At a time when technology dominates and we’re more likely to be looking at our phones as opposed to out of the window it’s becoming easier to be blind to the beauty which surrounds us. It’s especially easy to do this when you’re living in a country like England. Grey clouds. Office-blocks. Litter. Viscous traffic jams. The angry honks of road-rage. Ugly, rain-soaked 1960’s architecture. These are the things we’re used to seeing on a daily basis when we’re making our way to work, or heading into town to buy a new pair of tights and some milk. The metal-concrete infrastructures are unsightly but they keep our country economically afloat and so we have to accept them. You can’t run a country from a muddy-field… as much as I wish it were possible.
But sometimes, it’s just nice to have that wonderful soiree with nature. It’s the one thing that’s always been there, even when recession hits and companies submerge into liquidation, there’ll still be a fresh sunrise each morning reminding us that life goes on, and what’s more important? Nature is more powerful, more valuable than anything and it makes me sad to see people abuse it. Earth is seldom more beautiful than in it’s most natural state; because nature is real, raw and magical. It’s no surprise that we often look to nature when we need a bit of time-out from the rest of the world.
Still trees seem to listen – they have centuries of experience, and glistening rivers seem to advise – no matter what the obstruction, they never cease to flow, flowing on until they reach the ocean.
Below are just a couple of photos, taken locally, when nature has put a smile on my face. It really is a beautiful world.
View from train on way home from work, February 2012
High-tide at Epple Bay, January 2012
Snow in the Westgate Gardens, Canterbury – February 2012
Valentines Day is coming up and we all know what that means – the lonely-hearted feeling like lepers whilst the lovers compare what wonderful gifts and surprises they’ve received from their other halves and maybe even upload the photographic evidence on to Facebook.
Splendid…
As somebody who is currently so much a single that I could probably be eligible for chart-release, I’m very much aware that to write anything anti-Valentines would likely be perceived as an unconvincing and possibly jealousy-fueled attempt to try and justify to myself why I’m currently so far from joining the growing party of peers whom have recently acquired a diamond ring on their finger. But, I’m not here to bash relationships or romance or deny that I want those things. I admit I would love to have that, if the right person came along… only if the right person came along.
But he hasn’t yet, so right now I can’t enjoy all the wonderful things that relationships can bring.
So what to do? Sit and cry into a cup of commiseration coffee? Stare at myself into the mirror until I find a million reasons to understand why I’m single? Walk around feeling inadequate to everybody else because they managed to find somebody and I didn’t?
Of course not, because let me tell you something boys and girls – being single isn’t such a bad thing.
I know what some of you may be thinking when you read this, “Aww, poor wee lamb is only saying that because she’s single” and I guess to some extent you’re right – if I wasn’t single, I wouldn’t be writing a whole piece on why it’s not a bad thing. Though, the truth is – there have been times in the past when I have done all the above things: detested my appearance, picked apart my personality to see what was wrong with it, and yes at times I have even felt inadequate around couples. We live in a society which loves it’s love stories, afterall. A lot of people who are single probably feel or have felt the same way at some point.
***“What’s wrong with me?“*** those of us without long-term partners ask ourselves as we notice the middle-aged couple several rows in front of us on the bus, squeezing each others cheeks and giggling like geese as the bus meanders through the streets of London.
But for quite a while now, I’ve begun to look at matters from an entirely different perspective. I realise now, that the one and only reason I’m still single is simply because I haven’t met the right person yet. I like to believe he’s there somewhere, waiting in the wings, probably necking a few shots of whisky in preparation to put up with a whole lifetime with me and the baggage I come with (my schweet’earts and my special dietary requirements of four thai curries a week). Alternatively, maybe he’s not there at all. Maybe he doesn’t exist. Maybe the curry thing was the straw that broke the camel’s back and the poor guy was last seen in the back of a taxi destined for “as far away as fucking possible!” It’s a grim vision, but not one that I can necessarily change. Sure we can change our appearance, try and meet new people, take tips on how to flirt but even after all of that – you either have that chance encounter with the right person, or you don’t.
Obviously, I hope I won’t be single for the rest of my life, but neither do I want to slip into the dangerous territory of needing a relationship. They may be important, but not having one doesn’t make you any less of a person and that’s something which I think the world seems to forget occasionally. From some peoples’ perspectives, singles stick out like sore thumbs and the older they are, the larger the swelling. The world is full of interfering busybody types who love to play matchmaker and try and create the missing link between two ‘compatible’ single people (who have only their relationship statuses and maybe a love of red wine in common, too) and that’s what contributes to that feeling of inadequacy that not being in a relationship can bring. Well quite frankly – fuck people like that, they probably live alongside Tinky Winky and Dipsy in an area of La La Land where everybody is happy all the time and the rate of divorce isn’t 50% like it is here in the actual society in which we live. Real life is much more complex than 120 minutes of Hollywood magic, even if we wish it wasn’t.
We are who we are and things happen how they happen, we don’t write a script in advance – so instead of feeling the stigma of being single maybe myself and others like me should just sit back and enjoy the positives. Are there any? Yes. Plenty.
Ready?
Being single allows you to….
keep your options open with what you want to do in life • have the entire bed to yourself • not have to worry about the threat of messy break-ups or the mini heart-attack that occurs when they don’t put an ‘x’ at the end of a text • not have to tell anybody what you’re doing and where you’re going • be able to change town or country as you please • save money on the 14th February • use the money on buying yourself a new pot of foundation instead • not have to sit through really boring films about robots using complex computer systems that you don’t understand • kiss Jake Gyllenhaal without having an affair• eat the whole ‘his’n’hers’ chocolate gift set • not be told off when you want to do something that doesn’t align with his schedule • eat KFC in bed with only yourself to disgust • wink at the waitor • “What are you doing? Why didn’t you reply to my text? Where are you going? Who are you going with, are any of them male? Why can’t I come with you? “• etc etc.
In my mind, being single is like childhood. As soon as you reach adulthood and begin that battle with your bank account, or as soon as you meet that partner that so often sends you sideways with each minor misunderstanding, you realise how simple things used to be and kick yourself for not making the most of it all. Does that mean we shouldn’t bother with relationships at all, then? Of course not! You always need to try before you buy and not every shoe will fit. The point is merely that sometimes, instead of waiting around in the shoe shop for that special sandal to come into stock and looking at your watch every five seconds to curse how late it’s getting, you could be next door buying yourself an atlas, some plane tickets and maybe a box of chocolates for good measure. Once you’re finished with those, maybe that sandal will be on the shelf. If not, go into another shop and buy something else, and repeat this process again and again until it is, so that by the time you’re wearing those sexy sandals that you wanted for so long, you’ll be able to say, ‘I made the most of being single’.
See the positive in everything and if you can’t, create it!
And on a slightly different note, I’ve added another new section to the site for my travels. I’ve only done a few U.S cities so far but there’s plenty more places to come, so if you feel like going on somewhat of a trip abroad today, check out the section!
Song of the Day: Pet Lions – Trinidad
Pet Lions are a great little power-pop band from Chicago, IL and this is the best offering from the 2011 debut LP, ‘Houses’. Energetically laced with melody and keyboards I fail to see how even the snobbiest of musical snobs could not like this song.
People sometimes ask me how and why I’ve been able to write a diary every day for the past 16 years and the main answer is: I just started doing so, and never wanted to break the habit – a bit like when you start devoutly following an exercise routine each day and don’t want to lose momentum by giving yourself a day off. But there are a couple of other reasons why I keep a diary too.
It’s not like I have the most interesting life – I work, I pay taxes, I go to fitness classes and bars and like to cook curries for dinner and watch movies in bed before sleeping. In other words, I’m just a typical British citizen. My past is one big algorithm of highs, lows and all those bits in the middle that constitute neither of the two. I’m not a famous figure nor a special figure and I never will be, so has it really been worth writing about the past 5870 days and counting? Well, I would like to think that one day it will be. I’d like to think that sometime in the future, when I’ve long since left this planet and am sat on a cloud in Heaven devouring a table of All-You-Can-Eat chinese buffet, that these books will fall into the hands of somebody, probably a descendant, who wants to know what life was really like this in century – for an ordinary person, not somebody blessed with the advantages of being a millionaire or having a special talent that could help them evade the more mundane, everyday stresses and strains of the real world.
My diaries have covered the days from childhood innocence to starting secondary school, as well as the developmental period of University, life in an office, and the travels I’ve been on. Entries have agonised over the emergence of acne at inconvenient times, moaned about some of the things people have done or said (particularly boys!) and detailed the passing away of various relatives. When I read back through the pages I remember some of the amusing things I may have otherwise have forgotten about, such as the awful attempt my friendship group made to be a pop-group on the school-field one lunchtime back in 1999, or the night in the first year of University when my flatmates and I had an evening in drinking wine and playing cards and ended up dancing around the kitchen to Motown music wearing bins (clean ones!) on our heads as hats. (What can I say? There was a presence of wine, youth and a bunch of crazy idiots who wanted to do everything they could to avoid doing their coursework).
Each Christmas I receive a new diary, and I’m now working my way through the sixteenth one. Today I felt like doing a little experiment… do you ever wonder how and when it is that we change? If each day we look more or less identical to how we did yesterday, and feel more or less like we did yesterday, at what point is it that our lives change? What’s really involved in the transition from being a baby to being wrinkled and grey?
I took each of my diaries and read the entry for today’s date – January 26th, in each. For obvious reasons I have removed the bits which were too personal, and not provided all names. You will find the entries aren’t particularly exciting, if at all, but they were never written to be a story.
So here you have it people, a non-dramatised, non-romanticised snapshot of growing up.
January 26th 1996, aged 10:
…Went into town. Mummy bought me a Valentines Disco suit, a packet of jelly beans, tights for school and a drink and ice-cream…
January 26th 1997, aged 11:
…Went for a bike ride along the canal. There was a good episode of the Simpsons on…
January 26th 1998, aged 12:
…Beth’s cyberpet died. Lost my new Pritt-Stick at school grr. Four bits of homework. Gym was boring…
January 26th 1999, aged 13:
…I’m fed up of all the arguing at school… I hate this… what will happen if the others form a different group, who will my best-friend be? I h8 this (oh look I’m so stressed I’m repeating myself. Why can’t we just all be friends again? It’s going to be impossible to have a good day at school from now on and I’m going to say so at lunch tomorrow. I’ll say, “Look, it’s no good pretending everything’s dandy, we must talk rationally about this”…
January 26th 2000, aged 14:
…Mrs Dey moaned at me in Maths and told me to sit up and look like I was doing something…In Physics we had a test about forces… At lunch the classroom was empty and so our group started going crazy and dancing around the room. In Technology X said to me, “Why did you tell us we couldn’t come into the classroom just because your lot was messing around?”, but I never said that to her!…
January 26th 2001, aged 15:
…For the first time in ages I was happy that it was a Friday. It’s been such a tiring week… Some of the others are going to London tomorrow, but they haven’t invited me – thanks! Well I wouldn’t go anyway to be honest… Got home and did the History homework. It took ages! Watched Neighbours. Beth rang, she is well. Cooked a steak and kidney pie for dinner and rang Emma for a chat…
January 26th 2002, aged 16:
…Spent the afternoon doing the English essay. Text Rupal. Ate some scampi for dinner and watched a bit of Pop Idol. Afterwards I went round to Gemma’s house. Perdie and Sian were also there and we watched a funny film called ‘The Dentist’. Got back at 10:45pm
January 26th 2003, aged 17:
…Went into town in the morning and bought loads of skincare products in Boots and a c.d. Was served by the same funny man that served me a few months ago, he recognised me! There are some strange people in Watford… Mum bought me some cool pink trousers like I’ve wanted for ages! Got some passport photos done though I’m starting to doubt the Berlin trip will go ahead so there’s probably no point. Spent the afternoon finishing my essay on Erasmus. I haven’t started the coursework even now and I only have a week left! The days are far too short!…
January 26th 2004, aged 18:
…Got a bit upset earlier, every day is just the same. I’m so crap in all my subjects too, especially Politics. The mocks are going to go so shite for me. I can already envisage a bunch of N’s and U’s on my results card. Why worry about what University I should pick? At this rate, I won’t get into any…
January 26th 2005, aged 19:
… I am so nervous about my driving test tomorrow. Had a lesson today at 8am. G says I’m bad when he’s not telling me what to do, but it’s because he’s talking about other things and it distracts me and I can’t focus on the road. I KNOW what I need to do, I just don’t concentrate. Came back home briefly before setting off to work… a long, boring day. A large lady in the queue was very impatient and pushed the lady in front of her, whom I was serving! I was nothing short of horrified! An old man was saddened by the fact we don’t sell pomegranate juice – JESUS! Walked home and watched a programme with mum about a mother and daughter who binge drink. It was gross…
January 26th 2006, aged 20:
…What a tiring day! Had to get up to have a consultation with Giselle about our R.S group work. I need to research the true meaning of the cross. Criminology lecture at 3, must try harder with that subject eurgh. X text me wanting to meet for a drink sometime, I don’t know whether or not to meet with him… In the afternoon we had a kiddies-theme birthday party for Rachel before going to the bar. Y rang asking me where we going, but he’s just a mate you know?… Was in a bad mood before bed. Dunno why exactly… I think I just need some time to myself. And if I meet with X again, will we get on well? I hope so, he seemed funny. I guess there is one way to find out…
January 26th 2007, aged 21:
…Sat through all 5 hours worth of lectures. It was okay, in the last one we just watched videos and had a debate about the rights of the victim! Got the bus home with Lucy and bought a takeaway dinner from Wing Ho. In the evening Laura and I went to the Sugarhouse. It wasn’t the best of nights… well it was ok, just a bit ‘hmm-y’. I don’t think I’m appreciating it enough and I think it’s because I’ve got so much work on right now. I’m not making it any easier for myself by going out most nights. A and B are having trouble with one of their flatmates. She is being off with them. It makes me wonder, what IS the need for bitchiness? I know I do it myself occasionally, but about friends? It’s just stupid. Laura said that people in the house don’t think I do enough washing up, but I don’t create as many dirty pans and dishes as they do. So obviously I’m not going to do as much washing up!
January 26th 2008, aged 22:
…Was woken up by a strange Italian-sounding man phoning me up and telling me he was my ‘good luck prince’ or something. Met Caroline and Martin for lunch in the Venue. Very nice. Afterwards I fancied some alone-time so I walked into Galgate, it’s a beautiful walk! Walked around the country lanes and came home. In the midst of studies and parties I forget about just how beautiful a place Lancaster is. I will miss it so much come Graduation. I can’t even think about that right now. Rang mum for a chat, all fine at home.
January 26th 2009, aged 23:
… Today was a long, boring day. I spent most of it doing Reports. I wonder how much of my life I actually spend copying and pasting? Had several caterers coming in today to sell sandwiches etc. Felt a bit bad that not many people bought anything :S Eeps. I’m getting so bored of my lunch-breaks; going to the same cafe for a coffee and feeling fucking freezing. Have a feeling I’m coming down with flu too – not good! January blues!! I’m also worried because I just don’t have a CLUE about my future. If only I could be one of those people that just KNEW what they wanted to do, and could then start working towards it. This job is getting so tedious and I can’t wait for the weather to get warmer. It’s funny, sometimes I think back to a year or so ago, would I have ever imagined that by now I’d be living and working in Watford still? Eurgh. At least now I have a beautiful nephew, one who I intend to spoil a LOT over time 🙂
January 26th 2010, aged 24:
…Went into town and did as much shopping as my limited funds would allow, which wasn’t much. Gabriel had his feet measured in John Lewis and enjoyed running around (made a beeline for the women’s tights – an assistant seemed quite smitten)… Had lunch in Nando’s and came home… Still trying to figure out what to do next in my life. I just want to go travelling again but I’m not sure how and where or even if I can afford it, but if I do go, then it definitely needs to be with a purpose – like a work or some volunteering. I don’t know. I think I’ll just let time decide…
January 26th 2011, aged 25:
…My day off work so went to look at houses in Canterbury with mum and dad… We drove the past the beach, lots of childhood memories… We discussed the houses over lunch. We all like different ones and are all quite emotional. I know that it will be nice living in Canterbury but I’m still scared. Everything is about to be shaken up, big time. Take me back to the old days, the familiar days, where I knew what I was doing. That said, I am getting quite sick of Watford. Maybe I need this change of scene…
And January 26th 2012, aged 26? – Well, I’ll put that here in another 16 years 🙂
Song of the Day: Mull Historical Society – How ‘Bout I Love You More
The unusually-titled Mull Historical Society is the name that Scottish singer-songwriter Colin MacIntyre usually performs under. His stuff is criminally under-rated, particularly here, south of the border. I have no idea why. In my mind, the guy is a musical genius and nothing represents that better than 2004 release ‘How ‘Bout I Love You More’.
One of the best things about having a blog is that, unlike Facebook or Twitter or whatever else all the cool kids are using these days, you can type whatever you wish and know that people are only going to be reading it if they actively choose to open your page. You are in absolutely no danger of clogging (what a great word) up somebody’s newsfeed, uninvited, with any of your nonsense… so you can say whatever you wish, as much as you wish. (Plus, you don’t have to worry about any confusing and unnecessary changes to the layout… the new Facebook timeline, anyone?! Yuck.)
… And something I have always wanted to proclaim is that: I love mid-1990’s dance music.
Don’t most of us, who are in our mid-twenties or older?
For the most part, it seems to be down to an element of nostalgia. Hearing the likes of Snap! or Corona in a bar these days isn’t enjoyable just because of the tunes themselves, but for the memories they conjure… being a kid and hearing those same songs: Saturday-afternoons at the bowling alley in celebration of a classmate’s 9th birthday party; watching Top of the Pops on a Friday evening after spending the day at school practicing your times-tables; or simply through the foam headphones of your suitcase-sized Walkman as you listen to the chart compilation cassette you got for Christmas on a car-journey to visit the grandparents.
Hearing these songs again, in the (slightly different) environment of twenty-first century nightlife, takes us back to those days, back when we were four-feet high and had nothing to worry about besides one of the beads we’d got free inside a packet of Monster Munch snapping off from our bicycle spokes, or whether or not we were going to pass our latest swimming test. What a blissful time it was; but all we seemed to want to do was grow up and be an adult!
Whilst browsing through some charity shops this morning, I discovered and purchased a dusty old second-hand c.d for £1.50. Dance Zone ’94 – a compilation of chart-hits that I remember wanting to own as a 9-year old, when it was first released, but not having the money to buy it. Today it has been the soundtrack to the rest of my day of doing work, entrapping me into a time warp, making me half-believe that John Major is still prime-minister; Oasis and Blur are still battling it out at the top of the charts, and that my responsibilities in life are little more than a picture I have to colour in for homework.
What else can I say but: feel the nostalgia, kids!
These days in between Christmas and New Year feel like that somewhat sombre few hours right after all your guests have left a party at your house. Weeks of excited anticipation and frantic preparation culminated in a lovely evening of celebrations with some of your nearest and dearest… but before you even had time to pour yourself a drink, time jumped forward a few hours and now your guests are gone, back to where they live, some place far away, and all you’re left with is the odd half-eaten sausage roll to sweep up from the floor and red wine stain to tackle from the carpet. When just a few hours ago, the desk was vibrating below a speaker blaring out ’90s tunes and the room was full of laughter and chatter, you are now left with a silence which taunts you loudly: “Party has finished! Get back to work!”
And this is the feeling that seems to define these December days. The festive spirit had engulfed us over the past month, sending it’s magic through the streets. The Christmas shopping on grid-locked high-streets may have left us in strong need of a caffeine pick-me-up at times, but overall the season of goodwill was exactly that: a wonderful few weeks which were all about loving, giving and being able to eat a million mince pies without feeling guilty for it. A few days ago I was receiving Christmas cards in the post. Today, I was receiving a P45 from an old employer and the usual friendly letter from the Student Loans Company reminding me that I owe them several thousand pounds. Hi ho, back to a life pre-destined by paperwork we go!
Though wait, despair not, an encore appears on the horizon! New Year’s – one final frolic before we really have to get back to down to it, but it’s not just about having a party and blowing your loudest *PHEEEEP* through a party-whistle whilst singing Auld Lang Syne. It’s more than that. To me, New Years is about both celebrating the good that has come from the past 12 months, and thinking about all of those things that we could have done better. It’s an opportunity to plan out what our aims and dreams are for the year ahead. 2011 wasn’t a bad year for me, but it wasn’t the best either, and I’m hoping that the lessons learned from it can help me make the year 2012 a whole lot better than it’s predecessor.
This is a time of year for celebration and positivity – for new starts, new challenges and a new you – stronger now from the things you’ve achieved or any problems you’ve overcome in your previous year.
And so it is with this entry I would like to wish all my family and friends a wonderful New Year. 2012. The number alone sounds nicer and is less awkward to say than, “two-thousand and eleven” (*breathe*), and I hope the year itself reflects that way for all whom are reading this. Let’s hope 2012 can be a good one for us all.
Song of the Day: Jukebox the Ghost – Good Day
An incredibly happy sounding song about… a good day, from Philadelphia talents Jukebox the Ghost. Chorus includes bonus tongue-twister. Did everybody say what a good day that it was for everybody who said what a good day that it was?
About the liberation that comes from letting ourselves just be ourselves, seeing beyond the black and white ‘facts’ before us, and opening our minds to the unknown ideas and opportunities within the so-called ‘grey areas’.
Finding Fluorescent Grey
Unleash and Expand. Snip away those binding bands. Poke your toes out through your socks and tear the labels off the box. See those thoughts within your mind,
and smudge away the bold outlines.
Let go, Flow.
Search and discover. Burn your map and draw another! Dare to loosen up your belt, and feel your heart as it slowly melts, drip-dripping down to fill new spaces; new feelings now, in different places.
Question, Learn.
Reach out and unlock, ignore the frown of a ticking clock. Clench the opportunities in your hands; a brand new skill, or distant lands.
Or the other thing you’ve yet to find,
adventures ahead of a mystery kind.
Action, Go.
Time to find the best, within the mess, and turn fluorescent grey.
—————————————————————————————————————————–
Song of the Day: Everybody Else – In Memoriam
Everybody Else make the kind of fresh, Californian pop-rock that can elevate one up away from the ground and into the tip a tornado of sugarsweet excitement within the space of a few minutes.
“Moments ago, it seems to me, that we were just kids in memories”
It must have been a moment of pure madness that convinced me that it would be a good idea to go and start my Christmas shopping on a busy Saturday afternoon in the town. Whilst you set off in good spirits, preparing for the annual unleash of your inner-Santa and contemplating what you can buy for everybody, by the end you have ultimately morphed into Scrooge – you too would be up for banning Christmas if it meant never having to experience the horror that is Saturday afternoon Christmas shopping ever again!
By the time I reached the town centre this afternoon my feelings of festivity had significantly dwindled. I’d passed a man angrily hitting his girlfriend over the head with a roll of Christmas wrapping in a subway that is affectionately known as ‘piss alley’, been angrily tooted at by a bus at a zebra crossing, and been stuck behind a trio of friends walking s…l…o…w…l…y and swinging their cigarettes behind them as they sauntered along (I seem to be much less tolerant of cigarettes now that I’m an ex-smoker, than I was before I even took up the filthy habit!)
The first thing I had to do was pick up some plates from the china shop. These plates had been specially made for my nephews’ christening in a fortnight, with each plate beautifully decorated with their names. I watched the lady wrap them in tissue paper and, considering I was wearing a boot with a broken heel (reason number 45367536 for needing some paid work a.s.a.p!), debated asking if she could use a couple of extra layers, just in case I tripped up. I didn’t though, possibly because I seem to lack brain cells from time to time.
With plates in hand I leave the shop and walk back along the High Street. Town is extremely busy and I’m like a fast-flowing river, meandering rapidly around everybody so that I can get home as soon as possible. Just as I become distracted by a stall selling scarves, Broken-Boot defies me and sends me crashing to the floor, scraping my knees and sending my shopping bags flying. “LOOOOOOOL” jeer a small group of teenagers behind me, their sympathy knowing no bounds. THE PLATES, THE PLATES! I think to myself, and scuttle into the nearest shop to check on their welfare. With a combined cost of around £100, they best not have broken or I’d probably be selling my left hand to Science in exchange for money to refund the replacements as we speak. To my relief, the plates are fine, but the whole episode has left me feeling even less festive than before.
I run to a cafe for an emergency caffeine fix to help me recover, and realise that now, all I can do about it is laugh, because it’s far more fun that way.
And that’s what the new ‘Cartoons’ section on this website is all about – trying to see the funny in the otherwise undeniably ridiculous or embarrassing. So, please check it out by clicking here or by choosing from the menu above! Thank you!
Happy Saturday one and all.
Song of the Day: Hey Marseilles – Rio
A wonderfully uplifting song about the wonder of travel from Seattle band Hey Marseilles. This song just makes me want to sack off all the things that bind us – work, housing, relationships, taxes and just travel for the rest of my life… hey, a girl can dream, right? Enjoy.
Love is a hazard in Lower Manhattan, You cannot escape and mustn’t be saddened, By men who abandon your eyes for another’s, There’s always Brazilian boys to discover!
Set your sights straight now, don’t forget pain, Drink til the morning becomes yesterday, Think of the shorelines you have yet to see, Men who will hold you with eyes you believe.
On the way, I will go. Where the days left to breathe, Are not gone, are still long, I am travelling on!
I had just turned ten years old when my parents first took me to the remote shingle peninsula at Dungeness, on the south coast of England between Folkestone and Hastings. It was during the half-term holidays of late October 1995, and we were staying with my Grandma in East Kent for a few days and, whilst there, taking day trips to various different attractions in the area.
“What’s at Dungeness?” I remember asking my parents, hoping that it was something like it sounded – a creepy ‘dungeon’ of sorts, where I might be able to find the witches and wizards I’d read about in all my childhood books. A good place to visit around Halloween, perhaps? “No dungeons. The closest thing to a dungeon is the power station, but we’re really going there to have a look at Derek Jarman’s cottage” “Who’s Derek Jarman?”, I asked, though I had already concluded that I was probably not going to be at all interested in the answer. “He was a film director who lived in a cottage at Dungeness. He made music videos for the Pet Shop Boys and had an interesting garden.”
Oh er, wowee. The cynicism more commonly attributed to teenage years made a premature appearance that day.
I remember the day clearly. My Nana and my 18 year old cousin, Matthew, came with us. It had been a tight squeeze in the car, especially since on the way we had stopped in the nearby village of Tenterden in which Mum had decided it would be a good time to buy a new wicker laundry basket, which was fairly large and spent the rest of the journey in the back of the car, swapping between the laps of Mum and Matthew. We listened to Mike Oldfield’s ‘Tubular Bells II’ and I spent most of the trip chewing my way through a packet of blackcurrant flavour Hubba Bubba. Limited edition, strange taste. It’s safe to say I wasn’t anywhere near as enthused about Dungeness as the rest of my family were. “There aren’t even any sweet shops” I sulked to myself in the back of the car, whilst everybody else crept around the cottage, peering into the windows and admiring the garden. My parents hadn’t been lying when they said there wasn’t much at Dungeness.
Sixteen years on, there still isn’t, but growing older I realised that that was entirely the appeal. We went back on average once every two years. Coming all the way from Watford, we’d usually eat lunch in the Britannia Inn restaurant there. Best scampi and chips I’ve ever had… and they always provided you with plenty of tartare sauce. It’s hard to make a whole space of nothing sound attractive to anyone who has never been there. It’s not pretty, it’s not vibrant and colourful. It’s desolate and barren. Black. But, when you’re there, you feel a connection with the Earth that cannot be found in many other places. Dungeness, with it’s black power station looming over the peninsula, acres of shingle, a few beach-houses and bewildering iron sculptures is a haven for the creative or for those who just want to have a bit of respite from the rest of the world for an hour or so. It’s safe to say the place attracts more visitors than there are visitor-attractions, because somehow the car-park of the Britannia is always full and Channel 4 even used the backdrop of the pylons in one of their idents a few years ago. For somewhere that has so little, it seems to give so much. Indeed, it’s a fabulous place, but only if you have an imagination.
Sunday 13th November 2011 and we are back in Dungeness. It’s our first visit since moving to Kent and since it’s much closer, we can afford to stop at the quaint nearby village of Appledore along the way, and drink rose tea in an ornate tearoom painted in pale pink with decorative fine bone teacups hanging from the ceiling and on shelves. In an antiques shop next door I am pleased to find a postcard of Lancaster, my student home in the North of England, from 1908. The postcard had somehow made it’s way from Lancaster, all the way to Austria, and then back to Kent, in the South of England. A lady called Alice writes to her friend Miss B.J Woolley who is out living in a convent in Austria:
“Nov 4th 1908: Thank you so much for your good wishes dear. Just this card to let you know I am going on all right. I hope the Daily Mail reaches you each week, and that the paper ‘The Ladies’ Field’ which Ada sent you came safely to hand. Much love, hoping you’re well. Yours, Alice.”
We leave Appledore, myself having taken lots of photos, and continue on to Dungeness. It’s my first time going to Dungeness with a decent camera in tow and I revel in using the ‘Pin-Hole’ and ‘Film Grain’ special effects whilst photographing the random relics that make this such a special place. As usual, the Britannia Inn is busy and the barren, shingle beach-front is dotted with various weathered, iron-shaped relics sculpted by artists whom all saw something special in Dungeness. I decide to head towards what looks like, but isn’t, a wooden abseiling wall about 300 meters away. It looks somewhat out of place in such a flat, empty mass of stones. Along the way I notice a sole page of newspaper flapping about in the coastal breeze. It’s caught on a rock. I’m captivated by the headline, “Floating Space Junk Hits Tipping Point”. Even more intriguing is the date on the paper, ‘September 3rd 2011′. It is over two months old yet still looks so recent, untouched by rain, it’s print as clear as when it was hot off the press. I wonder if somebody placed it there on purpose for the benefit of an artistic photo, one I take advantage of as I crouch down with my camera and try and get a shot which isn’t imposed by my shadow. Or, maybe it really has been there since September 3rd. In an area so untouched, it would not be beyond reason.
As I head back to the car I spot a painting of an eye on the side of the road, and see it as another photo taking opportunity. Upon closer inspection I notice that just behind it stands a wooden placard advertising a shop. ‘Crystals, incense, tarot’ etc. It’s obviously a very spiritual outlet, based in what looks like a 1980’s caravan, and it’s open every day of the week until 5pm. I decide to take a look inside. As I make my way along the path that leads to the shop I begin to sense a strange feeling, similar to the one I get just before entering a haunted house at the carnival. A handwritten note in the window at the entrance strictly forbids photography inside the shop. Eek. I step through the colourful bead curtain in the doorway and suddenly feel as though I’ve finally found that dungeon I used to assume gave Dungeness it’s name! Or something like that anyway. The space inside the shop is small and cramped, but every corner is covered with a variety of wacky and wonderful goods. As I look around at all the plaster-cast models of witches, smell the fragrances of a million incense sticks and feel the tickle of feathers from the dream-catchers above my head I begin to feel a little uneasy. There is nobody at the counter but behind a door I hear the sound of a couple of women laughing, or are they witches cackling? I half-expect to see the corpse of a witch behind the counter and am quite pleased that the counter-clerk isn’t there, with just the two of us in such a small building perhaps she’d want to make small talk. I’m not sure I could manage small-talk with a potential witch! Ironic, given what I’d been hoping for from my visit in 1995. Despite my somewhat naive unease, I love this shop. It’s interesting – I’ve only encountered a shop like this once before, and that was all the way out in rural Tennessee – a remote hut in the middle of the mountains. Here, you can almost see the spirituality dripping from the walls. Spirituality is something I’ve only really taken an interest in over the past year and a half or so. I’m much more open to the idea of the spiritual world. There is no proof that it doesn’t exist, and I’d like to believe that there is definitely the potential for a spiritual energy out there, enhancing our souls and channeling our energies into positive connections inside and out. I definitely feel that connection sometimes, and I’m intrigued to know more.
I have two pounds in my purse and would quite like to buy something. Two pounds isn’t enough for most of the items in the shop, but I see a tray of brightly coloured gemstones, each of which possess certain qualities, or so the labels attached to each tray say. They are £1.10 each, within my budget, so I decide to buy one, and read each description to see which one would fit me the best. I eventually decide to purchase a green aventurine, a smooth, rounded quartz pebble in a shade of muddy green. It is a stone which is said to bring good fortune, clarity of mind and good adventures during travel. It is also supposed to dissolve negative thoughts and emotions, and bring about peace within. It is not the prettiest stone available, but it seems to possess the most appropriate of powers and so I decide to buy it. At the very least, even if it does nothing for me, it will be a souvenir of this strange little shack of a shop. By now, some other people have entered the shop and the noise of chatter has caused the shop owner to finally show her face. She has pale skin, jet black hair in a bob, and knows these people well. They discuss a previous purchase. I take my little stone to the counter and also decide to buy a ‘lucky Chinese coin’ for 40p. The counter-clerk gives me a wry smile.
“That’s £1.50 please”
I hand over three 50ps. No change required.
“Thanks Soph” she says after taking the money.
I leave the shop and head back to the car. Something the counter-clerk said has made me feel slightly uneasy. I recall the dialogue again, in my head.
Wait a minute…
From the window of a passenger jet making it’s way over the Atlantic in 2009
One of my most favourite places to be is up in the air. Thirty-five thousand feet up to be precise.
It’s not so much about the fact that if I’m on an aeroplane, then I must be on holiday – although that too creates the association between flights and fun. Actually, it’s more about the concept of being so high up, and the rare chance to be so much closer to the stars as I glide through the upper-regions of the troposphere with 150 strangers. Flight also provides us with that so mesmerizingly natural view of the planet below us; a view which can evoke memories of pages from all those Physics and Geography textbooks that we used to begrudgingly carry around in school and chuck back into our lockers as soon as class was finished. Aerial views of the jagged coastlines below us – defined at night by lamps which dot their glowing amber hues along the borders to contrast with the black masses of ocean next to them- bring all those world maps we’ve ever looked at to life. We remember that we live not just in houses, towns and countries, but Planet Earth – just one shiny bluey-green marble in an unfathomable, mysterious mass of infinite black space the total contents of which nobody has ever been able to say for certain.
In any given second of commercial flight we are looking down on thousands of civilians, doing thousands of different things, in thousands of different circumstances. They may be living in homes which vary from the glamorous to the squalid, fulfilling acts from the most innocent to the most illicit, or experiencing events from the most joyful to the most tragic. Suddenly, my own circumstances, my successes and failures, highs and lows, seem less significant. With the humblest of meaning, my whole life seems less significant, because I am just one of 7 billion others who share the planet with me. The disappointment served by the frozen, inedible, sour tasting carrots in my in-flight meal turns from one of contempt and concern that I won’t have eaten enough on this long-haul flight, to just another of life’s little inconveniences that we ought just flick away with our forefinger into the depths of time and never dwell on again.
There’s another thing I think about during flight:
“From way up high, I drink a coca-cola and look out of a small sheet of plastic at the Earth below me where it came from, but whilst Earth appears so big, it is not so big that it can survive on it’s own forever. It is not so big, that separate nations can shirk their responsibility for the wellbeing of their neighbours. When stars that are lightyears away can appear as small as specks of dust, but be as bright as the bulbs directly above our heads, we are reminded that we each, as individuals, are merely passengers through time, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have footprints to leave. Each of us has a contribution to make.”
One of the things I value the most about Challenge to Change – the charity I volunteer for which aims to help rural Asian communities adapt to the threats of climate change through sustainable methods, is that – like all international charities – it relies on nations working together to support one another, just like they should do. We also seek to inform people in the UK about the effects their CO2 emissions can have on homes on the other side of the world. Charities such as CtC are here to show that there is no place in society for ignorance towards other parts of the world anymore. Generally, international aid and environmentalist movements are just two of the wonderful ways in which modern day Earth is finally managing to interweave each fragment of it’s landmass, or each patch of it’s tapestry, together in recognition of the fact that all 7 billion of the globe’s inhabitants are united in at least one thing – their position in the Solar System. We are thankfully so far beyond the archaic days before global exploration, when one had no concept of a world beyond their backyard.
Today, we live in an age where, the unfortunate obstacle of money aside, we can be on the other side of the world within the space of a few hours. Time Space Compression was the name that 20th century Geographer David Harvey gave to the idea of the world seeming smaller and smaller in size due to the emergence of innovative technologies like the internet and travel, and there aren’t many clearer demonstrations of this than the ability to send a message to the other side of the world in realtime, or being able to wake up in one continent and fall asleep in another. These are both things which we could not do prior to the 20th century.
On the other hand, the world can still seem significantly larger if you were to compare the standards of living in somewhere like the tiny African nation Burundi with the most expensive, luxurious home in Beverly Hills. We are still years, possibly centuries away from being a planet in which the smallest of African states can boast the same economic status as the likes of the USA and the Middle East. Perhaps there will always be such divide, and perhaps it will always be the one thing that keeps us believing that the Earth is big when new ideas such as the aforementioned time space compression theory will try telling us that it isn’t. To me, the world is both big and small, and it is during flight, looking down on it all, that I realise this the most.
When people proclaim that the Earth is a big place, I think about the internet and mainstream aviation and struggle to wholly concur. When others utter the phrase, “It’s a small world” (usually in reference to the sporadic meet of familiar faces in distant places) I consider the economic differences between East and West and struggle to wholly concur that as well. To try and weld our wonderful planet Earth into any kind of labels seems to take away it’s magic. It is what it is, but it may also be what it isn’t. And I like it that way.
Song of the Day: Miniature Tigers – The Wolf
Fun-loving indie-rock from Brooklyn, New York. Further evidence to support the notion that any band who’s name includes that of an animal, has a keyboardist, and comes from the East Coast of North America, will automatically be pant-wettingly awesome and produce genius lyrics like “I’ve got nothing keeping me here, I’ve wasted all the love that I hold dear. I’ll throw a dart: L.A. The wolf has run away…”
sophiekemsley 