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The One Where Shann Gets Her Face on a Billboard in Times Square
So, THIS happened…
Which is, weirdly, my face on a billboard in Times Square in New York.
I look very – pink.
Not sure why. I guess I just AM very pink.
Now – you might think that this would at least get me out of the washing up.
But turns out – no. Rich did his best Shania Twain that-don’t-impress-me-much and I found myself that very night, wrapped as usual in my denim CG apron, elbow-deep in soap suds.
Just as well, I guess. There’s no there there to the experience of having your face on a billboard, if you know what I mean. It’s nice, of course. It’s an unusual and slightly odd sensation. A bit surreal. But you don’t wake up in the morning and think – well, my chickens are eating their own eggs and my cucumber plants have spider mite, but HEY I WAS ON A BILLBOARD SO IT’S ALL OK.
It just – doesn’t transfer over to real life, somehow. It’s like trying to survive on fizzy pop. There’s not enough actual nutrition in it.
I was up there because apparently I have been named one of the “Forttuna Global 100 Power List of 2026.”
Don’t ask me – I don’t know either.
But the Forttuna Global 100 people got in touch, and told me that I was up for it, and asked me to write loads of stuff and answer a lot of questions. Loooong application process. Which I dutifully ploughed through. And then they told me I had won. And then they asked me if I wanted to come to New York and see my face go up on the billboard.
Hell to the no, I didn’t.
It’s all quite strange enough, without going to New York and standing there like a melon, staring up at my huge pink face in Times Square. Can you imagine? Also – I hate New York. Although that’s probably not New York’s fault. The one time I went to New York, I went to give a speech. I lost my contact lens (this was waaaaaay back in the days before disposables, girls and boys) and spent the whole time panicking and driving around in taxi cabs trying to find an optometrist who would open his (or her) shop on a Saturday and sell me a replacement contact lens so that I could see my speech notes without them being all blurry. Because who wants to give a speech with only one contact lens in?
It was not a happy time.
So New York is probably – you know – very nice. Just not my cuppa.
Turns out that I’m a country girl. I DO care about my chickens eating their own eggs (Field Note: Can I just say – Gross! It seems like cannibalism or something! Also am quite depressed about having spider mite in my cucumbers. Also – my tomatoes! Disaster! I planted the wrong type this year – got lured in by the stripy Tigerella which, it turns out, tastes like a mouldy lemon crossed with dish soap. Why? Whyyyyy? I KNOW better. I KNOW that everyone prefers Sungold, those cute little golden sugar bombs. But did I plant loads of Sungold? No, I did not. I planted the exotic-looking ones that taste like grandma’s hat. No one CARES what the tomatoes look like. I know this in my head. But every year, I get seduced off track by the heritage varieties… the unusual looking varieties… the black varieties, for heavens sake, who wants a black tomato? And every other gardener I know is literally drowning in delicious tomatoes this year, just can’t give them away fast enough. Although no one seems particularly inclined to give me any. Sigh…)
Anyhow, I’m at this strange point in my career when people keep inviting me to New York and Dubai to be on billboards and accept awards. And I would rather stick forks in my eyes. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, honestly. It is lovely to be honoured, and I DO REALLY APPRECIATE IT.
But I just don’t want to travel. Did a lot of that back in the day, and I’m well over it. The thought of that weird chemical smelly airplane air gives me the collywobbles. Also – don’t tell him – but I don’t want to leave Rich. Grumpy as he is, he’s quite sweet, really. And he definitely would NOT be up for coming with me, unless he could bring his favourite Fordson 6810 on the plane with him.
I don’t want to stand around in dressy clothes and uncomfortable shoes, drinking warm champagne and talking nonsense to a bunch of other poindexters who have gotten dressed up and come to Dubai or New York to schmoooooze with similars. Gak.
There are lots of things that make me zingy. But none of those things happens to reside in New York. Or Dubai.
They’re all right here on the farm in Wales, where the slugs are happily eating my lettuce and I’m attending beekeeping classes like the anorak I really am at heart. (Next spring, fingers crossed, we’ll have bees here at Glynmelyn!) It’s time to plant pansies for the winter containers and I really need to start thinking about ordering tulips for the fall. There’s a lot to do, really….
And none of them have b*&&er-all to do with billboards.
What are you up to, where you are?
Hugs,
Shann.x
Shann Jones MBE
Founder/Director Chuckling Goat
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