As I sit down after a long, sleepless, rather arduous week, with a Chinese, a bottle of wine and Stevie (that's my friend Stevie the TV) I am filled with an enormous sense of contentment. I am a firm believer in the little things in life, that make it, well, OK! For some, like myself, it is those tiny every day details that make me smile a little on the inside. Perhaps its familiarity? Maybe that's why we seek them out? Such as that first cup of tea straight after work, or when you roll into bed with fresh sheets, or a long phone catch up with an old friend. Its comforting, like getting snail mail.
Perhaps it's the change in seasons...the fact that we are now very much in autumn, my favourite season of all, that is the reason for my focus on life's little trivialities? As a society we are very fast paced, everyone is always in a rush, even when they are not in a rush. Sometimes it is nice to just slow down, catch our breath and focus on the simpler things.
Autumn for me is the best season of all. I don't mind the rain so much, the cold and dampness doesn't bother me. I love the colours, the clothes, the smell and the way everything starts to change. I could quite easily rant on all day about my love of autumn, but for the sake of those who are now entering the early stages of SAD this season I will hold off.
Contentment for most comes in many forms. For some it is having made lots of money, owning a big house and a fast car. Others it may be travelling the world, seeing new places and experiencing news things. For me it is some of the most minute things that make me content. A cup of tea with my mum and sisters, reading a good book, a nice bottle of wine or catching up with an old friend. Perhaps that makes me dull, boring or even lacking in aspirations. I don't feel like I am lacking, I feel that with each added contentment I gain more and more.
So, as I sit here with a cup of tea and my local paper I will revel in the delights of the little things, the little things in life that make it just so.
Friday 4 November 2011
Tuesday 9 August 2011
'So no one told you life was gonna be this way...'
I would love to know how it became so, that a U.S sitcom about six friends, became the source for almost all conversations about life (at least office based ones at that). I am often amazed at how many times I will say 'oh that's like in that friends episode, you know? the one with?...'
Granted, Friends is my most loved, like a good old pair of comfortable shoes, default programme that I watch when feeling miserable. It has got me through some of the most rubbish times of my life! Tragic huh! I vowed I couldn't go through another break up in my life as I had run out of Friends episodes to drag me through.
Yet I still find myself, after watching 'the one with the list' for the 18th time, wondering how it is that we can relate so many instances in life back to 'Friends'. Is it that the writers had experienced all the trials and tribulations of most twenty somethings or that they were just so cynical that they captured life in sheer comedic tones?
Who knows, who cares. It is like a source of therapy for me. Cup of tea, or in the more rough times a large glass of wine, Friends in unadulterated qualities and perhaps a large box of chocolates, better than any romantic comedy, and sometimes even substitutes a much needed hug. Just what the doctor ordered, well if he was a Friends fan anyways.
And no, no one told me life was gonna be this way, nothing my parents ever told me (well my mother did warn me there'd be days like these...too much?!), no teacher or family friend. No subject at school can prepare you for the harsh reality of life. It's all by experience and of course, when the rain starts to fall its the comfort of knowing that there are 'Friends' on hand to get you through.
Granted, Friends is my most loved, like a good old pair of comfortable shoes, default programme that I watch when feeling miserable. It has got me through some of the most rubbish times of my life! Tragic huh! I vowed I couldn't go through another break up in my life as I had run out of Friends episodes to drag me through.
Yet I still find myself, after watching 'the one with the list' for the 18th time, wondering how it is that we can relate so many instances in life back to 'Friends'. Is it that the writers had experienced all the trials and tribulations of most twenty somethings or that they were just so cynical that they captured life in sheer comedic tones?
Who knows, who cares. It is like a source of therapy for me. Cup of tea, or in the more rough times a large glass of wine, Friends in unadulterated qualities and perhaps a large box of chocolates, better than any romantic comedy, and sometimes even substitutes a much needed hug. Just what the doctor ordered, well if he was a Friends fan anyways.
And no, no one told me life was gonna be this way, nothing my parents ever told me (well my mother did warn me there'd be days like these...too much?!), no teacher or family friend. No subject at school can prepare you for the harsh reality of life. It's all by experience and of course, when the rain starts to fall its the comfort of knowing that there are 'Friends' on hand to get you through.
Monday 1 August 2011
Addiction affliction
As yet another night of acute insomnia sets in I start thinking...maybe that's the problem, if I only I could stop thinking. One minute its about the long day ahead, I need a clear mind, I need to focus, and then I flit to what to wear to my friends forthcoming wedding and will my shoes match the dress I just ordered? And then, for some reason, I picture that frail silhouette of Amy Winehouse. Yes I know there have been far too many tragedies over the past few weeks and why focus on this? As some say, she only had herself to blame, however I don't think it's that simple...in fact I think it is far from the truth.
You see addiction is a disease. You only have to envisage the horror and depths of despair that an addict will go to before you see that it is simply not their fault. When I see addicts wandering the streets of my home town I often ponder how long they have been sleeping 'rough' for? Months, weeks or mere days? Shoes are often a good indication. I find my emotions run high and my mind goes into overdrive and, when I recently was stopped late one night by a guy begging, we got to talking. He asked if I could 'spare any change', I asked him what he needed it for, if he said anything other then the local night shelter I wasn't sure I would oblige and feed whatever habit he had (how judgmental of me!). Instead he responded saying he wanted to call his kid, so I dialed the number and handed him my phone. You see he wanted to say good night to his kid, tell him that daddy loves him. What broke my heart was that right now daddy loved crack more then his son...which brings me to my point, no one in their 'right mind' would choose a habit over their own child.
Now I don't mean to get all deep and meaningful but there is something in that, you see people like Amy are not in their right mind, but I don't necessarily mean due to the drugs. I mean, she was a genius. Say what you like about the girl but that was God-given talent all at her disposal. A talent far beyond her own grasp and understanding, through which her only way of dealing with it was to dispose of it.
What is so often the case with talented, gifted, geniuses is their inability to communicate, to find someone on their level who gets their intellect, their art, whatever you want to call it. It in fact becomes an affliction. Something they want to dumb down or in effect dumb themselves down. Their over-active brains need a rest, something drink and drugs can certainly help with. Now believe me, this is not from experience, but sheer observation. Take Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain, Marilyn Monroe, to name but a few. I often think of Richie from the Manic Street Preachers, someone whose intelligence was of such an affliction that it drove him to throw himself off the Severn Bridge, or so his left behind shoes would have you believe. You see the affliction of an addict starts with something far greater then that bottle of gin or a gram of coke.
The road to recovery is long. Once an addict, always an addict. Recovery can only be sought if an addict is truly ready to let go, give up and hope that life without a habit is full of ...well anything that isn't in a bottle of booze or a bag of pills. It is a force far greater then you, it has a hold over you that is invisible yet unbearably powerful. So when you next tutt your way past a drunk or are annoyed over a friend who seems erratic or distant, spare a thought for their afflictions.
For some there truly is no peace. Whether intentional or accidental, their demons take over. Lets pray that Amy has found her peace...as in her own words, this is 'inevitable withdrawal'.
You see addiction is a disease. You only have to envisage the horror and depths of despair that an addict will go to before you see that it is simply not their fault. When I see addicts wandering the streets of my home town I often ponder how long they have been sleeping 'rough' for? Months, weeks or mere days? Shoes are often a good indication. I find my emotions run high and my mind goes into overdrive and, when I recently was stopped late one night by a guy begging, we got to talking. He asked if I could 'spare any change', I asked him what he needed it for, if he said anything other then the local night shelter I wasn't sure I would oblige and feed whatever habit he had (how judgmental of me!). Instead he responded saying he wanted to call his kid, so I dialed the number and handed him my phone. You see he wanted to say good night to his kid, tell him that daddy loves him. What broke my heart was that right now daddy loved crack more then his son...which brings me to my point, no one in their 'right mind' would choose a habit over their own child.
Now I don't mean to get all deep and meaningful but there is something in that, you see people like Amy are not in their right mind, but I don't necessarily mean due to the drugs. I mean, she was a genius. Say what you like about the girl but that was God-given talent all at her disposal. A talent far beyond her own grasp and understanding, through which her only way of dealing with it was to dispose of it.
What is so often the case with talented, gifted, geniuses is their inability to communicate, to find someone on their level who gets their intellect, their art, whatever you want to call it. It in fact becomes an affliction. Something they want to dumb down or in effect dumb themselves down. Their over-active brains need a rest, something drink and drugs can certainly help with. Now believe me, this is not from experience, but sheer observation. Take Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain, Marilyn Monroe, to name but a few. I often think of Richie from the Manic Street Preachers, someone whose intelligence was of such an affliction that it drove him to throw himself off the Severn Bridge, or so his left behind shoes would have you believe. You see the affliction of an addict starts with something far greater then that bottle of gin or a gram of coke.
The road to recovery is long. Once an addict, always an addict. Recovery can only be sought if an addict is truly ready to let go, give up and hope that life without a habit is full of ...well anything that isn't in a bottle of booze or a bag of pills. It is a force far greater then you, it has a hold over you that is invisible yet unbearably powerful. So when you next tutt your way past a drunk or are annoyed over a friend who seems erratic or distant, spare a thought for their afflictions.
For some there truly is no peace. Whether intentional or accidental, their demons take over. Lets pray that Amy has found her peace...as in her own words, this is 'inevitable withdrawal'.
Wednesday 1 June 2011
My own irregularities...
Saturday 14 May 2011
Totes and utter crap!
I wouldn't call it an indulgence as such, reality TV is not one of my secret guilty pleasures. In fact, it is a part of the latest generational culture that slightly perturbs me but anyway, my point, yes my point, err, in a moments madness I watched the debut episode of 'Made in Chelsea' reality TV simply about the elite and privileged lifestyles of twenty-somethings made in Chelsea. I wouldn't call this a review of such as with most reviews the critic would, oh well who am I kidding...I feel slightly disgusted with myself, for several reasons, least of all the fact that I have now lost an hour of my life of which I will never get back.
I'm not even sure where to start, the make-up, hair, fashion, I mean these are people with money and if it werent for the high level R.P and location shots of Sloane Square in all it's glory then I could have mistaken it for 'TOWIE'!
I shall attempt to make sense of their conversations, I did at one point want to feel sorry for some of their awfully over-dramatic affairs but the posh overtones and hideous outfits made me forget what they were rahing on about in the first place. There were a few unforgettable moments however from the party host Ollie Locke (who I unknowingly mistook for being gay) as he sits and has dinner with his somewhat dim but rather beautiful girlfriend. In a romantic restaurant he poses the question 'shall we party or go have sex?' to which she replies 'can we simply not party AND have sex?'. I mean, seriously? there really is no hope. And who said romance was dead.
My other highlight (of which there were only two and they did leave me with a slight sinking feeling inside) was again from one Ollie Locke. On an evening away from London in the ever rural 'country' he describes his love of cow sh*t, quite literally stating 'I sometimes enjoy the smell of cow sh*t - I mean who are you kidding, decked in an outrageous Cavalli outfit with your long hair and playboy lifestyle and what do you know of the country apart from a wannabe farmhouse and an oversized Grandad jumper?! urgh.
As for my character assasinations, well, here goes;
Francis - hysterically posh and for that I love him. His over-the-top suits and quirkiness make him somewhat of a favorite
Spencer - seedy, sly - all the traits women despise in their men (not to mention the greasy hair)
Amber and Rosie - innocent perhaps? even likeable?
Cheskha and Binky - Their names alone say it all
Caggie - Epitome of daddy's poor, little, rich, girl
As for all the other characters - well you were simply so non-descript that you weren't even worth mentioning
And are they educated to speak without moving their lips? did Eton, Harrow, Marlborough and all the other elite schools say 'when one must open ones mouth don't move ones lips'
I could go on, but for the sake of those who actually enjoyed this reality hell I will stop. Except to say that having watched one episode I really feel I owe it to find out how this story pans out? Will Spencer get caught out? Will Binky ever be free from the orange fake tan and does Francis choose the globe or the pineapple for his portrait?! I mean it is 'real' life right? err 'totes man totes'!
I'm not even sure where to start, the make-up, hair, fashion, I mean these are people with money and if it werent for the high level R.P and location shots of Sloane Square in all it's glory then I could have mistaken it for 'TOWIE'!
I shall attempt to make sense of their conversations, I did at one point want to feel sorry for some of their awfully over-dramatic affairs but the posh overtones and hideous outfits made me forget what they were rahing on about in the first place. There were a few unforgettable moments however from the party host Ollie Locke (who I unknowingly mistook for being gay) as he sits and has dinner with his somewhat dim but rather beautiful girlfriend. In a romantic restaurant he poses the question 'shall we party or go have sex?' to which she replies 'can we simply not party AND have sex?'. I mean, seriously? there really is no hope. And who said romance was dead.
My other highlight (of which there were only two and they did leave me with a slight sinking feeling inside) was again from one Ollie Locke. On an evening away from London in the ever rural 'country' he describes his love of cow sh*t, quite literally stating 'I sometimes enjoy the smell of cow sh*t - I mean who are you kidding, decked in an outrageous Cavalli outfit with your long hair and playboy lifestyle and what do you know of the country apart from a wannabe farmhouse and an oversized Grandad jumper?! urgh.
As for my character assasinations, well, here goes;
Francis - hysterically posh and for that I love him. His over-the-top suits and quirkiness make him somewhat of a favorite
Spencer - seedy, sly - all the traits women despise in their men (not to mention the greasy hair)
Amber and Rosie - innocent perhaps? even likeable?
Cheskha and Binky - Their names alone say it all
Caggie - Epitome of daddy's poor, little, rich, girl
As for all the other characters - well you were simply so non-descript that you weren't even worth mentioning
And are they educated to speak without moving their lips? did Eton, Harrow, Marlborough and all the other elite schools say 'when one must open ones mouth don't move ones lips'
I could go on, but for the sake of those who actually enjoyed this reality hell I will stop. Except to say that having watched one episode I really feel I owe it to find out how this story pans out? Will Spencer get caught out? Will Binky ever be free from the orange fake tan and does Francis choose the globe or the pineapple for his portrait?! I mean it is 'real' life right? err 'totes man totes'!
Friday 13 May 2011
A breath of fresh heir...
It was what fairytales are made of...
From beginning to end it was picture perfect. Well if the Royals can't do perfection when it comes to weddings then us mere common folk don't stand a chance! (although they are becoming fine tuned in the art of divorce but let's not taint this already).
Whether you were like me and eagerly in anticipation of Kate's dress (and let's face it, it did not disappoint) or simply hoping to hear William stutter at his nuptials it is safe to say it was the wedding of the year! With all the pomp and ceremony it was tasteful, regal and what weddings are all about - true love 'well whatever love is'!
However I get the feeling that Kate was slightly upstaged by her younger sister Pippa...I for one think that Kate is the ultimate princess and with a life ahead as Queen in waiting I certainly had the feeling that history was being made. Apparently not of the kind that I was envisaging. Pippa Middleton's derriere gained more hits on Facebook and Youtube in one afternoon and it even has it's own website formally called 'The Pippa Middleton Ass Appreciation Society'. Perhaps it is a sign of the technologically advancing times but really?! I mean history was being made that day and all the nation can focus on is a middle class, rather attractive one might ad, privately educated bottom?!
I digress, I wanted this to be a far more 'Royalist' endeavor considering I fear becoming one, but I have lost my train of thought. This was supposed to be about Kate, William, their big day and what this means for the future monarchy. Instead I am as shallow as the rest of the nation. Let's hope all this new found fame and wonderment doesn't go to her head (or her bottom for that matter).
From beginning to end it was picture perfect. Well if the Royals can't do perfection when it comes to weddings then us mere common folk don't stand a chance! (although they are becoming fine tuned in the art of divorce but let's not taint this already).
Whether you were like me and eagerly in anticipation of Kate's dress (and let's face it, it did not disappoint) or simply hoping to hear William stutter at his nuptials it is safe to say it was the wedding of the year! With all the pomp and ceremony it was tasteful, regal and what weddings are all about - true love 'well whatever love is'!
However I get the feeling that Kate was slightly upstaged by her younger sister Pippa...I for one think that Kate is the ultimate princess and with a life ahead as Queen in waiting I certainly had the feeling that history was being made. Apparently not of the kind that I was envisaging. Pippa Middleton's derriere gained more hits on Facebook and Youtube in one afternoon and it even has it's own website formally called 'The Pippa Middleton Ass Appreciation Society'. Perhaps it is a sign of the technologically advancing times but really?! I mean history was being made that day and all the nation can focus on is a middle class, rather attractive one might ad, privately educated bottom?!
I digress, I wanted this to be a far more 'Royalist' endeavor considering I fear becoming one, but I have lost my train of thought. This was supposed to be about Kate, William, their big day and what this means for the future monarchy. Instead I am as shallow as the rest of the nation. Let's hope all this new found fame and wonderment doesn't go to her head (or her bottom for that matter).
Saturday 23 April 2011
A Royal Affair...
It will be one of those questions asked at future dinner parties, by your children on a Sunday afternoon or perhaps simply back at work on the Tuesday morning 'where were you on the day of the Royal Wedding?'
Perhaps I am getting a little over excited about the whole 'royal' occasion. Ok so I haven't bought my Kate and Wills tea towel or tea cup yet but I am discussing the potentials for a trip to London, tea in the park or an old fashioned street party (unless the council have a fit and oppose our request!).
Now don't get me wrong, I am no Royalist but there is something very innocent and well, all in all, pleasant about the country having a day off for something that is far from 'traditional' these days. Marriages are a rarer occasion in our social calendars of late and I for one thing am all for it!
Being a child of the the 80's I can remember having our very own street party for Fergie and Andrews wedding back in '86...in London Town. Cake, bunting and pasting tables all laid out in the street, if I remember rightly we even had a rigged sound system (although my mum will probably discredit that). So I say let's repeat the tradition. Let's give the street party a well earned come back (I mean if flares and cheesecloth can do it!). Something to celebrate for a change, perhaps even a chance to meet your neighbours?
Well whatever you choose to do, make the most of it - I mean how often do you get a day off for nothing. I for one will be donning my hat, hanging up my bunting and sitting down to a rather delectable spot of afternoon tea...in my newly ordered Wills and Kate tea set (OK so I lied, it would be wrong to drink it out of anything else!)
Perhaps I am getting a little over excited about the whole 'royal' occasion. Ok so I haven't bought my Kate and Wills tea towel or tea cup yet but I am discussing the potentials for a trip to London, tea in the park or an old fashioned street party (unless the council have a fit and oppose our request!).
Now don't get me wrong, I am no Royalist but there is something very innocent and well, all in all, pleasant about the country having a day off for something that is far from 'traditional' these days. Marriages are a rarer occasion in our social calendars of late and I for one thing am all for it!
Being a child of the the 80's I can remember having our very own street party for Fergie and Andrews wedding back in '86...in London Town. Cake, bunting and pasting tables all laid out in the street, if I remember rightly we even had a rigged sound system (although my mum will probably discredit that). So I say let's repeat the tradition. Let's give the street party a well earned come back (I mean if flares and cheesecloth can do it!). Something to celebrate for a change, perhaps even a chance to meet your neighbours?
Well whatever you choose to do, make the most of it - I mean how often do you get a day off for nothing. I for one will be donning my hat, hanging up my bunting and sitting down to a rather delectable spot of afternoon tea...in my newly ordered Wills and Kate tea set (OK so I lied, it would be wrong to drink it out of anything else!)
Friday 25 March 2011
'You said I must eat so many lemons...
After hearing Caroline's a Victim, the first track by Nash back in 2007 (eventually featuring as the B-side on Foundations) I was impressed. Here is a girl who was authentic, spoke her mind in a quirky, happy-go-lucky fashion with a Hackney feel. Everything from her Laaandaaan voice to her vintage fashion was intriguing (thanks Libby!).
Her lyrics very aptly articulate many of the trials and tribulations in our relationship break ups and break downs with a 'whatever' factor, 'get over him he just aint worth it'...so, as with most bands and artists that I avidly listen to, I went to see her (with little sis in tow). Suitably impressed we left feeling slightly happy-go-lucky ourselves. On the return of Nash, touring with her second album 'My Best Friend is You' I decided to make a return visit. Something tells me I should have stayed at home that night. What's that expression? 'First time's a charm'!...playing at the Old Fire Station in Bournemouth, where I was in fact the oldest person there by around ten years, she bounced onto the stage with her all girl band and if I'm honest, made my ears bleed.
Perhaps I'm getting old, perhaps I make poor judgements, but something has happened to Nash. Gone was the happy-go-lucky-Harrow-bred-beauty and instead she had been replaced by a girl in serious need of some anger management and a bar of soap to wash her potty mouth out with!
When behind her piano tinkling along to her 'Made of Bricks' classics she was delightful but, sadly that was for all of about four songs. Her teen angst-screw the world new material left me staring at my friend with a 'what the...?' look on my somewhat sad face. Screeching down the mike about her sisters ex boyfriend and ranting in a rather pretentious (before she used to get away with it) fashion that just, well quite frankly irritated me...
I feel bad, I shouldn't trash the girl, she clearly does have talent, it's just she chose not to use it this time.
Kate, word of advice, stave off the lemons, there really is no need to be that bitter!
Wednesday 9 March 2011
The Library...a place of Discovery
I have recently embarked on a diploma...self disciplined study is in fact the hardest kind! Finding all manner of distractions at home I decided to wander along to my local library. The last time I graced my local library with my presence I was indeed a student, and found it the perfect, 'quiet' place to get my head down and focus.
But apparently the term 'library' no longer constitutes that quiet place where silence echoes and stern looking women watch with beady eyes for any sign of disobedience. Instead it is over run with teenagers with nothing better to do but blast music from their iphones and shout obscenities at each other, people spilling coffee over books and computers, mobile phones ringing and a steady stream of young kids (who appear to have no school to go to) running about and yelling. Now I don't want to come across as a grumpy 'old' woman but what happened to the 'shhh it's a library'?
On passing comment to the chap sat next to me, his response was 'it is now referred to as a 'Discovery Centre'. And much to my disappointment, on leaving the building, I did in fact see the sign 'Winchester Discovery Centre'. Clearly not a place for people to discover peace and quiet, so I shall return home where I know no discovery is needed...
But apparently the term 'library' no longer constitutes that quiet place where silence echoes and stern looking women watch with beady eyes for any sign of disobedience. Instead it is over run with teenagers with nothing better to do but blast music from their iphones and shout obscenities at each other, people spilling coffee over books and computers, mobile phones ringing and a steady stream of young kids (who appear to have no school to go to) running about and yelling. Now I don't want to come across as a grumpy 'old' woman but what happened to the 'shhh it's a library'?
On passing comment to the chap sat next to me, his response was 'it is now referred to as a 'Discovery Centre'. And much to my disappointment, on leaving the building, I did in fact see the sign 'Winchester Discovery Centre'. Clearly not a place for people to discover peace and quiet, so I shall return home where I know no discovery is needed...
Wednesday 16 February 2011
Best of the Brits...
The day that follows February 14th in the British calandar is a far more exciting event then that of red hearts, over priced gifts and soppy poems...(never been a big fan of the hype that is Valentines day). A celebration of all that is good, bad and quite frankly obscure in the U.K music scene - formally known as The Brits!
James Cordon took place as this years host (although I for one was not overly impressed) and found it uncomfortable to watch him awkwardly amble his way through one of the music industries yearly highlights. This was however, greatly overshadowed by amazing peformances from Adele, Mumford & Sons, Plan B and other great talents from our musically productive shores. These acts alone made some pretty worthwhile viewing, along with Mumford & Sons, Laura Marling and Arcade Fire finally getting some well earned recognition.
However, despite the fact that the Brits has been running since the mid 80's (well technically the 70's), there is one tradition missing...the notability factor! It has become far too polished and preened for my liking, even with fat boy Cordon presenting. Even the award itself has been 'fashionista'd' thanks to the eccentric talent of Vivienne Westwood. What I mean is (for those of you that can remember) is the excitement of live television, post watershed, when the likes of Jarvis Cocker standing up in front of Michael Jackson in protest of his 'Jesus' like figure, or when Chumbawumba decided to dump a bucket of water over cabinet minister John Prescott, or the never ending feuds between the Gallagher brothers in the oh so poignant days of 'Brit rock'! Even the Spice Girls vamped it up with Geri's 'Union Jack' dress, which later sold for over £40k.
No wonder we are accused of being overly stuffy and too 'P.C'.
Don't get me wrong, I love the glamour, the hype, the music (well some of) and even the Facebook antics that follow, but we have become a bit too refined in the areas that are just, well, not meant to be. British music and the scene that goes hand in hand is all about rawness, ego and the like. But now I am risking the start of a far bigger debate, for which is another matter all together...
James Cordon took place as this years host (although I for one was not overly impressed) and found it uncomfortable to watch him awkwardly amble his way through one of the music industries yearly highlights. This was however, greatly overshadowed by amazing peformances from Adele, Mumford & Sons, Plan B and other great talents from our musically productive shores. These acts alone made some pretty worthwhile viewing, along with Mumford & Sons, Laura Marling and Arcade Fire finally getting some well earned recognition.
However, despite the fact that the Brits has been running since the mid 80's (well technically the 70's), there is one tradition missing...the notability factor! It has become far too polished and preened for my liking, even with fat boy Cordon presenting. Even the award itself has been 'fashionista'd' thanks to the eccentric talent of Vivienne Westwood. What I mean is (for those of you that can remember) is the excitement of live television, post watershed, when the likes of Jarvis Cocker standing up in front of Michael Jackson in protest of his 'Jesus' like figure, or when Chumbawumba decided to dump a bucket of water over cabinet minister John Prescott, or the never ending feuds between the Gallagher brothers in the oh so poignant days of 'Brit rock'! Even the Spice Girls vamped it up with Geri's 'Union Jack' dress, which later sold for over £40k.
No wonder we are accused of being overly stuffy and too 'P.C'.
Don't get me wrong, I love the glamour, the hype, the music (well some of) and even the Facebook antics that follow, but we have become a bit too refined in the areas that are just, well, not meant to be. British music and the scene that goes hand in hand is all about rawness, ego and the like. But now I am risking the start of a far bigger debate, for which is another matter all together...
Wednesday 2 February 2011
'In THESE shoes?'
Could there be a girlier subject to blog about? I almost feel hedonistic just beginning to write about it and when I come to think about it I almost don't...but I will!
There are some women out there who collect handbags, dresses, purses (the men reading this are now pondering the mere difference between handbags and purses), jewellery, make up, the list is endless. We are creatures of not comfort but beauty. A 'thing of beauty is a joy forever' and that is exactly where my love affair of shoes begins.
As young girls the majority of us loved to parade around in our mothers and grandmothers pearls and shoes. I know I certainly did. My grandmother always had an array of high heels that she stored in boxes by her ever growing wardrobe. Me and my sister would find ourselves shrieking with excitement when on school holidays we could run up to her room, raid her shoes and prance about all afternoon delighting at how glamorous we looked (looking back at photos now, between the bright red lipstick, oversized shoes and satin cami's we looked like rejects from the Rocky Horror Show). Eventually I outgrew my grandmothers petite size 3's and grew into my very own size 7's, big feet seem to run in the family.
As I began working post uni, I soon found a way to squander my hard earned cash. Unlike many of my friends who seemed to wisely invest it in cars, houses and the like, I began a collection. It soon picked up like a drug and I became no longer happy with the classic court or the ballet pump, but the more colourful, higher, and more obscure the better. Now I'm not necessarily talking the most expensive but you do pay a premium for highly obscure shoes. See the thing with shoes is, that no matter what mood you're in, whether you gain weight, loose weight, have a bad day at work, shoes will always fit AND look fabulous.
I no longer buy shoes to match an outfit, I sometimes don't even care if they co ordinate with my outfit. In fact, as I get older I seem to get immense satistfaction out of wearing an outrageous pair of shoes with bright tights and an equally mismatched dress (Vivien Westwood I am not).
So now I have a dilemma, well many in fact but let's begin with the shoes. Storage for one. I am slowly running out of space. Slowly limited to the places, events and even weather that will allow me to present a new pair of heels. I am even beginning to wonder whether there is something in this 'saving' business and it is time for me to invest elsewhere.
So perhaps it is time for me to surrender my love affair with shoes...for fear that one day I may become the woman who, quite literally, lived in her shoes...
There are some women out there who collect handbags, dresses, purses (the men reading this are now pondering the mere difference between handbags and purses), jewellery, make up, the list is endless. We are creatures of not comfort but beauty. A 'thing of beauty is a joy forever' and that is exactly where my love affair of shoes begins.
As young girls the majority of us loved to parade around in our mothers and grandmothers pearls and shoes. I know I certainly did. My grandmother always had an array of high heels that she stored in boxes by her ever growing wardrobe. Me and my sister would find ourselves shrieking with excitement when on school holidays we could run up to her room, raid her shoes and prance about all afternoon delighting at how glamorous we looked (looking back at photos now, between the bright red lipstick, oversized shoes and satin cami's we looked like rejects from the Rocky Horror Show). Eventually I outgrew my grandmothers petite size 3's and grew into my very own size 7's, big feet seem to run in the family.
As I began working post uni, I soon found a way to squander my hard earned cash. Unlike many of my friends who seemed to wisely invest it in cars, houses and the like, I began a collection. It soon picked up like a drug and I became no longer happy with the classic court or the ballet pump, but the more colourful, higher, and more obscure the better. Now I'm not necessarily talking the most expensive but you do pay a premium for highly obscure shoes. See the thing with shoes is, that no matter what mood you're in, whether you gain weight, loose weight, have a bad day at work, shoes will always fit AND look fabulous.
I no longer buy shoes to match an outfit, I sometimes don't even care if they co ordinate with my outfit. In fact, as I get older I seem to get immense satistfaction out of wearing an outrageous pair of shoes with bright tights and an equally mismatched dress (Vivien Westwood I am not).
So now I have a dilemma, well many in fact but let's begin with the shoes. Storage for one. I am slowly running out of space. Slowly limited to the places, events and even weather that will allow me to present a new pair of heels. I am even beginning to wonder whether there is something in this 'saving' business and it is time for me to invest elsewhere.
So perhaps it is time for me to surrender my love affair with shoes...for fear that one day I may become the woman who, quite literally, lived in her shoes...
Monday 24 January 2011
A socially alien nation!
Well by 'Alien Nation' I actually mean 'alienation'! Now as much as I am a tweeter, facebooker, blogger and the like it does often make me wonder as to why we 'need' social networking as an every day part of our lives? For some it simply whiles away mundane hours in the office, on a train, waiting for a never-on-time friend to turn up so as you don't look like you've been stood up in the pub, or when they pop to the loo and you don't want to look like Billy no mates (I digress). For others however it is a way of being part of something, something engaging, fast moving and exciting. A place where your opinions matter, where you can be as cool as you want people to percieve or perhaps a forum for a good old debate. I do wonder though as to whether all of this is brought about or even fueling a great loss, the loss of something vital in every day society...'community'.
I'm not sure at what point community and face to face interaction seemed to become near on obselete (well comparitively) but it is happening. We email and IM colleagues sat opposite, we arrange, cancel and rearrange social events with friends. We even feel it is ok to Facebook a birthday message to a close friend or relative without even needing to actually remember their birthday as we are reminded by the oh so clever powers of Facebook.
But surely social networking can't actually take the place of real networking...can it? Do people no longer crave an actual telephone conversation, a face to face chat or day I even say it, the pleasure and excitement one gets when they recieve a letter that isn't a council tax bill, credit card statement or junk mail but an actual letter from an actual friend? Maybe even through all of the 'mod cons' that surround my life I am living in the dark ages...
All I know is that it never fails to suprise me how we can know so much about people we have had little or no interaction with by simply 'Facebook Stalking'. Now don't get me wrong, I don't mean to be too controversial on this subject as 'everything in it's place' and all but, for those of us who can vaguely remember a time before facebook and twitter don't you wonder what we did with all those spare hours? How productive we must have been and that our neighbours might have actually known us by name. For those of you who have known little else well, my point is lost, you don't care about issues such as this. Community in that capacity will be something studied in history books...
Rant over. I must go. I promised a friend I would catch up with her over Facebook chat, haven't seen her in ages...
I'm not sure at what point community and face to face interaction seemed to become near on obselete (well comparitively) but it is happening. We email and IM colleagues sat opposite, we arrange, cancel and rearrange social events with friends. We even feel it is ok to Facebook a birthday message to a close friend or relative without even needing to actually remember their birthday as we are reminded by the oh so clever powers of Facebook.
But surely social networking can't actually take the place of real networking...can it? Do people no longer crave an actual telephone conversation, a face to face chat or day I even say it, the pleasure and excitement one gets when they recieve a letter that isn't a council tax bill, credit card statement or junk mail but an actual letter from an actual friend? Maybe even through all of the 'mod cons' that surround my life I am living in the dark ages...
All I know is that it never fails to suprise me how we can know so much about people we have had little or no interaction with by simply 'Facebook Stalking'. Now don't get me wrong, I don't mean to be too controversial on this subject as 'everything in it's place' and all but, for those of us who can vaguely remember a time before facebook and twitter don't you wonder what we did with all those spare hours? How productive we must have been and that our neighbours might have actually known us by name. For those of you who have known little else well, my point is lost, you don't care about issues such as this. Community in that capacity will be something studied in history books...
Rant over. I must go. I promised a friend I would catch up with her over Facebook chat, haven't seen her in ages...
A passion for kitsch
Thinking back I can remember as I was growing up looking at my mums collection of vintage china tea sets, cross stitch masterpieces and antique books and thinking surely people have better things to waste their time and money on? Growing up is so dull! Almost ten years later I too am now harbouring a collection of china cups and saucers, patchwork quilts and developing the urge (and desire) to knit. I'm not quite sure at what point the 'old fashioned' became 'in fashion' but the resurgance of all things kitsch and vintage seems to have swept up a generation.
We now pay highly for the 'homemade' look, where tatty quilts, expensive handmade soaps, wooden hearts and vintage china are the makings of that perfect gift for a friend or loved one. It is certainly kitsch to be kitsch. An old school friend has recently started up a boutique 'Strawberry Lemonade Designs' (http://www.strawberrylemonadeboutique.com/ ) selling the most stunning range of jewellery, home accessories and fab products for kids. Even the most outrageous product would appeal to the masses these days. A homemade gift seems far more appropriate these days then anything else (even if it does cost twice the price to buy or make it!).
Gone are the days where I want my flat to have an 'Ikea' feel with all neutral colours and furnishings but I now spend my spare hours in salvage yards or car boot sales eyeing up a new project to sand down, spruce up and locate somewhere in my incredibly modest flat. Nothing matches, everything is second hand and the thought of buying 'new' furniture is all but foreign to me.
My local area is over run with art making classes, stitch n bitch sessions and antique furniture stores, not to mention the boutiques that are popping up everywhere with patchwork this, polka dot that and flowers galore...Cath Kidston may have started it but a new generation are running away with it.
So while it lasts I will relax with a pot of tea from my bone china cup and curl up with my knitting in my floral vintage quilt and no longer dismiss the irregularities of a peculiar but charming British past time!
We now pay highly for the 'homemade' look, where tatty quilts, expensive handmade soaps, wooden hearts and vintage china are the makings of that perfect gift for a friend or loved one. It is certainly kitsch to be kitsch. An old school friend has recently started up a boutique 'Strawberry Lemonade Designs' (http://www.strawberrylemonadeboutique.com/ ) selling the most stunning range of jewellery, home accessories and fab products for kids. Even the most outrageous product would appeal to the masses these days. A homemade gift seems far more appropriate these days then anything else (even if it does cost twice the price to buy or make it!).
Gone are the days where I want my flat to have an 'Ikea' feel with all neutral colours and furnishings but I now spend my spare hours in salvage yards or car boot sales eyeing up a new project to sand down, spruce up and locate somewhere in my incredibly modest flat. Nothing matches, everything is second hand and the thought of buying 'new' furniture is all but foreign to me.
My local area is over run with art making classes, stitch n bitch sessions and antique furniture stores, not to mention the boutiques that are popping up everywhere with patchwork this, polka dot that and flowers galore...Cath Kidston may have started it but a new generation are running away with it.
So while it lasts I will relax with a pot of tea from my bone china cup and curl up with my knitting in my floral vintage quilt and no longer dismiss the irregularities of a peculiar but charming British past time!
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