Tuesday, 15 May 2012

Poetry

Bloody hell, please ignore the fact I abandoned this blog for 8 months IMMEDIATELY AFTER SAYING I WAS GOING TO WRITE A BLOG EVERY MONTH. Stuff happened, stuff happened, blah blah. But that's not what I'm here to talk about.

I now work with three pupils at the high school; two year 7 boys, and one in year 8. 

One of the boys (aged 12) has ASD, ADHD and Tourette's. He's hilarious and, as I've recently discovered, a brilliant poet. Today he printed off some of his work for me to read; some are funny nonsense, some are poignant and some scream 'existential crisis!' Here's a few I wanted to share:

A selection from the collection entitled 'Short Poems'.

Nothing Can Exist
But it's only nothing...
It's only one big happy
Circle of space... alone.

A Special Time In The Day
I've had a special time
One of which is when
I feel alive!

A Sad Moment
Sad moments are sad
Especially for a lad
But I'm never sad.

Don't You Just Hate It?!
We all hate something...
Like, Justin Bieber
And one jealous person!

My Heart
It's not everyday
I think of my heart!
Thank God, without it
We wouldn't have life today!

A Very Bad Lie
It has to be fake... WHY?!
Oh, my wish didn't come!
BECAUSE IT'S A LIE!

A Handsome Life
One man is handsome
How hard can it be?!
I'd like to see...

Singing
I sing in class
It's very catchy
And definitely fun to do!

Santa Clause
A guy with a long beard
Also it's white, and a red suit.
This guy will be easy to find.

Worst Lessons
Welsh is a pain
And German/Science is the same
School; these lessons are insane!

From the collection of 'Big Poems'.

The Pen
The poor pen,
Its ink, commonly known as its blood,
Is being used on paper.
We must stop the villains using the pen!
How would we like it? The poor pen can't stand it!
The pen has suggested we use pencils,
One suggestion that has been successful...


Isn't he a gem? He makes me laugh daily. Will add more as and when! x

Sunday, 4 September 2011

Let's have a biscuit and a catch-up.

Well, this is awkward. I’ve left the blog unattended for too long and now the grass has overgrown and there are weeds everywhere. I do apologise but I’ve been rather busy, and not always in the writing frame of mind. Maybe if I pick up from where we left off we can settle into a nice, familiar friendship again, agreed? Good. Here goes:

  • I finished my dissertation
  • I graduated from University
  • I taught at the summer school 
  • I went on holiday
  • I said goodbye to Harry Potter
  • I said hello to Pottermore
  • I got asked to be a Godmother (!!!)
  • I read a book that has become my Bible
  • I got a job
  • I got accepted onto a Masters degree course

And that’s what you missed on Glee.

Yes, after being awake for a solid 33 hours, on 13th May I handed in my final piece of work for my degree and… well, then I fell asleep. The day before I had gone to work, come home, leisurely walked the dogs and had a meal, then decided 7pm was the right time to begin a 3500 word essay on the similarities and differences between 20th century American short stories and poetry. By midnight, when I was only 1000 words in, I realised I was certifiably insane. Around 5 hours later, then the birds started twittering outside, my distorted mind convinced me that what I was hearing was voices in my hallway, and I crept around the door with only a cushion and a Sharpie for protection. By the time I was printing my work out, at 7am, I was that woozy I sat on the toilet with the lid still down. And my knickers still on. It was a long day.

Graduation, however, made all that seem like a walk in the park. It was without a doubt the second best day of my life (first was all of New York, third being Russell Brand). My robes were black, red and gold; the Gryffindor house colours. As a shameless Potterhead, this alone thrilled me beyond belief. I could be Hermione for the day! I honestly have never felt so special in my life. I received a huge bouquet of flowers, two bottles of champagne, and many congratulations cards and messages. A nice young girl helped dress me in my robes, and pinned my mortar board on my head with 478 kirby grips; I shook hands Really Important People who did Really Clever Things; mum cried; we all got a bit drunk. It was wonderful.

The summer school was also great this year, and was made even better by my good friend Jen’s presence. We make an excellent teaching team, if I may say so myself. It’s bloody exhausting though, so I was relieved to be running off to a gorgeous little cottage in the Lake District the week it ended, with mum and the dog. I did little other than read and eat my body weight in homemade fudge, but that was exactly what I needed.

I was going to tell you all about my Harry Potter experiences this summer, but I started getting so carried away that I’ll save it for a separate Pottermore blog at the weekend. I’ve been officially sorted into Gryffindor though and I am beyond thrilled. But yes, more on that later.

In other news, I have been entrusted to guide a young, innocent child through life aka be a Fairy Godmother. Pretty sure the role includes a sparkly meringue gown and a perm. I could not possibly be more excited and got so choked up when asked that I could only convey my happiness through a series of grunts. I was lucky enough to see my future godson on a 3D scan and heard his heartbeat - it was incredible. He’s due at the end of January and I can’t wait to squish and snuggle and just love him forever.

The book that has become my Bible is, of course, 'How To Be A Woman' by Caitlin Moran. It is everything. Hilarious, honest, intelligent, endearing; it just made me feel like everything’s, you know… okay. Caitlin put into words many things I’ve wanted to say, but somehow felt it’d be wrong to. It’s like she unravels this big secret that, actually, most women act and think and feel the same way, but try desperately to hide it because that’s not how a proper woman should be. Moran puts that idea to hell. Just do me a favour and READ IT!

Tomorrow, I start work as a teaching assistant at a high school. The pupil I’ll be working with is an 11 year-old Autistic boy called Joe*. This should be… interesting. I’ve got a pencil case filled with new stationary and a crisp new notebook in my bag ready, and there are healthy snacks in the fridge waiting to be added to my lunch box in the morning. I feel like I’m the one starting school. By the end of the day I’ll be covering my homework diary in Jonas Brothers stickers.

During another period of lapsed sanity, I applied to study for a Masters degree. I think I was still high from graduation and my application floated off on a champagne bubble but, before I knew it, it had all become very real, and I’m starting on the 20th of September. I’m studying part-time, in the evenings, so I can still work during the day. It’s a new course, at a new University, in a new city… and I’m excited. Really excited!

It has been a great summer, even if it did flash before my eyes quicker than you could say '70% chance of precipitation'. As from now, I’m going to try and write a blog once a month. Optimistic maybe, considering how much I’m about to take on, but I’m not one to pass-up an opportunity to procrastinate! So, for now… wish me luck! x



*he’s not, but I don’t like to use the real names of pupils on the old interwebs.

Saturday, 23 April 2011

Somewhere only we know.

I’m not a particularly religious person. I’ve had my moments where I’ve been to church, read (most of) the Bible, and prayed; prayed because I was scared, worried, thankful. There are elements of the Bible that really offend me, and for those reasons it’s not something I can take into my heart and live my life by. For me, the concept of ‘God’ is a lot to my head around; I don‘t have the same blind faith that some people have. I think it’s because it’s assumed that God is responsible for everything: “What kind of a God would allow children to be abused?”,  “What kind of a God would create natural disasters that kill so many people?”, “What kind of a God would allow people to suffer through disease, and poverty?”, “What kind of a God would create a face like Gail Platt’s in Corrie?”. I don’t understand why He’s supposed to be in charge of every damn thing? That’s a lot for one person to take on. I believe that God could guide things, gently steer you in the right direction, offer signs and help that it is up to you to acknowledge and act upon. But I don’t think he could change the whole world, because I don’t believe he created it. This is all getting a bit tangled and complicated, but what I’m getting at is, my idea of ‘God’ is a pretty cool guy; wise, forgiving, understanding, endlessly doling out unconditional love, with a white beard and kind, crinkly eyes. Dumbledore, basically.

One thing I have never doubted, though, is that there is an afterlife. I refuse to accept that this is it: we arrive on earth, mess about for several decades - if we’re lucky - and then off you pop, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Seems like a waste to me. In my opinion, the soul is infinitely more significant and more powerful than the body, and so the obvious conclusion is that it will live on once our physical existence is no more. That’s where ‘heaven’ comes in.

My friend Amy and I had a lot of fun discussing what ‘heaven’ may be this evening, hence why I’m writing this blog. We both settled on the idea that heaven would be different for everyone: there’s so much diversity in the world, how could it not? Which leads to….

A Brief Visit to Amy’s Personal Heaven!
Don’t get too comfy guys, as I’m not planning on coming here for a long while yet (plus, you’re not all invited).

Okay, so firstly I’m hoping there’ll be some sort of introduction period. “Hi, I’m God, any questions?” Why yes, yes I have many. Then we’ll sit down and have a chat about what the meaning of life is/was, and He’ll show me a comprehensive slide show of how the world and space and humans and animals were created. Then we’ll watch a video montage of my ‘best bits’ with friends and family who are already up there. I’ll feel content and peaceful, and I won't even mind if my death meant that I’d missed the X Factor final, or whatever it was at the time, because heaven would be THAT GOOD.

Then we get to arguably the most fantastic thing about heaven: the celebrities. Of course we’ll get the chance to have a meet and greet with our deceased idols, much like you get to meet Mickey Mouse in Disney World. I imagine they’ll be in demand, so there will probably be some sort of a system, like in Alton Towers. “The queuing time for Princess Diana now stands at 13 years, please take a ticket. Alternatively, priority passes are available for war heroes and gingers. You may also be interested in Mother Teresa…”. I’ll sign up for a chat with Jane Austen (we’ll go to a quaint little cafe and eat a large chunk of homemade coffee cake while discussing men). I’ll also book a time slot with Heath Ledger to talk about, y’know… films and stuff… um, yeah…

Amy and I both made a collage of what would be in our personal heaven. Here’s mine:
I’ll talk you through it.

As you can see, Russell Brand features quite prominently. Without sounding like a stalker freak, I’m more than willing to spend an eternity in his presence. He’s got to have one of the most enchanting souls that has ever roamed the planet and would totally bring in the LOLz while we float along on our fluffy nimbus. Hey Russ, CALL ME!

Chocolate waffles with bananas and strawberries. Moment on the lips, lifetime on the hips! Oh wait, I DON’T HAVE ANY! Watch my spirit eat as much of this shit as it can handle. Just watch it.

Jane Austen - see above.

Mum and select friends and family. My mum is horrified that I used the word ‘select’, but I’m not letting any old riff-raff in. The last thing I want is people harshing my mellow up there. We’ll work out a points system or something. A sticker chart: 10 gold stars and you’re in. Something like that.

The entire Harry Potter cast, the Harry Potter series, and JK Rowling herself. I’d also like a Hogwarts, a Hogwarts Express, a Diagon Alley, a Hogsmede, and the Weasley Burrow in my heaven. (“People who read Harry Potter will go to hell! Magic is the work of Satan!” - oh do shut up. I’ve worked hard for this afterlife, let me have my wizards).

Books. A beautiful library full of all of my favourite books. Bliss.

An African sunset. Although this actually symbolises world travel in general. Yeah, I want the whole WORLD in my heaven. I want the freedom to drop in on places whenever I feel like it. I'm a freakin' floaty spirit, I can roam the planet if I so wish.

God. Yes, I know that’s Morgan Freeman’s representation of God in 'Bruce Almighty', but c’mon, he nailed that role.

Central Park! My beautiful New York. That’s where I want to spend most of my time in heaven, with my select friends and family.

All pets past, present and future (on the condition Toby behaves himself). We all know Toby went through a ‘phase’ where he was a biter. There’ll be none of that. Although it shouldn’t be a problem as I suppose souls can’t bite. Kinda banking on the fact I’ll see my beloved Mickey again, so fingers crossed for this one. (“Ho ho ho - animals don’t have souls! You won’t be seeing them in heaven!” - again, shut the fuck up. I’ll have you know my chestnut agouti Lionhead rabbit Willow had more of a soul than every person that has ever been on ‘Snog, Marry, Avoid’, so there).

I’ll probably spend the next few weeks remembering things that I’d like in my own personal heaven; already I’m kicking myself for not including rollercoasters - rookie mistake. And Christmas: I still want snow and baubles in heaven. Zumba is another one,  because what is heaven without the Reggae march? But I imagine the moves would be a little tricky without a body. There will be things that I don’t even know I want yet, too, that will be added to my personal in heaven in time. I’m looking forward to finding out what those things are.

Realistically, heaven will probably be nothing like this. It may also seem like a morbid thing for a young person in good health to be thinking about, but it was actually very cathartic. It makes me less afraid of the inevitable. As Dumbledore says: “After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure...”

Tuesday, 22 March 2011

Millican, moves, and music murder...

Right, well, hello!

Firstly I shall start off by warning you that I don’t really have anything interesting to say here. I haven’t had another epiphany whilst 850 feet in the air, and I’m not about to start putting the world to rights. *shakes fist* Libya Cameron mumble mumble *shakes fist*.

But my charming editor friend Anna Wintour Ven is a bit of a pushy one and has been all up in my grill telling me to write a blog, so: TA-DAH! Quality not guaranteed.

I best tell you what I’ve been up to, then. Mostly I’ve just been writing my dissertation and various other essays; I finish my degree in exactly 45 days (holy Mother of all that is sacred) so I’ve been reading and writing like a thing possessed.* But that’s cripplingly boring for me, so it’d be twice as bad if I tried to relay the horrors to a casual passer by. Swiftly moving on...

*I wish that were true. Mostly I’ve just been watching late night programmes with dubious titles such as ‘CLUB REPS GONE WILD!’, and eating Nutella from the jar.

Sunday
I had a lovely evening on Sunday; for Christmas I’d bought mum tickets to see Sarah Millican at Venue Cymru, Llandudno, and the show had finally come around. I’d already seen Sarah’s Chatterbox tour in Birmingham with Lauren back in October, but I was more than happy to see it again. That alone should give you an indication as to how blooming fantabulous the show is! Honestly, my cheeks ached by the end of it (face cheeks, I wasn’t clenching) from laughing so much. As she openly admits, her humour is a little ruder than when she’s on the telly, which of course is just a bonus! Mum was in stitches throughout and now wants tickets to the next tour… which I will also be seeing in Birmingham, too! Looks like you’ve got yourself a groupie, Millican… ;-)

Before going to the theatre we went to a Chinese restaurant in Llandudno, which was delicious, but the oddest looking couple came and sat adjacent to us half way through. I’ll be blunt - they looked exactly like paedophiles. Exactly. It felt like I was on a picnic with Fred and Rose West. They were painfully thin; he was completely bald on top but with thick, grey, wiry hair emerging from around the rest of his head like a ring of thorns. He was wearing lavender coloured jogging bottoms that looked like they’d been slept in, and a heavy, patterned jumper. Her hair, on the other hand, looked like a soccer helmet made of Brillo pads, and she too was wearing a similar indigo ensemble. Their cheeks were gaunt, their eyes were beady, and they looked like they had a patio full of secrets at home. Secrets and bones. The waiter came to their table and, before he could breathe a word, they both proudly proclaimed “We’re vegetarians”.

For the first time since they’d walked in the room, mum and I tore our eyes away and looked at each other.

Mum: “You know why they’re vegetarians, don’t you?”
Me: “Because they feast on the flesh of humans instead?”
Mum: “Exactly. And they’ve got their eye on you, so I’d be careful. Did you hear her? ‘Ey, Bert, don’t fill yourself up. We could get at least a week out of that one there’”.

My mother, ladies and gents. Too kind. Just, TOO KIND! Luckily I managed to escape before the West’s could put me on a pancake with a bit of plum sauce, but for a while it was touch and go.

Monday
The afternoon was filled with seminars, but in the evening I went to zumba with Lindsey. If you’re wondering what zumba is, it’s basically a variety of different dance styles all rolled into one high-intensity class. For instance, our routine involves a lot of salsa, hip-hop, samba, flamenco, some Bhangra, all tied up with a yoga type cool-down at the end. As the songs change, so does the routine, meaning you are - literally - kept on your toes throughout. Zumba is awesome.

I, however, am not.

I have the co-ordination of a blind blow fish, and while everyone else in the class seemed to be moving fluidly and in sync, like this:



I, unfortunately, resembled something a little more like this...
image

For shame. Still, I had a whale of a time (no pun intended) and will continue to zumba my heart out.

The unavoidable...
Unless you've spent the last week or so in a coma, you'd have at least heard rumblings of the name Black. Rebecca Black. Who is in part responsible for the auto-tuned, psychedelic ear-infection that is her first single:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD2LRROpph0
I know, right? Wow. Of course it's terrible, but don't tell me you haven't found yourself singing "it's Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday..." under your breath at least once. And if we're talking about terrible lyrics here, I'd like to take you somewhere a little closer to home.

More specifically: U, ME, JLS. Jesus. Some of their lyrics are a total mind-fuck.

I'm going to treat you with a few gems:

"Tell me where you're from: Venus, Mars, or the sun?" - Outta This World.
Umm, I'm a bit more local, actually...

"Like Rihanna, she's a rockstar, you know I'll be her Rudeboy..." - Work.
I'm sorry if I'm not 'street' enough for this lyric but I don't know what a 'Rudeboy' is. If it means you won't hold doors for me, then that's a little unpleasant.

"Can you feel my x-ray, as I can you down..." - Superhero.
Woah! This feels a little like an airport security system. Erm, guys, I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with this. I have nothing to declare.

"We're in trenches, lets climb out, because out love is in doubt..." - Love At War.
Wait... what? Why are you in a trench? You're JLS! You don't need to worry yourself with fighting for your country - gosh no! Just make sure you colour co-ordinate your outfits and peace will be restored throughout the land.

"Went up to say hello, say hi and stereo, she whispered in my ear 'Hey there, Romeo'..." - The Last Song.
Now, this really does blow my mind. Okay, so first he walks up and says "hello" followed quickly by "hi", which is a little awkward but give the guy a break - he's probably nervous. But then, THEN, he... well, he 'stereo'.

Not sure I'm following. How can you 'stereo'? 'Stereo' is a noun and to use it as an adjective is beyond my realm of comprehension. But then I thought: "Maybe it's me. There must obviously be another meaning for the word 'stereo'". So I Googled it.

Along with being an object that produces sound, stereo can also mean "two photographs taken from slightly different angles that appear three-dimensional when viewed together". Please tell me he doesn't walk up to this chick and start snapping away because that is what I like to call "a bit rapey".

Third possible meaning: "STEREO (Solar TErrestrial RElations Observatory) is a solar observation mission. Two nearly identical spacecraft were launched into orbits that cause them to respectively pull further ahead of and fall gradually behind the Earth". Riiiiiight. So Aston, Marvin and the lads (c'mon, who cares what the others are called) were on some kind of galactic mission to observe this lucky, lucky lade and then, I'm assuming, launch themselves at her?

Who knows. Won her over though because she mistakes him for one of the greatest male romantic figures in all of literature, so all's well that ends well. (Lolz, see what I did there? Shakespeare? All's Well That... oh, never mind).

So all I'm saying is, whatever Black can do... we can do shitter.


Blimey...
For someone who didn’t have anything to say, I’ve sure managed a fair bit of nonsensical rambling. The words ‘hind leg’ and ‘donkey’ spring to mind. I will leave you in peace.

It's been fun fun fun...

x

Tuesday, 15 February 2011

New York, New York, she took your heart away... (Pt.2)

February 1st

Today was my 21st birthday! I’d opened all my presents at home before I left so I didn’t have to bring them all with me, but I had put some of the cards in my case. Special mention has got to go to the masterpiece that was created for me my Louise (@louisejones_x) and Max (@MaxRowleyy). They’d taken a picture of Russell Brand and Katy Perry, and photoshopped my face onto Katy’s body. Despite the fact I looked like Mortisha, we make a beautiful couple. Inside the card was the random scribbling of lunatics and a fake £5 note, but I laughed until I had tears in my eyes. Bless those little rascals.

After a breakfast of waffles, strawberries, and maple syrup, we started to head for Central Park. Well actually, due to someone’s poor map reading skills, we ended up in the depths of Chelsea. Hmm. Jeesh girls, don’t all look at me, WE GOT THERE IN THE END!

Our first glance of Central Park evoked a collective: “Wow!”. It looked like Narnia; the snow was easily 2 foot deep in most places, and some piles were even taller than my 4ft 11 self (although the path all around the park had very efficiently been cleared). The trees - though bare - were snow covered and looked magical, and there were old fashioned street lights that made it more atmospheric. Someone had even made a snowman. It was so cold that our hair froze. Literally, it was stiff (oo-er), and little droplets of water on our bags had also frozen into tiny little ice cubes.

After doing the typically tourist thing of taking endless photos of the same tree but from a slightly different angle (I even took a photo of a bin: a snowed-in bin! HA! Such fun!), suddenly, from nowhere, came ASLAN! Just kidding, it was pedicab guy Alex. After a good 10 minutes of cajoling, and a fair bit of bartering, we found ourselves being tucked up in what can only be described as an oversized pram by Pedicab Guy Alex, and off we set on a tour of Central Park. From a pedicab. Have I mentioned we were in a pedicab?

Luckily, Alex was an actual gem; an opinion that was only reinforced when we went past the Central Park zoo and he started singing “I like to move it move it! I like to - move it!” (that particular zoo was the inspiration for the zoo in Madagascar). We laughed until our cheeks ached. Alex told us loads of interesting things about the park and the surrounding apartments; whilst all that overlook the park are in the million dollar bracket, even they cannot be bought by just anyone. There are some buildings that are deeply rooted in history and tradition, thus they cannot be owned my the nouveau riche celebrity culture, and will only be sold to the long standing elite of New York, such as the Waldorf family. Alex also told us a bit about himself; he is originally from a small island near Russia, but now lives in Brooklyn, and that he came out to work today despite the freezing temps because one of the penthouse apartments overlooking the park had just gone up for sale. Bless him.

We saw, as Alex kept reminding us: “Fountain from TV show Friends!”, which obviously wasn’t running because of the snow, but was still really cool to see, and the infamous arched canopy of trees which was beautiful, and reminded me of countless film/TV show scenes.

I really look forward to going back to Central Park one summer; when the lawns are filled with sun-bathers, and young children and their parents sail toy boats on the large ponds. Sounds idyllic.

From Central Park, we made the short walk to the Upper East Side. If you’re a Gossip Girl fan like myself, you’ll know this was an EXTREMELY EXCITING ENDEAVOUR! (If you’re not a Gossip Girl fan, just take a moment to step outside and re-evaluate your life. Also, maybe skip this paragraph). We saw Park Avenue (“Blair Waldorf: the quintessential Park Avenue Princess”. SCREAM!), and Lexington Avenue, where a lot of the characters are supposed to live, and scenes have been filmed. Every limo that passed I assumed to be carrying Chuck Bass, and every bakery that had pretty pastel coloured macaroons in the window made me come over all Blair. Oh, I loved it.

We went to Bloomingdale’s which was, well… just like Macy’s and Saks: posh and expensive. But it’s where Rachel from Friends worked so it had to be done. We also went to FAO Schwarz, which is undoubtedly The Greatest Toy Shop Of All Time (if you don’t want to take my word for it, it was the toy shop featured in the movie Big!). You were greeted at the door by a man dressed as a toy soldier, and on the right there was a walk-in dome which, when you looked up, was a kaleidoscope. It had Christian Louboutin Barbie dolls, 7ft stuffed giraffes (I really wanted one but doubt it would’ve fit in my hand luggage), and an entire Harry Potter section with hats, wands, and a toy Crookshanks! There were Star Wars characters made entirely of Lego that stood taller than me, and the infamous Big Piano on the second floor - I had to hold myself back from elbowing the little kids off it and playing the Rugrats theme with my feet. It really was a wonderland (until you looked at the price tags).

We were pretty cold after all this walking around in -6 temps, so we hurried back to our hotel (which had not one, but TWO Starbucks in it), and tucked ourselves up in bed with a hot chocolate and cream to thaw out before food and the theatre.

The Gershwin theatre is home Wicked, and we couldn’t have wished for a better introduction to Broadway. We were sat on the second row which made the whole experience ten times more thrilling: we really felt a part of the show. Teal Wicks played Elphaba, and it’s only now that I’ve discovered this was her first performance on Broadway! Which came as a surprise because she was absolutely outstanding and owned the stage; her voice was flawless and the emotion she put into ‘Defying Gravity’ and ‘For Good’ brought tears to my eyes. Katie Rose Clark played Glinda and she was just as fantastic; her movements and comic timing were spot on, Lauren and I are still mimicking some of her quirky little ways - hilarious! “Toss toss!” The costumes and staging were so elaborate and beautiful; everything about the show was just enchanting, and we left with a spring in our step. Go and see Wicked - but only in New York!


February 2nd

Wednesday morning we went straight to the ticket office in out hotel to book tickets for Mamma Mia that night (Broadway is rather irresistible), and then booked a hop-on hop-off bus tour that would take us all around Downtown Manhattan.

We got particularly lucky with our tour guide, Jeff. He was one of those one off kind of guys; a strong, street-wise black man who you could imagine would hold up a bank of an evening, then go home, take off his balaclava and make a lasagne for his wife and kids. He’d steal from the rich and give to the needy. I liked him. He high-fived me, and my reaction was similar to if I’d be high-fived by Snoop Dogg. Henceforth, I walked with a swagger.

Jeff pointed out a few buildings that were worth a mention, such as the Project Runway school, New York University, and the apartment Heath Ledger died in. Boy, did I love Heath and his cheek bones (if he’d still been alive, I’d have been off that bus and up that fire escape in the blink of an eye). That was a bit sad, but appealed to my macabre curiosity.

But most of the trip to Downtown was what I like to call: Useless (But Often Interesting And Educational) Facts With Jeff. Catchy, I know. He told us how to survive in New York on just $40 per day (lol, bless you Jeff babes, you do know there’s a Pandora shop in our hotel, right?).

Jeff’s $40 advice included…
Where to eat: “NOT TIMES SQUARE!” - we ate in Times Square every night. Oops.
Where to buy: “Get a sample sale ticket!” - So no Macy’s then? Oops.
Where to, erm… offload: “Do you know that no hotel in New York city can refuse you use of their bathroom? So if you need to pee, might as well pee in the Plaza!” - Jeff, I commend you!

We hopped off the bus at the Ground Zero stop and headed towards the site of the Twin Towers. I was really conscious of coming across as an ignorant tourist who just wanted to gawp at the place, as though it were a circus; that was never my intention. I think it would be even more ignorant to visit New York and not go to Ground Zero and pay your respects.

Now first off, as expected: no where in New York is quiet. Yet here, although there were still people walking the streets and there was movement and chat, there was a stillness that I didn’t recognise anywhere else in the city. It was as though everyone around the site where the Twin Towers once stood were united in some kind of chilling knowledge, that didn’t need to be spoken - you could feel it in the air. Everyone remembers where they were when they found out about the Twin Towers disaster, as the magnitude of the event forms a flashbulb memory; it was the focus of my A Level Psychology study. I was 11 years old, yet as soon as it is mentioned I can recall images on the TV of billowing smoke, people falling from the buildings, and running down the streets that were being engulfed by dust clouds. I can hear the desperate 911 calls that were played out from people trapped in the buildings. I still feel the same shock - even more so, now I understand it more. Seeing those streets today evoked flash backs to those TV images; the sights and sounds that I’d been fortunate enough to only witness from the safety of my own home, were being played out in my memory as I stood amongst the streets and buildings I recognised from news footage. It was eerie, and none of us spoke while we were there.

They were working on the memorial site while we were there which, when finished, will be an area of around 400 trees, a museum, and two waterfalls filling the void of the buildings, with the names of all the victims inscribed around the side. It’ll be such a moving tribute, and I’ll definitely go and visit. No matter what your beliefs surrounding that day - whether it be that it was purely a hideous act of terrorism, or if the coincidences highlighted by conspiracy theorists arousing governmental suspicions are a bit too convenient to ignore - 9/11 is undoubtedly the most catastrophic and heart-breaking thing to shake New York city. I visited almost 10 years after tragedy, and it still firmly lingered on; the importance of that day and the people lost has never diminished, and rightfully, it never will.

From there, we travelled the fairly short distance that brought us to Brooklyn Bridge, and whilst we had intended on taking the ferry to Liberty Island, it was a particularly foggy day, so the trip wasn’t running due to low visibility. We passed through China Town on our way home (obviously by ‘home’ I mean Times Square. Lovely, homely, Times Square). I think my mother adequately summed up our impression of China Town as we passed one of the restaurants: “URGH! Look how filthy that lobster tank is!”. Quite.

That night after dinner, we went to the Winter Gardens theatre to see Mamma Mia! Although not as sophisticated a production as Wicked, it is pointless trying to fight the huge grin that covers your face throughout the show. It was funny, lively, light-hearted, and feel-good; what more could three girls want from their last night in the Big Apple?! The encore really put the cherry on top; the entire cast came back out in their 70s flares and sparkles and sang Waterloo, Dancing Queen, and Mamma Mia!, while the entire audience got the their feet to sing and dance along. It was fantastic, and so much fun! We practically skipped back to the hotel, for packing and our final night of Lift Adventures. Sob!


February 3rd

Our flight home wasn’t until 8.25pm that night, so we wanted to make the most of our final morning. When Lauren mentioned going to Top of the Rock, I wasn’t all that enthusiastic. As Jeff (our tour guide on the bus) said: “What can you see up there that you can’t see down here?”

Oh Jeff. EVERYTHING! That’s your answer.

I’m so glad Lauren insisted, because the time I spent gazing out at the Manhattan skyline on a crisp blue morning were amongst the most profound moments of my life. I know that sounds very dramatic, and as though I’m a poster-girl for emos world-wide, but it’s true. Between 5th and 6th Avenue, 50th street, on the 74th floor of the Rockefeller Centre, I found my happy place. Central Park stretched out for miles below us, glistening in it’s snow-covered perfection; the Empire State Building stood proud right in front; the Statue of Liberty looked small but significant, just visible in the distance; and everyone in the streets below continued on their daily business, accustomed to the wonders of their city.

It was only when 850 feet in the air that you really reflect on how amazing New York truly is. It is unlike anywhere else I’ve ever been; I’ve written 5000 words about my trip there, but that will never adequately describe how the city makes you feel. Those streets did make me feel brand new, and the bright lights did inspire me. It was busy, diverse, thriving; it offered opportunities, spontaneity and freedom that you wouldn’t get in somewhere as sleepy as North Wales which, albeit beautiful, and my home, is somewhere I think I’ve outgrown now.

And for those moments looking out at, to me, the most exciting place on earth, I didn’t care about anything else. I didn’t care that I had 22,000 words of literary criticism to write when I got home; I didn’t care that I had no idea what I was going to do when I’d finished my degree; I didn’t care that I wanted to lose a stone before I went on holiday but I’d only lost 5lbs. Right then, I was just happy to be here.


Home

The first thing I did when I got home was check my Uni emails from the School of English, the first of which reported a missing flask. Back to reality then. Corrie didn’t pack the same punch as Broadway, and it took me a few days to get accustomed to the fact it was no longer acceptable to eat syrup for breakfast.

I miss New York, and I miss Lauren! After a week in each others constant company we’d managed not to irritate or enrage one another (I couldn’t have done that with all my friends, believe me!); I miss Lift Adventures, going on trips to get ice each night, and just generally messing about like carefree kids again! But even the pressure cooker that is third year and the 2 hour long seminars can be punctuated with a rendition of Voulez-Vous now and again… “This time last week!”.

The plan is to head back to the Big Apple in the autumn of this year. I’m already counting down the days…

:-)

Saturday, 12 February 2011

New York, New York, she took your heart away... (Pt. 1)

When I was 11 years old, our R.E. teacher asked us a series of deep and meaningful questions. One of these questions was “If there was only one place in the world you could visit before you die, where would you go?” See what I mean? Deep. Meaningful.

I didn’t have to think about my answer at all. “New York”, I said. The girl next to me retorted “Ooo, if I could only go to one place in the world, I’d want to go somewhere abroad”. I blinked. I’m not sure where she thought New York was - just past Rhyl, probably.

But the idea of going to New York had always been a dream to me. Everything about it seemed iconic, inspiring, mesmerising - it was the backdrop to films and TV shows, and there had been songs written about it. There has never been a song written about Abergele, North Wales. It was where Miracle on 34th Street was set. I watched Miracle on 34th Street, on average, three times a week during my childhood. Shots of Central Park and Times Square had enchanted me for years - it looked so exciting, and so alive.

Basically, I really fucking wanted to go to New York. It was a place where dreams came true. And I wanted my dreams made true, dammit.

My friend Lauren and I met in the first year of University and quickly bonded over our mutual lack of maturity and enjoyment of the finer things in life: Morrisons chicken curry slices and Heat magazine. We idly talk about going to New York but, as always, thought it was probably one of those passing fancies that would never materialise. Like meeting Russell Brand (*ahem* http://bit.ly/bi9tgg) I mean, it costs thousands to go to New York. Where are two unemployed students going to get thousands of pounds from?

Oh, hello bursary. It’s what David Cameron would’ve wanted, I’m sure.

So in May 2010 we booked to go to NYC on 30th January, 2011 - we’d be there for my 21st birthday. And so, the countdown began…


January 26th, 27th, 28th

I’m going to give you a sample of some of the texts that were flying back and forth between myself and Lauren. We were a little excited.

L: I’m sat grinning over my chicken soup, thinking about this time next week!

Me: I’m absolutely bouncing now! 3 sleeps until it all kicks off! Eeeeeeek!!!!!

L: Two more sleeps until Saturday! It’s happening Amy!!!!!

Me: I’m hyperventilating while my mum pours Kalms down my throat!

L: I’m doing my washing and ironing: ‘Next time I wear you I’ll be in New York effing city!!!!’

Me: I do that too! And when I have a shower before I go I’ll think ‘Next time I have a shower I’ll be in New York… Next time I have a wee…’ etc etc.

L: Are you not going to shower or use the loo between now and New York?!

Me: Nooooo!

L: I’m buzzing with excitement! People are phoning to tell me to have a great time, I feel like a celebrity!

Me: I feel physically sick with excitement! I have an erratic heart beat!

This went on for quite a while. We also got very exclamation happy. !!!!!! OMG !!!!!!


Saturday 29th

We had a direct flight from Manchester to JFK at 10am Sunday morning, so the night before we went to stay in a Travelodge closer to the airport. Just somewhere to put our head down for the night. HAHAHA oh if only.

First though, we dumped our luggage and went out with my lovely family: Emma, Shaun, Ellis, Finn, my aunt, uncle and mum. We had a delish meal and I was allowed to open my birthday present from Emma & Co (like Tiffany & Co, innit) early so they could gauge my reaction. It was a Pandora ring and it is beautiful! Silver and topaz, I love it to bits.

We wanted to get to bed early because Shaun was picking us up to take us to the airport at 6am, so we were tucked up by about 9pm.

This was until our friendly neighbourhood chavs in the room across the corridor started getting ready for their night out, which involved blasting Rihanna’s ‘S&M’ on repeat for 2 solid hours and shouting things like *in thick scouse accent* “Morgan, where’s my fucking eyelashes? You do this every time!”.

Then they went out dressed in an outfit fit for a gypsy and we finally got a little sleep. Until they returned at some un-Godly hour running down the corridors screaming and banging on all the doors on the way. We had to get up early anyway so we just cut our losses and started getting ready, while listening at the door to the drink-fuelled chats that were going on outside:

*thick scouse accent*

“Charlottte, why are you crying?”

“I can’t tell you! I can’t tell anybody!”

“Whatever it is Charlotte, you can fucking tell me!”

Yeah tell her Charlotte! Go on! I’m a bit of a nosey bitch!


Sunday 30th

So we were up at 3am (THREE. AY. EM.) because of Morgan and Charlotte’s Jezza Kyle style dramas, but we were too giddy to even care. Nothing could piss on our parade that day. Direct quote from Lauren “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy at 3 o’clock in the morning!” - I hear ya sister.

We arrived at the airport to a pretty aggressive security guy whose questions went a little something like this: “When did you pack your case? Has it been with you since then? Has anyone asked you to put something in your case? What is the purpose of your trip? You don’t look 21. Are you carrying any fire arms?”. STFU dude, so I have a face like a Cabbage Patch kid, I’m still 21. And would I tell you if I was carrying fire arms? Seriously? I hope you don’t just take people’s word for it.

But anyway, don’t you just love taking off? I do. It was a really smooth 8 hour flight, and we were given loads of nice food. Yes, plane food that was NICE! And unlimited drinks, all of it free. Don’t mind if I do. *knocks back orange juice, on the rocks no less* The air stewards were all American and lovely and “oh, you girls!”. I got a bit fixated with the ‘track your flight’ thing on the TV in front, and just watched the plane go over the Atlantic ocean for a considerable amount of the journey (in between watching Glee, Easy A, and playing a game with a fish but my fish kept dying and I had no idea why). Lauren and I found much amusement in the names of places we flew past, such as ‘Happy Valley Goose Bay’. That is a real place, guys. And then before we knew it, we were in NEWWW YOOOOORK! CONCRETE JUNGLE WHERE DREAMS ARE MAAAADE OOOOF! We had an eye scan and finger prints taken just incase we turned out to be crack-a-lacka-mental and then we were on our way to our hotel!

We were staying at the Marriott Marquis right in the centre of Times Square - the closer we got, the more excited I became. It was 8pm UK time (3pm NY time) when we arrived at the hotel - we were tired and felt a bit grubby after just sitting for all that time but Oh. My. Life. The hotel was amaze. The glass elevators! The massive room! The Times Square view! First thing Lauren and I did was jump on the beds, natch. When I spotted a magazine on our coffee table with Ed Westwick on the cover, I really knew we’d hit the jackpot. We quickly unpacked and headed straight for the bright lights!

Times Square was completely overwhelming at first. I’d never been somewhere so… tall. It was so strange being surrounded by massive billboards and lights that I’d seen in so many photographs, to then be there amongst it all. It seemed a bit surreal. The shops were all taken to the extreme, par exemple: Toys R Us had a 60ft ferris wheel smack bang in the centre. M&M World had about 50 different colours of M&Ms to choose from, literally.

We walked into a huge Disney Store and an American girl screeched “I love your hat, that is SO CUTE!”. Ha, erm, thanks! (After about the 5th variation of the same hat compliment, we came to the conclusion that America could really benefit from an Accessorize). We ate at one of the many McDonald’s while Piers Morgan stared at us through the second floor window (from a billboard, not in a peeping Tom kind of way).

Bear in mind, I live in North Wales. My nearest Starbucks is a 45min drive away. My mind was being BLOWN. By 8pm NY time we’d been up for 22 hours and felt a little dizzy surrounded by all this razzmatazz, so we head for the hotel and I went straight to sleep, feeling a little out of my depth in the big city…


Monday 31st

However, by the following afternoon I was waltzing round like Jenny from the freakin’ Block. I made myself right at home - we quickly learned our avenues from our streets and just generally got stuck in. We were on 7th and 45th, and were heading for 5th and 34th, and internally I was screaming with excitement because I finally knew what that meant. I was walking the streets of New York! You’ll never understand how much all this meant to me!

We hit all the big shops on 5th Ave: Saks, where mum bought Marc Jacobs perfume, and Macy’s, where I bought a Juicy Couture watch with some of my birthday dollars. I got 10% off because I was an international customer, and was treated like royalty. “21 years old… wow. You have your whole life ahead of you, the world is your oyster! I like your hat”.

We went to the Juicy Couture shop, which was set out as you would imagine a 12 year old girl would decorate her bedroom. Big, plush throne type chairs with gold arms; floral wallpaper; a wide, spiral staircase; large ornaments of dogs that had been positioned to look like they were wearing jewels and carrying handbags; every visible colour was somewhere on the magenta spectrum. Naturally, I loved it.

We also went to American Girl Place, after a lovely lady in Saks had raved about it. Holy hell, that’s a creepy shop! I can imagine it would’ve been a vision of heaven for most little girls, but blimey. Just dolls. Dolls EVERYWHERE! Every variation of skin tone, hair colour, hair length, and eye colour you could imagine. Doll sized outfits and child sized outfits hung side by side on the rails, so that the two could match. The doll could be dressed as a nurse, or a surfer, or own a clarinet, or a poodle; whatever your heart desired. You could even fit the doll with a voice box, if you wanted it to talk. Now, if you grew up in the nineties, there’s a good chance that you watched Sabrina the Teenage Witch. And if you’re anything like me, the immortal line “I’m a Molly dolly, and I’m gonna get you” ricocheted around your head at night when everyone else was asleep. That’s all I’m saying…

We saw the New York Library, which was very grand and imposing, if a little snooty (you had to have your bags checked before you went in and out. It’s a LIBRARY! I’m not that desperate for the latest Biff ‘n’ Chip!). It was a beautiful building though, as are lot of the building’s in the city. I haven’t seen the same architectural magic around here as I did in New York: buildings that make you stop in the middle of a busy street, just to stare at them. Saint Patrick’s Cathedral in particular had that effect on me - mesmerising in it’s intricacy.

But from Catholics to cupcakes, our next stop was ‘Crumbs’, a lovely, sugary little cafe that sold homemade cupcakes the size of three of my clenched fists put together. The decision of which one to have was nothing short of agonising. (I had two over the course of my trip: a chocolate covered strawberry cupcake, and a Hershey’s peanut butter cupcake. Just in case you were wondering…).

I’m trying my best to refrain from describing every meal we ate, in detail, but it was all delicious and came in portions sizes that would feed the whole of Anglesey. We ate in Junior's and it had photographs in the loos of celebrities who had eaten there. Any meatballs that are good enough for Adam Sandler are good enough for me.

That evening we spent a while amusing ourselves with our favourite shops on Times Square, namely Godiva, which sold the most beautiful chocolates, and had girls carrying them around on platters: “Would you like to try our chocolate strawberry fondant?”. Don’t mind if I do. They either had short term memory loss or were particularly generous, as they soon came around again. We all had one hand full of chocolate bars but, as Lauren diplomatically put it as she grabbed another free sample: “Just to double check…”. We also bought a cone of chocolate covered strawberries for night time nibbles. How posh.

Sephora was paradise for perfume and make-up loves, i.e. ME! We must have spent an hour and a half in there; spritzing, glossing, trying a different nail varnish on each finger. We spent so much they gave us a Sephora card which entitled us to a free gift every $100 spent; this involved filling in our details, and when the lady at the till saw that it was my birthday the next day she was all “GUUURRRRLLL! It’s your birthday tomorrow! You can have your gift today!” and gave me some lovely bath stuff that had ‘Happy birthday, beautiful!’ written on it. N’aww.

Back at the hotel, Lauren and I went on our Lift Adventures; we went to the 48th floor, and back down again, just because glass elevators are now and will forever remain endlessly entertaining. Then we went up to the 42nd floor where the gym was, but sadly we’d forgotten our trainers. Bummer. We went on Lift Adventures every night, and sometimes we’d get cheered on by friendly Americans: “You go girls, let it all out!” Hoorah for glass elevators and nice people!

Tune in for tomorrow’s blog when we’ll be celebrating my 21st birthday at Central Park and the Upper East Side, with special guest appearances from Elphaba: the Wicked witch of the West. Oh, how I spoil you… (seriously though, it was amaze).

Monday, 29 November 2010

Bit of this, bit of that.

Well well well, look what we have here.

I’ve managed to survive a TORTUROUS (quite bad) WEEK (5 days) without the internet as my craptop went all crazy on my ass. And man, there’s a whole other world out there - a world of books and children and snow and conversations that don’t involve a keyboard. Who knew?

While you were tweeting…

I was back at work this week invigilating the mock GCSE exams at t’school. Most of the other invigilators are in their 60s/70s and stand around discussing their gout and comparing liver spots while I nod along politely. They think being old gives them the supreme right to stand by the heater which is totally not on; just because I’ve not got gout doesn’t mean I don’t get a cold arse. The exam hall is absolutely FREEEEEZING and lately the highlight of my day has been spotting that the heater is free and casually SPRINTING across the hall to practically caress the bloody thing. I can get away with this for approx 37 seconds before the oldies walk past with disapproving glances and witty quips such as “You’ll melt if you stand there much longer”. Sod off, I’m not a Kinder Egg, I’ll be fine.

Wednesday afternoon was good because Amy B was invigilating with me. I went through school with Amy and we were in a lot of the same classes together (read as: got chucked out of a lot of the same classes together). There’s always a laugh when Amy’s about. We passed the two hours by correcting the spelling and grammar on the exam hall posters with a permanent marker. Amy also whispers things like “Look at the girl sat in B12, she has the most squeezable spots I’ve EVER seen” to me, so I have to toddle past to check ‘em out while trying not to laugh, coz we are well mature and profeshnul innit. The first summer we were invigilating one of the parents actually rang up and complained about us; “My little darling couldn’t concentrate on her history exam because two of your invigilators stood GOSSIPING throughout”. We don’t get to work together often, to be honest.

I’ve been spending the thinking time invigilating allows me very wisely. That is, I’ve been eying up potential suitors for my year 11 friend, Amy. (Yes guys, I’ve introduced a THIRD Amy to the equation here. If you need to draw a spider diagram to deal with all this, feel free). This is not because I’m trying to be patronising or think she’s desperate or anything, I just love match making. If I was a Jane Austen character, I’d be Emma Woodhouse. So anyway, I have four potentials with reasons for each, which include:

1) Is very polite.
2) Has a nice coat.
3) Has a cool name.
4) Looks like he could fix a computer.

To be fair, I’ve really realised the importance of number 4 lately, so much so I’m even going to have it written into my marriage vows. “I promise to love, honour, obey, and re-boot your hard drive whenever necessary”.

I shall run these names past her and see what she says.

Jesus. Why I haven’t been sacked by now is beyond me.

Moving swiftly on...

This weekend I stayed with my cousin Emma, her husband Shaun, and their two boys; almost-eight Ellis and three-year-old Finn. They only live just over an hour away on the train but I have to leave Wales to get there which essentially makes it a holiday. IT’S A HOLIDAY GODDAMNIT! I love staying with them, it’s always cosy and welcoming and lovely.

Em and I did a spot of shopping, as usual. It’s great shopping together: we don’t have to hide our shoppers OCD because it’s something we both share. For example, we cannot, under any circumstances, buy the first item off a wrack/shelf. Desired item has to be taken from at least a third of the way back. It’s just how we roll. Don’t question it, embrace it.

Shaun managed to fix my laptop, and my reaction was something along the lines of “OMG! AMAZING! HERO! GENUIS! ALL HAIL GIVER OF LIFE!”, until we went to PC World where I spent a good 20minutes crushing on Apple products and rocking back and forth chanting “Mac Mac Mac Mac”. Obviously then wanted to go home and re-break my laptop so I’d have an excuse to get a smooth and lickable Mac.

Funny things the boys say:

Finn is playing the part of an inn keeper in his nursery school play.
Joseph: Is there any room at the inn?
Finn: Yeah, there’s loads.
*psst, Finn, there’s no room at the inn!*
Finn: But there is though, look!
*No Finn, tell them to go to the stable!*
Finn: Table? What table?

Listing things he likes.
Finn: I like eating and drinking and sucking and playing.

Nursery nurse: Don’t touch that Finn, it’s got germs on it!
Finn: Well why don’t you move it out of my way then?
*they move object*
Finn: That’s more like it.

Ooo he’s his mother’s boy! ;-) Love ‘im big time.

Ellis snuggling up to me while we watch X Factor.
Me: I’ll have to make the most of this, bet you won’t want cuddles off me when you get older will you?
Ellis: No.
Me: Dude! You could’ve at least lied to me!
Ellis: But I won’t though. When I’m about ten I probably won’t.

I HAVE TWO YEARS LEFT PEOPLE! *sobs* Best start getting Finn snuggle ready.

After a few moments quiet contemplation.
Ellis: I haven’t even named my widger yet. Do you want to help me think of names?

I become particularly hysterical when the ‘widger’ became known as ‘Freddie’ and was given a personality, which involved “liking hide and seek”. He was utterly innocent and we were speechless/laughing/shocked.

Ways in which Ellis has woken me up over the years...

1)  By playing with my hair.
2)  By stroking my leg.
3)  By climbing in my bed and slowly inching me out of it.
4)  "Amy, it's snowing!"
5)  "Amy, I've got a runny nose..."
6)  "Do you want to play Mario Kart?"

Love that boy sfm!

Embarrassing things I did:

On returning to the living room after reading a bedtime story to Ellis, I fell down the last 5 or so stairs, ended up flat on my face, stood up thinking “Phew, glad no one saw, hope Em and Shaun didn’t hear that”, then preceded to trip over the guinea pig cage and end up on all fours whispering “Sorry Fudge”. Such grace. Why the Royal Ballet haven't snapped me up by now, God only knows. In hindsight, I should’ve put the light on.

Me: “You know that cruise ship you were working on*?”
Shaun: “Yeah”.
Me: “When you were stood near the edge, did you not feel like you were gonna, just… fall off?”
Shaun: “Erm… there’s a barrier round the edge Aim”.
Me: “Ohh.. Oh right. Good idea that”.

Oh dear. Imagine my idea of a cruise ship? Hold on tight kids! And yes, ladies and gents, I WILL be teaching the next generation. Yay for them!

*Disclaimer: he’s totally not a cruise ship entertainer. It’s some kind of techie job I don’t understand. But yeah, totally not Jane McDonald, honest.

So there we are, that’s my waffle for the night. I’ve got to go and read Sam Shepard plays now. Tally ho! (WTF?) xx

Friday, 22 October 2010

Stuff and nonsense.

Things that happened on Thursday:

More classroom observation at the school. It’s hard not to be cheered when walking into an environment where the first thing you hear is a group of teenagers gleefully singing “Barbara Streisand! OooOoOoOoooOoOOOOoooo!” - had to smile to myself. One of the things I love about working in a school: if you’re feeling miserable it’s not long before someone says something stupid and makes you laugh.

In a similar vein, there’s always a kid that tugs on your heart strings. The Year 7s were doing presentations today on ‘Someone you admire’. Things had been jolly and light-hearted; mentions of footballers and the like. Until one young girl began: “The person I admire most is my mum. Even though she is dead…”. At this point the whole class started paying attention, while this quietly confident 11 year old began to tell us about her mum who’d had breast cancer, and passed away aged just 37. She told us her mum’s name was Susan, and how she loved wearing jeans, and how she was short with blondey brown hair and “not very skinny”. She told us that before she died her mum had taken the family on special days out, and bought them presents they now treasure. She talked of how she worried that their dad may not be able to look after them properly because “you know what men are like”. She told us that it took her a great deal of time to come to terms with her mum’s death, and for a while she hated leaving the house because all she could see around her was other people having fun with their mums, and she’d have to play a loud noise in her head and concentrate on that to drown everything else out. She finished by saying her dad was doing a pretty good job of taking care of everything, and everyone.

By the end the little lady had tears in her eyes, and she wasn’t the only one. Steph (the teacher) and I just looked at each other open mouthed and glassy eyed. What a brave young girl, able to share something so personal, and talk so honestly about such an emotional topic, without cracking up or losing her focus. Above all, she admired someone worthy of such respect, awe and inspiration. She seemed to be a wise kid, and a credit to her parents.

She got top marks for her presentation.


Later that day…

I got chatting to a lady who was also taking part in classroom observation, but she’s actually on her PGCE. Turns out training as a teacher is a huge career and life change for her; she was born and bred in London, had never been to Wales before, and up until this year was a journalist. For the Daily Mirror. Piers Morgan was her editor for a while. PIERS MORGAN EVERYBODY! Round of applause for that!

So being my usual gossipy self I was all “Ooo tell me more…”. She was a news/features/travel journalist, so no juicy celebrity spillage sadly (total let down) but she DID tell me she was glad to see the back of journalism; she said that, from her experience, it’s a very blood-thirsty business, dog-eat-dog, and a chauvinistic environment to work in. She said even in this day and age women are not treated as equals in the business, especially when it comes to pay.

*clings onto PGCE application for dear life*.

She also said she LOVES Wales - “it’s a different world up here!”. She wants to move her whole family here and is disappointed she hadn’t spent more time here before this, because she definitely would’ve moved here sooner. WIN FOR WALES! *bakes Welsh Cakes, picks daffodils, herds sheep*


Even later than day…

I went for a hair cut, at long flipping last. My resemblance to Morticia Aadams was becoming uncanny. They’re funny creatures, hairdressers; I don’t get this need to just talk and talk and talk. See, I like having my hair done, or my nails, or a massage, or just being faffed with in general (oo-er). It’s relaxing; a time for peace and quiet. Not this:

- Going away anywhere nice?
- Yeah, I’m going to New York in January.
- Ooo! Are you going for Christmas?
- No. In, erm… January.
- Lovely! Have you been before?
- No, first time. Have you?
- Not New York no… I’ve been to Newquay…

But they’re not the same, are they? They just have ‘New’ in the title. I think it’s pretty safe to say similarities stop and end there.

At this she just let me get on with my daydreaming while chopping away. Although, it does make staring at yourself in the mirror almost unavoidable, and this lead me to the shocking realisation that I either have a wonky eye or a wonky eyebrow. Neither are ideal but I’m hoping it is the latter as I imagine it’d be easier to fix.


Things that happened on Friday:

School time. There was a lovely lad in first lesson but he’d just moved over from Spain and could barely speak a word of English. I had great fun playing with flashcards with him though, and he taught me the odd Spanish word/phrase. Made me laugh that when I shown him the flashcard with a picture of a telephone on it he said “iPhone”. Fair enough like.

Bottom set year 9, period 3, are always a pleasure. No really, I’m not being sarcastic. There’s Little Miss Attitude who will only read aloud to me, which makes my heart soar with a certain smugness, not gonna lie. There was another lad who I told to “mind the swearing”. He replied “But it’s my CULTURE, Miss!” He has a point.

I’m trying to cap my swearing in every day life so as to avoid any unfortunate incident of it slipping out when around pupils, so expect a lot of “fluffing hell!” and “what a pile of sugar!”. This is the Minister for Education, you are live in the classroom, please do not say fuck or bugger.


In other news…

Since trying my first ever cherry yogurt on Monday I’ve developed somewhat of a fixation. I’ve eaten at least one a day since then (yes, I said ‘at least’) and today I went to Tesco and bought nothing other than 4 Muller low fat cherry yogurts and squirreled them away like an addict. They won’t see the weekend out. Ooo look at me, I’m somewhat of a maverick. Anyone’d think I was going out scouting for meth. No, just fermented milk products. I may not be cool but I do have strong bones.


Things I think about when I can’t sleep at night…

1) I have so much to do. I should really be reading. Maybe I should get up and read.

2) If I don’t get my finger out I’m going to be stuck with a load of work all over Christmas. Again.

3) I hope I make a good teacher. I need to be a bit more stern though I think. Big loud voices and what not. Hope they don’t walk all over me.

4) I hope it snows when we’re in New York.

5) I do love Russell Brand, I do.

6) I wonder if John and Josie will stay together.

7) I’d quite like a rabbit.

8) Or a hedgehog.

9) I really enjoy the word ‘rhombus’.


Over and out x

Wednesday, 20 October 2010

I fail at life.

If you know me in real life (or if you’re Orla), you’ll know that it takes a lot to make cry. Sometimes I’ll say “Awww that makes me want to cry!” if I feel really emotional, but no actual human tears will come. I reserve these for the death of a beloved pet, or stubbing my toe.

But right now, I’m crying. In frustration, I think. I just feel like I’m struggling with everything at the moment and I’m not very good at dealing with stress.

When we were Freshers I remember third year students really dwelling on how important it was to enjoy ourselves then, because come final year we wouldn’t be able to see the light of day. Of course we didn’t take a blind bit of notice and just carried on applying our neon eye shadow. But now I see what they mean.

I’m in week 4 of third year now. As well as the usual reading (because with English Literature there’s kind of A LOT of reading. Who knew?) - two plays and lots of poetry per week, along with dissertation novels, and critical reading for all three modules - this is on it’s way:

Week 6 - Dissertation report.

Week 7 - Two 3,500 word essays to be handed in on the same day. One on Modern American Drama (which I love), one on Contemporary Poetry (which makes me want to hack my own head off with a steak knife).

Week 8 - Dissertation oral presentation. Public speaking not my forte. Neither are over head projectors and flippy chart things. And the line “The floor is open for questioning” sets me all aquiver already.

I’ve been trying to go into the school as much as I can to organise myself for the PGCE application. I’m really grateful for this, and the English teacher whose lessons I’m sitting in on is absolutely lovely and has gone above and beyond to help me. It does take up time though.

Plus work starts again in November. I can’t wait for the smell of sweet sweet money (another ma-jah issue; where does it all go?) but again - not enough hours in the day.

And then there’s my driving. I suck at driving. I failed my first mock test because I was watching a squirrel run up someone’s drive and may have possibly (definitely) knocked a stationary car’s wing mirror. I hate driving. "Do you WANT to be able to drive Amy?" - "Yes. But I also WANT to marry Russell Brand. Doesn’t make me Katy Perry, does it?"

I’m having trouble keeping my head above water to be honest. It’s making me really cranky and then I feel bad for getting pissed off at perfectly nice people. I feel like I’m letting people down at every turn, whether it be friends, family, tutors… And I can’t even turn to my beloved chocolate for solace because I’m sick of feeling like Susan facking Boyle and want to shift my cake shelf (like a muffin top but x10) pronto.

I sound like such a self-pitying little knob shite, so I’m sorry. It’s not as if I’m the only person in the world who’s got a lot on. I know there’s people a lot worse off than me. And I know there’s plenty of people who’d give their right arm to go to Uni but can’t now due to Wacko Camo. So again, sorry. Hope no one reads all of this, because I sound like a whimpering little girl. I’m off to grow a pair. And do some shit. Will be back when I’m less of a basket case.

Muchos love x

101 days to New York…. #onlythingkeepingmegoing

Thursday, 14 October 2010

"If you lick his face I'll pay for your Nando's..."

I’ve fancied the pants off Russell Brand since I first saw him on Big Brother’s Big Mouth back in 2005. An odd choice for a 15 year old, considering all my peers were hankering after the likes of Justin Timberlake, David Beckham and just, ya know… non ex-drug addicts. But there was something about the way his hair stood a good 2 feet above his head in a black tangled mess, his random stringing together of words (“Umbongo Jumanji Russell!”), his hilarious but bizarre sense of humour, and his overall unique presence that caught my attention. Back then, I didn’t have a clue people like Russell Brand actually existed. He was a fascinating novelty to me. Also, I liked the way he’d say “Pulled down my trousers and pants” every episode, but I never told anyone that bit.

I continued in my admiration of Russell Brand - while my friends went through their Zac Efron stages, or whatever - throughout his career, which was probably not aimed at a rather virtuous 16 year old; presenting BBBM and the NME awards, Russell Brand on the Road, The Russell Brand Show, Russell Brand’s Ponderland (which I still adore - cannot watch the episode on ‘Childhood’ without laughing so much I literally stop breathing and thus panic). I went to see all his films at the cinema; St Trinians, where he played Flash Harry; then there was Forgetting Sarah Marshall; more recently Get Him To The Greek, which was bloody brilliant (in my strictly unbiased opinion). Then there’s his stand-up shows; Shame, Doing Life: Live, Scandalous: all hilarious, of course. Interviews, podcasts, TV appearances; been there, heard that, taped the other. Okay okay, I’m starting to sound like his Wikipedia page now. Moving on…

It’s only once you’ve read Booky Wook that you can really understand Russell Brand for the person that he is actually is, rather than his stage and media caricature; staggeringly intelligent, beautifully philosophical, sensitive, generous, thoughtful, and strong.

I’m not one to judge people for the person they have once been; your past builds towards the person you are to become, and as long as that person is kind and decent and loving, that’s all I’m interested in. People are quick to accuse others of changing for the worse, but few of us trust that people can change for the better.

We all know that Russell was an addict: heroin, alcohol, sex. Even Penguin biscuits at one point (particularly the blue wrappered variety). At it’s worst, his drug addiction got to the point where he was told he had two choices: quit it all, immediately; or continue, and be met with prison, a mental asylum, or death within the next 6 months. Simple as that.

And, well… he’s still here. (At least I hope he bloody is or I met some crazed impostor last week.) He tore himself from his loved ones, his home country, and the only life he’d ever known, to go to rehab in America where he went completely cold turkey. I don’t think any of us could comprehend the strength, bravery, and pain involved in that. He describes this period in detail in his book - never once looking for sympathy, or in a self-indulgent, pitying manner. Just with brutal honesty. Reading it was painful enough; living it is unimaginable. In December it’ll be 8 years since Russell turned his back on that drink and drug driven lifestyle, and he has never once looked back. My admiration and respect for him because of this is through the roof.

And it's not just because I think he's sexy as hell (which I do), or because I think he's a comedy genius (which I do), but I can identify with a lot of what Russell says. Obviously I’m a bit wishy washy on the whole sex-drugs-rock’n’roll aspect, but the deeper side - his thoughts on life and stuff - I’m totally there on that one. And believe it or not, I’m prone to the odd peculiar thought too.

So when I finished Russell’s Booky Wook I got it into my head that, if he wrote a second, I WOULD be going to his book signing. And I was going to meet him. I informed my best friend Lindsey of my plan, and she said she was well up for this. Lauren and Jen were also beyond keen to meet old Ruster Brand too. Excellent. Sorted.

But this was back in 2008. I just though it was one of those things you talk about, but never actually do. Like going to Pilates, or eating an avocado. Fast forward to Thursday 7th October 2010, and my alarm is going off at 6am, to catch a 7.40am train to Liverpool with Lindsey, Lauren and Jen. We sat outside Waterstone’s for six hours on cushions and blanket’s we’d bought from Primark, reading magazines, eating copious amounts of sweets, and frantically exclaiming “But what will we SAY to him?!!?” at random intervals. It went quite quickly, actually.



At about quarter to 3 things started to get exciting. We were moving! There was about 30 people in front of us in the queue, and around 400 people behind us, so we felt rather lucky. At this point the four of us were very giddy and a bit delirious with excitement. Lindsey was squeezing my hand for moral support and Lauren literally ran through the store: “I can’t believe I just cantered through Waterstone’s!” The place was crawling with security, natch, but they were all lovely chaps. One even looked after my bag for me while I did the actual meeting, which was very sweet. When Russell walked in everyone just went off their faces; screaming, pushing, shoving. At only 4ft 11 a lot of this went over my head (ba dum dum chhhh) and I couldn’t see much, but it was a thrilling atmosphere nevertheless.

But pretty soon I got to the front of the queue. And I just stood there, staring at Russell Brand sat on the desk, looking at me with a whopping great big grin on his face and his arms out for a hug. “Now then now then!” he says while beckoning me over. It was like going to see Santa, expect about 5000 times better and on a more adult level. *Makes inappropriate joke about sacks. Deletes it* I walked over and he hugged me and I was a bit WTF RUSSELL BRAND JUST TOUCHED ME; then he started signing my book. As I say he was sat on the end of the desk and it felt like I was standing reeeeally close to him and I didn’t really know where to look but AT HIM. Like, inches from me. Again, WTF.

It was at this point I squeaked “I’m so happy to see you!”. Smooth Amy, smooth.

Russell: I’m happy to see you too! Thanks for waiting.
Me: It’s alright. I’m missing lectures for this.
AMY YOU DICK WHY DID YOU SAY THAT?!?!
Russell: What’re you in Uni for?! You won’t learn anything there, fuck it! You’ll get a better education from life!
Me: Haha…ha…
Ooo, maybe I should quit Uni...
Russell: You’re really gorgeous.

Now then. Now then indeed. I’m seriously not making that up; actual Russell Brand looked right into my very own eyes and actually said that to me. Don’t ask me why - I still don’t understand it myself. Perhaps he was taking the piss. Perhaps he felt sorry for me. Perhaps (okay... probably) he's said the same thing to 427,863 other girls. But bloody hell, it was the best thing anyone’s ever said to me.

Me: Tha… thank you!
Russell: That’s alright, it’s true.

Literally speechless. Gone. Soul has left body. Empty shell of a girl.

Russell handed my book to me and gave me another hug and kissed my cheek, and I was really conscious of his stubble all scratchy and lovely on my face. (I love stubble. Especially Russell stubble).

I took a step to leave but turned back as Russell started speaking. He looked right into my face again and said “See you soon, beautiful girl” and winked. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll take him up on that…

Later that day, I realised I'd forgotten to tell Russell I loved him, and was a bit gutted with myself. But then I opened my Booky Wook 2 and saw that he'd written in it "Amy <3 Russell". I think he got the picture... :-)



Favourite Russell Brand quotes

'We all have an essential self, but if you spend every day chopping up meat on a slab, and selling it by the pound, soon you’ll find you’ve become a butcher. And if you don’t want to become a butcher (and why would you?), you’re going to have to cut right through to the bare bones of your own character in the hope of finding out who you really are. Which bloody hurts.'

'For me happiness occurs arbitrarily: a moment of eye contact on a bus, where all at once you fall in love; or a frozen second in a park where it's enough that there are trees in the world.'

'No-one really feels self-confident deep down because it's an artificial idea. Really, people aren't that worried about what you're doing or what you're saying, so you can drift around the world relatively anonymously: you must not feel persecuted and examined. Liberate yourself from that idea that people are watching you.'

'Mum is the nucleus of my being and that’s really somewhere beyond analysis. She’s so far ensconced in my psyche, so deeply encoded, so profoundly ingrained in who I am, that while I’m not usually stuck for words on anything, I find it difficult to use words in this context. She’s just at my very core.’
(That’s exactly how I feel about my mum).

'Part of me is not really over it. There’s a little part of my brain that’s, ‘Russell, where are the opiates?’ - ‘I’m afraid we can’t have any more opiates.’ - ‘Why?’ - ‘You nearly killed me, didn’t you?’ - ‘That was just a joke!’'

'Even as a junkie I stayed true [to vegetarianism] - 'I shall have heroin, but I shan't have a hamburger.' What a sexy little paradox.'

'The only reason I hadn’t made a serious attempt to kill myself was because I just thought, “I’ve not done anything yet”.'

'I didn’t get invited to parties and the like on account of the ol’ oddness.'

'My life is just a series of embarrassing incidents, strung together by telling people about those embarrassing incidents.'

'Nothing is important, expect finding love within yourself and being all honourable and gracious and beautiful.
'

'I wish you’d stop attacking me just for the crime of being myself!'

Tuesday, 14 September 2010

I'm getting angry now...

As an English student people often ask me if I want to go into newspaper journalism after I graduate. The answer is always point blank: “No”. “Why not?” they ask.

Well, in all honesty, because I have a heart. Because I value things like truth, honesty, respect, and society in general.

It’s not often that I let the toxic waste produced by the likes of the Daily Star/Mail etc seep into my consciousness, but quoting and retweeting of articles from these rags have been bringing them to my attention lately. Much to my dismay.

It actually ASTOUNDS me how so much fairytale guff can be printed and that some people a) pay to read it; b) believe it; c) feel fulfilled in a career where they spend their days spreading hurtful lies. Magazine and newspaper journalism is disposable, I’ve always said that; the words that are written one week will be erased by whatever the new ‘hot topic’ is the week after; it’s next weeks chip paper, yadda yadda yadda. But not so much when it’s targeting individual people and their feelings; hurtful comments that may mean nothing to the person spewing them can linger with the person they're aimed at for years. And that’s also true in life in general - but most of us are lucky enough to not have to suffer the embarrassment of having these comments printed nationally.

I used to buy Heat religiously, but it was my New Year’s Resolution this year to give it a rest for a bit. Mainly because I’d had about as much as I could take of “The curvy girls vs. skinny girls debate”; “Celeb beach bods!”; “Circle of shame - SHOCK AT CELEB LOOKING NORMAL”.

This was all going swimmingly, until a certain John James and Josie whipped us all into a frenzy and I, like many, have been buying magazines for the first time in ages to feed my addiction. I’ve been practically rubbing OK! Magazine into my gums. And while we’re on the topic - I do think that, overall, OK!’s treatment of JJJ has been lovely; their interviews are reliable, asking the questions we want to know the answers to but not going over the top, and they’ve treated us to some seriously swoon worthy photos. And our beloved, gorgeous little Layla is most definitely one of the good guys: her OK! blogs always speak sense and are like a voice of reason when the rumour mill is going into overdrive.

But as much as the hopeless romantic heart in me has relished all these gratuitous interviews, my sensible head is pleading with John and Josie to just abandon all media stuff altogether now. At least for a while. It’s getting destructive and, frankly, they’re much too good to be used as a selling tool. The good stuff is always accompanied by a whole heap of crap, and I'm sick and tired of it getting so much attention. "John and Josie have 10 hour marathon romp, John and Josie engaged, Josie's 'sex tape', John and Josie love split"... have whoever writes this shit not got some colouring in they could be getting on with? These newspapers are so ridiculous it verges on hilarity. They're like a spiteful little toddler kicking someone repeatedly for attention; in fact, it wouldn't surprise me if that's who the 'writers' actually are. I could rant about them until I'm blue in the face, but they're really not worth any more of my time and effort - or yours. I'll just continue to ignore.

So no, I won’t be entering the world of gossipy celebrity journalism. I’ll leave that to people who really have the know how and are qualified to judge people they have never even met. Like say, ooo, I dunno… Kimberley Walsh.

Oh and ‘The Sun’? Yeah this ones for you;

“Josie, who was dressed in an unflattering red pleated dress…”

Come back to me when you discover what true beauty is. I’ll give you a clue: you won’t find it on page 3.


Tuesday, 24 August 2010

The winner of Big Brother 2010 is...

Gotta be honest, I hadn’t planned on watching Big Brother this year. I used to be a massive fan, but gave it a rest the past few years because I couldn’t abide watching a bunch of Playboy-chasing girls and deep-as-a-puddle guys prance around for a few weeks. And if I had to endure another ‘showmance’ (Chiggy, anyone?) I would break my telly. I watched the entrance, and planned on leaving it there.

This all changed when I got in one night and mum squealed at me, as soon as I walked through the door: “Amy! You MUST watch the repeat of tonight’s Big Brother - one of the girls said she’d POOED herself! It was soooo funny!” Of course this girl was Josie. And I must clear up that she didn’t actually poo herself, it was part of the Tree task where she had to collect the shoes.

So I watched that episode, and the other episodes I had missed so far, and ended up becoming more obsessed and involved in BB11 than ever before. For the first time ever I watched live feed. A lot. And by ‘a lot’ I mean pretty much 24/7. I have some very understanding friends and family (and a vitamin D deficiency).

I’m certain I won’t remember the names or faces of all 21 housemates who passed through the doors this time next year, but for me (and many others) there are three people who made Big Brother 11 memorable. Let’s start with…

Sammy Pepper

I wanted to ring his neck for the first couple of days, gotta be said. He seemed like a proper little shit and I was seething when he was saying nasty things about Josie.
But then… well, then he smoothed me RIGHT over.
Sam’s like a mischievous, lovable little kid that you know is being really naughty but is too damn charming for you to stay mad at. He’s absolutely brimming with life and fun, says what he likes and likes what he says - the perfect housemate. On more than one occasion I literally could not breathe for laughing at him; the ninja outfit, the water bombs, the lentils all over the living room, the song he sang to Josie, rocking under the washing stand mumbling “too much coffee” - all legendary. It’s now become one of my dreams to own a piece of original Sam Pepper origami. I dream BIG!
I am willing to sell my left kidney to get him in Ultimate BB. Just putting that out there. I’M NOT READY TO SAY BYE TO PEPPERPOT!

John James

Let’s just get one thing straight: it ain’t always easy being a John James fan. Whilst most of the time we can all see the sooooo handsome super lush guy that Josie loves, sometimes you can’t help but thinking he’d benefit from breathing into a brown paper bag and counting to ten. Perhaps listening to a whale song CD from time to time, too.
But, in all honesty, I couldn’t give a rip what anyone else says. Underneath it all Skippy is lovely, sensitive, sweet, with admirable morals, and he actually doesn’t get enough credit for how funny he is! He often said what needed to be said, and even when “getting angry now”, I still liked him - at least he was honest.
The moment when he changed into his football shirt when JJ entered the house… well, for that I’ll love him forever!
P.S. I quite enjoyed the showers too. Cooooor lovelaaaay etc etc.

Josie Diane Shirley Gibson-Parton... oh sorry, did I slip?!

The nation’s favourite South West sex pest. It’s hard to know where to begin.
I don’t know of one person who hasn’t fallen for the Josie charm. For starters she’s just effortlessly hilarious - I’ll be quoting her one liners for years (don’t worry about piddling your pants love, you’ve made me piss myself laughing more than once). She’s drop dead stunninglicious without having the foggiest idea. She doesn’t sit and pointlessly bad mouth people, because she’d much rather spend her time being positive. She was kind, loving and caring to everyone in the house. Josie is every girl’s ideal number one mucker: she follows the rules of sisterhood to a tee, unlike some of the housemates, not mentioning any names (starts with ‘Cao’ and ends in ‘bitch’). It’s almost indefinable, but there’s just a special Josie glow that draws people in, and is very hard to find.
We love her. That’s all there is to it.

But perhaps the thing that made this Big Brother so special was that, out of no-where, we were suddenly watching two people fall in love. The real stuff, not the ‘I’m ready for my close-up’ stuff. Although in many ways opposites, not least geographically, Triple J just… fit. They truly bring out the best in each other. The emotions they displayed were genuine and tender, and watching them slowly realise that their feelings for one other went beyond just friendship (or, so help me God, ‘brother and sister’ - give it a rest) was rather beautiful; it was quite a privilege for us viewers to be a part of it (if a little voyeuristic at times!). Even when they bickered, we all knew it wouldn’t be long before we witnessed Return of the Doona and we could all put the Prozac down. I really, really hope they hold onto that pure, unspoiled love for one another once they get back in the real world. It’s too hard to find and too good to risk for anything.

Another thing that made Big Brother a barrel of laughs this year: Twitter. As none of my Real Life friends are particularly crazy about BB, it was great to make a whole load of Twitter friends who are. It’s nice to see so many lovely people brought together over a mutual interest like this - typical Josie, she had us all making friends without even realising it. The witty banter between the #BB11 bunch was a lot of fun - so thank you, Twitter family! It’s funny, I’ve only had one bad experience on Twitter, and that was from a male John James hater who called me a “fucking idiotic bitch” for liking someone who was “so disrespectful to women”. The irony still makes me chuckle. ;-)

Tonight is the final of Big Brother 11, and the end of the show as we know it. I know with complete certainty that Josie will win, and I’m thrilled that such an amazing show is ending on a high note.

Pretty soon I’ll have to do all the things I’ve been putting off in the name of live feed. I’ll have to make a start on one of the 837 books I must read in preparation for my final year at Uni. My friends will start getting replies to their texts on the same day they sent them. Hell, my dog might even get a walk.

But for now I’m going to paint my nails lilac, pour a glass of Shloer, and watch BB11 go out with a bang. Am I lovin’ it? You better believe it kid.



Things my BB11 addiction has taught me:

1) It is possible to entertain a group of summer school kids aged 10-11 years old despite averaging on around 3 hours sleep per night. Although by 4pm home time you will want to kill yourself a little bit.
2) There are approximately 297 excuses not to leave the house when Big Brother is on. I have used all of them with vigour.
3) Never, EVER, call someone ‘crab eyes’. It WILL end in tears.
4) First impressions can be very, very wrong. (I owe you an apology Pepperpot).
5) I have very understanding friends. (They do think I’m a bit weird though).
6) Brizzle is, in fact, the shizzle.
7) Tree of Temptation is worth his weight in varnish. *swoons over the Tree*
8) Flash floods look well fun. I want one.
9) There’s a reason why mother warned me about men with monobrows.
10) I better hide the phone bill this month. 09011 323 008. Again and again and again and again and… *repeat to fade*.

Tuesday, 3 August 2010

My spirit guide is a unicorn, apparently…

On Saturday afternoon I went to a ‘Mind, Body and Spirit’ convention with Lauren and Lindsey. This automatically sounds infinitely more grand and mythical than in actually was.

On the walk up to the community centre where it was held (which has a large sign proudly proclaiming itself to be a ‘Library, Community Centre and Clinic’. Yes, all three rolled into one. You can return ‘War and Peace’, sign up to a pottery class, and get checked out for gonorrhoea in one fell swoop. Ideal.) there was a completely uninspiring handmade poster for the event with words like ‘Tombola!’, ‘Tarot!’ and ‘Refreshments!’ written on it in felt tip. Still, we continued in our upbeat pursuit of a psychic.

Psychics, mediums and the paranormal in general has fascinated me for a good few years. My interest was fuelled when I heard my mum talk about a really good psychic she went to soon after I was born; this woman had got everything spot on, leading to goosebump galore. Two of my cousins have been to see a medium after losing someone close to them, and both said all good things.

So when I saw a woman in her mid-twenties sat at a rickety table with a few faux gem stones and a chipped crystal ball scattered on it, I tried to remain positive. It was either her or ‘Tarot reading with John’, and Lindsey had quickly poached that hunk of burning love (Phil Mitchell a-like), so I was left with the Addams family pin cushion. This woman had the most facial piercings I had ever seen on a person in real life. Thick stainless steel hoops and spikes emerged from her eyebrows, lips, ears, and a devil’s tail wound from her nose. Her black eyebrows were drawn on so they came down her face in an unusually long manner, and she was wearing psychedelic flowery patterned leggings, a black netted corset dress, and huge black spiked boots.

She told me she had a ‘psychic gift’: I asked how much this gift was going to cost first - mamma didn’t raise no fool. She said it was a tenner; I could live with that.

She was actually quite sweet and softly spoken, despite her metallic outer crust. She asked if she could hold my hand between hers while she did the reading, and told me not to be afraid if she went into a meditative state because she was simply “tuning into my psychic field”. As you do. At this point I was really glad I’d left Lauren and Lindsey occupied with tarot-with-John.

The first thing she said to me was “You need to start studying more and stop watching so much telly.”
Oh my shit, she’s actually psychic! I thought. Anyone who is even vaguely aware of my existence will know that I’ve been obsessed with BB11 for the past couple of months. I would literally sit and watch live feed all day if I could get away with it. This, coupled with the fact I have approx 9782 books to read for my final year of Uni, led me to believe she was right on the money.

In hindsight, I should’ve just left then.

She continued:
“You’re about to start a college course…”
Well, I am at Uni. And I’m about to start a Welsh second language college course in September. I’d let her have it.
“…in fashion design.”
“Umm… no.”
“…hair and beauty?”
Christ, love. I had barely any make-up on and serious bed hair. I am definitely more Beauty School drop out. Welsh, you’re looking for WELSH!

She swiftly moved on.
“You’re after getting a pet…”
“I already have pets.”
“Have you got a guinea pig?”
“No…”
“But you like guinea pigs”
“Well, not really…”
“Because I can see a little ginger guinea pig. It’s really cute. Look out for one coming into your life…”
Seriously. She wasn’t telling me to look out for a chance encounter with Mr Right, but a ginger flaming guinea pig.
“…only, let it have a cage inside the house. It’ll die if you put it outside in the cold.”
It’s August.
But as long as the guinea pig is alright, happy days.

“You’re really excited about something, aren’t you? A holiday…”
Yes, YES! I’m going to New York! Pleeeeeeease say New York!
“… a beach holiday.”
Oh fuck.
“I can see a jelly fish.”
“Actually, I’m going on a winter holiday. It will be snowy.”
“Well, snow equals water, and jelly fish live in water.”
Oh, yeah, of course. Tamato, tomato.

At this point she got a bit of psychic interference (oo-er). Someone was trying to ‘get through’ to me. Amazeballs! Michael Jackson? Princess Di? Shakespeare? Let’s chat! She titled her head and said in a soft voice:
“Do you know anyone who’s passed on to the other side called Sophie?”
“No. I don’t know a Sophie.”
“Oh… well a young girl then?”
“No. Sorry.”

I actually apologised. For her own shitness. I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for her. She was dying on her arse, like a woodlouse that’s gone over on its back and can’t get up again, no matter how much it wiggles its legs.

“It’s ok, they do that sometimes… lots of people trying to get through at once, you see…”
Bless.
“Ok here we go… I’ve got a tall man, white hair, bald patch, walks with a stick, smokes a pipe, died age 73. Your granddad!”
Ahh. My granddad. With his bald patch; yes, and a stick; yes, aged seventy-something; yes, and… oh. The small matter that HE’S STILL ALIVE!!

This is probably completely awful of me, but I found myself just going along with it.
“Ahh yes, that’s him. That’s Brian.”
Should I cry? I wondered.

“Did you have eggs for breakfast?”
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
“No. I can’t remember the last time I ate an egg.”
“Well that’s the problem, then. He’s telling me you’re not getting enough protein, so he’s giving you the gift of egg and soldiers.”
To be fair, I thought it was jolly nice of this spirit man who didn’t know me from Adam to be concerned about my egg intake, so I accepted the breakfast.

“You need to drink more milk too.”
“I don’t like milk.”
“How about milkshake?”
“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll like that either, what with it being milk based…”
“You’re not getting enough vitamins and minerals! Maybe take a supplement.”
At this point I was convinced she was working for Holland and Barrett’s.

After that she said a few general things like "you have a lot of love surrounding you, and you have a lot of love in your heart". Well, she wasn't going to tell me I'm a coldhearted cow who was being followed by the grim reaper, was she? She said she can see the colour green around me, which signals education - maybe I can put this in my personal statement when I'm applying for my PGCE. And she also said my spirit guide is a unicorn, that follows me around giving me hope and making sure I'm safe. I like that.

But turns out my psychic didn’t have a ‘gift’ afterall. She was just an average girl, like me, guessing and stumbling and hoping for the best. And, like me, she doesn’t have a clue what’s going to happen in the future. I suppose we’ll just have to live it to find out.