It's time for a reflection on the year just gone. Not another cheesy reflection on 2014??? I hear you cry. No, I'm going for a step by step look at the none-lights of the year (* A none-light is something which is neither a highlight nor a lowlight of a period of time. On a colour chart it could be represented by the colour grey. If it was a food it would be boiled rice. etc. etc.) In fact I think I will go backwards, for the sake of my memory.
December
I discovered that if you type 'raspberry beret the kind you'd find in a second hand store' into Amazon.co.uk 0 results are found.
I'll just give you a minute to try that out for yourselves...
November
I texted a taxi driver asking him to wait for me after a gig, and he text me back 'No worries'. Adorable.
October
I went on the swings in New Marske with Rose and we almost missed the bus to Redcar. We definitely weren't seeing how high we could go. Or singing...
September
I came to own a skirt which I haven't even worn yet...although I'm pretty sure it's going on tonight!
August
I changed all the words to 'Purple Rain' so they were about the ice bucket challenge instead.
July
I ate focaccia for breakfast every single day for a week in Italy.
June
I spent an unnecessary period of time (weeks) making 'interactive decorations' for my birthday party.
May
I thought Prince was a dinosaur for like...60 seconds.
April
I received a Tesco delivery whilst under the influence (but definitely couldn't have done it without Beth...)
March
I left a note for the bin men but I don't think they even read it!
February
I discovered that Noel Edmunds is really, really short.
January
I got a pixie hair cut and for a moment I looked like Harry Potter!
The problem with the none-lights, is that whilst writing them I've remembered loads of really cool stuff that I've been up to over these past 12 months, or really funny things that have happened, which I can't really mention because they aren't none-lights at all.
I mean, remember when I got atttacked by a dragonfly, or when I accidentally killed that one when it got in my shoe? And come on, 2014 saw me in the slam final of a poetry competition, finishing my novel, being on the telly, falling in love with Prince, and other semi-romantic escapades. I mean, who can forget my chance meeting with Kev from over the road, when I tried to tell him all about my conifers? Or the Tesco delivery dude who gave me free food?
2014 has been an awesome year. I'm not ashamed to admit it, I'm not ashamed to publish a cheesy reflection on it on New Year's Eve, and I'm most certainly not ashamed to publish the none-lights too. They might even get a laugh!
You're reading...
Wednesday, 31 December 2014
Saturday, 29 November 2014
The Legend of Mike and the Colour Bans
Peter McCarthy was a formidable man -
he'd fire you for breaking his own colour bans,
"No-one who works here should wear red on a Tuesday!"
Oh Peter just liked it when he got his own way!
Pete labelled his lunch in the office fridge
when he was the one who desired to pinch
the most exciting contents of tupperware boxes
claiming the chicken dinner had been stolen by foxes.
His wrath was unrivalled when he was challenged,
all formal complaints just bounced off the 'panel'.
No-one believed that this panel existed
(and any that did, thought it was his Mrs).
His employees not only despised grumpy old Pete
but they plotted rebellion against him whilst he was asleep
- he took a nap at noon behind closed doors
but his workers could tell by the sound of his snores.
One particular Friday, whilst Pete was asleep,
the ringleader, Mike, shouted, "Oh, havoc we'll wreak!
Today is the day that we claim back our freedom
and protect all our lunches; ham sandwiches, edam."
"So what's the plan?" the caretaker wondered aloud.
"Oh it's such a stroke of genius, that Pete himself would be proud!
We all know how much that he detests red
so we'll dress him whilst he sleeps, from his toes to his head.
We'll get red tights, and red shoes, red shorts, a red t-shirt too
and when old Pete wakes he won't know what to do!"
Macy, the manager, scoffed at the thought,
"He's going to wake up whilst we dress him, of course!"
"We just need him to drift into the deepest of sleeps."
Mused Sharon the cleaner as she began to sweep
"But how on earth can we guarantee that?"
Macy's hand on the desk making an impatient tap.
"We all know why Pete takes his nap at noon."
Mike commanded the attention of the whole room,
"The heavier the lunch, the deeper the sleep -
after last year's Christmas lunch he slept for a week."
Although Macy rolled her eyes at Mike's exaggeration
she knew he was right, and he'd got her attention,
"Well what kind of meal do you propose?
You're expecting me to cook a roast I suppose?"
"I wouldn't presume anything quite so sexist."
Mike replied, suppresing all desires to suggest this.
A small voice piped up "I don't mind cooking a roast."
the owner of which was the least likely of folks...
...a timid young guy, who went by the name 'Martin'
"...if you'd like me to, I mean..." his lack of confidence starting.
"Well are you any good?" Mike asked honestly.
"Martin used to be a chef!" Macy shrieked obviously.
"That's settled then," Mike nodded his approval,
"Stage 1 of the plan is Pete's authority removal.
Be sure to raid all your wardrobes at home
for red items we'll use on a short term loan."
Next Tuesday arrived and the atmosphere was electric
no-one could concentrate, it was bordering pathetic.
At midday Pete walked from his office to the fridge
everyone held their breath, not moving an inch.
A satisfied sigh of relief, the office exhaled together,
as Pete turned from the fridge, his hand holding the container
that everyone knew housed the mighty roast pork
that Martin had cooked just the evening before.
"What are you staring at?" Barked a prickly Peter
Everyone pretended to type on their computer.
And so Pete walked back into his room
not suspecting a thing about what he was to consume.
All that was left to do was to wait for the snores
Mike and Macy's ears to Pete's office door.
Mike gave the thumbs up to the rest of the office
and quietly they sneaked in with the stash from their closets.
Inside Pete's office, Mike laid out the clothes
he had managed to bring from his wardrobe at home.
Whilst others spread their offerings out on the floor,
there were so many choices for them to explore!
Whispered arguments broke out over the incriminating outfit;
should it be a glitzy dress or something more classic?
Sharon fought her corner for the cute mini-dress number
But she was out-voted by all but Pete in his slumber.
And so it was decided, the votes had been cast
the outfit for Pete had been chosen at last,
they squeezed and pushed and zipped him into the red,
with Pete sleeping so heavily since he'd been fed.
Off back to work, the workers sneaked out
wondering if this plan could ever work out
and, hearts beating fast, they went back to their desks
trying to keep their wits in check.
It was half past one before Peter woke;
everyone heard as his last snore broke
into cries of, "WHAT THE- HOW DID- OH HELL!
I LOOK LIKE THE BRANDING FOR RAMADA HOTELS!"
Mike exchanged looks with his colleagues -
Pete would guess who had this plan up their sleeves -
of course this one had 'Mike' written all over it
(and so did the label in the back of the outfit).
Peter barged out of his office and into the next room,
his face the same colour red that his attire had assumed,
he was dressed in a red beanie, and a skin tight tunic
Mike's football shorts, and Macy's red tights from Munich.
"Is something the matter?" Mike asked innocently.
"You insolent little brat: you did this to me!"
"I can't think what you're talking about." Mike calmly replied
knowing full well the extent of his lie.
"Mr McCarthy, Sir, I don't mean to be rude."
Macy began, in ear shot of the whole room,
"But isn't your rule that on a Tuesday
if you're wearing red then it's your very own Doomsday?"
Peter paled, he looked decidely ashen,
"Well, I can't imagine I'd have such rules on fashion"
"You fired Dom Rogers when he wore that red tie!"
Martin insisted, his moment to shine.
"How dare you suggest I practice unfair dismissal!"
Peter fired his protest out like a missile
"He's got a point." Mike suddenly agreed,
"He must like red - he's dressed head to toe, can't you see?"
"Don't you get funny with me!"
Pete was not a happy bunny,
"You know I hate red, it's my one and only rule."
"Oh, well I guess you really are a fool...
You either have to leave your job
or accept you need to shut your gob."
Mike had a smug grin on his face
yet knew he'd lost all chance of that raise.
Pete opened his mouth, then closed it again,
he screwed up his eyes and counted to ten,
then eventualy he let out a sigh,
"Well, then, I guess it's goodbye!"
Flinging his red beanie to the floor,
Pete picked up his briefcase and marched out the door.
Too stubborn to backtrack from his self-imposed rule,
Pete had bitten off more than he could chew.
The cheers reverberated around the office,
they'd won, they'd done it, they'd outdone their promise.
With claps on his back, and many high-fives
Mike had never felt quite so alive.
It was a few weeks before the new boss arrived,
out-sourced from a top firm in Shanghai.
He greeted his new colleagues with a simple bow,
and a very polite, "Nice to meet you now."
Feeling like the cat that had got the cream,
Mike wondered if this was all just a dream.
But when he was called in to see the new boss
he was quite concerned to see that he looked rather cross.
"I heard that you were after a raise,
well let me tell you, there'll be no such praise,
I have only one rule, and it goes like this:
if you want to go places, there'll be asses to kiss.
...No, wait, let me make that two rules,
the second is to get rid of insolent fools:
anyone wearing anything other than black
will find himself without a job and out on his back."
Mike opened his mouth to voice a protest,
then realised the colour of his sweater vest.
But Mike was a rebel, and would always resist,
so with a grin he said, "I will never submit."
So that was how our dear hero Mike,
packed up his desk and left on his bike,
but he never regretted overthrowing the dominion
of Peter McCarthy, and his colour opinions.
He only hoped that Martin would rise,
just as Mike had after his predecessor's demise,
because once this new boss had got the, well-deserved, can
there would be no more colours left to ban!
he'd fire you for breaking his own colour bans,
"No-one who works here should wear red on a Tuesday!"
Oh Peter just liked it when he got his own way!
Pete labelled his lunch in the office fridge
when he was the one who desired to pinch
the most exciting contents of tupperware boxes
claiming the chicken dinner had been stolen by foxes.
His wrath was unrivalled when he was challenged,
all formal complaints just bounced off the 'panel'.
No-one believed that this panel existed
(and any that did, thought it was his Mrs).
His employees not only despised grumpy old Pete
but they plotted rebellion against him whilst he was asleep
- he took a nap at noon behind closed doors
but his workers could tell by the sound of his snores.
One particular Friday, whilst Pete was asleep,
the ringleader, Mike, shouted, "Oh, havoc we'll wreak!
Today is the day that we claim back our freedom
and protect all our lunches; ham sandwiches, edam."
"So what's the plan?" the caretaker wondered aloud.
"Oh it's such a stroke of genius, that Pete himself would be proud!
We all know how much that he detests red
so we'll dress him whilst he sleeps, from his toes to his head.
We'll get red tights, and red shoes, red shorts, a red t-shirt too
and when old Pete wakes he won't know what to do!"
Macy, the manager, scoffed at the thought,
"He's going to wake up whilst we dress him, of course!"
"We just need him to drift into the deepest of sleeps."
Mused Sharon the cleaner as she began to sweep
"But how on earth can we guarantee that?"
Macy's hand on the desk making an impatient tap.
"We all know why Pete takes his nap at noon."
Mike commanded the attention of the whole room,
"The heavier the lunch, the deeper the sleep -
after last year's Christmas lunch he slept for a week."
Although Macy rolled her eyes at Mike's exaggeration
she knew he was right, and he'd got her attention,
"Well what kind of meal do you propose?
You're expecting me to cook a roast I suppose?"
"I wouldn't presume anything quite so sexist."
Mike replied, suppresing all desires to suggest this.
A small voice piped up "I don't mind cooking a roast."
the owner of which was the least likely of folks...
...a timid young guy, who went by the name 'Martin'
"...if you'd like me to, I mean..." his lack of confidence starting.
"Well are you any good?" Mike asked honestly.
"Martin used to be a chef!" Macy shrieked obviously.
"That's settled then," Mike nodded his approval,
"Stage 1 of the plan is Pete's authority removal.
Be sure to raid all your wardrobes at home
for red items we'll use on a short term loan."
Next Tuesday arrived and the atmosphere was electric
no-one could concentrate, it was bordering pathetic.
At midday Pete walked from his office to the fridge
everyone held their breath, not moving an inch.
A satisfied sigh of relief, the office exhaled together,
as Pete turned from the fridge, his hand holding the container
that everyone knew housed the mighty roast pork
that Martin had cooked just the evening before.
"What are you staring at?" Barked a prickly Peter
Everyone pretended to type on their computer.
And so Pete walked back into his room
not suspecting a thing about what he was to consume.
All that was left to do was to wait for the snores
Mike and Macy's ears to Pete's office door.
Mike gave the thumbs up to the rest of the office
and quietly they sneaked in with the stash from their closets.
Inside Pete's office, Mike laid out the clothes
he had managed to bring from his wardrobe at home.
Whilst others spread their offerings out on the floor,
there were so many choices for them to explore!
Whispered arguments broke out over the incriminating outfit;
should it be a glitzy dress or something more classic?
Sharon fought her corner for the cute mini-dress number
But she was out-voted by all but Pete in his slumber.
And so it was decided, the votes had been cast
the outfit for Pete had been chosen at last,
they squeezed and pushed and zipped him into the red,
with Pete sleeping so heavily since he'd been fed.
Off back to work, the workers sneaked out
wondering if this plan could ever work out
and, hearts beating fast, they went back to their desks
trying to keep their wits in check.
It was half past one before Peter woke;
everyone heard as his last snore broke
into cries of, "WHAT THE- HOW DID- OH HELL!
I LOOK LIKE THE BRANDING FOR RAMADA HOTELS!"
Mike exchanged looks with his colleagues -
Pete would guess who had this plan up their sleeves -
of course this one had 'Mike' written all over it
(and so did the label in the back of the outfit).
Peter barged out of his office and into the next room,
his face the same colour red that his attire had assumed,
he was dressed in a red beanie, and a skin tight tunic
Mike's football shorts, and Macy's red tights from Munich.
"Is something the matter?" Mike asked innocently.
"You insolent little brat: you did this to me!"
"I can't think what you're talking about." Mike calmly replied
knowing full well the extent of his lie.
"Mr McCarthy, Sir, I don't mean to be rude."
Macy began, in ear shot of the whole room,
"But isn't your rule that on a Tuesday
if you're wearing red then it's your very own Doomsday?"
Peter paled, he looked decidely ashen,
"Well, I can't imagine I'd have such rules on fashion"
"You fired Dom Rogers when he wore that red tie!"
Martin insisted, his moment to shine.
"How dare you suggest I practice unfair dismissal!"
Peter fired his protest out like a missile
"He's got a point." Mike suddenly agreed,
"He must like red - he's dressed head to toe, can't you see?"
"Don't you get funny with me!"
Pete was not a happy bunny,
"You know I hate red, it's my one and only rule."
"Oh, well I guess you really are a fool...
You either have to leave your job
or accept you need to shut your gob."
Mike had a smug grin on his face
yet knew he'd lost all chance of that raise.
Pete opened his mouth, then closed it again,
he screwed up his eyes and counted to ten,
then eventualy he let out a sigh,
"Well, then, I guess it's goodbye!"
Flinging his red beanie to the floor,
Pete picked up his briefcase and marched out the door.
Too stubborn to backtrack from his self-imposed rule,
Pete had bitten off more than he could chew.
The cheers reverberated around the office,
they'd won, they'd done it, they'd outdone their promise.
With claps on his back, and many high-fives
Mike had never felt quite so alive.
It was a few weeks before the new boss arrived,
out-sourced from a top firm in Shanghai.
He greeted his new colleagues with a simple bow,
and a very polite, "Nice to meet you now."
Feeling like the cat that had got the cream,
Mike wondered if this was all just a dream.
But when he was called in to see the new boss
he was quite concerned to see that he looked rather cross.
"I heard that you were after a raise,
well let me tell you, there'll be no such praise,
I have only one rule, and it goes like this:
if you want to go places, there'll be asses to kiss.
...No, wait, let me make that two rules,
the second is to get rid of insolent fools:
anyone wearing anything other than black
will find himself without a job and out on his back."
Mike opened his mouth to voice a protest,
then realised the colour of his sweater vest.
But Mike was a rebel, and would always resist,
so with a grin he said, "I will never submit."
So that was how our dear hero Mike,
packed up his desk and left on his bike,
but he never regretted overthrowing the dominion
of Peter McCarthy, and his colour opinions.
He only hoped that Martin would rise,
just as Mike had after his predecessor's demise,
because once this new boss had got the, well-deserved, can
there would be no more colours left to ban!
Wednesday, 15 October 2014
7 reasons why the Internet is just a series of lists now
Anyone else noticed that sometime over the last year there has been a change in the way general gossip, and 'fun facts' are being communicated via the web? This kind of information on the Internet is now almost always presented as a list.
Why oh why? Who decided that? I don't remember the news item, "Good evening and welcome to the 10 o'clock news, just in - the Council for Actualising Midly Amusing Information Online (CAMAIO) holds groundbreaking meeting that decides the format of amusing Internet articles will now be reduced to a series of lists."
To ironically explain my incredulity and disbelief whilst also explaining what I believe are the causes of all this, I have created the below list:-
1) I blame Twitter. I love Twitter, sincerely I do. Not only is it a forum for multiple postings (I like posting more than once a day) but it's the kind of world where you can chat to your favourite popstars, find out what type of jam Gok Wan prefers, and share jokes in the nicely succinct medium of a 140 character tweet. But, the 140 character tweet is also the very problem. We're so used to seeing information broken down into short bursts, spat out at 30 minute or less intervals, that now it's assumed our attention span is only capable of dealing with itemised information, chunked down into smaller sizes, like Jamie Oliver's methodology for making posh meatballs. (I dunno, I watched a cooking show with my Grandma once...)
2) We love lists! Organising our thoughts, ideas and other such bits and bobs into lists is not a new idea. Us human folk don't like reinventing the wheel much. We ran out of pictures to use as memes, so now we've decided the only way forward is to write lists. Because, you know, lists never get old.
3) Advertising. Know those sites that put each item on a list on a separate page? So annoying, right?
And then when you use your iPhone you almost always accidentally hit the advert on the side with your finger when you try to press the 'Next' arrow shaped button, hiding amongst a forrest of further arrows, which you hope will take you to the next item on the list. Whether you hit the advert with your finger by accident, or hit the wrong arrow, you somehow manage to get redirected to the site: MEET HOT SINGLE DINNER LADIES or something like this.
4) Peanut butter.
Or, actually, rogue items on a list. It's supposed to be funny I think. It's just a bit nonsensical really.
5) You're doing it now aren't you?
Also known as 'You're smiling because you just got fooled by item number 4'. Again, I think it's what's passing for comedy. It used to be really funny in fact. But when it was hilarious I also still had a MySpace account, had a Lycos email address and had never had the misfortune of discovering what I now like to term 'list abuse'.
6) It's meant to be cool.
I have quite a bit of a problem with this though. It means that now, something which would be funny in a non-list format, is automatically forced into a list, even when it doesn't quite fit. It's a bit like trying to fit an extra syllable into a line of song. It just really doesn't work. It's all, "3 reasons why salad doesn't go with cupcakes". Err - what do you mean this is an article with 1 screenshot of an autocorrect fail? That's not what I bought into!
(For some reason I seem to think someone might be able to text their friend "I just bought cupcakes for my salad" where 'salad' is just an autocorrect. That's probably not even possible, right?)
7) Buzzfeed. And for all I have issues with lists at times, there are some pretty amazing things on Buzzfeed. There are also some pretty horrific things on Buzzfeed, and so sometimes, I wish it hadn't been invented. But really, it's probably the reason everything is just lists now. Yeah.
If you liked my list, you can read another of my witty creations below - enjoy!
Why oh why? Who decided that? I don't remember the news item, "Good evening and welcome to the 10 o'clock news, just in - the Council for Actualising Midly Amusing Information Online (CAMAIO) holds groundbreaking meeting that decides the format of amusing Internet articles will now be reduced to a series of lists."
To ironically explain my incredulity and disbelief whilst also explaining what I believe are the causes of all this, I have created the below list:-
1) I blame Twitter. I love Twitter, sincerely I do. Not only is it a forum for multiple postings (I like posting more than once a day) but it's the kind of world where you can chat to your favourite popstars, find out what type of jam Gok Wan prefers, and share jokes in the nicely succinct medium of a 140 character tweet. But, the 140 character tweet is also the very problem. We're so used to seeing information broken down into short bursts, spat out at 30 minute or less intervals, that now it's assumed our attention span is only capable of dealing with itemised information, chunked down into smaller sizes, like Jamie Oliver's methodology for making posh meatballs. (I dunno, I watched a cooking show with my Grandma once...)
2) We love lists! Organising our thoughts, ideas and other such bits and bobs into lists is not a new idea. Us human folk don't like reinventing the wheel much. We ran out of pictures to use as memes, so now we've decided the only way forward is to write lists. Because, you know, lists never get old.
3) Advertising. Know those sites that put each item on a list on a separate page? So annoying, right?
And then when you use your iPhone you almost always accidentally hit the advert on the side with your finger when you try to press the 'Next' arrow shaped button, hiding amongst a forrest of further arrows, which you hope will take you to the next item on the list. Whether you hit the advert with your finger by accident, or hit the wrong arrow, you somehow manage to get redirected to the site: MEET HOT SINGLE DINNER LADIES or something like this.
4) Peanut butter.
Or, actually, rogue items on a list. It's supposed to be funny I think. It's just a bit nonsensical really.
5) You're doing it now aren't you?
Also known as 'You're smiling because you just got fooled by item number 4'. Again, I think it's what's passing for comedy. It used to be really funny in fact. But when it was hilarious I also still had a MySpace account, had a Lycos email address and had never had the misfortune of discovering what I now like to term 'list abuse'.
6) It's meant to be cool.
I have quite a bit of a problem with this though. It means that now, something which would be funny in a non-list format, is automatically forced into a list, even when it doesn't quite fit. It's a bit like trying to fit an extra syllable into a line of song. It just really doesn't work. It's all, "3 reasons why salad doesn't go with cupcakes". Err - what do you mean this is an article with 1 screenshot of an autocorrect fail? That's not what I bought into!
(For some reason I seem to think someone might be able to text their friend "I just bought cupcakes for my salad" where 'salad' is just an autocorrect. That's probably not even possible, right?)
7) Buzzfeed. And for all I have issues with lists at times, there are some pretty amazing things on Buzzfeed. There are also some pretty horrific things on Buzzfeed, and so sometimes, I wish it hadn't been invented. But really, it's probably the reason everything is just lists now. Yeah.
If you liked my list, you can read another of my witty creations below - enjoy!
Saturday, 6 September 2014
The Ballad of the Uninhibited Solo Street Dancer
One elbow, angled acutely
stabbing thin air rather brutally
swish of the hips in the opposite direction
twisted up face, gurning perfection
the bigger the shape
the faster the pace
the more violent the move
the sillier the face
the gaping mouths of the captivated crowd
as the street is my stage and the music so loud.
One might assume it's a form of disease
as I ignore the protests, the begs and the pleads
but as soon as the drum taps out that broken beat
I'm bound by the music to jump to my feet.
I try to explain but it's just no use
the music is reason, no other excuse
as I pirouette from each door step to kerb
body popping and twirling with verve.
I leap frog the postman on his morning round
ignoring the clatter of his bike to the ground
and twist my way to the zebra crossing;
cars screech to a halt whilst the lights are flashing.
I moonwalk a little as onward I go
and grab the lollipop man in a hurried tango.
He can't help but look aggrieved
as I clamp his crossing stick between my teeth
(I assure you that's no innuendo).
And the music comes to its final crescendo
I can only assume backing dancers have appeared
but as I whip around, it's just as I feared:
I'm going alone, bystanders still look aghast
as I fall to my knees in the middle of the path
And twist and turn like Torvil or Dean
at the start of bolero, and I'm an ice queen
As the final notes blast in my ears
I expect to see claps or maybe hear cheers
but then realisation washes over me,
with jazz hands still extended in front of my knees,
the music that forced this impromptu jive
was blaring from speakers I'd long left inside,
and what others witnessed had polluted their vision
for I'd danced to no music, there was nothing to listen.
I gulped as I warily got to my feet,
how stupid I'd been to dance in the street!
As I sorted my hair, and dusted myself down
I slowly walked, composed, through the gathered crowd.
Then finally silence broken by the sound
of a single clap, unbelieveably loud...
I searched for the source of this admiration
(or perhaps it was mere shock or indignation?)
but found this a task of great difficulty
as the claps of others joined to applaud me!
And finally whoops, and at long last cheers
screamed warmly at me as I wiped away tears.
It was then that I realised I need no permission
to just let go and lose my inhibitions
in the street,
at the door,
or just in my own home,
in Durham,
or Glasgow
or even in Rome.
If dancing is what puts a smile on my face
then I'll keep moving,
keep bopping,
keep pulling these shapes!
stabbing thin air rather brutally
swish of the hips in the opposite direction
twisted up face, gurning perfection
the bigger the shape
the faster the pace
the more violent the move
the sillier the face
the gaping mouths of the captivated crowd
as the street is my stage and the music so loud.
One might assume it's a form of disease
as I ignore the protests, the begs and the pleads
but as soon as the drum taps out that broken beat
I'm bound by the music to jump to my feet.
I try to explain but it's just no use
the music is reason, no other excuse
as I pirouette from each door step to kerb
body popping and twirling with verve.
I leap frog the postman on his morning round
ignoring the clatter of his bike to the ground
and twist my way to the zebra crossing;
cars screech to a halt whilst the lights are flashing.
I moonwalk a little as onward I go
and grab the lollipop man in a hurried tango.
He can't help but look aggrieved
as I clamp his crossing stick between my teeth
(I assure you that's no innuendo).
And the music comes to its final crescendo
I can only assume backing dancers have appeared
but as I whip around, it's just as I feared:
I'm going alone, bystanders still look aghast
as I fall to my knees in the middle of the path
And twist and turn like Torvil or Dean
at the start of bolero, and I'm an ice queen
As the final notes blast in my ears
I expect to see claps or maybe hear cheers
but then realisation washes over me,
with jazz hands still extended in front of my knees,
the music that forced this impromptu jive
was blaring from speakers I'd long left inside,
and what others witnessed had polluted their vision
for I'd danced to no music, there was nothing to listen.
I gulped as I warily got to my feet,
how stupid I'd been to dance in the street!
As I sorted my hair, and dusted myself down
I slowly walked, composed, through the gathered crowd.
Then finally silence broken by the sound
of a single clap, unbelieveably loud...
I searched for the source of this admiration
(or perhaps it was mere shock or indignation?)
but found this a task of great difficulty
as the claps of others joined to applaud me!
And finally whoops, and at long last cheers
screamed warmly at me as I wiped away tears.
It was then that I realised I need no permission
to just let go and lose my inhibitions
in the street,
at the door,
or just in my own home,
in Durham,
or Glasgow
or even in Rome.
If dancing is what puts a smile on my face
then I'll keep moving,
keep bopping,
keep pulling these shapes!
Saturday, 9 August 2014
Bring on the Crazy!
Finishing a book is a lot like waking from a very deep sleep and realising that the world isn't quite what it was when you first went down for those forty winks. The worst part is that you know that the book really isn't finished at all. In fact, it's just the bare bones of what it will be after the next few weeks of extensive editing.
Despite this, you still have to adjust to living in the 'real world' again. And I'm not sure it's going to be an easy adjustment. I mean, for starters, yesterday I told a guy I barely know that he was the spitting image of one of my main characters. I think he was a bit taken aback. Couple this with the fact that I am now having major withdrawal symptoms from no longer writing witty dialogue exchanges between a delusional, naive young professional and her sarcastic, over bearing, American best friend. What's a writer to do?
I guess the answer to that one would be to continue writing. And so that's exactly what I'm doing. Because, the thing is, if I don't focus all my creative energies on writing, then some of the crazy is going to spill into my everyday life. Yeah, you think you've got it bad now, listening to me spout out any old nonsense that comes into my brain - well, you wouldn't be particularly impressed with the Franks that isn't writing.
I mean, yesterday I was asked what I was doing and the answer was 'I'm just thinking about gammon'. To be honest with you, until yesterday, I thought thinking about gammon was pretty normal. But I have been informed otherwise. So, you know, if you think that's weird, that's just the tip of the meaty iceberg. I've got lots more where that came from.
So basically, what I've learnt is that it's best for the nation as a whole that I get stuck back into my writing. Whilst there's still lots of work to be done on the first draft of my latest writing creation, I'm never going to be able to edit it whilst completely ignoring all these new ideas in my head. No, I say bring on the ideas! Bring on the weird and wonderful and bring on the inspiration... Moreover, bring on the crazy!
And if anyone has beef with that, then you ought to put some mustard on it ;)
Despite this, you still have to adjust to living in the 'real world' again. And I'm not sure it's going to be an easy adjustment. I mean, for starters, yesterday I told a guy I barely know that he was the spitting image of one of my main characters. I think he was a bit taken aback. Couple this with the fact that I am now having major withdrawal symptoms from no longer writing witty dialogue exchanges between a delusional, naive young professional and her sarcastic, over bearing, American best friend. What's a writer to do?
I guess the answer to that one would be to continue writing. And so that's exactly what I'm doing. Because, the thing is, if I don't focus all my creative energies on writing, then some of the crazy is going to spill into my everyday life. Yeah, you think you've got it bad now, listening to me spout out any old nonsense that comes into my brain - well, you wouldn't be particularly impressed with the Franks that isn't writing.
I mean, yesterday I was asked what I was doing and the answer was 'I'm just thinking about gammon'. To be honest with you, until yesterday, I thought thinking about gammon was pretty normal. But I have been informed otherwise. So, you know, if you think that's weird, that's just the tip of the meaty iceberg. I've got lots more where that came from.
So basically, what I've learnt is that it's best for the nation as a whole that I get stuck back into my writing. Whilst there's still lots of work to be done on the first draft of my latest writing creation, I'm never going to be able to edit it whilst completely ignoring all these new ideas in my head. No, I say bring on the ideas! Bring on the weird and wonderful and bring on the inspiration... Moreover, bring on the crazy!
And if anyone has beef with that, then you ought to put some mustard on it ;)
Sunday, 6 July 2014
In defence of Facey B and other social media...
I need a filter. Not for my coffee machine, or for my Kenwood water jug, but for my mouth. The problem is, sometimes I say stupid things. And in no way do I imagine that this doesn't happen to all of us at some time or another, but I mean, it seems to happen to me more often than not! If I took a second or two to just think about what I am going to say, and what it actually sounds like to others then I wouldn't end up asking people questions which sound ridiculously inappropriate, telling people about bananas or accidentally asking people out when I'm just trying to make conversation. Turns out, conversation is a mine field. I need as much help as I can get.
Recently, there has been a video doing the rounds on the Internet where a guy is portrayed as having a pretty rubbishy life, but managing, via Facebook, to make it look like he's having the most amazing time ever. In all fairness, I think we're all guilty of sugar coating our lives for the purposes of social media but I have a bit of a critique for this video (And let's be real here, it's totally using reductio ad absurdum since I question how many people actually fake these kinda things for Facebook. Watch the video here)
Firstly, not airing your dirty laundry in public is a common practice in 'real' social situations. This doesn't mean that you can't admit when things aren't going to plan, or that I've got beef with people using Facebook to say negative things. Rather, if people don't want to talk about negative things then maybe it's because there's a bunch of people on their Facebook friends list that don't need to know this information, or that they don't want to know this information. It's not because our life is a social media lie, it's because our Facebook friends list is bigger than our everyday social circle, and we want to be careful about what we share.
Secondly, having a filter is a good thing. How many times a day do I wish that I had used reflection time before opening my mouth and saying something? A million times. Okay, maybe half a million, as I'm trying to work on it at the moment. The point is that I love that Facebook forces me to think about that I post before I post it. That doesn't mean that I always manage to post something interesting or funny (not for lack of trying...) but it does mean that I try to think about the impact of what I'm saying and the message that I'm putting out there. And hopefully, as a result, manage to avoid bearing all to everyone ever. I mean, nobody needs to know EVERYTHING that happens to me. (Trust me, it's pretty boring anyway)
I get that the video's point is mostly that reality and Facebook are different kettles of fish, and I agree that this is true. However what makes me sad is that people seem to be taking this video as a total attack on sharing their positive life experiences with their Facebook friends. And I fear that the result could be several thousand regular social media users feverishly analysing their every post on the Internet, and metaphorially backed into a corner, shaking, wondering 'WHAT IS REALITY ANYWAY?'. ("Well, I was going to post that I'm drinking tea and watching the footy, but then I don't want to rub it in my best friend's face because her TV is broken... Maybe I shouldn't say anything. Why do I need to say that anyway? I should just enjoy the footy, not talk about it." That kinda thing...)
Why are we punishing ourselves for being positive? Why are we guilt tripping ourselves for posting pictures that make us look happy, or for focussing on the good things in life rather than the bad things? Or just for telling others about the fun things that we're doing? Surely positivity can only breed more positivity?
Is it really so bad that I didn't want to publish the number of negative experiences that I've had in my life on Facebook? What would I achieve by doing so? They certianly wouldn't go away by making them public and it wouldn't make for comfortable reading anyway.
As I mentioned earlier, I don't criticise others for using social media to talk about bad things in their life. Facebook is a great way for talking to others about problems and sometimes a call out on social media is how people can get the help they need. Sharing problems can also be a good thing, because people shouldn't have to deal with things alone.
My point really is that we need to give ourselves, and others, a break. Yeah, sure, take social media with a pinch of salt. And if someone really is saying something on Facebook that you don't want to see, feel free to hide it or delete them as a friend.
Personally, I think I'd like to continue exercising my right to use the fliter that is social media. Afterall, nobody needs to know about me prancing around in my underwear to 80s music, do they?
(OOOPPPPSSSS)
Recently, there has been a video doing the rounds on the Internet where a guy is portrayed as having a pretty rubbishy life, but managing, via Facebook, to make it look like he's having the most amazing time ever. In all fairness, I think we're all guilty of sugar coating our lives for the purposes of social media but I have a bit of a critique for this video (And let's be real here, it's totally using reductio ad absurdum since I question how many people actually fake these kinda things for Facebook. Watch the video here)
Firstly, not airing your dirty laundry in public is a common practice in 'real' social situations. This doesn't mean that you can't admit when things aren't going to plan, or that I've got beef with people using Facebook to say negative things. Rather, if people don't want to talk about negative things then maybe it's because there's a bunch of people on their Facebook friends list that don't need to know this information, or that they don't want to know this information. It's not because our life is a social media lie, it's because our Facebook friends list is bigger than our everyday social circle, and we want to be careful about what we share.
Secondly, having a filter is a good thing. How many times a day do I wish that I had used reflection time before opening my mouth and saying something? A million times. Okay, maybe half a million, as I'm trying to work on it at the moment. The point is that I love that Facebook forces me to think about that I post before I post it. That doesn't mean that I always manage to post something interesting or funny (not for lack of trying...) but it does mean that I try to think about the impact of what I'm saying and the message that I'm putting out there. And hopefully, as a result, manage to avoid bearing all to everyone ever. I mean, nobody needs to know EVERYTHING that happens to me. (Trust me, it's pretty boring anyway)
I get that the video's point is mostly that reality and Facebook are different kettles of fish, and I agree that this is true. However what makes me sad is that people seem to be taking this video as a total attack on sharing their positive life experiences with their Facebook friends. And I fear that the result could be several thousand regular social media users feverishly analysing their every post on the Internet, and metaphorially backed into a corner, shaking, wondering 'WHAT IS REALITY ANYWAY?'. ("Well, I was going to post that I'm drinking tea and watching the footy, but then I don't want to rub it in my best friend's face because her TV is broken... Maybe I shouldn't say anything. Why do I need to say that anyway? I should just enjoy the footy, not talk about it." That kinda thing...)
Why are we punishing ourselves for being positive? Why are we guilt tripping ourselves for posting pictures that make us look happy, or for focussing on the good things in life rather than the bad things? Or just for telling others about the fun things that we're doing? Surely positivity can only breed more positivity?
Is it really so bad that I didn't want to publish the number of negative experiences that I've had in my life on Facebook? What would I achieve by doing so? They certianly wouldn't go away by making them public and it wouldn't make for comfortable reading anyway.
As I mentioned earlier, I don't criticise others for using social media to talk about bad things in their life. Facebook is a great way for talking to others about problems and sometimes a call out on social media is how people can get the help they need. Sharing problems can also be a good thing, because people shouldn't have to deal with things alone.
My point really is that we need to give ourselves, and others, a break. Yeah, sure, take social media with a pinch of salt. And if someone really is saying something on Facebook that you don't want to see, feel free to hide it or delete them as a friend.
Personally, I think I'd like to continue exercising my right to use the fliter that is social media. Afterall, nobody needs to know about me prancing around in my underwear to 80s music, do they?
(OOOPPPPSSSS)
Saturday, 21 June 2014
I blame Prince for my apocolyptic dreams...
Another normal day. A little freakish weather perhaps - but this is Britain. It is completely expected to experience rain and hail and blazing sunshine in the same day. Still, now, although early on a summer's evening, it really was quite dark. Though the sun was still shining, I predicted another rain storm.
I was cooking in the kitchen in the small flat I called my home when darkness descended. Instinctively, I turned the gas off the hob, and walked closer to the window. Outside it was raining heavily, and the sky had turned a crimson-gold colour. I felt a shiver travel down my spine. Something was wrong.
I picked up my phone and saw it flash with updates on Facebook timelines. It seemed the rest of the world had not failed to observe the strange weather and the colour of the sky. Some speculated that the end of the world was nigh. I rolled my eyes and shoved my phone in my pocket. Despite this, I really felt the need to speak to someone face to face. So we could both laugh about the weather together.
I pulled open the front door of my flat and stepped into the passageway. The stripped lighting above me was flickering - it was always doing that, to be honest. I thought I heard a noise, but I couldn't see anyone approaching. It was then that I felt the strange sensation. It hit me somewhere behind my knees and at once I fell, face down, on the floor.
Rather than feeling fear, I was unable to feel anything but curiosity. I didn't try to get up, but I knew that I shouldn't, or maybe that I couldn't? And then the floor below me tilted downwards slightly, so that it was on a slant. And my body, slowly, began to slide across the floor. At this point the only thing I dared move was my eyes. And as I slowly slid downwards, and came closer to the wall, I could see round the corner the parlaysed bodies of my neighbours, also slowly sliding downwards.
Like a ton of bricks I was shocked out of my vision and realised I was still stood outside my front door. It was only then that I felt the fear and decided to head back inside. I made sure the door was firmly shut but as I turned around I noticed that there was something sitting in my computer chair.
I couldn't tell you why I did this, but I felt the need to turn the chair around, and see who, or what, was sat there. I put my hand on the back of the chair and pulled it round. I screamed!
Okay, it was just my coat. I really needed to take a deep breath. I walked back over to the kitchen, forcing myself to slow my breathing, to calm down. That was when I noticed that the sky was completely orange. A firey, burning sphere central to my view of the sky captivated me. I couldn't tear my eyes away from it. And then it was gone. The whole sky blackened at once. At the same time, the electricity cut out.
I felt my body tense as I realised I couldn't see anything at all. I used my hands to feel my way back towards the computer chair. I heard a noise on the other side of the flat door. It was a creaking noise coupled with a sort of shuffling sound. I knew I should find out what was on the other side, but I was scared. I approached the door cautiously, slowly edging forward. My hand reached the door handle. I could hear the heavy breathing of whatever faced me on the other side. I pulled open the door and-
I was cooking in the kitchen in the small flat I called my home when darkness descended. Instinctively, I turned the gas off the hob, and walked closer to the window. Outside it was raining heavily, and the sky had turned a crimson-gold colour. I felt a shiver travel down my spine. Something was wrong.
I picked up my phone and saw it flash with updates on Facebook timelines. It seemed the rest of the world had not failed to observe the strange weather and the colour of the sky. Some speculated that the end of the world was nigh. I rolled my eyes and shoved my phone in my pocket. Despite this, I really felt the need to speak to someone face to face. So we could both laugh about the weather together.
I pulled open the front door of my flat and stepped into the passageway. The stripped lighting above me was flickering - it was always doing that, to be honest. I thought I heard a noise, but I couldn't see anyone approaching. It was then that I felt the strange sensation. It hit me somewhere behind my knees and at once I fell, face down, on the floor.
Rather than feeling fear, I was unable to feel anything but curiosity. I didn't try to get up, but I knew that I shouldn't, or maybe that I couldn't? And then the floor below me tilted downwards slightly, so that it was on a slant. And my body, slowly, began to slide across the floor. At this point the only thing I dared move was my eyes. And as I slowly slid downwards, and came closer to the wall, I could see round the corner the parlaysed bodies of my neighbours, also slowly sliding downwards.
Like a ton of bricks I was shocked out of my vision and realised I was still stood outside my front door. It was only then that I felt the fear and decided to head back inside. I made sure the door was firmly shut but as I turned around I noticed that there was something sitting in my computer chair.
I couldn't tell you why I did this, but I felt the need to turn the chair around, and see who, or what, was sat there. I put my hand on the back of the chair and pulled it round. I screamed!
Okay, it was just my coat. I really needed to take a deep breath. I walked back over to the kitchen, forcing myself to slow my breathing, to calm down. That was when I noticed that the sky was completely orange. A firey, burning sphere central to my view of the sky captivated me. I couldn't tear my eyes away from it. And then it was gone. The whole sky blackened at once. At the same time, the electricity cut out.
I felt my body tense as I realised I couldn't see anything at all. I used my hands to feel my way back towards the computer chair. I heard a noise on the other side of the flat door. It was a creaking noise coupled with a sort of shuffling sound. I knew I should find out what was on the other side, but I was scared. I approached the door cautiously, slowly edging forward. My hand reached the door handle. I could hear the heavy breathing of whatever faced me on the other side. I pulled open the door and-
Monday, 19 May 2014
Lost boys: Speak no evil
I wonder if you made it home
-heavy hearted-
rain just started
are you dancing in it yet?
I bet...
you weren't that brave.
And did your pirate ships
come home with it;
all that treasure?
Midnight til forever
Well, I never...
found out if you got arrested,
live behind bars now,
'spose you got there somehow.
Dying for you,
to tell me it's not true.
And did you ever
eat all that Nutella?
The world is small
and the stars are bright,
I look up and wait to see your light.
I guess you must have passed that test,
and every weekend is a holiday,
and still closure seems so far away
but I don't know
and you don't say.
I'll keep quiet
slow the riot
of thoughts that threaten to spill
over - oh, they will
soon, while you leave me wondering
always guessing;
a curse or blessing?
Only time will tell.
Even if you won't.
-heavy hearted-
rain just started
are you dancing in it yet?
I bet...
you weren't that brave.
And did your pirate ships
come home with it;
all that treasure?
Midnight til forever
Well, I never...
found out if you got arrested,
live behind bars now,
'spose you got there somehow.
Dying for you,
to tell me it's not true.
And did you ever
eat all that Nutella?
The world is small
and the stars are bright,
I look up and wait to see your light.
I guess you must have passed that test,
and every weekend is a holiday,
and still closure seems so far away
but I don't know
and you don't say.
I'll keep quiet
slow the riot
of thoughts that threaten to spill
over - oh, they will
soon, while you leave me wondering
always guessing;
a curse or blessing?
Only time will tell.
Even if you won't.
Sunday, 11 May 2014
Time waits for no man. Or woman.
Sat at my kitchen table with a coffee from my coffee machine, thinking about the world at large, or the world at small, and what a crazy place it is. Time passes so quickly yet it seems like only yesterday that I was opening this blog, starting a career as a teacher and moving into a place of my own. Fast forward 4 years into the future, and here I am, a different person, a different career path, sat in a different house with my 4-years-ago-brand-new laptop sat broken in the next room. Well, at least it lead a long and happy life, right? (I mean, it got to travel the world with me and everything - pretty special right?)
I don't know if you've ever seen the movie Epic, but there's one scene in particular that springs to mind. The tiny creatures of the woodland areas find themselves watching the seemingly clumsy movements of a human. To them, he's walking really slowly, his reactions to things going on all around him are well out of time, in slow motion, the words he's saying in that scary, deep, slow motion voice. This is supposed to be the reason why it seems impossible to swat a fly (or so I've heard, I try to avoid such things at all costs) To them, we are clumsily moving around in slow motion, and always reacting to their escape plans way out of time.
Remember when you were a kid? Chances are the summer holidays lasted forever, an endless stretch of days for bike riding, playing with friends, sharing stories, picnics and day trips to the seaside. Now, those of us who get a six week summer holiday watch on, horrified, as the six weeks slip through our fingers like dry sand. And, the rest of us who are lucky enough to get time off at summer, find that, again, it's gone in a flash.
Is time going faster? Since we've grown in height have we also changed our perception - our clumsy, slow motion movements speeding up? (Yes, okay, I know, I didn't grow all that much, just leave it alone would you?)
I don't know the answer. All I've learned is that time is precious - today you have a million things to be thankful for. Life is short and no-one knows what the future holds so enjoying the present could not be more important. If I could go back in time to visit 22 year old me, I would tell her to enjoy the ride. Every moment is a blessing and one day you're gonna look back at teaching and travels and all the fun that ensued with nostalgic rose tinted glasses, and just wish you'd cherished it a bit more. Don't wait until that happens - appreciate life right now!
I don't know if you've ever seen the movie Epic, but there's one scene in particular that springs to mind. The tiny creatures of the woodland areas find themselves watching the seemingly clumsy movements of a human. To them, he's walking really slowly, his reactions to things going on all around him are well out of time, in slow motion, the words he's saying in that scary, deep, slow motion voice. This is supposed to be the reason why it seems impossible to swat a fly (or so I've heard, I try to avoid such things at all costs) To them, we are clumsily moving around in slow motion, and always reacting to their escape plans way out of time.
Remember when you were a kid? Chances are the summer holidays lasted forever, an endless stretch of days for bike riding, playing with friends, sharing stories, picnics and day trips to the seaside. Now, those of us who get a six week summer holiday watch on, horrified, as the six weeks slip through our fingers like dry sand. And, the rest of us who are lucky enough to get time off at summer, find that, again, it's gone in a flash.
Is time going faster? Since we've grown in height have we also changed our perception - our clumsy, slow motion movements speeding up? (Yes, okay, I know, I didn't grow all that much, just leave it alone would you?)
I don't know the answer. All I've learned is that time is precious - today you have a million things to be thankful for. Life is short and no-one knows what the future holds so enjoying the present could not be more important. If I could go back in time to visit 22 year old me, I would tell her to enjoy the ride. Every moment is a blessing and one day you're gonna look back at teaching and travels and all the fun that ensued with nostalgic rose tinted glasses, and just wish you'd cherished it a bit more. Don't wait until that happens - appreciate life right now!
Sunday, 4 May 2014
Exit Dreams
Felt inspired to write this after the poetry recital yesterday. Really enjoyed hearing the other poems - such an honour to perform in the same category as the incredibly talented poets who made up the Over 25s. Thanks to everyone for all your support: family, friends, colleagues - you have all been amazing. I won a real enthusiasm for continuing with my writing and hope to perform some more in the future - that's the best kind of winning I know :)
I've forgotten what it feels like
to be the one
that you count on
for smiles and sun
So when the darkness appears
and my fun-filled head
rests in my bed
I feel real dread
I know the dreams are coming now
they always do
it's always you
I don't mean to
But my subconscious
is hearing voices
stupid noises
rest is pointless
What was that now?
It's telling me lies
that your heart is full of hate
I should learn not to wait
that my hands are tied by fate
But then last night
my subconscious
drowned those voices
oh, it got it right...
You were the same
and told me clearly
you cared for me dearly
and that you nearly
fell like others do.
But had to be honest,
it's not what you wanted,
and you just wondered
how I was and
wanted to say 'Hi',
then walk on by,
so satisfied.
And when I woke
I just knew it
we didn't fit
and the truth just unzipped:
confined
refined
an after thought
in your mind
but the centre
of mine
and that's not right.
So you did right.
So thanks for checking in
thanks for wandering
into my REM
and satisfying
my brain-
it's okay
and I'm not insane.
Voices are just voices
not reminiscent of bad choices
and now they're all choked up
because you just showed up
and said...
"I'm not the bee in your bonnet,
nor the words of your next sonnet
just the truth hiding in your closet -
don't pretend- you always knew it-
I was never what you wanted."
And that's honey to my ears:
exit dreams.
Monday, 21 April 2014
All of the above (a verse for the dreamers, the foolish and the clumsy)
Sometimes I dream things I shouldn't
have really long flashbacks
that last for hours
in that time in the morning between asleep and awake.
I have crazy ideas
put them in motion,
or sometimes leave them alone,
when I realise that they really are just bonkers
I'm romantic,
a fool,
imagine all those hopeless scenarios
run after trains when my beloved is zooming away from me
so, so fast.
and hope one day someone will run after me.
I jump through hoops,
I make hoops for others
and if they can't make it through,
I give them a leg up.
I am not strong enough to use my lawn mower,
I am ridiculously scared of most living things
I like making friends
but I hate it when they go away.
A lot of things go away.
But sometimes they come back again.
And if they don't,
I throw my head back onto my pillow
and sleep;
dream exotic dreams...
Sometimes it's daleks
and karaoke
or a fungi funeral
but in my Alice and Wonderland world
it never seems to matter
that I don't look perfect in photos
or that sometimes I eat badly
or if my hair looks rubbish when I get up in the morning
and I can't make it look right
or if I walk halfway to work with my skirt tucked into my knickers
or that I do really bad animal impressions
or that I give people I've just met fashion advice
or that I make mistakes
or set my alarm on weekends
and find it difficult to multi-task...
Because I know that for every mistake,
stupid photo,
TMI tweet,
blabbery blog post,
social faux pas,
accidental flash of underwear,
and the rest,
there is a belly-aching laugh,
a smile,
a skip in my step,
a holiday from real,
a song I know all the words to,
a small kindness I can pay to others,
and a love that is requited.
Whenever that will be.
It will turn up.
And in the meantime,
I will know that it is okay to be,
to do,
to have,
all of the above.
have really long flashbacks
that last for hours
in that time in the morning between asleep and awake.
I have crazy ideas
put them in motion,
or sometimes leave them alone,
when I realise that they really are just bonkers
I'm romantic,
a fool,
imagine all those hopeless scenarios
run after trains when my beloved is zooming away from me
so, so fast.
and hope one day someone will run after me.
I jump through hoops,
I make hoops for others
and if they can't make it through,
I give them a leg up.
I am not strong enough to use my lawn mower,
I am ridiculously scared of most living things
I like making friends
but I hate it when they go away.
A lot of things go away.
But sometimes they come back again.
And if they don't,
I throw my head back onto my pillow
and sleep;
dream exotic dreams...
Sometimes it's daleks
and karaoke
or a fungi funeral
but in my Alice and Wonderland world
it never seems to matter
that I don't look perfect in photos
or that sometimes I eat badly
or if my hair looks rubbish when I get up in the morning
and I can't make it look right
or if I walk halfway to work with my skirt tucked into my knickers
or that I do really bad animal impressions
or that I give people I've just met fashion advice
or that I make mistakes
or set my alarm on weekends
and find it difficult to multi-task...
Because I know that for every mistake,
stupid photo,
TMI tweet,
blabbery blog post,
social faux pas,
accidental flash of underwear,
and the rest,
there is a belly-aching laugh,
a smile,
a skip in my step,
a holiday from real,
a song I know all the words to,
a small kindness I can pay to others,
and a love that is requited.
Whenever that will be.
It will turn up.
And in the meantime,
I will know that it is okay to be,
to do,
to have,
all of the above.
Friday, 11 April 2014
Instant karma, mafia wasps and the famous tainted love controversy of 2014...
Here is a long overdue blogpost on the amazing and awe-inspiring nature of instant karma which has become so, so apparent to me over the past 30 odd days. (Not that I particularly subscribe to some New Age pick-and-choose-which-bits-you-like Hinduism, rather that 'you reap what you sow' is a central part of my actual belief system) This will be followed by a couple of mad, rambling anecdotes (naturally)
Currently it is lent, and, as I do every year, I decided to challenge myself to something. Now, we all know the debacle of when I tried to make everyone on my Facebook friends list smile (lent 2011) and that weird time I was forced, reluctantly, to give up Johnny Depp (lent 2004) but this time it was different. I wanted something achieveable, but challenging. The Facebook friends list one was very challenging, but I never managed it (although having a good stab at it counts for something, I'm sure...) whilst the Depp thing was just plain bizarre. With this in mind, I decided I wanted to do something good, a good deed, if you will, every day of lent.
It started out as something nice. Just plain, old nice. I brought double chocolate brownies in for everyone at work. I got to eat some too! It was great. But as the days went by, I started to notice something...
A force that is beyond myself started to pay me back in weird and wonderful ways. I bought a coffee for someone behind me in the queue, I got a coffee bought for me the following week. I brought in mini-eggs for people at work who had helped me out at a stressful time, a 'well done' card landed on my desk for getting through the stressful time. And the gifts kept on coming. Coffee, chocolate, cards, thank-yous, well done, compliments, lifts home etc. etc.
So maybe I just know some pretty awesome and amazing people? Probably. And I feel quite guilty, like my efforts mean little compared to all these lovely blessings that keep on coming. But, onwards I go, because I am quite enjoying doing all these little things, and, hoping upon hope, that I might surprise someone, or make someone's day, or bless someone just when they needed blessing. Because now, I really need to pay everyone back for what they have blessed me with! So I guess the quantity and quality of what I do for the remainder of lent will have to increase - I need to up my game!
Maybe you knew about instant karma already, maybe you don't believe in it, maybe you just think I'm plain bonkers. If that's the case then I hope this post gives you a sense of what the little things can, and do, mean. And if you were one of the people who blessed me, then hopefully you get a sense of how much it meant to me.
And, to conclude, I now admit that today's blessing comes in the form of my friend, who vows to save me from the mafia wasp in my house (a wasp I think belongs to the mafia, and I don't know why)
Now, I really better go because I need to figure out how to avoid making a mistake in the quiz on Monday like the tainted love controversy of January this year (I must only quiz people on the original artist behind a particular strain of musical genius when I definitely, definitely know that I am right!)
Furthermore, it's worth noting that instant karma works the other way too. You know, put vinegar in your Dad's wine glass and get attacked by the largest spider you have ever seen...that kinda thing.
Be warned!
Currently it is lent, and, as I do every year, I decided to challenge myself to something. Now, we all know the debacle of when I tried to make everyone on my Facebook friends list smile (lent 2011) and that weird time I was forced, reluctantly, to give up Johnny Depp (lent 2004) but this time it was different. I wanted something achieveable, but challenging. The Facebook friends list one was very challenging, but I never managed it (although having a good stab at it counts for something, I'm sure...) whilst the Depp thing was just plain bizarre. With this in mind, I decided I wanted to do something good, a good deed, if you will, every day of lent.
It started out as something nice. Just plain, old nice. I brought double chocolate brownies in for everyone at work. I got to eat some too! It was great. But as the days went by, I started to notice something...
A force that is beyond myself started to pay me back in weird and wonderful ways. I bought a coffee for someone behind me in the queue, I got a coffee bought for me the following week. I brought in mini-eggs for people at work who had helped me out at a stressful time, a 'well done' card landed on my desk for getting through the stressful time. And the gifts kept on coming. Coffee, chocolate, cards, thank-yous, well done, compliments, lifts home etc. etc.
So maybe I just know some pretty awesome and amazing people? Probably. And I feel quite guilty, like my efforts mean little compared to all these lovely blessings that keep on coming. But, onwards I go, because I am quite enjoying doing all these little things, and, hoping upon hope, that I might surprise someone, or make someone's day, or bless someone just when they needed blessing. Because now, I really need to pay everyone back for what they have blessed me with! So I guess the quantity and quality of what I do for the remainder of lent will have to increase - I need to up my game!
Maybe you knew about instant karma already, maybe you don't believe in it, maybe you just think I'm plain bonkers. If that's the case then I hope this post gives you a sense of what the little things can, and do, mean. And if you were one of the people who blessed me, then hopefully you get a sense of how much it meant to me.
And, to conclude, I now admit that today's blessing comes in the form of my friend, who vows to save me from the mafia wasp in my house (a wasp I think belongs to the mafia, and I don't know why)
Now, I really better go because I need to figure out how to avoid making a mistake in the quiz on Monday like the tainted love controversy of January this year (I must only quiz people on the original artist behind a particular strain of musical genius when I definitely, definitely know that I am right!)
Furthermore, it's worth noting that instant karma works the other way too. You know, put vinegar in your Dad's wine glass and get attacked by the largest spider you have ever seen...that kinda thing.
Be warned!
Wednesday, 5 March 2014
Why Sherlock Holmes makes you WANNA...
You know when you become so obsessed with fictional characters that you start dreaming about them? When you become so absorbed in a book that you think the characters are all your best friends? When you somehow manage to convince yourself that the song you are playing is the soundtrack to your life? And that each dance move you bust out on your way to put the kettle on (again) is somehow documented by a camera ...and that maybe one day you'll get recognised for your killer shapes by some dance scout? (Do dance scouts exist?) Okay that last point is a clear digression from the subject at hand...ahem...
What happens in the human mind when any of the above happens is a real mystery to me. But it is simply magical! You can't put your finger on quite how to describe that sense of excitement you get when you first hear the intro to a song, that you realise instantly, is soon to become your favourite. I wish you could put that moment in a box and keep it forever, because it's pretty much like falling in love. That feeling lasts such a short time, but is the reason that song holds such an esteemed place in your head. You memory of how good that feeling is, holds the song in a moment, a past moment, where it can do no wrong. Your imagination carries you off into the sunset. You're walking along the beach with the love of your life, or flying through the sky, not a care in the world, or trapped in an eternal summer - so long as that song plays. It's just like....the song...it just...makes you WANNA...
Then comes the moment that you've crossed the line. The line between the perfect amount of plays and overplaying it. When you go into that dark corner, you can never get back that feeling, that sense of excitement, that knock-you-off-your-chair-and-roll-onto-the-floor-in-shock reaction. You can barely remember what it was like.
Fastforward in time now. You've managed to forget that song. Or that episode of Sherlock Holmes (or book, whatever it is...) Life has carried on, and so have you. You keep on watching the same old stuff, listening to the same old stuff etc. etc. Then, all of a sudden, you are reminded of Sherlock for some reason (I dunno, your friend mentioned it or something...) You decide to watch the first episode again. BAM!
"What was the BAM?" I hear you ask. That was you being bowled over, all over again. It's like you never even watched it in the first place. Suddenly, you find yourself falling in love with him, like the past year never happened. It's irresistable, the whole process is involuntary. It's happening and you can't stop it.
That moment, my dear friends, is what I like to call The Great Re-discovery. (Yeah, you can probably think of a better name for it yourself...) The point is, it's pretty amazing how fickle your memory can be. It's also amazing how exciting and 'OOOOH' and 'I can't believe it' and magical the whole thing is. I do love it.
One great thing about being a writer, is that (hopefully) I have the capacity to allow this to happen for other people. I like the thought that maybe one day someone will put down my book, after reading a particular chapter, and have their thoughts entirely absorbed in a fictional world that I have created. I am ever hopeful that this may be the case, as I managed to achieve The Great Re-discovery myself, with my own book, this very year! I was seeking inspiration for my current book, and decided to re-read a chapter I had written in another project for some ideas. I re-discovered a character that I had almost forgotten about. What a guy he was. Suddenly, I had that feeling of excitement all over again.
That is why I love writing so much. I get completely immersed in a different world, with some pretty cool characters. If only they existed! One day you will get to have a read, and then I can only hope that one character makes you WANNA...
What happens in the human mind when any of the above happens is a real mystery to me. But it is simply magical! You can't put your finger on quite how to describe that sense of excitement you get when you first hear the intro to a song, that you realise instantly, is soon to become your favourite. I wish you could put that moment in a box and keep it forever, because it's pretty much like falling in love. That feeling lasts such a short time, but is the reason that song holds such an esteemed place in your head. You memory of how good that feeling is, holds the song in a moment, a past moment, where it can do no wrong. Your imagination carries you off into the sunset. You're walking along the beach with the love of your life, or flying through the sky, not a care in the world, or trapped in an eternal summer - so long as that song plays. It's just like....the song...it just...makes you WANNA...
Then comes the moment that you've crossed the line. The line between the perfect amount of plays and overplaying it. When you go into that dark corner, you can never get back that feeling, that sense of excitement, that knock-you-off-your-chair-and-roll-onto-the-floor-in-shock reaction. You can barely remember what it was like.
Fastforward in time now. You've managed to forget that song. Or that episode of Sherlock Holmes (or book, whatever it is...) Life has carried on, and so have you. You keep on watching the same old stuff, listening to the same old stuff etc. etc. Then, all of a sudden, you are reminded of Sherlock for some reason (I dunno, your friend mentioned it or something...) You decide to watch the first episode again. BAM!
"What was the BAM?" I hear you ask. That was you being bowled over, all over again. It's like you never even watched it in the first place. Suddenly, you find yourself falling in love with him, like the past year never happened. It's irresistable, the whole process is involuntary. It's happening and you can't stop it.
That moment, my dear friends, is what I like to call The Great Re-discovery. (Yeah, you can probably think of a better name for it yourself...) The point is, it's pretty amazing how fickle your memory can be. It's also amazing how exciting and 'OOOOH' and 'I can't believe it' and magical the whole thing is. I do love it.
One great thing about being a writer, is that (hopefully) I have the capacity to allow this to happen for other people. I like the thought that maybe one day someone will put down my book, after reading a particular chapter, and have their thoughts entirely absorbed in a fictional world that I have created. I am ever hopeful that this may be the case, as I managed to achieve The Great Re-discovery myself, with my own book, this very year! I was seeking inspiration for my current book, and decided to re-read a chapter I had written in another project for some ideas. I re-discovered a character that I had almost forgotten about. What a guy he was. Suddenly, I had that feeling of excitement all over again.
That is why I love writing so much. I get completely immersed in a different world, with some pretty cool characters. If only they existed! One day you will get to have a read, and then I can only hope that one character makes you WANNA...
Wednesday, 5 February 2014
The Jar
Once I had a jar
I kept everything in there
From sea shells to pins,
And all shiny things
And, oh, for the contents, I cared.
Over the days and the years,
the jar began to get full
I needed a space,
a real special place,
somewhere for my affections to lull.
I discovered I owned something else
that soon replaced the jar
I could fit all the love
and affection and stuff
right here inside my heart.
But then a problem arose
for not everything that went in
put a smile on my face,
or a skip in my pace,
and it seemed my heart was burning.
You see, I wasn't the only one
who could add things to my heart
anyone can lean in,
with a wink or a grin
and add baggage that could smart.
At first you wouldn't guess
that they'd left anything there
but once you've let them in
they can do anything
and it really isn't fair.
I wrestled with closing my heart
and giving up collecting my blessings.
It's a free-for-all
if I don't withdraw
this privilege to those I let in...
But if I don't have a jar
where I keep all the things I love
where will I keep
my firm, steadfast belief
in a Heavenly God from above?
How will I exercise patience?
How will I think with my gut?
My own intuition
would become a pale vision,
without the guidance of love.
I guess I have a heart
with an automatic door,
where you can't control
who touches your soul
and it hurts when you have to let go.
Still, I'd never swap for a heart
that's locked under key and chain -
you can't find happiness
in loneliness
and you'd never love again.
I kept everything in there
From sea shells to pins,
And all shiny things
And, oh, for the contents, I cared.
Over the days and the years,
the jar began to get full
I needed a space,
a real special place,
somewhere for my affections to lull.
I discovered I owned something else
that soon replaced the jar
I could fit all the love
and affection and stuff
right here inside my heart.
But then a problem arose
for not everything that went in
put a smile on my face,
or a skip in my pace,
and it seemed my heart was burning.
You see, I wasn't the only one
who could add things to my heart
anyone can lean in,
with a wink or a grin
and add baggage that could smart.
At first you wouldn't guess
that they'd left anything there
but once you've let them in
they can do anything
and it really isn't fair.
I wrestled with closing my heart
and giving up collecting my blessings.
It's a free-for-all
if I don't withdraw
this privilege to those I let in...
But if I don't have a jar
where I keep all the things I love
where will I keep
my firm, steadfast belief
in a Heavenly God from above?
How will I exercise patience?
How will I think with my gut?
My own intuition
would become a pale vision,
without the guidance of love.
I guess I have a heart
with an automatic door,
where you can't control
who touches your soul
and it hurts when you have to let go.
Still, I'd never swap for a heart
that's locked under key and chain -
you can't find happiness
in loneliness
and you'd never love again.
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