On Being a Vintage Pikes Bitch - and Owning It

Rhonda finally watches Shirley Valentine in Greece and in Ibiza celebrates the phenomenon of women bigging one another up.

Anyone who knows me knows that I have some really very inexplicable lacunae in my life. Whole decades’ worth of highly venerated cultural offerings have passed me by. I didn’t even hear of The Sopranos until all six series had long since been put to bed (what?!), and it was probably 2015 before I even heard of Beyonce (I know). Even now I’d struggle to name one of her songs [avoids your incredulous gaze]. 

Oh yes, Single Ladies, all the single ladies, But who da fuck is Jay-Z?

I’m ridiculous. The facepalm emoji was invented for me. I seriously don’t know what I’ve been doing for much of my adult life. Bringing up kids, reading books, a little light globe-trotting… Is that it? Is that enough of an excuse for so much having passed me by?

Shirley Valentine didn’t pass me by, but somehow in the 35 years since it was released, I hadn’t watched it a single time. I’d caught clips, and was aware it was iconic and knew the vague storyline, but for some reason I’d never seen it. I think it was a lot to do with Tom Conti and his dodgy ‘tache and his accent; it offended me they didn’t get a Greek actor to play that role. Now I know - whatever the rights or wrongs of it, Tom Conti is perfect as Costas.

So where better to finally watch it than on a Greek island, and in the company of one of the film’s greatest fans? Tracey thinks she’s seen Shirley Valentine 15 times, so sitting out by our villa pool in the moonlight watching it on her laptop was an emotional experience for both of us as well as a rite of passage for me. And what better audience for it than two midlife women who feel like they are running away from normality, over and over again?

I LOVED it. How could I not? It was the slightly queasy nostalgia, for one thing. Shirley Valentine looks just like my mum did back then – the hair, the clothes. The interiors were spot on too. Watching it was like bathing in a comforting bath of the 1980s - familiar but also, thankfully, safely distant. Never again do we have to endure egg-and-chip dinners, laminated faux-wood kitchen units, high-waist M&S terry knickers.

Tracey was fully vigilant and armed with tissues for signs of me descending into some kind of (long-overdue) full-on nervous breakdown as we watched, but I only cried once. And what made me burst into tears was the generosity of one woman to another. Shirley has just decided that she won’t go to Greece after all – that she’s being ridiculous - when her hitherto nasty neighbour Gillian knocks on the door to gift her a kimono for her holiday.  

– ‘It’s silk. It's never been worn... You see, I... was never brave enough.

- Oh, Gillian!

- I wish I'd had your bravery. It's yours. I just wanted you to know... I think you're marvellous.

- Gillian!

And after Gillian leaves:

– Gillian really believes it! She really believes it's possible! In her eyes, I'm no longer Shirley Bradshaw, middle-aged housewife, beginning to sag a bit. I'm Shirley the brave. Shirley the marvellous!

It’s another woman’s belief in her that convinces Shirley that she really can go off on her adventure. Gillian admires Shirley for something Shirley doesn’t have, and that thing magically materialises.

Lately I was back in Ibiza, where I found myself, for the first time in decades, using the word ‘sharking’. To say that behaviour there can be predatory is an understatement; as a woman simply wanting to dance to great music with your girlfriends, it can all be a bit overwhelming. The compliments from random blokes fly around freely, as do the hands, and you do need to have a strategy (my friend and I often pretend to be a couple).  

One night, in the portaloo at legendary hotel and club Pikes (yes, the place where the Club Tropicana video was filmed), my friend and I were minding our own business when two much younger women coming out of the cubicles declared they had some ‘feedback’ for us. I flinched a bit. Had we offended them in some way, by our very presence? Did they have some beef with us? Did they find us ridiculous? – too old to be prancing about like this?

But I needn’t have worried: they proceeded to enumerate what was great about each of us in turn - eyes, boobs, smile, physique – and to, in summary, proclaim us ‘Vintage Pikes Bitches’. I couldn’t have been more flattered. And it kept happening throughout the evening, several women stopping to tell us they thought we were just fab. 

When another woman tells you you are wonderful, with no ulterior motive, it’s a shot in the arm. It’s worth 1000 times more than any compliment from a man, because they’re not trying to get anything out of you. When it happens to you, don’t question it, just take it. Say thank you and fly with it. And bloody well do it to other women when you see someone who sparkles or even someone who looks like she needs a little confidence boost. 

I made damn sure those women, and plenty of others besides, know what marvellous creatures they are too.

But back to Greece, where sitting under the stars chuffing back sangria in the time-honoured way, I blubbed at Shirley Valentine getting her metaphorical shot in the arm, but also at the fact that Gillian herself wasn’t ever brave enough to wear her kimono. For Gillian was marvellous too, and nobody told her. We are all marvellous.

That Tracey bigs me up, that she believes in me and tells me so, makes me so much braver. I can do hard things because of her, and of course it works the other way around. And together we can do harder things than we’ve ever dreamed of. On which note, watch this space. We have exciting news in the offing…