Dear John, An Open Letter to Say Goodbye

Dear John,


Surprise bitches! The SCABer has now become the SCABee… or some strange analogy like that. I’m writing to you to reflect on the five short months I have known you, and that you have known me, in the strange little world we call SCA.


I remember the first day I met you all, I remember thinking that you all looked like you knew exactly what you were doing. Suited and booted, silver hoops shining in the heavy lighting, Ben’s heels clip-clopping about and possibly the teeny tiniest moustache I had ever seen (Gary I’m looking at you) made up this crew of ohhhh so cool creatives that I did not feel welcome in at all. It set my teeth on edge.


‘Bunch of divas’ I thought.


I couldn’t have been more wrong. Turns out you were all nervous too. I knew nothing of any of you and you were probably just as nervous of me. After a few days, I knew that you’d already won me over. You were all so perfectly strange, all of you. Even the quiet ones. All different but all perfectly formed as yourselves and nothing more or less. You always smiled at me when you came in and made me laugh- and I mean proper belly laugh- every day.


After a few weeks, the tears began, and you turned me into a mother hen. You weren’t divas at all, you were working so hard, you felt like you didn’t deserve to be here, you worried your work wasn’t good enough and we desperately tried to comfort you and waylay your fears. Honor dishing out great emotional advice and Max, ever the queen of common sense, spoke to you practically on how to solve the problem. I always tried to have an arm over you, but I think I mostly fetched you coffees and tissues and ineffectually patted your knee.


You weren’t always perfect angels.


I felt silly telling you off. One blonde, near invisible, eyebrow raised as I stared you down and told you to clean the kitchen or send me in SCAB’s or admonished you for turning up 5 minutes late with no excuses. To your credit you always listened, you always did as I asked. I doubt it was the fear all my 5 foot 3 inches instilled deep within your heart. Either way, I appreciated it.


Bit by bit I saw you flourish, there were still tears and frustration, but you grew like flowers in high winds. Slowly but surely. The craft got better, the ideas got better and you got better.


I don’t know if you see your own growth but I do.


You taught me so much, mostly unexpected things. Before, I had not realized that it was possible to eat like a gourmand, fresh figs and soft cheese, while working a 40+ hour week, turns out you can. You guys taught me that you can wear a man’s XL t-shirt and dungarees and still look like a fucking queen. You taught me that being hit by a car is no excuse for missing school (apparently). You taught me that choreographed dance routines are always a good thing, that ladies pyjama trousers can actually be acceptable work attire and that being unapologetically yourself is really the only way to be.


It’s been a rollercoaster, but I wouldn’t change a thing, I’ll miss seeing your ugly mugs every day,


I’ll see you at the pub,


JJ x

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