Once upon a time when I lived in
Leeds I’d spend every Friday fortnight at Leeds prettiest independent cinema; The Hyde Park Picture House. This wonderful grade two listed building that opened
just after the outbreak of World War One holds many precious memories for me, and most people who choose to
study in Leeds. I remember back when I was in first year and the Leeds Film
Festival was on, my housemates and I walked through a pitch black Woodhouse
Moor is search of the mysterious Picture House that we’d all heard so much
about. We didn’t end up finding it that
night but I’m so glad we tried again and eventually stumbled upon this beautiful
building. From Creatures of the Night first dates (The Re-animator, with about
15 other people besides my love) to bizarre documentaries (The Act of Killing,
everyone should see it) the Picture House caters to all, young and old. One of
my favourite Picture House memories is working Frozen on a Saturday morning;
the cinema was full of young families with little girls dressed as princesses
of any Disney variety completely in awe of what they were watching on the
screen.
A fortnight ago the Hyde Park Picture House celebrated their 100th birthday and I was fortunate
enough to visit the lovely cinema that Friday evening with a couple of friends.
The day had been filled with Leeds International Film Festival films and the
last screening of the evening was an epic love story, Final Cut, ‘a film where anything can happen –
the hero and heroine changes their faces, age, look, names and so on’ (IMDB). The
film consists entirely of shots taken from other films, a clever montage of
clips from anything like The Graduate to a Charlie Chaplin movie which were
strung together for an overarching, all-encompassing love story that captivated
the audience at the Picture House on such a special night.
Two weeks later and I’m still reeling at how
special The Hyde Park Picture House is to me, I miss it as if it were a person I've been forced to separate from. I remember my first shift there
so poignantly, my big love and I had just broken up and I was left bereft by
the situation. I worked behind the food counter serving popcorn on that Friday
night (which would become my regular shift) and for the first time in days my
head was able to think of something other than the heartache I was feeling. I
sat in the cinema alone that night and watched Pegg’s The World’s End, giggling
occasionally to myself. I saw many more films alone after that night and
relished how the Picture House was a safe and comforting place to do this. Of
course I went with friends too; another one of my favourite memories was watching
The Artist on New Year’s Day with a group of fragile feeling friends. Shortly
after I’d graduated and was feeling somewhat lost in a post uni haze I saw
Frances Ha which filled me with hope at my future rather than the quiet despair
I’d been battling against. I could go on forever about all the movies I’ve been
lucky enough to catch at the Picture House, from Tyrannosaur to Saving Mr.
Banks , this cinema means the world to me for all the happy memories I have
there. I hope whoever is serving the popcorn there tonight enjoys it as much as
I did.
At some desperate and despairing point in late 2012 I was attempoting to write a torterous third year essay on a subject I didn't understand and would do anything to distract myself from. Thus on this particilarly unproductive day I proscatinated in a productive way by sifting through my university email inbox. A delay of discussing theories of the novel - yes, definitely - browsing monotomous stories of strangers on facebook? Nope, ergo productive! At least university emails had something to do with univeristy I figured. ANYWAY, this little chore proved to be one of the most positive decisions I have made so far in my little life. An email I would have usually overlooked stuck out like a sore thumb on this particularly threachorous day of study - 'Spend 3 weeks in India with the International Volunteering team!' - on a complete and utter whim I applied. I have always had a penchant for ethnic paisley print, loose leaf tea and dusky sunshine. Just kidding; I studied post-colonial texts at university and gradually learnt the about the history of India and how England intertwines with the sub-continent. The facts and figures and casualties and crimes still leave me feeling horribly guilty about being English. Less than 100 years ago the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre (also known as the Amritsar Massacre) occured, whereby an English General ordered his army to open fire on a crowd of people - at least 379 people were killed. There are many other (far cheerier) reasons why I have a strong fascination with India - the food, architecture, wildlife and the beautiful saris being a few, so I whiled away a few precious hours of essay writing and completed an application form that I never really thought would get anywhere.
Getting jabbed up
Skip forward a few weeks and I found myself confirmed as a volunteer for the 2013 trip to Bhopal! Didn't see that coming did you? :) It was only when I heard my place was secure I realised how much I really did care about being a part of the trip; I wanted to see the place I'd learnt about through literature for myself. The next few months were a haze of meetings, essay and dissertation deadlines, sleepless nights and lots of googling India images - it was the beaming light at the end of my dark university tunnel.
I travel light and that's the life for me..
I will never be able to articulate how much visiting Bhopal changed my life; I'm frequently finding new angles on the time spent there but it never comes close to justice for what the team and I experienced in the place that is dubbed the 'Heart of India.' The phenomenal atmosphere, the heartwrenching poverty and the monkeys that roam the streets culminate for a truly spellbinding experience. Above all, it's the people who live there that matters most. Arun, the little cutie in the photo below stole my heart from day one. My friends and I though it would be a good idea for the kids to write name badges on our first day - there are no Harry's and Sarah's in India, but lots of Inderjit and Rahul! I'll never forget the look on Arun's face when he couldn't spell his own name; he threw down his glitter pen in such a strop. After some gentle cajoling and LOTS of mimicks and pointing we spelt his name together - A, R, U and N. I'll never forget his name or how much I had taken my education for granted.
He was happy really - it's an Indian thing to not smile in photos!
I'm back to India to help a new team of people through the fun of international volunteering in children's orphanages and mental health projects. I say 'fun' because it is, but it's also incredibly tiring and very upsetting. It makes me a bit mad when people say it's a glorified holiday, or question why we're buying saris while working with people who are considered so low in caste they're not even allowed in the shop that sells the saris. The easy way I can explain why I personally love the trip is with a passage from my favourite book, 'And the Mountains Echoed' whereby a man is trying to explain why he has travelled to war-torn Afghanistan from affluent America...
Timur has embarrassed him. He has behaved like the quintessential ugly Afghan-American, Idris thinks. Tearing through the war-torn city like he belongs here, backslapping locals with great bonhomie and calling them brother, sister, uncle, making a show of handing money to the beggars [...] joking with old women he calls mother and talking them into telling their story into his camcorder as he strikes a woe-begone expression, pretending he is one of them, like he's been here all along, like he wasn't lifting at Gold's in San Jose, working on his pecs and abs, when these people were getting shelled, murdered, raped. It is hypocritical, and distasteful. [...] 'I just think these people, everything they've been through, we should respect them. By 'we' I mean the lucky ones, the ones who weren't here when the place was getting bombed to hell. We're not like these people. We shouldn't pretend we are. The stories these people have to tell, we're not entitled to them... (Hosseini, 2013, pp.147-148)
Scaling high buildings in the aim of fundraising.. SO proud of the team that day!
Oh yeah, I have no hair anymore... Please donate to the cause!
It's a month today that I'll be catching a flight to Bhopal; it can't come quick enough! I'll be staying in an Ashram and working for two weeks with some incredible children's charities. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and if you have any spare pennies please please pleeease donate to the cause - £3 is a life-changing amount in the Indian world! Here is the link - or I'll accept dollah straight to me if that's your preference! Thank you!
I was having a conversation with my dad recently about
advertising and I joked to him that adverts are so gross and overbearing that I
occasionally felt that I was a star of my very own Truman show. My dad laughed
then put his serious face on and said ‘you know that’s not true right?’ His reaction tells me two things; firstly, he
thinks I’m ridiculous. Secondly, how much worse it is to be a twenty something
girl than a 50 year old man. Adverts do crash into my brain, invade my space and
constantly tell me I’m not pretty, skinny or intelligent enough. My dad is a
huge fan of Banksy, so maybe I’ll share his own personal opinions on
advertising and my dad will listen because a celebrated celebrity says
advertisers are making a mockery of us – a shame that he doesn’t believe it when I say it, but
that’s become the world we live in and accept. Celebrities are tied hand in
hand with advertisements; celebrity endorsements being a way for huge companies
to yet again tell us mere civilians that we can achieve by buying into a
fraction of celebrity culture (Banksy obviously being a refreshing exception to this general rule) .
I LOVE this little rant. We're frequently bullied by adverts on television, pop-ups online and cheery jingles on the radio and it's more often that not for shit you don't need. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm an advocate of charity work, and not the kind that starts at home. However, all the appeals to help Africa get clean water and give a child in India a cow come across as grotesque to me - who are we to present ourselves as saviors for these people? They don't make me donate, they make me change the channel. Companies follow you around the internet; what you just browsed innocently on Topshop's website will stalk you for weeks while you're browsing your social media sites. Like Banksy says, the advertisers have upped their game with technology and will hound you with images of that pretty little dress until you cave into the relentless adverts and guiltily purchase it one night as Philip Green laughs in his sleep.
One of the reasons I started my blog was because I was opposed
to the other blogs I was reading. I follow a few fashion blogs; one was heavily
the inspiration for me starting my own. I was in awe of the discipline this
girl had, how frequently she posted and how beautiful she looked in all her
photos. She had made herself a celebrity
of the online world; her blog often features sponsorship and promotes various other
blogs. And then I realised how inferior I felt. There
was never a bad day, or a low day or a day where she didn’t love what she was
wearing. I talked about starting a blog years before I finally got the
motivation/time to do it, and one of the reasons I struggled to start was because
I didn’t know how to market myself. I was afraid people wouldn’t like what I
said or agree with me, or I’d be the victim of some cyber-bullying (no trolls
yet,huzzah!). The worry of the blog was a burden to me long before I’d started
one – how often would I post, what would I post about, would it matter what I
said?! How ridiculous. I was so aware of being vulnerable and exposed on the
internet that I felt I had already lost control of it - because that’s what I’m
conditioned to believe. I have a wonderful friend from university who blogs;
her articles are guides to Barcelona or why Peaches Geldof’s family should be
able to grieve in peace. That’s the kind of blog I aspire to now, it was so
nice to hear someone else was struggling with accepting the media, adverts and celebrity
culture that appears to be dominating our lives.
I don't think people are supposed to become products, yet it feels we are slowly becoming that way. Brands set up camp all over our bodies when we choose our daily outfit; logos and symbols emblazoned upon you as you parade around the world. The video below is a prime example of how certain
companies know that their clothing isn’t accessible to everyone and that they willingly
want it that way. Therefore, the people who can afford brand status and are
slim enough to wear a certain logo are doing the hard work for that company –
you’ve bought into that lifestyle and are promoting a brand every single time
you pop that tee-shit on, free of charge to said company. We’re not only made
to feel inferior and insignificant by the company itself, but also by the
people who the clothes are sold to. I mentioned before the girl whose blog I was in awe of; she markets herself flawlessly. My blog very rarely features photographs of myself not because I don't like how I look but because it doesn't matter how I look. The principle aim of this blog was to have a space where I felt comfortable in what I was saying - not in what I was wearing.
Drawing back to Banksy's interpretation of adverts and the almighty advertisers, I think it's important to remember we have a choice in what we consume. Not always, but we don't have to digest what is offered to us. How do you feel when you flick through a magazine that’s full of articles about celebrities’ bodies, Kim and Kanye’s weird relationship issues and how Jordan is fighting with her current partner? I’m against these magazines as much as Liverpool disowns The Sun. They bring no joy into my life, I don’t like seeing photos of ex-big brother contestants struggling with their weight and I definitely don’t enjoy seeing celebrities who seemingly don’t struggle with their weight. Magazines that gravitate around the theme of scorning or celebrating weight issues seem such an alien concept to me that I point blank refuse to invest my money in them. Instead I buy magazines that are filled to the brim with adverts for things I most probably will never be able to afford. I know companies have to promote their products but it seems bizarre to me that I can buy a magazine for £2.60 (bargain) but it will be promoting clothes that cost upwards of £500. Maybe I’m still in cheapskate student mode but I feel something has gone amiss here.
So
what happens to the joyous things in life that aren't advertised? Smiles,
nature and time? David Bond of 'Project Wild Thing' fame endeavored to market
the outdoors to a generation of young people who loved the television more than
walks in the park; he was worried that technology and modernity were having a negative
impact of his children’s well-being. There are people alongside Banksy who
recognise that adverts rearrange the world and tell us how our lives should be
led, what new thing we need next and what we should invest our hard earned
money in. Mr Bond challenged these ideals spectacularly by promoting the outdoors;
‘Children's lives are taken up with so much
stuff these days. They - or their parents - are sold everything under the sun.
So we decided to sell them something they really needed: the sun itself. If
'nature' was a business, its sales figures would be plummeting and its
shareholders baying for blood. We thought it would be interesting to see if we
could run a marketing campaign to encourage kids to go outdoors.’ (Bond)
Project
Wild Thing is a lovely reminder of the power of one – almost 8000 people have pledged to explore nature due to David Bond's initiative. He believed that advertisements, television and modern media were detrimental to his children's life and he sought to change that. By challenging the way his children saw the world he has changed their world. Don't let adverts boss you around and make you feel less than your worth. You have everything you need already.
I've always loved Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone as a couple; 'Never Let Me Go' and 'The Help' are two of my favourite books and movie adaptions ever. They're amazing for this little trick though, out-witting the ever unnecessary and overbearing paparazzi presence in their day-to-day, not so glamorous civilian lives. I hate gossip magazines; they seem to be a really worthless part of English 'culture' so I fully support anything that goes against glorifying celebrities. This seems a good place to start:
Stone's sign read:
"Good morning! We were eating and saw a group of guys with cameras outside. And so we thought, let's try this again. We don't need the attention, but these wonderful organizations do ---"
Garfield's sign read:
"www.youthmentoring.org, www.autismspeaks.org, (and don't forget)www.wwo.org, www.gildasclubnyc.org. Here's to the stuff that matters. Have a great day!"
How lovely; I hope they keep doing it and that the media coverage of their eating activities fizzles out fast.
I first saw SoKo when she was supporting Noah and the Whale (back when they co-ordinated their yellow and navy suits and Laura Marling performed with them) at the Astoria. She was pretty awkward in all honesty; no-one was ready for her bold song about masturbation. For this reason I've always remembered her, and fast forward a few years she's modified her song lyrics for the good. You'll recognise her voice from that strangers smooching video, in which she also cameos. I love this cover of Leonard Cohen's 'Tonight will be fine.' Extra cute points to her for performing in a bathtub.
Hello all! I've just been escorted down South by my lovely cousin and her boyfriend (thanks so much; much nicer than the old smelly coaches!), it's about a 4 hour car journey. I love a road trip, good people and good music can make any length of journey bearable in my eyes. My mind always wanders to the other people on the road - what journey are they on, business or pleasure? Are they going to see friends or to an official meeting? When my cousin and I were younger we would play the 'Waving Game', attempting to engage as many strangers as possible in friendly contact. We're a little bit old for the game now but I still love looking at the variety of people on the open road and the various journeys they're making. My wonderful housemate showed me an article a little while ago and I keep reverting back to it - 'The Slow Death of Purposeless Walking.' The article explores why people aren't walking unless they have a reason to make the journey, a final destination and a purpose for pacing. Walking is quite a luxury, the article states, and we don't really need to do it so much what with all our cars, bikes, scooters, taxis, so on and so forth. Obviously I'm not suggesting that people start trying to walk from Leeds to London, that would be a horrendous journey! I do find it interesting however that when people are walking they become a "smartphone map zombie" whereby occasional glances are snatched away from phones to avoid 'being hit by a car.' The article also explores how good walking can be for your soul (lets say 'wellbeing' if you don't believe in the soul) and creativity. On days like today it's easy to hide from the rainy world but I don't think we should let the rain ruin our days - we have umbrellas and wellies galore in this western world; think how happy your plants are for the wet weather! Poets of the Romanticism era (Wordsworth, Shelley and Clare for example) loved nature and the elements so much they would experience a 'spontaneous overflow' of feelings and write some of their most popular works about how glorious the world is. The following poem is by Mark Twain, the American poet, and is one of my favourites:
I cannot promise you a life of sunshine;
I cannot promise you riches, wealth or gold;
I cannot promise you an easy pathway
That leads away from change or growing old.
But I can promise all my heart's devotion
A smile to chase away your tears of sorrow;
A love that's true and ever growing;
A hand to hold in yours through each tomorrow.
My mum, the lovely lady that she is, would (and probabaly always will) ask for one thing from my little sisters and I every single Mother's Day. A walk in the woods. My mum adores seeing the Bluebells pop up and time spent walking with us in a natural terrain was more precious to her than any naff present we could club together to buy for her. Hope you're all having lovely days :) xxxxxx
Ps. Thanks so much for everyone who reads this. It means so much - I know I got a little bit ranty last post and some status' on my personal FB page but I do think it's important to challenge things sometimes. I would love it if people cared more about how I (or all people) thought/felt than looked in my profile picture. You are allowed to care about both, of course :)
Today I sat in the sunshine. It was so lovely, you know when you feel your face get warm because the sun is kissing it and everyone around you is talking about important things and you are so at peace with who you are. I think I'm quite lucky to feel that way about myself; it seems that some of you don't. I done some major people watching today. I smiled at everyone whose eye I caught - that's the kind of social experiment I like, pure simple love. Remember Sandi Thom's album 'Smile, it confuses people' - well isn't it true! Some of you beamed back at me, others scowled, many of you spoke to me. I saw a woman today who is at my bus stop every now and then. I've noticed how sharp she is with the children she accompanies to school (I don't think I've heard them call her Mum), and it breaks my heart. She scrolls through her phone and smokes as they play with their toy unicorn - they're just adorable. They laugh and she tells them to be quiet. Anyway, I saw her today sans kids and she stood taller and looked happier. She was watching a busker who sang my Mum and Dad's wedding song - U2 'With or Without You' , it's quite a hard song to escape, the buskers love it! Whenever I used to hear it tears would spring into my eyes because it's such a sad song and I couldn't understand why they had picked it and I tried so hard to understand what it meant when you were with someone but you couldn't be with them.
As I sat there I saw people I knew - a whole bunch of my friends just wandering past. Friends who I haven't been able to find the time to speak with for a long long time, even though we have all this technology in our lives and everything at our fingertips. We talked, laughed and they went on their way. Some felt guilty about spending money they didn't have, others felt happy with their purchases and others were about to spend some birthday money. I don't begrudge any of you this - but it isn't it interesting that everyone was spending their Sunday afternoon getting shiny 'things.' The sun was peeping in and out of the clouds and it was so good to see little children laughing and I spoke to a homeless man and asked him why he was homeless and he told me. Those things were all free and important. I also noticed children on ipads. People scolding their children for swinging shopping bags and losing receipts. Or the men standing around in intimidating uniforms waiting for something to do - they eventually told a boy sipping a pint that he couldn't do that there. The boy sweetly said he understood and walked in a different direction to the one he was going. Do you ever question why you do the things you do? Or if you're feeling sad do people offer words of encouragement? After some heavy talks with the people closest to me in my life it's come to my attention that maybe we don't. Consumerism is ruling our lives, the need for new things, to meet celebrities and look like perfection. Perfection doesn't exist, it isn't attainable. We all know this, surely? We know that purchasing a new top isn't going to make us happy, not really. Advertisement takes up a huge portion of my brain, and that isn't okay with me - I don't want to remember slogans for companies I hate when I forget my friends birthdays. I don't want to buy clothes from companies that don't pay their taxes when I can't afford to pay a measly council tax bill that would be a drop in the ocean to Mr Green.
How often do you think you need something? My electronics keep breaking on me, I'm quite clumsy. I don't have a tv, I don't have a laptop, I don't have a CD player and I don't have an iphone. After months of feeling like I need these things because everyone else does it finally struck me. I actually quite enjoy not watching BBC make a programme about neglect in care homes - because BBC chose to make that programme and that was foolish because now they've terrified a generation of people that love doesn't exist in these places and that is so far from true. I don't need to watch depressing soaps where characters get killed off and have affairs because my life is far more interesting and happier than those. Escapism and distraction reign over this world - or so it felt today as I watched people whizz past not looking where they were going or not looking at this beautiful blue sky that hung above them. When did you last hear someone say 'I'm so happy, being alive is so much FUN!'? Can't remember? Never heard it? I'm going to go all out and say it. Some of us are missing the point. What makes you happy? When did you last do it? How many times do you check your watch to check the time in a day? We have made time up, stop living by it and thinking you're late for everything. Not everybody in the world lives like us. We think we're so sorted because we have shops where you can go and get anything you need and it makes me want to puke because all you need is water and food to survive in the world.
I saw a film Friday that changed my life forever, and how I will live my life from now on. Please watch 'Frank' if you ever doubt that the modern world is detrimental to your health. Watch it if you think it's good for your health. I might be in my own little bubble, but that's fine - it's safe and kind and happy in here and the world scares me so much some days I don't think I can get out of bed. The media has no right to do that to me; I want happy news please. I know bad things happen but good things happen too and people want to cry before they've reached their office at 9am because nothing they've read prior to that has a positive impact on their life. Adverts crash into your brain and tell you what to buy and how to be. When did common sense fall out of ears and we have to be told how much water to drink? My head is swimming with numbers, I retain information like a sponge - experts say 8 glasses of water a day. Experts? Why do I need an expert to tell me how much water to drink? I'm so sick of being told how to live my life - I put myself under enormous pressure to sleep eight hours a night. What if I don't need eight hours? We're all chronically different and people frequently tell me how happy and lovely and kind I am. And I am!! But why aren't you listening to how I am so happy - I have friends turn to me with worries and stress and panic attacks and it's all bullshit. I don't mean you being stressed is a lie; it's a horrid feeling and I have those days for sure. But did you ever think you're scared of spiders because someone can make money from that; you drink endless amounts of alcohol, loose brain cells then wonder why you feel weird for days after and haven't read a book for fun in years. I might be a dork and a hippie and believe in magpies but that helps me get through the day and it'll be the best day. But quietly I feel I'm raging. I'm so angry that we listen to people who know nothing about us and run our country and lie to us about things and scream at each other and talk over one another when they're meant to be responsible adults. They can't even have a civil conversation when it's broadcast for the world to see. Parliament meetings are a joke, it's so mortifying for me to watch the people in charge conduct themselves like that. Anyone else feel the same?
I'm so exhausted by the way the world is and how I feel about it that I just want to lay down and take a nap for a week. When did we let stress become a killer? Or lose faith in the people around us? Why are celebrities so otherly? If you want to lose weight, buy Women's Health - don't post images of skinny girls as 'thinspiration'. Or figure out why you want to lose weight, is it because you feel you want to look like unattainable images of beauty in magazines or because you want to be able to run further, faster and stronger? Our lives are so short, and we're all clambering over each other for validation and approval. When did people start feeling the need to document EVERYTHING? I lost some of my most precious memories in a fire. My 'special box' was in the garage when the engine of my mum's car exploded. My first love letter was burnt to ash, I lost exercise books containing stories I wrote when I was 4. All my photos were deleted in India. Just because these things are gone doesn't mean they didn't exist. I've had so many nights ruined because we spend half the night taking photos of ourselves. When did this vain behaviour become so socially acceptable? I know it's nice to have memories but do we have to have them from 40 different angles?!
This isn't a disheartening piece. My friends (1,466 according to Facebook - that's not healthy) - the real people close to me feel this deep love for life too! If you go to dinner do you say "thank you" to the staff? Or do you go above and beyond with your words and say "that was delicious, thank you so much for making that for me to eat!" - which would you rather be? There are campaigns like NHS Time to Talk and it's actually happening - it makes me far more excited than buying a new dress that I'll wear twice, feel guilty about then Ebay.
I just think we're waiting for miracles when normal, simple everyday life is just grand.
Long time no speak, my baaaad. There a million and one things I want to write about and I've got a few drafts under way but without a functioning laptop it's near on impossible to write leisurely and coherently. Snatched sentences here and there have a horrible habit of culminating in a ramble of nonsensical rubbish, which I really don't want to subject people (who are sweet enough to spend their precious time reading this) to that. So here is a very brief entry to let you know I'm still musing and keen to write! I'll be back with a vengeance one of these days :) I'll leave you with this pretty inspiring video from the Ted Talks archive whereby Kelly McGonigal manages to make stress sound fun, it's truly amazing. Have a few of my closest friends currently experiencing various degrees of stress in their day to day living, whether it be financial stress, uni work or complex love lives, it's refreshing to hear Kelly's philosophical approach to handling stress and coping with worries.
Hope it makes your Monday a little less stressful! x
Last weekend was so much fun; I managed to see two of my favourite
people! Friday night my friend and I took a road trip to Manchester, listening
to lots of Tame Impala and eating so many Salt and Vinegar Pringles my lips
started to sting. I went to see little sister in her student halls for the
first time (my bad it took so long!) which made me feel pretty old – I like to
pretend to myself I’m still 19 living the first year fresher’s dream.. I’m so
far from it now aha. It was looovely to see her; we went to Tops and ate our
body weight in noodles then retreated back to her accommodation to watch a bit
of stand-up. I dragged her out of bed the next morning to do some shopping
before I jumped on a train to Preston to see my bestest! You won’t be able to
get rid of me so easy next time Clobo... We need to go see all the libraries of
Manchester :)
Sam, the bestest, loves to hate her uni town (famed for possessing
the first UK branch of KFC – oh dear) but it impressed even her this weekend. Avenham
Park adventures, Prawn and Calamari risotto along with Adventure Time on repeat
made for a perfect weekend getaway. One of my favourite places we visited was the Mystery Tea House from which I bought a Cherry and Rum blend... too good! A few doors along from the tea house is Retro Rehab, a lovely little Vintage shop that doesn't require you to sift through a tonne of ill-fitting smelly clothes before you find something semi-decent. We both loved everything we tried on and had to resist buying more than the few things we did get. Saturday ended with an intense game of Charades and films in bed...
Top Babe <3
Concentrating on not falling in gives you extra chins.
Spending the weekend chatting about silly things, walking in woods and skyping our lovely best friend Chan was one of the best weekends I've had in a long time. THANK YOU for having me Chloe and Sam xxxx
I was going to wait a while till I got
opinionated but the 8thof
March comes but once a year and I’m not wasting this chance to speak out about
things that constantly bother me. When I say ‘Happy International Women’s Day
everyone!’ – I mean everyone, not just women. It is imperative that men, boys,
women and girls understand why it’s important to celebrate women worldwide.
Various factors such as culture, biology and location determine what
constitutes being a woman differently. I have no qualms in admitting I still
don’t feel like a woman (opposed to being a girl – I’m female, promise), but I
know that if I wanted to classify myself in that way it wouldn’t change my life
so drastically. What about those girls who fear the day they get their first
period because they know the traditions of their society might cause them far
more pain than menstrual cramps? Or the second class citizens who aren’t
permitted to speak up to their husbands? Or even the women that voice their
interests and concerns in the Commons Chamber? I’m getting a bit ahead of
myself aren’t I... in the not very wise words of Cameron,calm down dear.
The history of this world can be rather dark and
dreary if you trudge too deep into a topic as colossal as women and their
rights. I’m not a history major; I have a habit of inverting numbers and mixing
up names that don’t want to mingle. Rather than imparting some sketchy
Wikipedia facts to you I’ll just talk to you about my first hand experiences of
what it is to be female and how this shapes my life day to day. One of the
prompts for my writing this article was a friend’s status (and I say friend in
the loosest term of the word) that caught my eye yesterday. Here it is, exactly
as follows:
‘Men
have 2 emotions.. Hungry or horny, so bitch if u see me without an erection u
best be making me a sandwich’
Poetic
right? I won’t name the person because there isn’t any need, if he’s posted
this in the first place I’m quite sure my little rant isn’t going to turn him
into the next Bill Bailey (didn’t you know?!Find your favourite feministshere) and spark
brain cells that might cause him to blush with embarrassment at this appalling
quote. I probably laughed awkwardly at things like this a decade ago, but I
know better now. If shit like this goes unchallenged – or worse, liked by
upward of 30 people, both male and female – where do you start drawing your
lines? The boy who wrote this is harmless I’m sure, and pleasant and polite to
his muma and nana and all the other lovely ladies he encounters through his
days on Earth. Yet he felt the need, ironically on the eve of International
Women’s Day, to remind us girls of the two emotions men apparently possess. So
what about the emotions women have? This guy’s snappy sentence left me feeling
a plethora of emotions and neither were close to hungry or horny.
It seems to be hard to disentangle women and
feminism; the two are inextricably linked, in sickness and in health. I could
wax on about this all day – but I won’t, it’s Saturday and I’ve got things to
do. With that in mind, my rant is coming to an end, and I really do bid you a
very happyInternationalWomen’s Day– celebrate yourself, your mum, sisters,
daughters and the ladies who paved the way for this day, whoever you want.
Don’t let the men who sit quietly on facebook with strange misogynistic quips
taint what is a truly worthy cause of celebration. Women are rad, without them
the world would kind of be at a loss. Nobody explains this better than Itch, so
I’ll leave you in his capable hands.
I’m having an early morning write because the nights are
flying by; it’s quite nice feeling like I’m organised at 6.43. The next few
days are full of fun – ballet, movies, gigs and a big India reunion (posts to
follow!) so wanted to make sure I scrawled something before the madness begins.
Jordan and I have just returned from a lovely few days in
Paris! Thank you so so so much to our kind families and the people who bought clothes and a jazzy bumbag from me on Ebay – your donations keep us alive in the form of croissants, merci! We were lucky enough to have got tickets for the sell-out Haim gig at Le Trianon which was easily as beautiful as when the Eiffel Tour does its sparkle show. They are SUCH ‘babes’ (Jordan’s official verdict). Sure they’ll be glad to hear he approves. I will do a proper write-up soon when I get a chunk of time, promise!
Last night was the wonderful Lemon Wednesday, best mid-week treat. I missed out on the Shrove fun due to travelling cross-county but last night more than made up for it... lemons (duh), sugar, honey, cocoa powder, almonds, galaxy caramel AND homemade Strawberry jam! Not all at once though, let’s not get sick. The movie choice of last night was Spike Jonze’s (Jonzes? Jonzes’? English Lit grad needs the grammar police please) Where the Wild Things Are. I adore this film; it seriously gives me a warm glow. The nostalgic story carved by the visionary Maurice Sendak is brought to life by the most incredible costume design and animation – it should have won awards everywhere! Watching it with JK and friends was excellent, it’s been a while since I had seen it and it never fails to make me smile. The childish Karen O soundtrack compliments Max’s rampages perfectly; I always end up humming the songs for days after. Plus it always reminds me of my best friends who enthusiastically share my love of the film and the time my little sister went to see it around Christmas time when it first came out. We came out of the cinema and the world was so quiet, there was a thick, beautiful, untouched blanket of SNOW. It was truly magical.
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