Saturday, found me talking in Leeds.  As in, public speaking, an idea which seemed like a good one when the people from Opera North approached me in November, but as the day drew closer, the idea of speaking publicly was as frightening as an inauguration address.  Which was silly, as it wasn’t just me speaking, but academics, and er.. academics, and academics and … that was the scary bit!  

Opera North have produced an operetta called Skin Deep, all about plastic surgery written by Armando Iannucci, the comedy writer responsible for Alan Partridge.  Because I’d written an article about this in the context of ageing in the Sunday Times Style magazine, they thought I’d like to participate in a discussion group on plastic surgery and culture. 

I took a train to Leeds, a journey of about 2 and a half hours from London, and when I found a hole in my seat, the stuffing pouring out of it, (thank you National Express) I paid £20 on top of the original £84 for an upgrade to first, where all I had to contend with was the stitching coming undone in the leather arm of my seat.(see left, yes, I actually bothered to take a photo of it).   Things could only get worse - when I arrived at the station I was met by a sea of male bonding, father-son Saturday outings.. it could only be a football match.  Which meant, a train packed full of football fans on the way home, and whilst I know I shouldn’t miss an opportunity to get to understand the finer game, the only question thundering through my mind as I passed the barrage of policemen filming them all was: what train were they all coming back on?  My train, ha ha, and I wasn’t about to let that happen. 

Walking up the Briggate, the main pedestrianised shopping area, it struck me that the average age in Leeds was around 13, but perhaps this was just Saturday.  Legions of girls clutching Primark bags passed me by, plastered (as my mum would have said) in make-up, with the same hair-cut:  a long heavily layered fringe worn over one eye, with long straightened hair below their shoulders.  They walked with a mission, arm in arm, laughing, happy, and a part of me envied the freedom they had, which I never had at that age, nor for many years to come. But then I saw the boys walking in similar fashion, lots of spots and their hair again in one style, this time layered and then flattened over their foreheads as if someone had dropped an iron on their heads, then finished with a touch of wet-look gel, and I decided it was probably a good idea I’d been shut up in the convent boarding school half my life.  The only old person in sight (apart from me, suddenly I felt 105) was busking on the corner near Harvey Nichols, which seemed incongruous and out of touch with what the average 13 year old wants and needs. 

(By the way, I was thinking about the word “plastered” and its use with “make-up” and I think it only covers half of the problems.  The other half is a mis-match of foundation shade.  Girls, you gotta test it on your jaw-line, not just pinch your sisters or your best friends, because they are not the same shade as you! And you don’t need half as much as you’re putting on, if it’s spots you’re worried about, buy concealer and a tinted moisturiser and see the difference!  Okay, lecture over.  Grandma will get off her soap-box now!) 

The Opera and theatre is in a splendid building, in New Briggate.  They’ve just finished refurbishing it, and uncovered some beautiful tiles, in brown, beige, Fleur de Lys scattered around. It’s a marriage of the best of the old theatre with some sensitive modern influences.  (Please don’t expect me to elaborate on architecture, I can see where this is heading and it’s not going to be good.  Any second now and out will come “classic with a twist” or “seamless blend of old meets new” and 1001 other building/design cliches, so I’ll quit while I’m ahead).  

Lynne Walker, a theatre critic for the Independent and the BBC was handling our discussion group, which turned out to be myself, Amy Freston, one of the cast of the operetta, and Olly Mears the Assistant Director of the operetta.  It turned out there was nothing to worry about.  The academics were arriving later; the audience of about 40 aged from 25-70 were friendly, receptive, intelligent; my fears evaporated and suddenly we were on, Lynne graciously mentioning my novel, Face Value at any possible juncture. 

Between us we talked about cosmetic surgery and its role in our culture, covering subjects like whether the truth really is stranger than fiction and if so, how strange can it be? to the different ways in which male surgeons approach their work to female surgeons.  I mentioned the work of Sushruta, the Indian plastic surgeon who is credited with inventing rhinoplasty.  Criminals who had their noses chopped off, or wives who committed adultery and had their noses bitten off by their husbands would have a flap of skin taken from their foreheads in a triangular shape, then twisted round while still fixed to the top of the nose and formed into the shape of a nose, two hollowed out sticks used to temporarily create nostrils while the tissues and blood vessels re-formed.  Really, you don’t want to try this one at home.

I also talked briefly about Madame Noel, the world’s most famous female plastic surgeon, who worked in the 1930s rejuvenating womens’ faces in Paris so they wouldn’t lose their jobs because they looked too old. She also campaigned for the right for women to vote, urging them not to pay taxes until they had a say in government in the same way that men did.  I am fascinated by her, and wish that her story was better known - it’s such an important one. 

One question that came up was how different my hero in Face Value, a plastic surgeon, was from the reality.  ”Oh very different!” I laughed.  ”He might do some charity work, like many a successful plastic surgeon, but he’s so much more handsome, and a lot of fun, and not a megalomaniac with a god complex or a playboy, like many surgeons can be in real life!” Imagine my horror when the next person to raise their hand in the audience was… a plastic surgeon!   He turned out to be very gracious, and didn’t haul me up at all on that one!

Lynne had an engagement with the BBC in Manchester to rush off to, and I was worried about befriending too many football fans, so we both left before the second half of the talk when the academics arrived, which was a shame as some of the issues that were coming up in questions would I think have been very well answered by them, eg  plastic surgery and feminism, after Naomi Wolf’s Beauty Myth, where are we now?  

Paid for another £20 upgrade and this time no unpicked leather stitching and falling-apart seats.  Toyed with the idea of stealing all the bottles of mineral water and packets of biscuits left for each First Class passengers as they were just the right size for my children’s school snacks and there were enough in my carriage alone to keep us going for the next six months, but then decided this wasn’t very public-spirited.  And to think the police worry about the football fans…

Skin Deep is currently showing in Leeds, from 17th February it will be at Sadler’s Wells, London, and following that it’s on at Salford Quays, then Newcastle.  For more information, click here: http://www.operanorth.co.uk/events/skin-deep/  I’d like to thank Jo Nockels for inviting me - it was so much fun, Lynne Walker for handling the discussion so brilliantly, and I’d like to wish Amy and Olly the best of luck with the rest of the performances. I can’t wait to see it when it comes to London.