppose, they must be thinking the same thing about me. I have trouble coordinating the top and bottom halves of my body when I dance. It's been a year, but, still, the right side has been affected by my brain bleeding and doesn't obey my commands. I do all my writing with my left hand, which is a pain, but somehow it doesn't bother me as much as not being able to dance. I go to a night called Out of Body Pop in Dalston, east London. The music artist Kindness is DJing; it's billed as a space for all bodies, and is roomy enough that I feel safe that no one will knock into me. But all I can do is precariously sidestep, holding firmly on to R. Later, I try to lose myself in the kitchen in the middle of the day to Beyoncé's Renaissance, but the damage to my cerebellum means I feel as if I'm on the verge of falling. I crumple and give up. The things I used to communicate with my body are messed up, and I might never get that ability back. I understand what disability activists such as Kym Oliver and Jumoke Abdullahi, Judy Heumann and Sick Sad Girlz are saying now: it's the feeling of constantly navigating in a world not designed for you. I start going to a dance class that encourages me not to be fearful, to stretch and walk and feel music again. At first, I'm unsure, because these people doing interpretive dance don't feel like my people. Then I get it. They love music and it commands their bodies, too. They get it. After a few months of class, I take my laptop into the kitchen – the walk feels like ritual. I lovingly place it open, click on Kelela, and turn it up as high as the laptop speakers let me. I let the music realign my body, wake up the parts that had been inert, create some space, and just dance, badly, on my own. I put it on repeat, and dance over and over again to the same song, letting something break inside me, and cry until I'm hoarse. A s much as I've had to make peace with loss (running for the bus, badminton, anything that requires physical speed), I let in a lot of unexpected joy. I have joined groups. The adapted cycling club at the velodrome has taught me about how different bodies require different things. An older woman I call auntie at the pool, who goes every day and walks up and down in the water until it gets too deep, has taught me about resilience. Lecturing at the University of Westminster has taught me that reading books is a balm when you feel as if you know nothing else. My dance class has injected delight back into me. There are new teachers in my life. The social model of disability outlines how different kinds of bodies are often not part of architectural conversations, but my occupational therapist has shown me how a sharp design mind can transform a space – she notes solutions for a slippy rug in the living room, puts up handrails and introduces me to Ableworld (a retailer and website selling design adaptations from cutlery to lights). When my physio comes to my front door she seems shocked that I'm wearing socks. Our brains look for information all the time about terrain, she says, so I should be barefoot. I listen, even though it's winter. Another physio tells me about constraint induced movement therapy (CIMT) and suggests I wear a mitten on my left hand to make me use the weakened right one, which I do. Another physio has a simple phrase that rings in my head: 'Use it or lose it.' 'W hat if this is just me, like this, how I am, for ever?' I ask R, who is sleepy, in bed at 2am while I'm still awake, thinking about my inability to hop. He turns to me and kisses my forehead. 'If it's this, that works. We are perfect.' I feel such a rush of love for him I hug his neck, nuzzle my face deep into it. In the few seconds this takes, he is fast asleep, snoring gently as if he has released a thought he has been carrying. Fuck the hops, I think. I scroll the TikTok hashtag TBI (traumatic brain injury). It is cool because it is filled with videos of people who are closer to my age, although they all play Sia's Unstoppable, so I have to watch on mute. I follow various accounts and spend the next few weeks idly watching videos about motorcycle accident recoveries that used to give me joy and now terrify me. I decide to unfollow – TikTok, I decide, is for fun and dancing. I spend time thinking about how I feel, maybe too much. The feeling of being close to death is receding, but for a few months it was near. I sometimes rush to profundity when I'm told I could have died, thinking of this existential thing that has happened. But life moves on and the feeling becomes smaller and smaller. I can feel the shunt that is still in my head and the tube running down my neck. It will be there for life and I feel like a cyborg. I like that. 'Your job is recovery,' says an author called Emma, gently, when I bring up writing. She's right. I spend a year walking round my block, and reading, before taking on more and more: talking on panels, writing, editing. I walk 6,000 steps in one day – a PB. I can feel my voice returning, all while medical ones remind me that the majority of gains are seen in the first two years. I don't know what they mean, exactly, but I just continue. I realise that thinking in binary terms of Before and After is limiting and false. The two time frames merge until a big bang-type crash happens and I appear. I sometimes feel as if I'm floating away in a new body to new things … then find myself writing again, in my office, and I remember that I'm the same, but more. 'That's a good way to be,' I think. Then I carry on.
