Claire Routh

Mephedrone

2010-03-26T22:40:00.002Z

[Old person rant]

Mephedrone is all over the news at the moment, because some people have died as a result of taking it as a recreational drug. A quick Google will provide you with all the heart-rending interviews with distraught parents that you could ever need on the subject.

The whole thing is driving me up the bloody wall. There's all these young people saying "it should be made illegal...it's legal so obviously you think it's safe to take". It's legal as a PLANT FERTILISER! You don't walk into Tesco, buy a bottle of bleach, drink it and then wonder why you're rather ill and complain that it's legal so you thought it was okay to drink.

This bloody nanny state (apologies for such a Tory catchphrase) is ridiculous! Why on earth should we waste money passing a law to classify a plant fertiliser as a class B drug? Are people that lacking in common sense that they think it's sensible to consume toxic chemicals? Obviously the answer is yes, otherwise it wouldn't be all over the news. I've just come to the point where I feel people should take a little more responsibility for their actions and stop blaming someone else.

[/Old person rant]

I realise I only blog these days to whinge about something-or-other, sorry! I am here and I am still reading :) - in a non-creepy way!

Home is where the heart is?

2009-10-30T23:44:00.003Z

What makes a place home? I ask because I'm currently in the odd situation of living in two places; it's pretty much a case of one night here and the next there, the next back here and the next back there, and repeat ad nauseum. Ad nauseum because it's surprisingly stressful - I never really unpack, just put one set of clothing in the wash at wherever I am and pack the next set.

Both places are places where I feel comfortable. Both contain people I love. I eat and drink and sleep at both.

One is technically my home, the other is technically not. Consequently, neither feels right anymore. I know all the adages, all the turns-of-phrases...home is where the heart is, wherever I lay my hat (that's my home), etc etc etc. What makes your home your home?

PS. Hi, sorry I haven't been around much. Bad Claire.

Be Naughty

2009-05-15T21:50:00.003+01:00

I was browsing a website earlier when I noticed the advert across the top of the page. This is it:

Edit: Bum, the format of this page cuts it in half. Link to see it properly: http://tinyurl.com/osqxek

I was a bit shocked, but I suppose that's pretty naive of me- there's a website out there for everything, I guess. But for some reason I find this one of the more distasteful things online...the idea that someone would use a company dedicated to finding someone to cheat on your partner with. That someone would CREATE a company dedicated to finding someone to cheat on your partner with!

I suppose, really, that if someone's going to cheat, they'll cheat. Then again, if that's the case, why does such a website need to exist? You could use any dating website around, surely...

*Sigh* I think I'm overly emotional, because this made me really sad.

PS. Hi guys. Sorry for the lack of presence recently- essays then revision and now exams. But I have been reading, even if I haven't been posting!

...

2009-03-25T17:14:00.001Z

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2FX9rviEhw

Yes, I have essays. How did you guess?! Anyway, this is epic.

The One

2009-03-25T17:03:00.004Z

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gaid72fqzNE

I don't believe in The One. It annoys me when other people do, and give me pitying looks.

Maybe I'm the one who's wrong! Maybe I deserve the pitying looks...

Discuss.

Running

2009-02-07T19:36:00.003Z

I really miss running. I haven't run for a good few months now, and sadly the weather is no excuse since I have a gym membership- though the motivation to GO to the gym in the first place is admittedly lacking.

The thing is, whenever I lapsed before, I'd just force myself to go and I'd be back into it, absolutely loving it. I had to drop out of the half marathon I'd entered for February, and since then...nothing. No motivation whatsoever. I've been out maybe once, and it was hell, and I nearly threw up, and I hated it.

I don't know how to go about falling back in love with it. I don't think they do couples counselling for sports. But I wish they did. Any ideas? I miss it so much it sometimes hurts, but I just don't know how to re-find my love for it.

:(

Apathy and lucky escapes.

2009-01-09T10:50:00.002Z

Why are people so bloody unwilling to listen to professionals? Why do they take the easy route? Why do they think they're sodding immortal?

Say you thought you had something medically wrong with you. It turns out you don't have the serious thing you were worried about, but instead you have something else wrong with you which can be easily fixed through better diet and more exercise. What do you do? You make a deal with the doctor that you'll do more exercise (any exercise, actually, since you do absolutely fuck all, but you don't let him know that) if he gives you statins.

On the surface, this is a great idea. Exercise, statins. Problem (hopefully) solved. Except that as you nod and smile and say "oh yes, 30 mins exercise 5 times a week, yes, of course", what you're actually thinking is "ha, no bloody way...I'll just rely on the drugs, that'll be fine".

And when someone else later suggests that you actually bloody DO the exercise, you whine that you don't have time to exercise. Except that in December you spent about 20 hours carrying out a hobby that does not raise your heart rate enough to constitute exercise. That's about 10 hours more than the 30 mins of real exercise 5 times a week would take up. So clearly you do have time.

It's called sacrifice.

And then you come out with the classic line "But I can't". I have said this myself, before, and it was pointed out that I am not that special. I am a human and am built to move, to raise my heart rate and function properly. I can exercise. So can you.

"But I don't like exercise." How do you fucking know?! When was the last time you exercised? Oh, when you were 16? Well, that's only 42 years ago, I'm sure you're exactly the same person you were then! Maybe in 42 years something's changed. Maybe it was simply the classic dislike of team sports that you were forced to try at school. There are SO many other ways of getting fit that don't involve running round a freezing cold field in shorts kicking a bit of pig-skin. Don't be so ignorant.

"Oh, we'll probably buy a cross-trainer or something." Don't fucking bother. You won't use it, just like you won't change your diet, you won't drink less, you won't stop to wonder why the doctor suggested you do these things. What his motive might have been. Oh, I don't know, maybe it could be an attempt to stop you dying?

Oh, not a big deal. Fair enough.

Christmas

2008-12-25T18:19:00.003Z

It's predictable, yes, but I would honestly like to wish you little lot a very happy Christmas. I hope you've had good days, and will enjoy the next few too.

Two of the many many highlights of my day (I got so many amazing presents):

A rhyme which was on the gift tag of a present from a certain friend; his family have a tradition whereby each gift is adorned with a rhyme/riddle that describes either the person it's for, or the object enclosed within. It's the first time in 8 years of friendship that I have been honoured enough to get a riddle! So I thought I would share it with you...here it is:

In 40 years, when you are old
(if I may be quite so bold)
when you have a housewife been
to the needs of children seen
then from this you'd take a sip
and as it passed across your lip
you would think "how right for me!
This housewife drink that I here see!"
By now you will have guessed, I fear,
what lies within the paper here.
So all I say is raise a glass
to 8 years forward
and 8 years past.

And another highlight- my aunt and uncle and cousins gave me some beautiful bracelets, and they wrapped the box in French newspapers, and string- they told me they'd saved a special page for me, and this was it:

And now I shall go back to watching Doctor Who! Best wishes to you and yours.

When the days are the shortest, the nights are the coldest,
The frost is the sharpest, the year is the oldest,
The sun is the weakest, the wind is the hardest,
The snow is the deepest, the skies are the darkest,
Then polish your whiskers and tidy your nest,
And dress in your richest and finest and best...
For Winter has brought you the worst it can bring,
And now it will give you
The promise of Spring!

Love, actually?

2008-12-16T12:28:00.001Z

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/edinburgh_and_east/7784366.stm

I am swamped by essays, so I will simply ask you to read, and tell me what you think!

Cosmopolitan

2008-11-28T16:52:00.002Z

I know, I know...two blog posts in as many hours, bad me!

Anyway, I have a confession to make. My name is Claire, and I have an addiction to glossy magazines. Company, Elle, Glamour...but especially Cosmopolitan. This is the one magazine that is universally hated by men, and I can be oh-so-cynical about the women who read these magazines, but to my shame, I am one of them. I just love the mindless laziness of curling up with a cup of tea and 304 pages of girlyness.

However. I just laughed myself silly at an article in the December edition. Sadly it's not online so I shall have to type up bits from it...

All I want for Christmas...

...isn't a boyfriend, thank you very much, says Tracy Ramsden.

Okay, fair play. Christmas is a time of couples and love, and sometimes it's bloody depressing to be single.

...But the more I thought about it, the angrier I felt about the negative messages dropped on us during December. There'll be the obligatory EastEnders scenes where the latest Albert Square dumpee drowns their sorrows in a whisky glass, and newspaper articles banging on about how to 'survive' the loneliest time of year, all because there's this myth that single equals miserable. But the truth it, it's not 2001 anymore and Bridget Jones is long gone. Single girls won't be spending Christmas day alone in their PJs and a crumped up paper hat watching The Vicar of Dibley with a bottle of wine and a family pack of mince pies.

At this point, I was thinking "yeah! Girl power!" and other 90s catchphrases...

...And Christmas is the season of hope. While your coupled-up friends have Christmas all planned out, we have no idea where we'll be or even who we'll be waking up with. And that's got to be more exciting than arguing with your boyfriend over who's going to stuff the turkey.

Er, right, because all couples argue over such things...but never mind, she's still being positive and advocating being happily single...

If you can rise above the niggles, you'll see Christmas really is a time for giving and recieving (phone numbers, hopefully!).

Wait, what? Suddenly she is planning to hook up with a man for Christmas? I thought she didn't
want a man...and so the backtracking and confusion begins...

I once met a cute guy (who I later dated) after he let me wear his jacket in a freezing-cold taxi queue. You see, you never know who might pop out of your cracker!

...Aaaaand it's all over. She has predictably slipped straight back into "never mind dear, you'll find someone soon. He'll probably be a drunk twat who will eventually break your heart, but hey, it's better than being alone at Christmas!" mindset that characterises Cosmopolitan writers. And then, the article ends with an absolute gem:

Next month: Tracy goes in search of Mr January!

Ugh. Clearly this woman is distinctly unhappy being single, but for the sake of pop-feminism, has tried (and failed) to make it seem like not having a boyfriend is great!

Newsflash, people. Being single can be great. Being in a relationship can be great. Being single can be shit. Being in a relationship can be shit. And now I'm off to read my christmas horoscope with extra added lovescope!!!111!!1!1!oneone111!!

I feel...

2008-11-28T15:43:00.003Z

...Utterly detached from the majority of the student population.

Today, I would quite liked to have put up a massive sign, informing (admittedly, a minority of) the female population up on campus that university is not, in fact, the fashion parade they seem to think it is.

Yes, I'm sure that boy in your seminar is absolutely drop-dead gorgeous and you would do anything to catch his eye, but it is raining. It is also bloody cold. Tiny shorts and goosebumps are not a good look. Nor is your best party frock that barely covers your bum, and stiletto heels that you cannot walk in without looking like a pregnant duck. In front of me. Very slowly. When I am trying to get to a seminar.

Newsflash, ladies: a coat keeps you warm, and dry! Miracles will never cease. Add a hood or an umbrella, and some kind of footwear that does not comprise of a scrap of cream coloured satin, formed into a ballet-pump shape to this, and perhaps you will not find it neccessary to totter around with your girlfriends, holding a Media Studies textbook over your head, squealing that your hair is getting wet, and your beautiful cream shoes with diamante hearts are turning grey, muddy, and very wet.

Also...in a seminar on the politics of ingestion of tobacco and alcohol, I felt embarrassed, twice, and I don't think I should have done. The line "I mean, who in this room can honestly say they've never tried a cigarette in their life?" was voiced by a girl much like the ones I described above. Er, that'd be me then. "SERIOUSLY?!" Yes, seriously. No, my friends didn't try with any real effort to pressure me into it when I was younger. No, I wasn't intrigued. No, I didn't think it seemed cool and grown up. Luckily I was not alone on this, there was one other girl (from Zimbabwe, with a very Christian upbringing) who hadn't smoked, either.

The seminar continued and the aforementioned girl came out with a very similar line; "Who in this room would honestly rather have one expensive glass of wine than a load of vodka and red bull?!" It was meant to be a rhetorical question...everyone laughed, smiled, and nodded. Apart from me. I would rather have one nice bottle of wine than three of Lambrini. I would rather drink gin and tonic than vodka and red bull. I would rather end the evening mildly tipsy and happy having had an evening of enjoyable conversation with people I like, than being put to bed coated in my own vomit, various men's saliva and beer, and god knows what else.

I realise I sound incredibly holier-than-thou, which is probably unfair of me. I spent a large proportion of my first year very very drunk. On vodka and snakebite and turboshandy and alcopops and Corky's and Sourz and all manner of revolting things. I did the evenings and nights of downing a shot of something bright purple or blue or green, pulling a face of utter revulsion and screaming "wooooo, another!" I'll probably do it again, on occasion. But I swear the people in my seminar would have been less surprised if I'd said that on weekends I like to dress up as a bumble bee and skip around town.

Oh, I'm probably just getting old. According to my 14 year old cousin yesterday, you become no longer young at the grand age of 21. Live with it, folks...

Third year musings

2008-11-22T12:38:00.003Z

Do you realise that everyone you know someday will die
And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
You realise that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realise the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

This morning, I was sent this link. The person who sent me it quite often sends me links to posts by this guy, and I quite like him. He's down to earth, and funny. But reading the blog post above today, I smiled ruefully and sighed and thought "if only it were that easy...he has no idea how much work I have to do!". Over the last couple of weeks, I have found myself turning to people and saying "it is harder this year, isn't it? I'm not just imagining it?" and they all agree. However. There is no real reason why my third year should be harder than second year; all but one of my modules are mixed 2nd and 3rd year. The only explanation for this percieved rise in difficulty of the work in both my and my friends' minds, is that we are working harder. That we are putting more and more pressure upon ourselves to perform.

The air is full of panic. Occasionally talk turns from essays to exams and inevitably to post-graduation plans. We talk, briefly, and then there is a pause in which we all consider ourselves doomed to a life working in McDonalds, and then one person will say "anyway, let's not talk about that!" and we giggle in a terrified way and smoothly glide into safer waters.

Simon Stevens, the author of the aforementioned blog, wants us to take a deep breath and stop for a moment. To take the time to enjoy life. To slow down and stop racing towards the finishing line at breakneck speed and to appreciate all that is here and now.

What do you think? Is it that simple?

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

The Social Politics of Food

2008-11-12T13:11:00.005Z

The above is the title of my wild module this year, and I am taking a break from essay-writing ("'Eating disorders need to be understood in the context of the meaning of the body in high- or post-modernity'. Discuss.") to write this blog post (hey, it's better than Facebook!)

Many women who would not describe themselves as having particular problems with food share the same feelings about eating and femininity. "I have quite a good appetite really, but if I'm out with a new boyfriend, I always pick at my food - you know, as if I wasn't really interested in food. I mean, it's not very romantic really to eat like a pig, is it?'"

This intrigues me. Because I have always thought that men prefer someone who eats like she's loving it (ironic that that's almost the McDonalds jingle). Within reason, obviously...grabbing handfuls of chips and forcing them into your mouth isn't particularly attractive in anyone...but I have ALWAYS thought a man would prefer a girl who likes food, who eats heartily, who enjoys the taste and the act of making and consuming food.

Obviously the above quote was spoken by a woman with anorexia, who was (I think we can safely say) clearly not in the most logical frame of mind. But there are a lot of people who feel like her.

I sort of liken this to the same mindset that some women have with relation to sex: lights off, or at most, flattering candlelight, holding your tummy in, hiding your bum, hoping to hell that the guy you're with won't notice your cellulite/stretchmarks/that mole you've always hated/the fact that you haven't shaved your legs. To (totally mis-) quote Belle de Jour (my absolute favourite woman of the last few months); "Holding in your tummy is not sexy. Slapping your ample behind and inviting him to ride the wobble, is."

This is all potentially a result of thinking I am too skinny, of having always believed this. Some photos recently appeared on Facebook of a school trip when I was 14. General reaction from the people around me (none of whom knew me back then) was shock, and comments like "god, you were really skinny" and "I wouldn't have fancied you back then". What's interesting is that I still believe I look like that, despite logically knowing that I am perfectly capable of inviting an abstract gentleman to ride the wobble.

Perhaps if I had always been the opposite; had always struggled with losing weight, as opposed to putting it on, I too would feel like the aforequoted anorexic woman: that men like self-restraint; that women should be contractive. Having read around the subject for this essay, I know that 21st century post/high-modern Western society dictates the above. Women should be contractive. There is (one could claim) an epidemic of corporeal disenfranchisement. We should all be aiming to master our selves.

And so, I find myself once again wondering if my mindset is absolutely, completely, totally, truly-madly-deeply, 100% off-kilter with the rest of the population. And if so, why?

Chivalry and feminism

2008-11-11T17:52:00.004Z

Today I got thinking about chivalry. This was prompted by a few events: a man let me onto the bus before him, and then a different man let me off the bus before him. A bit later, my (male) friend opened a door for me to walk through first. I said thank you to all of them, but then I pondered the fact that I'm sure some women would be massively offended by these acts; inferring that the men were implying I am incapable of standing in a queue, or opening a door by myself.

It doesn't cross my mind that these men, or indeed any others, would be thinking that I'm feeble and as such need help from big strong men. If a man carried my shopping for me, I'd be grateful, because it would save me from hurting my hands and arms, but I wouldn't expect it. Equally, I wouldn't expect a man to always open doors for me; if I am faced with a closed door that I need to get through, I will open it.

It bothers me that there are women who think that feminism means hating all men. That it means fighting against men and putting them down and considering ourselves (as women) to be better and stronger and more intelligent and...well, generally better than men. It bothers me that it is frowned upon to enjoy being treated in a gentlemanly way occasionally, and to not see it as a huge insult.

I'm waffling, as always. But am I really wrong for enjoying having doors opened for me? For being flattered by it? Maybe I'm being presumptuous in believing that men are less likely to do these things for other men...but I don't think so. Thoughts?

In other news, I am officially getting old. Over the last few weeks I have been heard to say such things as "What isn't she wearing?!", "That's not a skirt, it's a belt", and most recently; "Well maybe if his hair wasn't infront of his eyes he'd be able to see where he was going!" (after an emo youth ("youth"? God, I really am old...) with perfectly 'messily' coiffed hair over one eye and half the other walked straight into me). I am also considering buying thermal underwear. No shit.

Hello CFS.

2008-10-16T16:12:00.003+01:00

So, I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. All my blood test results from the other day came back normal, so I went back to see the doctor and he said that whilst there's no test for it as such, he would confidently diagnose me with it. Yay. Mild end of the scale, of course, some people with CFS can't walk across a room.

He told me not to run my half marathon in February. I have never wanted to ignore a doctor's advice so much, as now.

I feel a bit sad that I'm going to have to alter my lifestyle. I'm nowhere near being a typical student, I don't go out and get trashed every night (more like once every few months, if that!), but I do stay up very late talking to friends (I'm up till 2 or 3am most nights) and I recognise that that has to change.

At the moment I can't seem to work out in my head how much of a big deal (or otherwise) this is...so apologies if I come across melodramatic or blasé. Neither is intended.

Sleep, don't weep, my sweet love
Your face is all wet and your day was rough
So do what you must do to find yourself
Wear another shoe, or paint my shelf
Those times that I was broke, and you stood strong
I think I found a place where I...

Ships that pass in the night

2008-10-15T15:04:00.002+01:00

Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle... because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.

I have been thinking about the way that people enter our lives, often largely through coincidence, and then leave again. I recently got back in contact with a friend who I used to work with; we were close, but after I went to uni we drifted apart. He is now engaged to his long-term boyfriend (last time I spoke to him, he was single) and is moving across the country to live with him. I'm not naive enough to imagine that we'll magically become best buddies, but it's nice to touch base with him again.

I'm not close with anyone I knew at primary school anymore, though we're all civil to each other and occasionally catch up via Facebook. It's almost the same with secondary school, with the exception of L and K. L and I have that sort of friendship whereby we can go weeks, months, without talking, and then pick up exactly where we left off. It's lovely to know that she'll always be there, but that we live our separate lives. However. She has been having a really rough time lately, and to my shame I didn't know when it was at its worst. In fact, the first I knew of it was when I phoned her from a train for a catchup, and she burst into tears at me. L doesn't cry. It was a shock. I'm now trying to make the effort to hold on tighter.

K had a baby a couple of years ago, and (perhaps to my shame) it is largely thanks to him that we keep in touch. I was with her when she took that pregnancy test, and I feel that her son (and her, of course) is a big part of my life. I wouldn't want to miss him growing up for the world!

I find that living as a student forces you to live in a strange dichotomy- "home friends" and "uni friends"...I often find that when living in one realm, it is painfully easy to loosen your grip on the other. However, as one friend once said to me; "I trust that we have a solid enough friendship that you'll still be there, even after a lack of communication" (or words to that effect), and I suppose it really is all about trust. Trust that while everything changes, your friendship won't change all that much. Trust that you still matter to each other. Trust that when push comes to shove, when one really needs the other, you'd still cross borders, climb mountains, ford streams...that there ain't no mountain high enough; ain't no valley low enough; ain't no river wide enough to keep you apart. For the most part, I think my friends would.

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing;
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;
So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,
Only a look and a voice; then darkness again and a silence.

Canterbury

2008-10-05T21:40:00.005+01:00

God, it's good to be back. That's not to say it hasn't been a hard couple of weeks, because it has, but I love being here. My new house is beautiful...

We made purple satin curtains to replace the monstrosities that were originally in our living room (see photo on top above), my room is full of my stuff (see photo above), I have amazing new shoes (almost hidden under chest of drawers in photo above)...they're midnight blue with fuckme heels; I'm not usually a shoes girl (see very expensive trainers next to fuckme shoes in photo above) but these are beautiful. I am in love! We also made three collages out of cards we'd been given, cuttings from magazines, and my photos:

(Forgot to take a photo of the third one, but you get the idea!)

We have worked our way through a little over a litre of Bombay Sapphire, copious quantities of tonic, ice, and limes, several bottles of wine, and a hell of a lot of pasta (our oven is broken so we're restricted to things we can cook on the gas hob). We have flowers and candles and cushions and internet! We have a home phone number. Our sofa is purple. I have learnt to love tea and often switch on the kettle before doing anything else after walking through the door. We have Hotel Chocolat house dark chocolate Batons on the coffee table. We have cheesecake. We have local cider and cobnuts. I joined a gym! Today we went to Choral Evensong at the cathedral and the anthem was Nimrod "Lux Aeterna" from Enigma Variations by Elgar (seriously, nothing could have made me happier).

Last Saturday we had a big night out when my friend Sophie came to visit (along with my housemate's boyfriend, who is a permanent resident on weekends). Cosmopolitans FTW:

(Could I look much happier?! And yes, the bar (Boudoir Bar, it's beautiful) had run out of Cosmopolitan glasses.)

For all this happiness, it hasn't all been marshmallows and blue skies. My first week was bloody hard, and yesterday the Black Cloud crashed down on me far heavier than I expected. My doctor suspects I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, but wants to rule out Diabetes first with a fasting blood test (which will be on Wednesday). I have buggered up my knee and I'm not sure how though I suspect the blame lies with the resistance training I've been doing with weights at the gym. So that's my half marathon training set back for a while. Lovelife-wise it hasn't been great either. I realised I'd been messing someone around a bit and had to hurt him. Which sucks. Cruel to be kind, I guess, but I feel royally rubbish about it. And on top of that, it's all very well being sensible and grownup and recognising that life isn't a fairytale, and some things just couldn't work however much you wanted them to, and that it's impossible to know how someone feels, and that it's bloody difficult to tell the truth about how you feel...it's all very well to know these things, and to be these things...but sometimes I feel like Carrie in SATC... I’m looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love.

But hey ho. It's not all bad and I'm actually quite content with how it's all panned out. Plus, I had an excuse to quote xkcd, which, even though I didn't mean it seriously, is always a good thing!

I feel okay .

How are you?

Politics, Belief, Money, Sex...

2008-09-19T23:25:00.002+01:00

The above topics (amongst many others) are topics that are commonly regarded as dangerous to discuss at dinner parties. I further this to "dangerous to discuss with anyone you don't want to risk arguing with"...I once had a discussion with my driving instructor in which he basically said that all civilians killed as a result of warfare "deserved it" (bear in mind this is only "them", "our" civilians of course are and were innocent); I got so stressed that I almost drove off the side of the road!

How important do you think similar viewpoints on such issues are, within friendships/relationships? I can't imagine becoming romantically involved with someone who had drastically differing opinions or feelings towards such major life-encapsulating topics, though I think a friendship would be easier to maintain despite differences, indeed, I have a friend who I simply don't discuss politics with, because we both end up upset.

Someone once said to me that they didn't care about politics because they didn't feel it had any relevance to their life. I was totally shocked; to my mind, politics is everything. It may be messy and upsetting and downright frustrating that the political state of the country, indeed of the world, is so messy, but I feel that it is our duty to care and to take an interest in it. This is my upbringing, I'm sure, but maybe it's also because I'm female and after years of having the lessons of the suffragettes etc drilled into me, I feel that the right to vote is essential. And that apathy runs the risk of being the beginning of the downfall of liberty and democracy.

I'm never entirely sure where I stand on belief, which is perhaps hypocritical given my perhaps overly-strong feelings about politics. I like belief/faith/spirituality. I don't like organised religion. I don't like the things that humans do in the name of a god.

I find it amusing how uptight we all are in this country about money. It's bad manners to ask how much someone earns, how much they spent on something, how often they go on holiday etc etc etc. Several people think I'm a spoilt brat after discussions on money. I disapprove of the private sector. Money is definitely a dangerous topic.

Sex....'nuff said. Even assuming that homophobia is dying out (and I don't actually know how true that is...), the vast contrast between people's sexual behaviours is astounding, and a vanilla type may be massively offended by someone who's into BDSM.

Combine them all, hold your dinner party, and sit an extremely right-wing fundamentalist Christian billionaire who thinks sex should only occur after marriage next to a fluffy liberal middle-class atheist who's slept with a dozen people. What happens? I'm willing to bet it wouldn't be the start of a lifelong friendship!

Rantble over...how important is similarity of standpoints in founding a friendship?

My new job...

2008-09-02T23:26:00.002+01:00

http://cycling.justanotherpairofeyes.co.uk/

:)

Gossip girls and boys

2008-08-31T19:19:00.004+01:00

Further to my previous post, I am getting royally fed up with gossips. Quite why it is neccessary to take what someone's said, twist it slightly, and pass it on is beyond me. I am part of a country-wide network/community and gossip travels like wildfire within it. There is no six degrees of separation in it, it's more like two. So if something happens, everyone else knows about it. If something is said, you can guarantee you'll have a text from someone asking if it's true you said it...and more often than not, you didn't!

I'm not saying I'm an angel and that I've never heard something scandalous and passed it on. I'm also not claiming to have superhuman abilities to ensure that I remember things word for word and repeat them as such, without altering any inflection whatsoever.

I just do not understand why it's so effing difficult to keep one's mouth shut, and to not deliberately stir things.

Yours,

Claire "quite pissed off now" Routh.

Secrets

2008-08-26T01:06:00.003+01:00

I know I don’t know you
But I want you so bad
Everyone has a secret
But can they keep it
Oh no they can’t...

How good are you at keeping secrets? Both your own and those belonging to other people? Is it better to get them off your chest, as in the concept of "a problem shared is a problem halved", or do you believe it's best to keep these things to yourself?

I am rubbish at keeping my own secrets. Say I like someone- I invariably tell them, and invariably they don't return the feelings, but I never learn! Say I've done something I maybe shouldn't have (in a giggly eye-rolling naughty way)- I tell a friend who then berates me for it. I seem totally incapable of keeping things to myself...I try hard and then I open my mouth and just spill!

Other people's secrets, on the other hand, I'm good at keeping. There's some I've kept so long I've forgotten them, some I'm not even sure are secrets anymore, some are more recent and some I will never stop thinking about. My life revolves around trying to be a good friend- trying to make people happy. And keeping secrets is part of that, obviously, and I often find I'm keeping quiet about something that everyone else knows, anyway!

Postsecret. Clearly, a lot of people have secrets that are eating them up, and they feel they have to share them. Conversely, it may be that sharing helps others;

I think that when we read other people's secrets in your books, on your blog, or at your events, we read a secret we didn't know we had or a new look on things and a greater understanding that we already have and it just takes someone else's story to have it awakened.

We can look at people in the streets and see something we wouldn't have and think, "Maybe it was that person's secret." and then we feel more connected to people by realizing that maybe we all carry the same secrets.

So many people must have the same, or similar, secrets to other people, and only don't realise because they don't share them. I made a Postsecret once, and didn't send it, because in putting it on paper, it lost all its power, and eventually it came true. I still have it though, ready to send it, if needs be.

Perhaps, all the power of a secret is lost in the telling. Perhaps the power increases. I'm waffling. What do you think?
Well I heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
Well it goes like this;
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

[...]

Well there was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show that to me do you?
And remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah...

Heartbreak Hotel

2008-08-11T14:11:00.002+01:00

Lately, a lot of my friends seem to be having their hearts broken. Being unwanted, being dumped, getting messed around, being led on, falling for the wrong person, being hurt. Feeling hurt. Pain refusing to fade even after time has passed.

Not sure why now...why this time of year...it's very sad.

Is it just us?

Hey now, if your baby leaves you,
And you got a tale to tell.
Just take a walk down lonely street
To heartbreak hotel.

The right thing

2008-08-08T22:58:00.004+01:00

Have you ever really wanted to do something despite knowing it wasn't a sensible idea in the long run?

And have you ever dragged from somewhere the strength of mind to do the right thing, and then felt sick and sad that you hadn't done the wrong thing, even though, as above, you know it would make you sad?

I know it's the right thing. But it feels so wrong.

First, middle, other...

2008-08-02T11:26:00.004+01:00

I was thinking (as I am wont to do, sometimes) about middle names. This came about because in the bellringing world, it is sort of an unwritten rule that in formal things (such as lists of tower members, and records of quarter peals and peals), you use your middle initial as well as your full name.

(I've blurred out parts of the names of people who I don't know all that well for their privacy etc, though the above is publicly available on an uber-geeky website!)

Anyway, yes. This was my quarter from last Thursday because it gives me more to talk about than my quarter from the 31st! There's me, Claire H Routh, along with my mum, Maureen D Routh, and the other Firstname Middleinitial Lastname people.

Aside from ringing, I don't use my middle initial much, or indeed my middle name. I sometimes use it online for things when I need a username that I can remember- on DA, for example...but before that, I pretty much never used my middle name, and this leads me to ponder...what is the point of middle names?! It's sort of an outdated thing, but why did we have them in the first place?!

This leads me to my dad's name. As seen above, he is R Hugh Routh. My grandpa is R A Routh, my great-uncle is R M Routh, and various ancestors have initials such as RJR, RHR, RHMR, etc etc etc. The R stands for Robert and is the 'family' name...or at least it was. The idea was that all the men in the family were Robert, but were known by their middle name. I don't think, however, that I know anyone (relatives aside) now who is named in this way.

And some people don't have middle names. I can't help but feel sorry for them, despite pointing out above how pointless middle names seem to be! Roy, in the picture above, doesn't...but he's always said that his parents felt "LeMarechal" was enough for him to contend with! A few of my friends don't.

So, do you have a middle name? Do you ever use it? Will you give your children middle names, assuming you end up having children?

PS. My cousins are Amelia Lucy Rose Smith, and Florence Imogen Fuschia Smith. Overcompensation or what....?!

Titles

2008-08-01T15:42:00.002+01:00

In my town there is a service run in the central carpark where a team of men wash cars while their owners are shopping etc. It's quite good value for money actually. Anyway, today I parked and one of the men approached me while I was buying my carparking ticket, and said "Would you like your car washed, madam?". I said no thank you, and smiled, and went on my way. But I was left pondering the way he'd addressed me; 'madam'.

I first noticed about six months ago that people such as ticket collectors on trains had begun to refer to me as 'madam' rather than 'miss'. It always makes me giggle somewhat as it brings to mind images of some sort of "Madam Whiplash" character. Anyway, clearly I look old enough now to be a madam rather than a miss...but what determines this?

Along these lines, about two years ago I applied for a new passport, and it's my first adult 10-year one, so it'll last me until I'm 28. Aside from the fact that I (hopefully!) won't look 18 when I'm nearly 30, I'm hoping that I might have got married by then...in which case I'd get a new passport, I presume. But I spent quite some time trying to decide whether to title myself 'miss' or 'ms'. I went for 'miss' in the end, purely because I liked the sound of it better. But I'm not sure whether I'll still want to be Miss Claire Routh when I'm 28...maybe I'll feel like Ms Claire Routh then instead. It sounds older, somehow...more mature. Men have it easy! Nobody uses 'master' anymore so boys are 'Mr' from when they're born till they die...nothing changes when they marry, and they don't have this confusion of 'miss' vs 'ms'.

So then, ladies...are you a 'miss' or a 'ms', and can you see that changing?

Do you care how you are addressed, be it as 'madam', 'miss', or 'oi, you!'?

Men/boys/guys/chaps/lads...do you wish there was an equivalent of the 'miss'->'ms'->'mrs' progression for you?

And why are men addressed as 'sir' anyway? That's not the equivalent of 'madam'...wait, what is the equivalent of 'madam'?!

Ahh, linguistics... <3

Get over it

2008-07-31T11:55:00.003+01:00

When something happens to you...an emotional trauma, be it big or small... how do you deal with it? I find that generally, people employ the same tactics to get over things, time and time again. However lately, I seem to have changed somewhat, and I'm not sure why.

For years, when something's upset me, I've talked it through, largely with friends (online and IRL), and I've found that in the telling, it becomes less painful. A problem shared is a problem halved, as they say...or quartered, or eighthed, or sixteenthed, I guess.

However, this time round...I've found that I don't want to talk about it. At all. Talking about it sends jolts through me and I'd rather just hide my feelings deep down, and trust that they'll go away. But I'm not sure how healthy this is.

Apologies for the ramble. How do you get over things?

I don’t wanna talk
About the things we’ve gone through
Though it’s hurting me
Now it’s history
I’ve played all my cards
And that’s what you’ve done too
Nothing more to say
No more ace to play

The winner takes it all
The loser standing small
Beside the victory
That’s her destiny

I don’t wanna talk
Cos it makes me feel sad
And I understand
You’ve come to shake my hand
I apologize
If it makes you feel bad
Seeing me so tense
No self-confidence
But you see
The winner takes it all.

1260 Grandsire Triples

2008-07-24T23:58:00.002+01:00

I realise this means nothing to the average person but tonight I rang my first quarter peal- 1260 Grandsire Triples, on the treble, in 41 minutes.

I am tres happy, to say the least!

Change

2008-07-22T13:36:00.002+01:00

Do you ever get the urge to change your appearance drastically? I get it every 6 weeks or so, then half chicken out and end up looking exactly the same as I did before. Yesterday I booked myself a haircut, went this morning and for once, went through with the change.

It feels so good. My wallet is £40 lighter but my head feels lighter than that and I love how my hair looks!

Sometimes it's worth biting the bullet and going for it...

Friends and family

2008-07-20T22:28:00.002+01:00

The most important thing in life is your family. There are days you love them, and others you don't, but in the end they're the people you always come home to. Sometimes it's the family you're born into and sometimes it's the one you make for yourself.

The other day my mum said something about family meaning more than friends. To say my parents aren't big people people is something of an understatement...they're both happy having family ties, seeing their parents a couple of times a week, and other relatives a bit less, and neither of them place much stock on friends at all. They both have friends of course, don't get me wrong, but to them, family is more important. I can't imagine either of my parents ever saying they love their friends.

However, and I don't know if this is a generational thing or not, I totally disagree with my parents. I love my family, that goes without saying. But I have friends (for the sake of listing them without naming them, there's R, L, K, E, J, A, C, E, and E, just off the top of my head) who mean as much to me as family. I suppose I could narrow that down to the ones that just the thought of losing them makes me get all choked up, and that would be R, C, and E.

These friends, I think of them as extensions of me. They are my friends, and hideously possessive as that sounds, it's not quite how I mean it...in the same way as I can't imagine life without my parents, I can't imagine life without these three people. They are a part of my life, and therefore a part of me. I would do anything to protect them, anything to make them smile (proven by my love of spending money on friends, and of trying to find the perfect gift). I know they know how much they mean to me. I am proud of their achievements and when they're sad, I feel sad for them...when they're happy, I'm happy for them. I want them in my life for a long time yet to come.

I'm rambling. But is this just me? I often wonder if these friends feel about me how I feel about them...I know they like me, at least sometimes, but I fiercely love my closest friends.

Do you love your friends? Or is love and that kind of bond purely reserved for the realms of family?

It's hard to find people who would love you no matter what. I was lucky enough to find three of them.

Scented

2008-07-14T09:02:00.005+01:00

What do you smell like?

Yesterday, I went for a ridiculously long run to a friend's house and when I got there an hour and a half later, I showered. After I had dressed etc, the friend hugged me and said "you smell like post-exercise shower". He didn't mean that I simply smelt clean and freshly showered, nor did he mean I smelt of sweat (or so he maintains...!). I have no idea what he actually meant.

Also, a couple of days ago I was in a posh jewellery-and-other-things shop and the lady who runs it asked me at the till "what are you wearing?". I hesitated for a moment, pondering my choice of clothes, before I realised she meant my perfume. "It's not Angel, is it?" It's not, and luckily I managed to remember what it is called on the spur of the moment! (Lancome Miracle Forever, for those of you who wish to buy me perfume).

The smell of a person has always been a big factor in my attraction to a person. A guy who didn't smell of Lynx Africa when I was 15 was a major novelty and a major attraction! I have been known to steal items of boyfriends' clothing purely to sleep in because they smelt of the person. My stomach still flips when I catch a scent through a crowd which matches the aftershave my second boyfriend liked to wear. And I'm dreading it happening with the aftershave my most recent ex wore, because I know it'll bring back a plethora of memories that I don't want.

One of my friends used to wear Dior Addict and her then-boyfriend made the critical error of saying "you smell like my mum"!! (She smelt like my mum too, to be fair...clearly Dior Addict was popular amongst mothers...) Note to all guys: Never say this to your girlfriend/potential girlfriend/bit of stuff, unless you don't want sex ever again.

I remember reading/hearing things about how the smell of a person, or rather whether you find it attractive or repulsive, determines how healthy the babies you'd have if you were to have sex would be...something to do with genes...anyone want to help me out here...?! (I'd Google, but I'm in a rush to go out!)

I suspect it's not just me that cares this much about a person's smell....

A roomy bandwagon

2008-07-13T12:48:00.014+01:00

(I'm going to punch Blogger soon for not letting me format this how I want...grr...it's only the last three photos that are of my room in Canterbury)

Here are some areas of my room at home, which is a permanent mess. One thing you should know is that I like stuff.

And a few of my room at uni last year...

Things

2008-07-09T21:00:00.002+01:00

Today, I sang infront of someone I have known for a good 7 years for the first time. That's not entirely true; I've sang infront of him in a jokey way several times, not to mention screaming lyrics such as "WE ARE THE ANGRY MOB, WE READ THE PAPERS EVERY DAY" at Werchter last week. But today I put myself on the line and sang seriously, and dear god it was scary and now I'm wondering how his eardrums didn't bleed...

This made me think about how, when we are little, we don't worry so much what people will think of us. Most people don't draw or paint on a regular basis, or indeed at all. And yet when we were younger, we all drew countless pictures involving mummy, daddy, brothers and sisters, Rover and Felix, with a big blue stripe of sky and a big green stripe of grass. We also all sang, and danced, and ran and jumped. But then somewhere along the line, someone said "you can't sing/paint/dance/run...you're rubbish" and that stuck and we took it to heart and even now I'll tell people I can't sing, I can't draw and I can't dance. I can run, but I think I'm rubbish and very slow.

It seems sad to me that our carefree younger selves were stifled by a careless comment and we grew up into caring adults who worry what other people think us, perhaps too much.

In other news, it became painfully obvious a week ago that whilst it takes two to tango, it only takes one to stop dancing.

Dance like nobody's watching, love like you've never been hurt. Sing like nobody's listening, live like it's heaven on earth.

I try...

The force of habit

2008-06-28T16:57:00.002+01:00

I was thinking about the way that habits and routines make actions habitual and routine. This was prompted by being in the shower this morning. As a general rule, my routine goes like so:

Get wet (Ben, stop smirking)
Shampoo hair
Rinse shampoo off
Put conditioner on hair
Wash body
Wash face
Rinse conditioner off

I do this every day, at least once a day, and have carried out this exact routine for, ooh, 9 years or so? Every time, exactly the same. Why, then, this morning did I find myself with a handful of conditioner before I'd shampooed my hair?! I can't claim that I had been distracted or daydreaming or thinking about something else- or rather, I can claim that, because I was- but I daydream/think every time I shower...I don't talk myself through the showering process, so why did my ritual/habit fail this time? Oh, and the bottles are at opposite sides of the shower and one is white, one is red- so no confusion there.

On a similar topic, driving. I've only been driving for 6 months (well, I passed six months ago. I was learning on and off for 6 months before that, so a year in total) and yet already, most of the time when I drive, I drive on autopilot. Occasionally, though, I still go to change gear, and pause with the gearstick in neutral, going "Shit! Which gear do I need to be in? Which gear was I in?!" because my mind's gone completely blank. Of course, it only takes a second to look around me and at my speedometer and make a logical decision as to what gear I should be in. This one would be easy to explain away as being a result of a relatively new (and perhaps absolutely shite!) driver, save for the fact that in the past week I have witnessed both of my parents doing the same thing, and they've both been driving for 30+ years. My dad, I suppose, doesn't drive a manual often, so perhaps the auto-pilot part of his brain can be excused for similar reasons to mine, but my mum drives her car just as much as I do. And she has years of experience. And yet we still get 'blips' in the auto-pilot 'programming'.

We rely on these habits and auto-pilot functions so much. Pouring a drink, you don't think "get glass...unscrew top...pour...screw top back on...put back in fridge" or anything, and yet you do it perfectly. (Having said that, I got the wine bottle out of the fridge last night, then got a tumbler from the cupboard. Looked at both, and thought "....er...that's not right...". Must drink wine more often!)

Another facet to my ponderings on the topic of habit is the concept of universal habits. I was discussing with le boy the other day how absolutely everyone puts condoms, other sex-related-paraphenalia, and indeed all 'personal' items in their top drawer, preferably by their bed, but yeah...always in the top drawer. And then we realised that this is because it is the underwear drawer. And then that led to the realisation that everyone puts their underwear in the top drawer. And then tshirts etc in the next one. After that it gets a bit hazy, with jumpers, trousers, sport-specific items etc in the other drawers, but I don't know of anyone who puts their underwear in a drawer other than the top one! Who teaches us these things? Is this what mothers are taught at ante-natal classes...rather than "how to change a nappy" and "when to wean your child"...they teach "clothing-in-drawer-arrangement 101"?!

Habits are very strong. I cook in much the same way as my mum does. I fold clothes the same. I drink similar drinks to my friends. So perhaps all these things are pure social conditioning. Thoughts?

Wandering

2008-06-24T19:28:00.003+01:00

Apologies for the slight vanishment off the face of the blogging world. No real reason for it, save that I haven't really had much to say! What have I been doing...?

I spent a long weekend further north than I had ever been before (I am shamefully geographically-stunted when it comes to the UK), with a boy...well...with my boy! :)

I've been working for my dad's business Monday-Friday, 9-5, doing some very boring stuff but earning myself a nice amount of money with which to pay off my overdraft.

On Saturday I ran the Cancer Research Race for Life in Brighton...I'd never actually managed to run the full 5k in training without walking some of it (furthest I'd done was 4.2k) and the fastest time I'd run/walked the 5k was 39 minutes. Anyway. I ran it in 36 minutes, 34 seconds absolutely non stop and it was bloody BRILLIANT. Hehe. And in my post-run madness, I decided to run a 10k in September.

Today I got my stage 2 exam results. Combined with my coursework marks, I averaged a 56 this year- a solid 2:2. Which is, y'know, okay. But just okay, that's all. So that sort of spoilt my day today.

I also had my hair cut today which was good cos it was looking really bad. It's all lovely and short again :)

This entry is astoundingly dull, I'm sure. But here we are, I haven't fallen off the face of the earth!

Confusion

2008-06-11T10:48:00.001+01:00

I don't generally write posts like this but I'm feeling mixed up and figured this was as good as place as any to splurge it out.

Bit of background history: My godfather, Martin, has never been around much- after my christening the first time I saw him was when I was 4, and then not again till I wrote to him when I was 12ish, and he came to stay. Then we wrote regularly for a few years, and I saw him again when I was 16...dad and I went to stay with him.

Martin drinks a lot, and when we stayed with him, he got a bit...I dunno. Aggressive isn't the right word. Forceful? Basically, we ate...finished...and then Martin tried to convince us to have seconds. We said no, and he picked up a fork with food on and tried to force it into my dad's mouth. I was a bit shocked and I didn't like the way he was acting, tbh. So anyway. I haven't seen him since then, and contact has been limited. He phoned me about a year and a half ago. I sent him a christmas card this most recent christmas with my current uni address in it cos I wasn't sure he had it, and he didn't write.

To be fair, aside from the christmas card, and a couple of letters I've sent, I haven't made much effort to make contact either. I know he's 'only' my godfather and I see one of my godmothers just as infrequently and it doesn't bother me- there's just something about Martin...we get along really well and the fact that he doesn't care much about me really upsets me for some reason.

Anyway. To the point. This morning I got a text from an unknown number, and I am 99.999% certain it's from him (can't see who else it would be). It says this:

"Hi Claire it's Martin. Sorry it's been so long etc. Hope to make a trip to Cant soon hope you may have time to get social! Let's talk soon. Mx"

And suddenly, randomly, I feel really mixed up and confused. Happy that he's contacted me, but so many other things too. I haven't replied...not sure what to do.

'Ampshire Haccent

2008-06-07T12:48:00.003+01:00

Yesterday, I paid a water bill on the phone. I needed to give my home address for final statements to be sent on to. My house is called Mill Cottage. The conversation went thus:

Me: Mill Cottage
Her: Knoll Cottage..
Me: No, Mill.
Her: Knoll?
Me: Mill. M...I...L...L...
Her: M...O...
Me: No, no...MILL. As in a water mill, or a wind mill. M for Michael, I for Indigo...
Her: Oh, okay.

Bit later...

Her: So your card is registered at Knoll Cottage too?
Me: No, I'm sorry, I think you've still got my address wrong. It's MILL. Like a windmill.
Her: Oh, MILL! Sorry, it's your accent, I can't understand you.

My what?! I don't have an accent, thank you very much! ;) She was the effing northerner with a stupid accent. I have no accent. My voice is neutral. Normal.

:P

Discuss.

Black and white and shades of grey

2008-05-30T11:19:00.003+01:00

Recently I've realised that as I get older, things become far less black and white. Decisions are harder to make. Things aren't so simple. This is prompted by a Facebook quiz (okay fine, I'm a bit of a loser) in which it asked "what would you do if you found out you were pregnant?". Well, firstly, I'd cry lots, and be in a fair amount of shock, and wonder if I was carrying the next Messiah, but aside from that...I don't know. I know you can never really know how you'll react to such things until they happen, but if you had asked me that question when I was 15, or 17, or indeed 18...I would have said that I would abort it. But now...well, it would hardly be great timing. I'm single. I'm a student. I have no income. But having said all that, I would be better equipped now to look after a child than I was at 16. None of this pondering matters anyway, since (I feel I should point out) I'm not pregnant.

But it's not just this question. So many others become grey and fuzzy and the borders between what is possible and what isn't have changed. Being able to drive has changed a lot of things, because I can take myself places (dependent on the use of Mum's car, dammit), and do things by myself. My expectations of life have changed and I feel more able to do...well, anything. I'm rambling, I know.

Other people have noticed this, right? Getting older makes life, and decisions, more complicated. Nothing is as simple anymore. "Impossible" isn't neccessarily so, anymore.

Ugly Day

2008-05-28T16:21:00.003+01:00

I'm having an Ugly Day. This has led to me not feeling like going to see my grandparents, to me snapping at a shop assistant who asked me for ID (fair enough, I probably don't look 21, though I like to think I might look 18), and to me generally feeling annoyed and pissed off.

There are direct correlations between me having an Ugly Day and the following factors...whether or not I've bothered to dry/straighten my hair properly, how much makeup I've got on, and what I'm wearing. Like many girls, I reeeeally can't be arsed to put on full slap in the mornings etc, and this morning I went for a run and when I showered I just wanted to relax, not put on makeup and spend time drying my hair nicely. Plus,. it's raining, so there's not much point anyway!

When I have Ugly Days, people often tell me I look fine, and actually, they're probably being honest. I'm a firm believer that we notice our own flaws far more than anyone else does (which is why only about 2 people know what it is that I hate most about my appearance...if everyone knew, they'd all notice it all the time). But should my appearance really contribute to my mood that much? After all, beauty is only skin deep, right? And I'm not going to magically become Disney-Princess-beautiful just because I put a bit more makeup on or because I straighten my hair. But the point is, it does affect how I feel about myself, and other people, and I can feel very tense and uncomfortable if I feel I look ugly.

Do boys have Ugly Days? Are theirs worse because they generally lack the arsenal of concealer, eyeshadow, powder, mascara, lip gloss, and my new genie-in-a-bottle, Lip Plump (Benefit, go buy, go buy!)? Or does appearance only affect me in this way?!

People are all the same
And we only get judged by what we do
Personality reflects name
And if I'm ugly then
So are you.

Bittersweet

2008-05-26T19:13:00.002+01:00

To think I might not see those eyes
Makes it so hard not to cry
And as we say our long goodbye
I nearly do

Yin/Yang is a chinese concept that there are two opposing and yet complementary aspects to every situation. Essentially, in every light there is a little dark, and in every dark there is a little light.

In one way, this is good. It means that when things seem impossibly dark, there is a little hope left, a tiny part of goodness that keeps us going.

On the other hand, every good thing that happens is tinged with something bad, stopping it from being perfect. I guess, today, I just feel a bit angry that life is like this. Good, but bad. So bittersweet.

Have heart my dear
We're bound to be afraid
Even if it's just for a few days
Making up for all this mess

In lieu of packing...

2008-05-23T14:21:00.003+01:00

I have been reading.

Ian McEwan: On Chesil Beach. I really, honestly, truly, recommend this. It's short; I read it in one sitting today, but Ian McEwan fits so much emotion and tangibility into a single sentence that it doesn't need to be longer. And, I feel, it teaches a valuable lesson. Read it, and if you've already read it, I hope you loved it as much as I did.

(I also bought Belle De Jour: Secret Diary of a Call Girl as trashy train-reading last weekend, and it was actually really well written, strong and lingering. Read that too, if you don't mind a bit of filth.)

The mysterious life of a student

2008-05-21T23:28:00.002+01:00

Yes. That's a red onion. Encapsulated in ice.

Does it need an explanation?

Era

2008-05-19T22:52:00.002+01:00

Era (n)

1.	a period of time marked by distinctive character, events, etc.: The use of steam for power marked the beginning of an era.

How long is an era?
Personally, I've always thought of eras as being lonnnnng periods of time, but thinking about it, there's no need for that definition. It's simply the time when certain things happen, etc. School was an era. College was an era. Uni will be an era.

My friend Helena graduates this year. Assuming she gets a 2:1, she will be going to Edinburgh to do an MSc. I know her through bellringing, and tonight was her last practice night with us. Tonight was also my last practice night before the summer, so there's a lot of people I won't be seeing until late September. Two of them, Peter and Claire, are off to university (Durham and Bristol I think, respectively) so it seems likely I'll never see them again.

It's all a bit sad really.. not really sad, but a bit. I'm feeling pensive and melancholy and, if I admit it, a bit old. It seems like I've lived through so many eras already, so many changing friendships, so much change in my life full stop. I know I'm only 20, and I am looking forward to my life so much, but at the same time part of me wishes things could just pause and I could hold onto them for a little bit longer.

Abuse in the name of love

2008-05-17T12:43:00.004+01:00

On the train home on Thursday, I was reading Closer magazine. Top-quality literature, I know! There was a story in it entitled "I'm 43st but my man's still feeding me up!"

Basically, this woman is a size 40 and her boyfriend finds her more attractive the bigger she gets. It's such an incredibly fucked up story, really sad. Here are some quotes that I feel are true gems.

"'I hardly ever wear clothes at home', she proudly admits. 'But in the bedroom I dress up in sexy leopard-print lingerie. G-strings are best because they show off my big butt.'"

"'When I got too big for normal scales we started going to a lorry weighing centre to check my progress.'"

And then, joy of joys, they talk in detail about their sex life.

"'Our favourite position is doggy style...I can't be on top anymore because I'd crush [her boyfriend].'"

Hilarity and mild nausea aside, this story just baffles me. The central point of it is that her boyfriend is encouraging her to eat more, to get fatter, for his sexual pleasure. She can barely walk. She has heartburn and struggles to breathe. She gets fungal infections under her rolls of fat. She knows she's going to die; doctors have told her as much time and time again. And yet, she keeps eating. And what is perhaps more shocking than the fact that she's ignoring medical advice is that her boyfriend is encouraging her to do this.

The article ends with these lines:

"Patty and Sketty have agreed she'll stop gaining weight when she reaches 45 stone. 'That'll be the perfect size', says Patty. And naively, Sketty agrees. 'I don't want her to be unhealthily large- I adore her too much'."

What? WHAT?! "I don't want her to be unhealthily large." Honestly, I'm speechless. Assuming the man isn't a complete imbecile and does actually understand what "she's going to die soon" means, that is so messed up. Either his own sexual wants and needs matter more than her health, or he doesn't believe the doctors, or he's confusing love with abuse. Because that's what it is...abuse.

For your reading and viewing pleasure, the article, plus photos, is here.

Being single

2008-05-13T23:24:00.003+01:00

http://xkcd.com/420/

There seem to be so many negative things that come from being single, but recently the combination of this xkcd, and a certain person, have reminded me of the sheer bliss that can come from it.

There is nothing in life that will ever match up to getting to know someone, and knowing that it can go absolutely anywhere, that absolutely anything could come of it. Maybe nothing. Maybe friendship. Maybe more.

It's the sheer possibility that makes me love being young, free and single.

Synonymous

2008-05-13T11:59:00.003+01:00

Stu·dent (n)

1. a person formally engaged in learning, esp. one enrolled in a school or college; pupil: a student at Yale.

Synonyms:

Stupid, imbecile, ignoramus

Today we phoned our letting agency to let them know that we have a wasp problem. Every morning this week I've been woken up by one being in my room, whether or not I'd had my window open. They're all through the house, mostly upstairs. And yesterday, we had a Hornet Incident TM.

Now, being a country bumpkin, I'm pretty au fait with insects. My dad keeps honey bees, and having had them crawling all over my hands (the rest of my body was covered with a bee suit), I know what they look like. We get wasp nests at home pretty much every summer. I know what wasps look like. And hornets aren't just queen wasps. They are horrific creatures. I know, too, what hornets look like.

Why, then, did the letting agents phone back to say "we phoned the exterminator guy, he said it can't be wasps because it's not the right season for them yet"?! The conversation then went as follows:

Me: No, they're wasps.
Them: Are you sure they're not bees?
Me: No, they're wasps.
Them: Bees do look a lot like wasps
Me: My dad keeps bees, I know what bees look like. These are wasps.
Them: I don't want bees being killed.
Me: Me neither. But these are wasps.
Them: Some bees look like wasps...with brown and yellow stripes
Me: Yes, true. We have wasps, though, not bees. And hornets, too.
Them: Hornets are unusual...they're not just big wasps.
Me: I know. They're a hell of a lot bigger than queen wasps.
Them: Are you sure it's not a type of bee?
Me: They're wasps! And hornets! It's warmer than normal, tell the exterminator bloke that they are wasps and I want them killed!
Them: *sigh* okay, if you're sure they aren't bees.
Me: They're wasps.
Them: Okay. I'll call you back in a bit.

That's the condensed version.

I may be a student, but I'm not completely stupid.

Exams R Shit

2008-05-10T12:01:00.002+01:00

My exam desk today had "EXAMS: UNIVERSITY OF KENT" printed in the top left hand corner. And underneath the 'exams' bit, someone had scrawled "r shit". Not "are shit", even. This really bothered me and I'm not sure why!

Exams are definitely shit. I really really don't enjoy them, especially not this year. I don't actually know anybody who actively enjoys sitting in a room for 2 or 3 solid hours, getting hand cramp and shiny fingers and brain numbness (oh, and I have a blister on my finger from writing so much. Pfft.) while concentrating incredibly hard. But having said that, once I've got into the exam hall and sat down, I sort of switch to a frame of mind whereby I think "I have two hours to prove myself. Two hours to try really bloody hard and do my best. Two hours and it'll be over." And consequently, I get on with it and deal with the shitness. Admittedly, sometimes I leave half an hour or so early, but I've always ensured I've written absolutely everything I could have, no matter how little that is, how little I revised, or how stupid the questions made me feel. I know that if I try really hard, I'll probably not fail.

However, the person who graffitti-ed the above on the desk clearly didn't respond like I do to exams, and decided instead to spend their time constructively damaging uni property, and in bloody text talk, no less!

Having thought about it, that may have been what's annoyed me the most!

4 down. 2 to go.

Worrying

2008-05-10T08:23:00.002+01:00

This morning, I went downstairs to get breakfast. And the front door was wide open. It's not the first time this has happened, by a long shot...The boys came home around 9pm and I saw them shut the door then, so at a guess I'd say James went out for a cigarette after I'd gone to bed, and didn't bother to actually shut the door.

The boys do have a habit of just shoving the door behind them which doesn't always ensure it shuts.

Now, I know I'm a worrier, and when I'm home alone I freak myself out at dark windows and convince myself I heard footsteps on the stairs, and that I always think about the worst case scenario, but is that so wrong? Clearly the boys don't worry about this sort of thing, or they'd be more careful.

Admittedly, the fact is that it doesn't seem that anything was taken, but I'm really glad I've taken to locking my bedroom door at night. Someone could have walked in and taken anything they wanted, and if my bedroom had been unlocked then they could have walked into my room and attacked me. I mean, there are some seriously unbalanced people in this world. I know nobody did, but they could have!

Maybe I am just paranoid and should learn to chill out more, relax, be more like the boys.

Hm. Maybe not.

Pain

2008-05-06T22:41:00.004+01:00

Pain is such an odd concept. I wrote a presentation on the subject recently and found it fascinating. Anyway, without getting deeply into my revision, which wouldn't be interesting for anyone...today, I was shown this, and I just love the descriptions!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schmidt_Sting_Pain_Index

It's only pain
It only hurts
I am only down on the floor
Where I have been before
And I'll be here again
Though it hurts to lose you
It's only pain.

Vanishing Acts

2008-05-05T00:19:00.004+01:00

Baby I'll call up a storm
Keep you safe from harm
But you only you only disappear
You only you only disappear

But this is all I can say
I have lost my way
But you only you only disappear
You only you only disappear.

Strange what makes us feel safe, isn't it? What we wrap ourselves up in and trust to be unchanging?

Summertime [childhood music]

2008-05-04T18:31:00.003+01:00

Summertime, and the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high
Your daddy's rich
And your mama's good lookin'
So hush, little baby
Don't you cry...

Whilst lying in the sun today, I remembered this song, and how much I used to love singing it. I then realised it wasn't in my iTunes library, and then bought the whole Glory of Gershwin CD that we have at home. This is what I spent my childhood listening to. Obviously, I did the Spice Girl/B*Witched/A1/Westlife/Boyzone/911 thing too, but this is the stuff I listened to with my parents.

This is the stuff we'd put on the hi-fi in the summer, set the speakers outside, sing along and dance into the evening to. Music in my family was always more of a summer thing, and still is, really!

I know a lot of people who were brought up on Led Zep, Dire Straits, and other assorted cool bands. Maybe the stuff we listened to (The Beatles, ELO, Atlanta Rhythm Section, Santana...) wasn't quite as cool, but damn...they're good songs, and it's the stuff my parents listened to before my sister and I came along, which makes me smile :)

Maybe I shall meet him Sunday
Maybe Monday
Maybe not...
Still I'm sure to meet him one day
Maybe Tuesday
Will be my good news day

Que Sera, Sera

2008-05-04T12:55:00.003+01:00

Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que sera, sera.

Fate is an interesting concept. Most people; well, most agnostic/atheist people, anyway...would say that they believe they have free will and act according to that. However, it seems common practice to shrug and say "if it's meant to be, it'll happen" or in retrospect; "we were meant to be". Really, that's an odd thing to say. In the case of romance and meeting your future wife/husband...quite often, the chances of actually meeting that person rely on so much; if a single link in the causality chain were removed, the whole thing would crumble. My sister, for instance, applied to Oxford for her BA. She was rejected and went to King's, where she met her long-term boyfriend. If you believe in fate, you'd say that even if she had got in to Oxford, they still would have met. But is that really that likely? I don't think so.

Hannah suggested that she felt foolish for feeling that saying an exam went well might be tempting fate and she would therefore do badly; foolish or not, I feel like that too; I also feel that wearing sunglasses will make the sky cloud over and that going out without an umbrella will lead to rain. I know how illogical this is, and yet I still catch myself thinking in that way and touching wood, or carrying out other superstitious activities (if you've ever seen me catch a glimpse of a single magpie, you'll know what I do).

It seems, then, that however logically we think, and however much we believe in free will, little parts of us cling onto fate and superstition and determinism.

What's in a voice?

2008-05-01T13:02:00.002+01:00

Following on from the recent spate of blogs about the importance of names and handwriting as a part of identity, I got to thinking about voices. Today, results of some research have told us that women's voices are more sexy when they are ovulating, and also, that men find higher-pitched voices more attractive.

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/science/womens-voices-sound-sexier-during-ovulation-818760.html

Does anyone actually like their own voice? On the whole, I don't think about it; but when I hear a recording of myself speaking, quite often I simply don't recognise myself, and aside from that, I think I sound terrible! The only things people have told me about my voice is that it's quite low-pitched, with a posh accent, and that on my mobile phone answerphone, I sound very sweet and innocent; which is presumably because I recorded it when I was about 12. Oh, and the first time I spoke on the phone to someone who went on to become a good friend, he asked me if I had a cold. I didn't.

I do, however, change my voice according to the company I am in. My best friend was surprised to hear me speaking in a much posher accent than normal when I met her dad (who I was scared of meeting!), and I speak like this around my dad's side of the family too. Around builders, electricians, plumbers etc...I take a lot of the 'posh' edge off of my accent, which is a bit shameful really! My dad does it too, which is utterly hilarious since he's the sort of person who pronounces "shower", "fire", and "flower" as "shah", "fah", and "flahh" respectively.

Your voice is a large part of your identity, I feel. It's this that enables someone to say "it's me" on the phone and for the other person to recognise them. But I'd never really thought about the attractiveness of someone's voice, except that some voices are bloody annoying. The speaking clock ones are nice, but then, they spend a lot of time finding the right person for that job! So, does how you speak affect how people think of you? What is in a voice?

Lucky that my breasts are small and humble...

2008-04-30T20:31:00.004+01:00

So you don't confuse them with mountains.

I don't like underwear much. Well, that's not quite true. I quite like pants, but when it comes to bras, on the whole I find them pretty damn uncomfortable. I wear them, obviously, and have a lot of pretty ones, but quite often, especially when working on an essay or, as today, revising, I whip it off and just wear a tshirt. I needed to go to the kitchen earlier and debated covering up some more before doing so, incase I bumped into one of the boys.

The reason for this is nipplage. On the whole, I don't think nipples are very attractive, and I don't think anyone wants to see mine through my top or whatever. I'm going to ignore the fact that breasts, and therefore nipples, are designed to feed babies, and are not just for the visual and tactile pleasures of men (or women, whatever floats your boat). What I'm wondering is; are nipples attractive? And does anyone want to see your breasts bouncing under a tshirt or whatever, or do they look best when held firmly in place with smooth, nipple-free lines?

Thinking about this, I watched an episode of Sex and the City. In it, Samantha advocates the use of fake nipples to attract men. Miranda tries them on in a bar and suddenly gets a hell of a lot more attention. And yes, you really can buy them. In my research, I also came across a website detailing "how to make your nipples look larger"! The methods listed include pinching them, using ice cubes on them, or consulting a plastic surgeon. Nipple enlargement surgery?! Seriously?!

So what do we think? Are nipples the next best thing, or are they best kept under wraps?

Dreams

2008-04-30T10:14:00.003+01:00

Last night I dreamt I went to Mandalay again...

What's in a dream? Last night, I dreamt that I was pregnant, and that I miscarried. It wasn't a happy dream. There was so much detail; what my parents said, who the father was, how I felt. It was one of those dreams that felt so real that even now I'm awake I feel raw and bruised and battered.

I don't believe that dreams can predict the future. I know that dreaming is a part of REM sleep and that it's thought to be a way that our brains process learning and memory; related to the transfer of STM to LTM.

And whilst I don't believe in the Freudian psychoanalysis theory that dreams are an expression of our unconscious twisted sexual fantasies, I think he might have been on the right line. Take away the twisted sexual fantasies, and dreams are an expression of our unconscious. Those thoughts and events that are troubling you come out at night and if you think about them enough and look at them from the right angle, you can often work out what it's trying to say to you. That's actually basically a Jungian theory of dream analysis.

According to various 'dream dictionary' websites, my miscarriage dream represents lots of things; it could be warning me about my current plan of action, that I should change it...or that I'm going to experience a loss of money...it may represent my transformation from a child to an adult...amongst other things.

The worst dreams I've had, and I've had a lot of these recently; were ones in which people close to me died. Quite often, nobody would tell me that the person had died and I would find out days later; upon asking why nobody thought to tell me, they all said the same: "we didn't think you were that close [to the person]". The people who died were close relatives, and my best friends.

The meanings of these dreams are obvious. Actually, I won't tell you what I think they symbolise. Take a guess, and see if we think the same thing?

Last night I dreamt I was on the boat to heaven, and by some chance I had brought my dice along...and there I stood, and I hollered "someone fade me", but the passengers, they knew right from wrong...

Affirmation

2008-04-28T16:08:00.000+01:00

I believe the sun should never set upon an argument
I really agree with this. People regularly come out with clichés such as "you should live every day as if it's your last, because one day you'll be right" and "life is short" so often that I'd imagine the words have lost most of their meaning for a lot of people! But, whilst it's obviously ridiculous to expect to die every day, and thereby make no plans for the future, the best thing to do after an argument is make the peace. I always think I'd feel horrific if the last words I said to someone were angry ones, and so I really try to at least tell the person I was arguing with that I love/like/care about them a lot before I go to sleep, even if I'm not going to back down over the argument. Besides, I can never sleep if I'm angry/upset.

I believe we place our happiness in other people's hands
Well, yes, often we do. But is that really so bad? If you never let someone hold your heart and learn to trust them to look after it, then you'd live a pretty sad existence. Sure, we need to learn to be happy when alone, but friends and family = happiness.

I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye
How true. There is no happiness without sadness, and vice versa. Good old yin/yang theory.

I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
It sure as hell looks it, but it turns out that it's just a trick of the light.

I believe a lot of things, but these are some that I like to ponder upon from time to time.

Oh, and it's a good song!

Hospitals and dignity

2008-04-27T20:15:00.000+01:00

This was in the news today.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/7363525.stm

Obviously, I have personal experience of this. Whilst mixed wards/bathrooms never bothered me/would bother me, I agree about the dignity thing. And the washing thing.

Thoughts?

Repentance and forgiveness

2008-04-27T18:47:00.000+01:00

Today I found, amongst the backlog of post from whilst I've been home, a small book entitled "Steps to Christ". It's the usual sort of thing you'd expect, although from flicking through it I'm pleasantly surprised at the lack of "kill the gays" type thing. It flaunts itself as a book which "leads those looking for meaning in life to discover it in Jesus Christ, and, step by step, to find forgiveness, confidence, security and real joy. It shows Christ as the way to lasting peace".

Basically, all 126 pages can be condensed into something like:

You are a sinner
Jesus wants to save the sinners
Jesus will save you!

The paragraph that really stood out to me was this:

"A repentance [...] is beyond the reach of our own power to accomplish; it is obtained only from Christ"

Now, this I really disagree with. Only Christ can forgive us for our wrongdoings? What arse. The whole book, in fact, seems petrified that people will realise they've 'sinned' (I feel more comfortable going with 'done something wrong') and stop doing the sinning, and then be forgiven by their friends and family, and be content. It regularly stresses that friends and family can't forgive you. You can't forgive yourself. ONLY JESUS CAN SAVE YOU.

I've done some things I'm not proud of. I've done things that have hurt friends, and things that have hurt myself. Generally, I stop doing whatever it is, and apologise. Then it is up to whoever I've hurt to forgive me, and then for me to be at peace with myself for it. It's not easy, sure. But I don't need Jesus to do it for me.

Any thoughts? Are repentance and forgiveness human qualities, and indeed, duties? Or should we rely on a higher being to tell us we're bad people, then pat us on the back and say "there there. You're saved."?

Keep on Running....

2008-04-23T21:56:00.000+01:00

This song, by the Spencer Davis Group, came up on my iPod today, as I was struggling to keep running up a hill. It was enough to make me laugh, and to, indeed, keep on running. It got me a fair few looks from drivers of passing cars, too, along the lines of "look at the wierdo"...but then again I get those for running full stop!

I've been putting off writing this post, because I am paranoid about jinxing this.

I love running. I never thought I'd say that! Admittedly, it's only been a week, but today I spent £70 on very nice trainers to run in, and presumably that kick in the wallet is enough of a kick in the bum to 'keep on running'. I'm wary of saying it, but I think I may be turning into...heck, may have already turned into!...one of them. Those people who I am wont to call 'crazy', 'insane', and 'mental'. Those people who come home, drenched in sweat, aching all over, and stop and say "my god, that was hard. And it was bloody BRILLIANT!"

There is nothing like the high of hard physical work.

I have caught myself walking down my road after a hard run, feeling my heart rate slow and sweat trace tracks down the side of my face, with the sun catching the side of my body...and smiling.

God, it feels good.

To love or be loved...

2008-04-21T21:55:00.000+01:00

This evening I was thinking about relationships. Not just the romantic kind, but friendships and family ties too. There is a novella, written by Carson McCullers, called "The Ballad of the Sad Café". One of the core messages throughout it is that within any relationship there is a lover, and a beloved. In other words, it's never balanced.

Is a person predisposed to be one or the other for the duration of their life? Or do they chop and change, depending on the relationship in question? I have a feeling that it's the former. I know people who are very much lovers; people who throw themselves headfirst into relationships, and do anything to make the other happy. Myself included! Likewise, I also know people who hold the power over the relationship; they are the beloved and they are very happy being that way.

I've always thought the beloved is the one with the power. The lover is powerless to control themselves, and then when the beloved decides...the relationship is put on hold, or is over. It's always the lover who gets hurt.

On one hand, I'm still very much enamoured with the Disney school of romance. Boy meets girl...or rather, prince meets princess. They fall madly in love and there we are. Or, as Carrie said in one of the final episodes of Sex and the City; "I'm looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't-live-without-each-other love."

But all I've learnt from this is that it hurts.

It is often said that a woman should marry a man who loves her more than she loves him. She should sidestep the man who makes her heart fizz and her stomach flip when she holds his hand, and look for the man who makes her feel safe.

This strikes me as hopelessly sad, but also, hopefully...hopeful. Safety is better than heartbreak, any day...and a relationship that starts on a passionate, all-consuming high has already reached its climax, and has nowhere to go but to fall. And so, I shall stop looking for my knight in shining armour and instead, look for my safety net. The man who will look after me and love me.

But maybe I'll let a tiny part of me hold on to the dream of love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't-live-without-each-other love.

:)

Inspiration

2008-04-02T23:07:00.000+01:00

Climb up over the top.
Survey the state of the soul.
You've got to find out for yourself whether or not you're truly trying.
Why not give it a shot?
Shake it. Take control and inevitably wind up
Find out for yourself all the strengths you have inside of you.

Jade Gallagher

2008-03-23T00:50:00.000Z

Tonight I drove home listening to Radio 2, which is unusual for me. And it was a live session, or at least I presume live- anyway, the artist was called Jade Gallagher. She sounded amazing, so amazing that I pulled over to listen properly, and wrote down her name, because I couldn't let it go.

I listened to her singing a song called "Katy Says" which is apparently about wanting more out of life. But the song I've found since coming home, on iTunes, is "Haunting Me". Can't find the lyrics online, so here we go...I'll write out the bulk of them.

I've known loneliness
Turn my spirit cold
I've known emptyness
Good times I've swallowed

I swear I lost
Lost my soul

When you're through haunting me
Won't you please let me know
When you're through haunting me
Won't you please let me go

I've known good times and bad
In my mind is a letter
Where these memories are contained
They feed my hunger
They stop it too

When you're through haunting me
Won't you please let me know
When you're through haunting me
Won't you please let me go

It's been so long
It might almost be beyond reach
Maybe a vision
From in my mind
To pass the time away

Just to see you
And warm my blood again

When you're through haunting me
Won't you please let me know
When you're through haunting me
Won't you please let me go

Won't you please let me go?

http://www.myspace.com/musicjadegallagher is her Myspace. I'd advise you to listen to the aforementioned Katy Says and Haunting Me.

Let it wash over you.

Strange Fruit

2008-03-16T18:06:00.001Z

Whilst actually doing work and reading about the lynching of black people in the southern states of the USA around the start of the 20th century, I came across this song. Or rather, I'd had it for ages, but just never listened to it properly. How had I missed the lyrics, and the haunting melody?!

Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter cry.

I have the Nina Simone version, but Billie Holiday sang it originally. The 'strange fruit' are obviously the bodies of tortured and hung black men, and the juxtaposition between this horrific imagery and that of a hot, noble, pastoral south is so...so...I don't know. Very emotive, anyway.

I knew about the existence of lynchmobs; I knew this sort of thing happened. But I didn't know the details, I didn't know the true extent. It shames me, actually, to realise how little I know about this world.

The privatisation and commercialisation of human rights

2008-03-16T15:23:00.000Z

Those of you who know me will know my stance on private healthcare and education.

On a forum I frequent (again, those of you who know me will know which one), there was a discussion on private healthcare vs the NHS. The basic premise for the discussion was these two questions:

Is private healthcare providing a quality service to those who can afford it and simultaneously taking the strain off the NHS, or is it another example of the growing rich/poor divide?
If you have/had the money to go private, would you?

Here are my musings:

The thing I always wonder (this is a genuine question, I honestly don't know the answer and if someone does, I'd love to know!) is...if there was no private option...if all the hospital space in the country was NHS, all the surgeons, doctors, nurses, physiotherapists, radiographers, etc etc etc only did NHS work, would there be such an issue with bed shortages, waiting lists, staff shortages etc?

I'm not sure going private is snobbery, as many have said, but it is certainly disgustingly unfair that it's possible for some people to buy their health while others can't. I had 7 years of NHS orthodontic treatment and an operation that would have cost £50,000 not including the two weeks of aftercare on the NHS too, despite my parents offering to re-mortgage the house and pay for it for me. The main reason for making the decision to stay with the NHS for the latter was that it would have been in the same hospital, with the same surgeon...just sooner. At the time I made the decision I wasn't in that much pain...it ended up that by the time I went into hospital (11 months after my GP first referred me to a specialist) I was in a lot of pain, so maybe I should have gone private. But I'm still proud that I chose to go with the NHS...maybe that's reverse snobbery!

Someone also said that they thought it was interesting that the majority of the people saying they disagreed with private healthcare were young, and that they felt their standpoint on the issue had altered with age and experience. Fair play, I'm young, and probably naive, and maybe my feelings will change in time, if I have children etc. But I don't actually think that the crux of the matter is whether or not you would go private if you had the money. Say you have an illness that only gives you 3 weeks to live, untreated. The treatment is available and will cure you and, complications aside, you will live. You have enough money to pay for it. The NHS waiting list is 5 weeks. The private waiting list is a week. I don't know of many people who would choose death, if they could choose life instead.

But as I said, I do not think that this is the important question. The question is, should you be able to have this option? Should you be able to buy your health when others can't?

The answer, in my mind at least, is ridiculously simple. No. They say you can't put a price on life, but clearly you can, and you can price people out of a basic human right, a service that we are privileged enough to have in the UK, and, to reach the dramatic end point, you can price someone out of life itself.

New-ness

2008-03-16T14:51:00.000Z

Ah, a nice clean new blog. I wrote one in 2006 for a term because it was part of my Computing for Anthropologists module, but then once it was over, I sort of drifted from it and stopped updating it, and now it has vanished into the ether because I haven't updated it in so long. So here it is, a new one.

I do like new-ness. The term 'turning over a new leaf' is such a luxurious one in my mind; it conjures up images of fresh green leaves bejewelled with droplets from a recent storm...saturated with moisture and life and possibility. Anything could happen to that leaf; it could be eaten by a caterpillar, picked and made into a skeleton by a small child (other people did that, right?), remain on the tree until Autumn and phase through a plethora of rich vibrant colours, from yellow to orange to red and finally to a deep brown when it will be plucked by the wind and drawn away into a tangle of air and sky and other leaves, and will come to rest somewhere...anywhere.

Perhaps I'm getting drawn in too deep to the metaphor. But anyway...new-ness. This blog could be anything. I could be anything. Turning over a new leaf doesn't have to start at the beginning of a calendar year, or at the end of a relationship, or after a traumatic event...it can be whenever. You just sit down (or stand up) and say "Here. Here is where it will all change." And it can. It might not, of course, but it can. And that belief that I can decide things will change, and they have the potential to change, fills me with lightness and possibility and hope and...new-ness.

I like new-ness.