Barefoot In The Dark

The best laid schemes of mice and men...

2011-08-01T11:56:00.008+01:00

It was all going so well.

I set off for Alton, Stoke-on-Trent on Monday morning, with a brief detour back to my own house to collect my mobile which I'd left on the sofa. No big deal.

For a week, I was part of the catering team on the LCET summer camp, On the Edge. Known collectively as 'Kitchen', we were cool, calm and collected in the face of curry from scratch for 100 people, and a whole bunch of fairly fussy eaters. It was a great week. We laughed, chopped, sliced, danced, fried, toasted, sung and ate a few too many nachos.

As I got in the car the following Saturday morning, I was making plans to get home, watch some TV, have a long bath, play the guitar and maybe do some more unpacking. So, waving cheerfully in the glorious sunshine, and honking my rather pathetic car horn, I set off for home. It really was a gorgeous day. Sunny, clear, fresh. The 2 and a half hour drive was going to be a joy. I love driving, especially on days like that. My iPod was cranked up and I glided down the windy country lanes away from Alton. And this is where things went wrong.

I came to a tight bend at the same time as a driver on the opposite side of the road. I was perhaps going a little too fast so I begun to break and move over a little to avoid an embarrassing wing mirror clip incident. But as soon as I tapped the breaks I realised I wasn't going to get around the corner. In an instant, I had hit the kerb. I felt a jolt and closed my eyes. My feet were frozen on the pedals. I remember praying, 'Please God don't let the car roll over.' I heard a thud. Then, as though I'd just woken up, I moved my feet and slammed them both on the brake pedal. The car came to a stop. I could smell soil. I could hear nothing. I opened my eyes and looked through the perfectly intact windscreen. Bushes. Sunlight. Sky. Ground. I took out the keys and took a very deep breath before I got out of the car.

After that, things went pretty quickly. A couple had seem me crash, called the police and come over to check on me. A nurse pulled up behind them and immediately came over. I was fine. Grateful and shaky, and annoyed about my car and my stupid mistake, but okay. This in itself was a small miracle. I had hit a BT pylon. It had taken off my wing-mirror but missed my car. Missed my head. I was fine. My superhero co-chefs picked me up and drove me home, via Costa. I couldn't believe that my day was panning out so very differently to what I had planned. We laughed about the cows whose field I had destroyed. We sung along to songs on the radio. I caught up with friends and family on the phone. I was fine.

After a cup of tea at home and some time in front of the TV, I headed up for that long bath - the only part of my plan I could still complete. No plug. That broke me. I cried. Seriously cried. It's funny how your body and mind respond to trauma. It was a plug that finished me off. Silly, but there it is. Now, two days later, I am a little achy, and it is the thought of buying a new car that makes me cry. I have realised that I am really not a very strong person. Perhaps at the instant something happens I am able to cope, but I am pretty sure I will be feeling overwhelmed for quite some time. Still, it could have been so very much worse. I am home, I am breathing, I am walking, I am loved and looked after. I am fine.

Crushed by Hotmail, the irresponsible, heartless machine.

2011-06-03T11:46:00.004+01:00

Just wanted to direct some well channelled fury at www.hotmail.com.

Since earlier this year, my account has been sending all of my email contacts (including my church admin, and employer) spam mails about flatscreen TVs and medicines. You know the sort.

So, I visit the pleasantly titled, 'Microsoft Help Center.' Even the homepage frustrated me. Just a lot of buttons, links and pictures to click. It is all just generic questions answered by some kind of 'help bot.' Still, I pressed on.

Hotmail 'help center' told me to change my password. The emails still kept coming.
Hotmail 'help center' told me to change my secret answer and LiveID. The emails still kept coming.
Hotmail 'help center' told me to delete my account. And still the emails kept coming.

Not once have I been able to speak to a real human. There is no contact address, email or phone number. And I don't have hours to sit digging around the inner depths of Hotmail to find one. Worse still, while I've been slowly going insane trying to get in touch with somebody, I've found I'm not the only one. Time and again, their forums and discussion boards feature angry, upset, worried and just plain pissed off customers, desperately trying to prevent the spam emails being sent out in their name.

Wake up Hotmail. Your service is unexceptional, at best. At least have the decency to recognise that people's online identities are very important and that, for many, they are in your hands. You may be a hugely successful and profitable company, but the people you deal with should still be your priority. So sort it out or I will find a person to shout at, and it will not be pretty.

Love and Wizards.

2011-02-25T11:18:00.003Z

I cannot help the fact that I am IN LOVE with StarKid productions, The Very Potter Musical and, more specifically, the glorious, wonky-jawed beauty that is Joey Richter (Ron Weasley). I cannot help the fact that I have watched AVPM and its sequel at least 3 times each in the last 4 days. They run at about 3hours each....ahem. I cannot help the fact that I have downloaded both soundtracks already. I am even contemplating buying a $24 t-shirt all the way from the States, just to show my love.

Love is a strong, strong thing!

Was that a Donkey on the Tracks?!

2010-08-11T21:53:00.003+01:00

When you are poor and desperate for a holiday, you take any travel option to save a few quid. A train ride across Bulgaria from west to east? Sure, I thought, that'll be fun!

Let me explain that we began this train ride a little shaken following a slightly white-knuckle taxi ride from the airport to the station. Apparently the rules of the road do not apply in Bulgaria. Not even basic ones like, 'Don't drive directly at another vehicle,' or, 'avoid running over pedestrians.' It was tense.

The train station in Sofia looked like a run down version of a disused train station. The sort of place Kevin Bacon might have gambolled around to perform an angry dance during his younger days. The platform was crumbling, the signs barely lit and the trains, heavily graffitied, looked like something dragged up from my grandfather's dusty old toy box.

As a shorty, sweaty man hurried us to our seats, the whistle blew and I clocked the temperature at 29° at about 1pm. Tired from the plane journey, and breathing in the stiflingly muggy air, we fidgeted into the compartment and tried to get comfy. What happened in the following 8 hours, yes, 8 hours, was both entertaining and extremely stressful. The temperature gradually climbed into the mid-30s. The train did not pick up speed. The supplies of water and crisps dwindled rapidly. We were all tired, all hot, all hungry and none of us expected to make it through the trip,(Dramatic, but that's what happens when your brain overheats and rationale turns to mushy peas).

However, when I looked out of the train's windows, Bulgaria surprised me again and again. Buildings were scattered between wide open stretches of dry grassland, and they all stand in varying degrees of disarray. It looked as though, as fast as someone (communists, presumably) built an apartment, factory, farm shed or outdoor toilet, someone else wouldn't be far behind with a buldozer to knock it down again. Even the buildings that were still in use - train and police stations, houses and shops - by and large seemed to feature crumbling roofs or a distinct lack of brick work! All along the journey, however, we saw signs of fruitful agriculture, hundreds upon thousands of beautiful smiling rows of sunflowers and Bulgarians going about their daily lives amidst this chaos. People, and their livestock, seemd to stroll freely across the tracks, like jay-walking Londoners moving in slow-motion, cutting right infront of the train. We saw mountains, lakes, rivers, suburbs, farms, villages, shopping malls, the sea and holiday resort complexes.

About 2 thirds of the way into the trip, at a comically named city called Plovdiv, a young man joined our compartment. He was obviously Bulgarian (I worked this out because I heard him speaking the language to the elderly gentleman who waved him off at the platform) but seemd very engaged in our semi-hysterical conversation as he sat down. It soon transpired that his English was better than most of ours - he was a music student, specialising in the niche musical stylings of the theremin, studying at a university in New Jersey. He shared his grandma's cake with us (and no, it wasn't until we got off the train that I even considered how eating cake offered by a stranger in a foreign country might have been quite hazardous) and told us about where to visit, what to eat and how to survive the heat. Nice guy.

The train sluggishly hissed into Bourgas 8 hours later, almost as hot and tired as we were. We parted company with our musical friend and dragged ourselves to the apartment. We all had to agree it had been quite an adventure.

The CB3 Experience

2010-08-02T09:04:00.003+01:00

When I agreed to be on the cooks team for a 170 strong Christian camp for 14-18 year olds in North Wales , I have to say that I expected 7 days hard labour, no sleep, little contact with the non-culinary world, and a headache by the end of it. I could not have been more wrong.

A normal day started with a scalding hot shower at 6.45am (a full 15mins later than I would get up on a school day!). After that, a gentle 5 minute stroll to the kitchens. Hat, apron and clean shoes on, we would pray for energy, wash our hands and set to work. I say work here in the loosest sense of the word - I would chop carrots, fry hundreds of bacon rashers, turn chipolatas in a pan, grate vast quantities of cheese or simply 'make the drinks.' And it continued - there I was thinking we'd have to eat on the fly, bowl teetering in one hand, stirring a cheese sauce in the other, but no. We sat and ate. We talked. After breakfast the 'helper' team (which I think should actually be called the Hero team) would clean up and we would all then go to a seminar. We had time to attend seminars!

After a few more jobs, we would finish late morning and nip out for a trip somewhere - usually involving tea and scones. Back in the kitchen we'd prepare and serve dinner, the helper team once again making sure we had plenty of time to rest and digest our own meals. We even got time to attend the evening talks and join in the wonderful singing and learning. By the end of the week, we recieved a standing ovation and rapturous applause - it went on slightly too long for my liking, but I'm working on it.

What surprised me most, was the way that the camp organisers had thought so carefully about making sure the helpers and cooks teams, who were not really involved in the main teaching and bible studies with the campers, had sufficient spiritual input. We bonded well as a group - never more so than in our late night jaunt to the Great Orme for toasted marshmallows and silly dances around the bbq!

I have met a wonderful group of genuine, funny, caring, interested, normal people (and some crazy crazy mentalists!) and my sides still ache with laughter. I have learned that my identity is secure, positive, purposeful and eternal in Christ. I have been reminded that suffering for Jesus is normal, fighting for purity is hard and that Christian community is absolutely vitally important. I feel blessed, privileged and blown away by this week. Praise God.

And I will never fry 150 rashers of bacon ever again!

All Change Again...

2010-07-20T20:29:00.003+01:00

It's the last Tuesday of this school. The last Tuesday I will teach in Year2 in DeHavilland. The last Tuesday I will have to walk into my classroom and desperately try to remember what it was like teaching in Key Stage 2.

All of these things feel good.

In a few short weeks (not too short, I hope, as I have to fit in summer camp, Bulgaria and a healthy amount of loafing) I will be moving on up to Year 4. Aaah, back in my comfort zone. Sure, I have to move classroom again. Sure, I have to plan a whole new set of units and lessons. Sure, I have no display stuff ready or any idea about the children in my class.

None of these things worry me.

This year has been, well, horrid. It started well and got progressively more stressful, painful, confusing, tiring and pointless. Okay, not pointless. I have learned a lot about my ability to cope under pressure. I don't really have one. I have found out just how emotional I can be. I have discovered that I respond with neither the fight or flight reaction. I just throw in the towel and lose interest. I stay up until 3am watching films. Or worse, watching interviews with celebrities at press junkets on YouTube.

So, with 3 'sort of' days left of term I fully intend to allow my class to enjoy themselves. We will paint, play, sing, draw pictures, watch films. I will give them an end of term present. I will expect nothing in return. And when the school day ends at 2pm on Friday afternoon, I will breathe a tremendous sigh of relief, sign off my computer and drive home. Smiling. For the first time in a long time.

Doctor Doctor!

2010-02-21T12:39:00.002Z

Today I have Hollywooditus.

This is an ailment characterised by feelings of a destiny far beyond that which you are currently on course for.

Symptoms may include excessive daydreaming, making futile attempts to write something meaningful, displeasure with life's current state, complete immersion in popular culture and occasional escapist tendencies.

It is not yet understood why people can contract this illness so suddenly, nor how it can seemingly disappear and lie redundant for months at a time. There is, however, strong evidence of a cure for Hollywooditus which requires very little action on the part of the patient, and no medicine need be prescribed.

'This is God's Word on the subject: "I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for."'

The day I saw the light again.

2010-01-05T18:44:00.004Z

It's not a surprise to any of you who know me that I have been becoming mildy disillusioned by the teaching gig lately. Frankly, moments when teaching is a wonderful and exciting privilege are few and far between. Mostly it is assessments, concern forms, planning, marking, discipline and staff meetings. I really didn't want to become one of those new teachers who left after a few years. I was headed that way.

Until today.

For the first time in two years, I remembered why I decided to become a primary school teacher today. The curriculum is being changed (for the first time since the 80s!) in the next couple of years and I am stoked! We are going to be allowed more flexibility; chances to integrate ICT, languages, debate, economics, puzzles, investigations and presentations. It's everything that primary education should be! I just hope that the (respectfully) older members of staff are able to embrace it. Anyway, I'm bursting with ideas.

Excellent!

A Poorly Written Blog About A Girl

2009-12-31T13:49:00.003Z

It occurs to me that I probably could have made something of this blog if i'd written about something interesting. For example, my year as a trainee teacher. My year as a first-year teacher. It could have been called The Staff Room. Or Confessions of an NQT. It isn't.

This blog is called Barefoot in the Dark because, for reasons best left to the pages of history, I have learned that it takes me a while to settle into anything. I flounder and grope about, my brain chews over and over, my heart sinks and rises. Finally, when it fits, I'm content. I have also learned that very little about this life is permanent. In fact, very little about this life lasts for more than a year. Situations change, people come and go, feelings alter. All very philosophical i'm sure. What I'm getting at here is that it's not easy to maintain anything other than a regular rate of respiration.

Here I am again, getting all thoughtful on the verge of a new year. Those little proverbial digits will tick over 00.00.01 and we will all be expected to shout "Hoorah! Happy New Year!" and I forget why we ever celebrate this thing. I should be nothing but grateful, humbled and hopeful as the new millenium becomes a decade old and '09 becomes '10. Why, then, do I still feel distinctly flat? New Year's Eve - the greatest anti-climax in the calendar year.

Tonight I won't be thinking about the new year (365 days is a long old time!). Rather, I'll be considering the spring term. I've a lot to do. I wonder what'll happen.

Declaration

2009-10-22T20:47:00.003+01:00

I'd like to declare: love is weird.

It's a wonderful thing. It doesn't make sense to anyone but the two people involved. It overcomes image, ability, status and occupation. It inspires creativity. It lightens. It darkens. It lifts up, guides, supports, pleases, glorifies and humbles.

I'd like to declare: walls are nasty.

Walls are unkind, unnecessary, unatural, uninviting and unpleasant. Walls are a way of making everything about me. Walls are a way of saying, 'You don't belong here,' and 'We are different.'

Men make walls. God makes love. I know which one I want to be building.

You? x

Quick note...

2009-09-01T13:34:00.001+01:00

Hi.

Yes, I am still alive.

No, I'm not cut out for the world of blogdom.

No, I'm not ready to start a new school term.

Yes, I'm gunna take it on.

Yes, you can join me!

Let's talk. xx

Easter, tears and fears.

2009-04-15T17:53:00.003+01:00

I made it through Term2 and right into Easter. Phew. Deep breath.

Having two weeks holiday was even greater relief than the kind you feel when you turn your bag inside out looking for your phone and realise it was in your pocket the whole time. I have been able to sleep and drink cider, two of life's great pleasures! But more than this, I have had time to think and write.

I don't want to sound all melodramatic and emotional, but holidays are a good time to cry about stuff. If I exhausted myself with crying during term time, I wouldn't get into school each day. But Easter in particular gives me lots to think about. Like what's it all about, where's it all going and what am I doing about it?

School is still really hard work and, even though there are just 11 weeks until I am a fully qualified wings-and-everything teacher, it seems a loooooong way away. I don't think I'll ever forget this class. They have taught me so much about my ability to persevere, to brush off nasty comments, and to try and make myself better at what I do. What makes me sad, though, is no matter how much I put in now, most of these children will arrive at secondary school and slip through the net. They are not the brightest or most ambitious children and they need a poke in the proverbial rib cage on a regular basis. Secondary school won't give them this.

1 term is all I have left to make a lasting impression. That is terrifying.

Feeling just a little defeated

2009-02-05T21:17:00.002Z

My kids are wearing me down.

No folks, you haven't missed anything that big - I don't have kids. I mean my darling little class of 23 year 3s. They are wearing me down.

Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love them but they are just very very hard work. Even the ones who started the year as my allies have begun to defect. They call out, they chat, they don't finish their work and they still bring me presents and card on a daily basis. How can I possibly be mad at them?

I'm not even sure where to go with this. Short of being a horrible, joyless dragon until Easter, I just don't know.

Any tips?

When it's time to party...

2009-01-02T12:04:00.004Z

How did you see the new year in?

I gave in to the impulse to throw a party for the sake of the stroke of midnight. And what a party it was. To set the scene, I have been battling a horrendous thick cold ever since Christmas day and it was no better by New Year's Eve. I was, therefore, resigned to a night spent at home with whatever family members remained after those with friends and a social life swanned off into the icy evening. Simon left about 6.30, Liz was at work. In short, it was pretty much a full house.

In the Willis house, we don't go down without a fight, and fight we did. We decided to throw our very own makeshift 'DiscoParty.' The single best decision we have made all December! What better party is there than one where you can decide what you want to drink, what music to play, how to dance, and how long to carry on past midnight?! A few of my brothers had friends over who were slightly sceptical at first. What kind of freakish family throws their own exclusive disco party on New Years Eve and enjoys each other's company?! Anyway, after a few drinks, they were joining in the dancing. Excellent. It was disco, it was drum and base, it was dance, it was motown, it was pop, it was electro. In short, it was exactly everything that you could imagine.

We welcomed in the new year in the only way that a new year should be welcomed - with a huge glass of champagne in hand and a bloody good mosh to the melodious tones of Andrew WK's anthem, Party Hard. It was classic. We played it three times. Kizzy got a neck injury from misinformed headbanging technique.

Happy New Year (whatever that means). Have a great January and I'll see you for some partying hard on January 31st!

So this is the new year...

2008-12-31T16:02:00.002Z

This will not be the first New Year post I've submitted to this blog. I'm sure it will not be the last. Because as much as you try to fight against it, the 31st December makes you a little bit more pensive than usual. All that happens, of course, is that the time ticks over from 00:00 hours to 00:01 and we are in a new year. The 31st becomes the 1st and we're off again. This same series of events happens at the end of every month (except where the final day is the 30th, 29th or 28th) and yet it is only this one occasion when we all have parties, drink alcohol, dance, play games, kiss and make resolutions.

The school year starts in September, not January. The tax year starts in April. So why do we not celebrate then? What resolution is there that is so bound by time, the calendar and seasons that means we can only make in on January 1st and not...today, or yesterday? Nonsense. Make resolutions every day. Resolve to be a better friend, laugh more, drink a little less, use less petrol, visit people, smile at work, work hard, grant yourself a little free time, speak about yourself less, give away more, moan less, allow yourself to fail, move slower, think faster, spend less on clothes and more on stamps, talk to God, forgive and move on. A diet can start on March 13th. A chocolate detox will not be set up to fail just because you start in mid-June.

So tomorrow is January 1st 2009. Think of it as one digit changing at the end of the date as we write it. No big deal. If you can't think of a big life changing resolution, chill out - there's plenty of other things to be getting on with. If you are reading this on some random date in the middle of the year, there's no better time to stop yourself and start over. Get better. Be changed. Be liberated. Do not be confined.

Sermon over. Happy New Year.

A brief rant...about Leona Lewis.

2008-12-07T21:08:00.003Z

I'm sorry, perhaps I'm picky, but what right does Leona Lewis have to knock Take That off the number1 spot?! She has done a fairly mediocre cover of an amazing Snow Patrol track, and subsequently destroyed all hopes of a Take That Christmas number one! I am angered!

Leona is young lady who has 'conquered' the US, won the X-Factor, and invaded radio waves. She uses vibrato like she's being punched in the oesophagus, and yes, she has an unimaginable vocal range. At first I thought I was just jealous. But I'm really not. I don't like her voice. I don't like her music. And I don't like the way everyone is obsessed with her.

Take That, on the other hand, are a totally respectable man band who had huge success, broke away and lived some real lives and then returned with some solid gold hits. Gary Barlow is a song writing guru (yes, they write and perform their own material, Leona) and they've been there and done it. They're not about breaking digital download records, or conquering any countries. They're just bloody good musicians.

I used to hate Take That. At least, in my younger days, I was not their biggest fan. But now, I cannot fault them. Absolute brilliance. Leona...well she's just a British Whitney. Good set of pipes, a certain amount of interview-likeability and a 'history.' But for me it takes a killer song, written and performed by a killer musician to warrant number one acclaim.

So I don't know about you but if Christmas 2008 is going to be tarnished by yet another X-Factor winner, or an ex-X-factor winner (and to vocalise how much I despise that show would take at least another blog!)...I'm hopping on board the Rick Roll and doing everything in my ability to get Rick Astley to number one!!

A Fairytale Situation?

2008-04-23T20:39:00.004+01:00

We have a problem. It has taken me twenty-two years to realise the following, but I hope that I can spare you the same amount of time. Join me, won't you, on an exploration of the moral cloudiness and general evils of...Cinderella. I know, it seems petty. But just you wait.

If by some freak possibility you are not familiar with the story, here it is in short: Cinderella is a beautiful, young lady who is forced into working like a servant by her 'evil' stepmother and three ugly and bitter stepsisters. One night, her fairy godmother appears, turns her rags into a ball-gown and Cinders dances the night away with the Prince at his grand ball. They fall in love, she has to scarper just before midnight and leaves a single slipper at the party. The Prince scours the land for a lady who fits the slipper, finds Cinders and whisks her off to live happily ever after. Aww.

Here's what's wrong with this story. It basically asserts the idea that youth and beauty are desirable and ugliness is essentially bad. Likewise, half-parents. Cinderella's godmother comes to her rescue (whipping up some other 'normal' things into 'beautiful, new' things) and she gets to the ball, where people are shocked by her sharp wit, intelligence, gentleness and caring? Nope. By her beauty. When the prince finally finds her again (because none of the women in the kingdom have the same size shoe as Cinderella), she gets her happily ever after. I'm not sure how happy I am teaching my kids that beauty will eventually get them wealth and position. Because those things aren't the most important. Especially if it means you have to put pumpkins out of their day-job!

Which way?

2008-04-15T15:39:00.003+01:00

There are lots of routes I could have taken in my life.

If I’d worked a little harder, I could have achieved the grades I needed to go to Sheffield university (my first choice) and study. If I hadn’t decided, at the last minute, to take an A-level in French rather than Music, I would not have been doing a French specialism PGCE. In fact, I’d probably have gone into something to do with music, English or drama. If I’d gotten over myself sooner, I might have started playing music in 1^st year, cajoled a few band members and played a few low-key gigs. If I’d learnt to be more comfortable in my own skin sooner, I might have made a real go of the relationships and friendships I have allowed to slide past.

But I didn’t take these routes. At the time at which I decided which way to go, I was either too scared, or convinced of the alternative. And that’s ok.

It's ok because nothing I choose to do is a shock to God. God knows exactly and in detail everything I have ever done and will ever do in my life. There is no panic in Heaven. They’re not running around saying, “Aargh!! That girl shouldn’t be doing that there/now/in that way!!”

What if’s and if only’s really get us nowhere. It is not too late for me to write more music, learn more languages, speak more confidently to more people, draw more pictures, and try my hardest at whatever I do. I just have to want it.

And I do.

Welcome to the New Year

2008-01-01T18:34:00.000Z

2008.

What? It's 6.30 on January 1st 2008 and I don't feel any different. I didn't make any resoultions. I saw the new year in with friends. I slept in 'til 10. I watched a great movie. I thought a bit too much. I started planning a lesson. Now i'm going out for dinner.

If the year started on January 2nd, this would be new years eve. It's really nothing special, a new year. So how about just being grateful for a new 24hours. A new 5 minutes?

You did what, Darling?!

2007-11-20T18:16:00.001Z

It's like something out of a fiction;

Two discs containing the bank details, dates of birth, national insurance numbers and addresses of 25million UK citizens have been lost in the post. God bless the Royal Mail. Actually, they probably sent the discs using some flash, secure postal service. Well, that was a mistake! Let's be honest, the discs were a mistake. Who does that?!

Nobody knows who has the two password-protected discs. In fact, the passwords are probably the same. One alphanumeric code stands between a potentially very smug fraudster and the personal funds of every British family with children under 16. How safe do we feel?

It is more than a little alarming that the Government can't be trusted with our personal information. Made worse by the fact that the only advice they can offer is, 'monitor your bank accounts.' Sorry Alistair Darling, I'm going to need a little more reassurance than that! And while the government sort it out, can we replace Darling with a chancellor with a more ballsy name like, Dick Dontmesswithmycountrymen?

I just hope they find the discs. This is one slip-of-the-hand the government need to rectify pretty sharpish or there might be a revolution of Guy Fawkesian proportions!

Teeny Little Superguy

2007-11-13T14:47:00.000Z

This little 5 year-old, Riquelme Marciel from Brazil, ran into a burning house dressed as Spiderman and rescued a baby girl.

While playing with his friend in the garden, he noticed smoke coming from the windows of a nearby house. The little superhero then ran to the house to tell the baby's mother who was too afraid to go into the burning building herself.

So, just like any superhero, Riquelme decided to brave the flames to rescue the damselette in distress. With a simple instruction to the baby's mother, 'Don't cry, don't scream because I'm going to save baby Andrielle,' he disappeared into the smoke. Brave kid. Apparently minutes later both baby and rescuer were safely outside in the fresh air and reunited with mum.

Riquelme is the talk of his home town and has said he now wants to become a firefighter and save more lives. Talk about pursuing your dreams from an early age!

My 'one good deed for the day' usually involves remembering to recycle the milk carton, or holding the door open for someone. Man, I need to get more creative!

Remember, remember

2007-11-05T17:08:00.000Z

It's the 5th of November and if there's one move you must watch once the fireworks are over, make it V for Vendetta.

"Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a bygone vexation stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition! The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it's my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V."

he's got the whole world

2007-10-26T15:29:00.000+01:00

My brain is still throbbing from yesterday's science lesson. We were learning about the Earth and beyond. Sure, we had perhaps too much fun pretending to be planets in orbit. But, wow. It's just...HUGE. Seriously, I can physically feel my brain struggling to try and grasp the vastness of the universe. Impossible. Gravity, motion, seasons, tides, years. It's mind-blowing.

But, for me, the most amazing thing is this: that all this occurs because God has made it so. I believe in a God who knows exactly how many grains of sand there are on this planet, and how many more stars there are in the whole universe, 'cuz he flung them there! And He knows how many hairs are on my head, and knows how I sat in my science lesson and smiled with awed amazement. I may not be allowed to 'teach' that in school, but when I do teach this aspect of science, it will be with care, excitement and wonder. Who knows, it might be contagious!

can i make the weather?

2007-10-24T00:22:00.000+01:00

Now, why would they show us this in our first few weeks of teacher training?

I have come to a frightening conclusion.
I am the decisive element in the classroom.
It is my personal approach that creates the climate.
It is my daily mood that makes the weather.
As a teacher I possess tremendous power to make
a child’s life miserable or joyous.
I can be a tool of torture or
an instrument of inspiration.
I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal.
In all situations it is my response that decides
whether a crisis will be escalated or de-escalated,
and a child humanized or de-humanized.

— Dr. Haim G. Ginott

*gulp*

It's pretty scary. It's pretty inspiring. It's a challenge. I can work with that.
Lemme in that classroom! I don't want to be held responsible for any child who grows up hating school because they were bored, or bullied, or struggling, or distracted.

Long gone are my undergrad days when all the responsibility I had was to drink enough coffee to stay awake long enough for essay hand-in after pulling an all-nighter. As much as I might want to stay home, bake, watch movies, play music and generally English about, I can't. Sometimes it makes me huff and puff (it's very un-ladylike) but mostly I just want to get it right.

I can't wait to be a teacher.

Tomorrow's Game

2007-10-19T16:36:00.000+01:00

Here's my *salute* to the written off England rugby team who have fought back and convinced us that they do stand a chance in the World Cup final tomorrow night. It's gunna be a nail-biter! And there might even be a little bit of history-making, too!

RugbyWorldCup.com

England Rugby

England's World Cup Victory 2003

Jonny Wilkinson's Rugby Column

Around the World in 13 Years

2007-10-09T17:46:00.000+01:00

Yesterday, I was watching This Morning and came across the most awesome story. I can't believe I'd never heard of this until now!

Jason Lewis was interviewed on the show, just 24hours after arriving back in Greenwich from his 13-year adventure around the world. He and his good friend, Steve Smith, set off from Greenwich Meridian in July 1994, on a mission to circumnavigate the globe using human power alone. Yep, that means no motor-powered vehicles. No trains, no planes, no cars. Only walking, cycling, roller-blading, and pedalling in a specially designed boat. Steve and Jason parted company in Hawaii in 1998, and Jason carried on. He has overcome crocodile attack, a hit-and-run which left him with two broken legs, and being tormented by pirates, among other things. But he's made it!

The adventure was not solely a thrill-seeker's dream, but it was intended to educate children about geography, travel, and ecology. The guys involved have spoken in hundreds of schools and Steve Smith has written a book about the leg of the trip that he was involved in.

It's an amazing achievement! Read all about Expedition360 at the website, here.

Get interested in the world and how amazing it is!

Here a blog, there a blog...

2007-10-09T11:08:00.000+01:00

Creating a blog presents you with one of those strange situations where you find yourself slightly torn. Let's be honest, we write blogs because we think there's something to say (there quite often isn't) but, when it comes to people reading it, that's a little awkward. It's quite personal, and for a brief moment you suddenly realise, 'People are going to be reading about my thoughts, experiences and ideas, and that's a bit creepy.' Yet, when you write and write and realise that, actually, no one is reading, that's very disheartening.

Anyway, there's no escaping it now. I have a newborn ICT blog - course requirement - and everyone can see my other blogs. I wonder what'll happen...

It has been quite a while since I last posted. My intro placement seems like a million years ago, now. They cram so much into this course that I feel like i've been here forever. It has been great, though. My teaching group are lovely, a real mixed bag and the tutors, though all slightly nutty, are excellent! So far I've examined woodlice, sung cheesy French songs, read kids books aloud to a group of adults, and been thoroughly terrified every Wednesday morning - Maths lesson! I'm still smiling and I just can't wait to be back in school again. Lemme at 'em! All I need is minds for moulding...

**Spot that film quote!**

The Friday Collapse

2007-09-14T18:22:00.000+01:00

I have done two weeks on Primary placements and I'm already exhausted! This year will be the making of me!

Totternhoe was lovely. I am so attached to my little 3/4 class that I'd like very much to go back and just be a classroom assistant with them. What sweeties!

Swaythling Primary has been a totally different experience but it was fab. Wow, I have never seen kids so intent on physically hurting each other! And with no apparent reason! But aside from the slightly difficult characters, I had a super time learning lots about the demands of the curriculum, the need for every child to be treated differently and the absolute necessity of an LSA! And the kids were generally lovely and I was honestly a little sad to leave this afternoon. Big hugs all round from the dear little year 2s!

So, since I last blogged, I've got up early, taught French, weeded an environmental area, almost cried when a kid finally grasped counting in 10s, and battled with the more humorous nicknames which my last name can produce! So, it's going great.

I start my course next week. Monday, in fact. EEEEK! To add to my stress, I haven't got a landline, internet or (more importantly) housemates at home! This bites! What's more, Student Loans are being picky picky and evidently want me to live on chick peas until at least December, and to top it all off, my laptop intermittently gives up trying and just whirrs for a while before cutting out. Gosh, there's never a dull moment!

Well, that's me. This next year's going to be a test. Heck, the summer was a test. I don't feel entirely prepared but I know this is where I want to be and what I want to be doing. So, I guess then that your support, prayers, hugs, letters, homemade baked delights and slightest fleeting thoughts would be most appreciated!

Love y'all xx

Polly Pocket: The Revenge

2007-08-25T02:22:00.000+01:00

I'll set the scene:

My little sister comes over to me at the piano as I'm mid-song and works the Puss In Boots magic on me. You know, the huge glistening eyes and drooping bottom lip? I'm sure there were violins involved.

"Becky, pleeease will you play Polly Pocket with me? None of the boys will and they're not even doing anything important."

How could I refuse? So I settle down for a game of Polly Pocket. It involves American accents and a lot of accessorizing, but it's not so bad. Minutes later, Jed appears and asks to play. Kizzy, far surpassing her older brothers in kindness and forgiveness, agrees to let him join in.

It was a mistake. What had begun as the Pollys having a girly sleepover and fashion show, became combat girls night. Jed's 'Polly' got into a hair-raising car chase on the way to the party and ended up on the central reservation of the motorway. The other Pollys had to mourn briefly before seeking revenge on the hit-and-run driver and excersising their kung fu skills.

It made me giggle anyway. It happens with most games in our house. The presence of 5 teenage boys means that nothing stays calm for long. I bet you've never played Combat Scrabble...

Britain's Got Talent

2007-06-15T14:33:00.000+01:00

There’s the weirdos, wannabes, time-wasters and mislead mummy’s babies.
But there’s also a lot of real, genuine British talent. Cornershop, bin man, single parent, primary school, self-taught, hard working, any talent real stars:

An unassuming guy from Carphone Warehouse who was bullied at school knocks everyone’s socks off with ‘Nessum Dorma.’ There were more than a few tears.

Six year old Conny with a killer smile reduces grown men to a powerless, speechless mess by singing ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.’

A middle-aged Average Joe carries off hilarious impersonations honouring the memory of his Parkinsons suffering, ex-comedian father.

Twenty-seven dancers of all ages, races, sexes and sexualities bring spirit, life, soul, unity and real talent to Britain.

A young guy with a love and amazing skill for baton twirling follows his dream in the face of his parent’s disapproval and at the risk of mockery, and he is sensational.

A singer-songwriter provokes tears with his voice, guitar and painful, raw emotion at the loss of his brother and love for his orphaned niece and nephew.

A funny young man with a dancing monkey puppet, Michael Jackson music and a dream to perform for the Queen gets a “super entertaining” from Simon Cowell.

A jewellery shop employee and self-taught break dancer destroys the stage with amazing dance moves.

And that’s just a few of them. This is a real, real talent show. Anyone, any age, any background is allowed their chance. It’s the best of British. Sure, there are some complete loons, but for the most part it’s genuine, undiscovered talent. The chance to shine, opened to all. It’s touching and entertaining and deeply, deeply moving. It is actually reality TV in the sense that it is not this fake, manipulated, designed, manufactured, choreographed “reality TV” nonsense. This show is real, normal, every day, 9-5, nothing special, unimpressive Britain in the face of competition, opposition, restriction, hardship, isolation and self-doubt. Real dreamers who work hard and deserve every second of recognition they get. Yes, yes, yes.

How not to write a dissertation

2007-04-20T17:26:00.000+01:00

I had more than a few 'finishing touches' to add to my dissertation last night before handing in a draft today. So, naturally, I avoid doing anything all day and then sit down to work at about 10pm. Here is the chaos that ensued. I call it, 'The Art of Procrastination:'

22.15 - I'm glad for these raisins I bought to snack on 'cuz I'm hungry. That 'big salad' really didn't fill me up at all. Dang healthiness. Sarah's gone to bed, so I'm all alone. Right...cinematic adaptation. Focus.

23.59 - I've now perfected the art of spinning round on my swivel chair with my eyes closed and stopping right infront of my computer screen, using only the sound of its whirring electrics as a guide. I'm desperate to eat something (work avoidance tactic) but am trying to wait until I'm actually hungry.

00.20 - Procrastinating again. Taking pictures of random things - including myself hiding under the desk. Just had a text from Em. Spend at least 10 minutes staring into space and thinking about things.

00.37 - Wasted a good few minutes devising a keep fit plan for the summer - my arms upset me. Wordcount for adaptation chapter: 485. Oh cwap. Food time!

00.46 - CARBFEST! Rice cake with Philadelphia & sliced tomatoes, followed by left over charlotte potatoes, mmmm.

01.18 - The night is still young! I'm confident. It's in the bag.

01.47 - Facebook....damn you Facebook! Oh, I had to touch up my nail varnish, too.

02.18 - I'm fading fast. That means...crazy early morning stay awake spontaneous boogie woogie time!! This is a skill and has to be done in a way that won't wake up sleeping housemate the medic. So I put on my mp3 player and get dancing like a loon around my room. The Go! Team make this possible today.

02.27 - Looked for jobs in the Echo. No luck, unless I fancy doing something nondescript for 'over 18s' or being a 'driver's mate' - can u imagine?!! hmm.....

03.00 - Goodness me, Classic FM is a bit extreme and experimental at this time of night. It's like being on drugs. This violinist is just messing about! Not the relaxing background music one needs at 3am.

04.26 - I must have dozed orf. Just realised the seriousness of this situation - My draft is going to be utter utter rubbish. In other news, I may be addicted to the 'My Musical' episode of Scrubs which is sheer brilliance. I think I know all of the lyrics!!

05.26 - I gave myself an inspirational pep talk. Four hours until I have to leave for campus & the printers, and inspiration strikes! Still a long way to go but the birds are singing and it's already getting lighter. Will she make it? I feel as though I'd work better if the Crystal Maze theme song was being played through speakers into my room. Almost time for brekkie :)

06.20 - My back hurts. I have sat in three different places during the night to try and remedy this problem, but it still just hurts. Sitting on my bed surrounded by comfy cushions and blankets was the worst decision ever...of the night. Who knows how long I slept?!

06.41 - Eeeeek! That is the sound of genuine panic. If I hadn't spent half my night writing these silly notes on post-its around the place, I might have got further. I think I'll eat cereal. I wish I'd known what I wanted to say earlier last night - now I've got it but just not enough time.

After this point, I worked on autopilot, pausing only to sneeze and throw some bread in the toaster at around 8am. I went onto campus to print my essay (not quite finished but close enough) and guess what? My USB had an error and wouldn't open any of the files. I had old drafts of the chapters, all without quotes and structure etc. and no new ones. I basically felt my heart drop into my shoe. I have an extension - next Wednesday. Great. My dissertation is like a nasty cartoon raincloud that follows me around and ruins everything else that might be considered fun. Well, not tonight. I'm going to CU and it's going to be grrreat!

It can be...

2007-04-18T22:36:00.000+01:00

Life can be dreadfully sad.

I have no words, really. You watch these things unfold and the media speculation sometimes gets it right, and sometimes there is just no way to possibly imagine people acting like this towards each other.

Life can be dreadfully uncertain.

My thoughts and prayers are with Alan Johnston's family. I can't imagine the sleepless nights, and the jolts with every ring of the telephone. I can't imagine being told my son is dead by one person, and being told to hope he will come back by another. I can't imagine not knowing like that.

Life can be dreadfully unjust.

This is just one incident. Stuff like this is happening all over the world and never makes international news. And for what? I don't understand it. Freedom of speech and freedom of belief must still be new a idea.

Life can be wonderful.

Because this was recently printed in The Daily Telegraph, in plain view of thousands of readers,

'In all this, two things must be kept in mind: that the crucifixion is inseparable from the resurrection, and that the sacrifice of Jesus once and for all is brought to bear on us in the celebration of the Christian Eucharist.
By whatever image they are described, Jesus's death and resurrection reverse the fall, blot out sin, destroy death, make all things new, deliver mankind from slavery, reconcile us with God, make us his adopted children, let us participate in the very life of God the Holy Trinity, allow for our repeated forgiveness, and open heaven to us.

And because it is true.

BackUpToSpeed

2007-04-16T17:48:00.000+01:00

At the moment I can’t seem to go ten minutes without my eyes glazing over & my mind drifting into this melancholy ‘it’s my last term as an undergrad’ daydream. It’s so sad that my three years at uni have come to an end. I will surely miss the life of an English student; The 6hours per week max. of lectures and seminars, the piles and piles of books to relish and analyse and criticise, the long mornings, the cups of tea on Avenue campus. Sure, I’ve cleverly devised a way to stay here in the education system for another year, but it just won’t be the same. Boo.

As it stands, my dissertation seems to be more scared of the fact I have to get a 2:1 than I am. It just refuses to be written! On the plus side my internet is broken, so I can’t get too distracted by facebook/myspace/youtube/homestarrunner/imdb/craft websites. May 14^th is crunch time. The dissertation is handed in and done forever. That is more than a little petrifying!

I really wish I’d blogged a lot more recently, because so much has been happening. I suffer from this inability to just write something when I think of it. Something inside me makes me feel like I have to get it just right. Oh dear, the literary perfectionist needs squashing! Anyway, as a result I’ve missed the opportunity to talk about my amazing week’s work in Beechwood Primary school and all the lovely kids I worked with, like funny little Polish Piter who said random nonsensical things like, ‘Miss Weeeeliss, one again I need eraser! I’m cheating I’m cheating. I no understand!” our encounter with a Landrover driving angel, and other random musings of my slightly tangential mind. Those things just can’t be written after the event. It just wouldn’t be the same. I wish I’d shared my absolute ecstatic joy on being accepted onto the Primary PGCE course for next year, and my equally delirious happiness at watching three really (and unexpectedly) good movies on the trot. (FYI these were Flushed Away, Night at the Museum and The Prestige – check ‘em out!) But, for some reason, I just didn’t.

So, for my final term I resolve to be less uppity and just write what happens. Yeah, I’m’a cut loose! I love writing so I don’t see why I make such a big deal out of it! I don’t want to miss anything out. I’m not anticipating an amazingly exciting and action packed few months, but it should be good fun all the same.

Have a Duvet Day

2007-01-27T01:12:00.000Z

Today I had an official duvet day. Yes. Except, I pretty much stayed in bed (fully clothed, mind, i'm not that lazy!) so it was more like a...bed day. Hmm. I was working, I just woke up with a stinky stinky cold and rubbish headache. Lameage.

It's ok, I read a fair bit of Accordion Crimes (not really into it yet, but we English students press on!), watched Shadowlands and helped Benny revise some more. Hilarious consequences yet again; Can anyone decipher quite what I was thinking when I sent her away to her exam remembering, 'Rhino Candy Bins?' Yeah, it was funny, but you prolly had to be there.

The result of this was her hasty escape to Sweden; land of blondes and Ikea. And Abba. We remaining Safari girls who can't be galavanting off to foreign lands went to CU. (I'd had a nap, it's ok my headache had its butt kicked by pills, thanks for asking.) It was really good tonight. No compromise. Community. Power of the Gospel. Suffering & Seeking Oppurtunities. Sweet!

Somehow I ended the evening by having a picnic with friends in my room. Excellence. Can't be beaten. Now I'm going to bed...again.
Later days! xx

Today's 2 minute blog...

2007-01-24T23:58:00.000Z

I made lemon drizzle cake...

Had a long-awaited chat with my sister via the telephone...

Wrote some things in a notebook.

It will be tomorrow by the time I have posted this blog.
xx

Today; Immunology. Tomorrow; The World!

2007-01-23T19:52:00.000Z

Today I helped Emma, housemate the Physiologist, to revise for her exam. Oh, boy.

But aren't you an English student?! I hear you cry. Yes, yes I am. I am also now the proud owner of this shiny new idea: It's much better to revise with a complete idiot; it makes you feel more betterer.

Somewhere in between autoimmune disease, cell death as a result of neglect (which I handily pointed out was just like dogs at Christmastime) and Grave's Disease, I developed an overwhelming respect for Benny. And for any science/medicine student. I mean, those revision notes were just pages of long, long words and seemingly randomly thrown together letters and numbers.That stuff is like a whole different language. Th'amazing!

Obviously my revision technique (complete and utter ignorance) helped a great deal, because apparently the exam went rather well. I feel pleased as puncheon. I learned new stuff.

While I was in the mood for conquering the known world with my new found 'i can do anything if i blag it' outlook, I wrote me a new song on the keyboard and plucked a recipe out of thin air* and cooked it. Said meal is bubbling away in a casserole dish as I type, and it smells gooood. Hmm.

Today; cookery, songwriting and immunology. Tomorrow; THE WORLD!

*Obviously recipes do not hang in mid air unless you are in some kind of place with zero gravity. That said, when a particularly good recipe tickles the taste buds, it does tend to follow you around like a mystical cloud, calling in an eerie, high voice, 'Go on, cook me, you won't regret it!' And, yes, I have had a glass of wine.

It's Saturday. I'm in love.

2007-01-20T09:29:00.000Z

I am in love with many things at the moment.

I am especially in love with the amazing truth that God keeps in touch with me even though I am completely lame at staying in touch with Him.

I love the fact that I am not yet worried about my exam on Monday. (Count 'em...one.) It's actually quite important, but this is yet to bother me.

I am [even more] in love with music. Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly. was absolutely amazing! Seriously, what a great gig to start the year with! Sam Duckworth - hero. As a result of this merriment, I am now even more excited about going to see Switchfoot and then Mutemath. These are two bands who will be responsible for a lot of face-melting, to coin a 'Ned Schneebly' phrase, and probably even more tingly-on-your-neck-ridiculously-joyful feelings! Oh man.

Inspired by all of the above, I'm going to dust off my guitar and my keyboard, and start to write songs again. Yes. Right after this essay is done, and the exam is just a distant memory. So...about 5pm on Monday!

Bx

Where We're All Headed...

2007-01-09T23:22:00.000Z

When we're old - I mean, when our generation is old - what will we be like? Will we wear pink rinse in our hair and opaque tights on our spindly legs? Will we trundle to the shops with a trolley and reminisce about the good old days, when young men worked hard and young women behaved like women. Will we speak loudly, walk slowly, shop frugally, think deeply and act elderly?

Or, will we listen to rock music, stay up 'til 2am, and prowl the streets looking for a fight? Picture the scene; an intimidating group of adolescents lingers around the co-op at night, spitting on the pavement and hurling fistfuls and mouthfuls of abuse at every passer-by. The girls strut around, pouting through a mask of 3-inch-thick make up. The boys roll back and forth on their bikes, caps tilted on an angle and hands firmly in pockets. What on earth will these people be like when they are elderly. I can't imagine them as sweet little ladies and gents. Can you?

What I mean is, do the floral wallpapers, lace curtains and funny habits come as standard when you reach 'old age' or do old people live like that because that's what they grew up with? If the latter is the case then I may well be an 80yr old with postcards plastered on my walls, a stash of chocolate in a drawer and a never ending supply of music. I'll spend some days moping in bed, wishing i'd 'done it differently' and other days wearing an endless grin and relishing in fresh air, new faces and every little thing. I'll pull funny faces and do silly voices. I'll watch movies in marathons accompanied only by some good friends and a bottle of wine.

There's a poem about this. I just remembered it. It's by Jenny Joseph. It goes like this.

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Wonderful. Case closed.

A Weekend to Remember

2006-12-04T11:36:00.000Z

The Big Sleep Out 2006 is done. It was amazing. So many stories to tell and funny things to remember. I couldn't have done it without my wonderful wonderful team, and the support of everyone who sponsored.

Please hit my Myspace blog for details (its reeeeally long!) of what went on. Keep praying for the people in Pakistan this Christmas as you wrap up warm with mulled wine and mince pies. And please remember the homeless on our very own streets. They need our thoughts and prayers as much as the people miles and miles away. Brian, 'Santa', 'John', Bonnie, to name just a few.

After a thoroughly lazy day on Saturday, the Safari girls, joined by the girls of mayfield road, piled into Buster, Lowns' little car, and went on a girlies road trip to Sarah's grandparents house in Chideock, Dorset. We went for a VERY muddy walk up Golden Cap - yeah, I was doing so well until right at the end and I hit the ground like a sack o' potatoes. Dang slippery mud. It went all over the seat of my jeans. nice. Benny went over too, in fact I think Sarah was the only one who stayed standing! Peter and Sheila made us a delicious roast, complete with the best ever beef sauce. Mmmmmm. Wonderful.

Aaaah, almost Christmas. x

Why walk when you could fly?

2006-11-27T11:20:00.000Z

Why take when you could be giving?
Why watch as the world goes by?
It's a hard enough life to be living,
Why walk when you can fly?

Here's the latest on what's happening this Friday! (Yes, it's true, in a few short days I will stop talking about fundraising and everyone will be happy again! Hang on in there guys!)

Here are the facts....

Why: For the hundreds and thousands of people who are still homeless as a result of the devastating earthquake that hit South Asia last October
Who: Me and my team of merry men and women
When: 2pm Friday 1st December - Saturday 2nd December
Where: Above Bar Street/Pedestrian area, Southampton

If you would like to sponsor, you can drop me a line, or you can donate directly online at http://www.justgiving.com/bigsleepout
If you're going to be around the area on Friday, pleeeeaase come see us, chuck some coppers in the tin, or buy us hot drinks! Remember the people we are supporting through this; their winter is already intensely cold, and they will also be dealing with the recent year anniversary of the loss of family and friends. They need our thoughts, prayers and support. It's not just homes being rebuilt, but schools and hospitals, just so they can start to get back to normality. Thanks everyone!

In the meanwhile, I'm gunna perform a backward rain dance in the hope that it stays dry for us on Friday. "Nair Nair og yawa, emoc niaga rehtona yad..."
And if that doesn't work, I don't know what will!!

Later days x

Good things take time, but great things happen all at once.

2006-11-17T11:53:00.000Z

I had never been to Pompey before, so it really was an adventure when I went to visit lil' brudder Nick. He can make it on his own!!!
We had a wonderful exploring day; discovering cheaper-than-poundland shops, the best EVER sweetie shop, and an old timey record shop. Aaaah, twas wonderful. And because we're responsible adventurers, we left a trail of two doughnuts so that we could find our way home.
I met Nicks lovely halls of residence (wasn't much of a coversationalist, though), and two of his flatmates. He has a beautiful view of the sea from his window.
It was sad when home time came around, but the day was grrrreat and I had a happy train ride home.
Soundtrack of the Day: Adventure - Be Your Own Pet

Yesterday was the progressive supper. (That's a supper where poor and hungersome Freshers move from house to house for each course. Sometimes called a moving meal. Or begging.) I'm going to be honest, we really weren't very well prepared. Still, we pulled it together and ended up having good food and, better still, great company! Our freshers were lovely, and we Safari girls were also joined by the girls of Mayfield rd and Tom. So it was a full house - the more the merrier! The conversation couldn't have been more varied (dreams, languages, dreaming in foreign languages, abolishing time keeping in favour of living longer, the drama of neighbours...) but it was fab! Yay!

I watched The Beat That My Heart Skipped in bed. It's a French movie. Pianist/dodgy real estate guy has to deal with the demons of his past - concert pianist mother died, real estate father is struggling with debt and bad health, dodgy collegues & deals, and his mothers manager who offers him a piano audition even though he hasnt played for 10yrs. It sounds weird. But it's really good, actually! If you can manage the subtitles, it's really very good. And Romain Duris is fantastic in the lead as a slightly disturbed, but intensely passionate pianist. Give it a go. Try it yourself!!

Wow. That's what happens when you don't blog for a few days. I'll try not to let it happen again. It's just that lots of good stuff happened!! What can you do?!

Not To Be Forgotten

2006-11-11T23:31:00.000Z

I suppose I should be a satisfied customer!

2006-11-11T12:46:00.000Z

Cadburys Dairy Milk Melts.
Yeah. I don't know if that's a factual statement or a product name. Does exactly what it says on the packet!

So, I was dunking away (clearly I wasn't dunking, I was dunking the chocolate, silly!) in a delicious cup of tea that Lowns had just made me, and relishing in the gradually melting chocolatey snack, and then...plop! Yep, the end just dropped right off and into my mug. 'MAN DOWN!' I yell. With cat-like reflexes, I dive a spoon into the mug of steaming liquid, but, alas, it is too too late. The thing must have melted on impact. Like butter on a freshly cooked corn-on-the-cob. It was gutting. That amazing cuppa, ruined!

The chocolate eventually rose to the surface of the mug, and settled around the edges in little grainy clusters. Nice. I drunk it, oh yes I did. I wasn't going to give in to such an unprovoked act of anti-tea-based-beverage violence. It kicked my butt by the end of the drink, though. Ewww all that hideous, festering chocolate mush. Don't be mislead, it's not pleasant, choco-tea. There is certainly NOT a market for it, trust me! But, just in case, the Choco-Tea brand name is now a registered trademark!

In other unrelated but equally exciting and unexpected news; I got a great response to the wacko fundraising plan from CU folk. Yes, there actually are other nutters who want to live on the street for 24hours!! Woot! Roll on the Daily Echo photo shoot. Yeeeeah boy!

Outy xx

But b-b-baby it's COLD outside!

2006-11-09T15:00:00.000Z

It's that time of year when the air is crisp, the sky is blue, people scurry around with rosy cheeks and noses, and there's a faint scent of cinnamon, orange, and Christmas on the wind. Now, some might roll their eyes, pull their scarf around their face and trudge from day to day, mourning the loss of the summer sun and the fast approaching (and quicker each year) season of giving. Others frantically trawl through mail order catalogues and websites, just maybe they'll have all the shopping done by the end of November! But me, I embrace it. I take a big old deep breath, one that moves my shoulders and stretches my neck and fills my lungs, and I walk places. I curl up on the sofa with a cuppa (Are you noticing a theme? It's not all I do with my time!!) and I plan what I can make everyone for Christmas. I plan big, wintry fundraising events...

...I'm taking to the streets in my second 24hour stint for the earthquake victims in Pakistan. This year it's bigger - Southampton, City Centre.
It's gunna be in the Daily Echo. Boo-yah!

Here's what happens: We (that's me and a revolving team of faithful fundraising friends) go out onto the street on December 1st 2006 at 10.00am and set up a pitch (exact location to be decided). We get money off those frenzied shoppers who are just desperate to part with their cash, as long as everyone gets a present. That means lots of spare change :-)
When all the shops close, the buckets of money can go to a safe place (to be arranged) and we stay on the street. We sleep (or try to) in sleeping bags and blankets in trillions of layers of clothes. The next day, we'll feel tired and ruff, BUT the people who are really suffering in the freezing snowy mountains in north Pakistan, will have been supported, physically and financially. We pack up at 10.00am, go home to warm drinks, baths and beds. Aaaah. I love helping people at Christmas time :-)

Here's how you can help:

Sign up to be on the street for some hour slots - only what you are available for/can manage. Please be careful if you have special health requirements etc. It will be cold.
Hot food/drinks - We'll need lots but don't want to be seen spending money in shops; people might wonder where we're getting the money from.
Sponsor us! - We will make a lot of money on the day, but sponsors contribute hugely to the total, especially good if you're not gunna be in the area.
Supplies - I mean thick blankets, thermal wear, good quality sleeping bags, thermos flasks, anything else you can think of
Pray - For safety, people with giving hearts, and for the people who we are raising money for; don't forget them!
'Safe Place' - If you have a house near the city centre & a car, we'd really appreciate the use of it to keep the money at! Get in touch!

And that's your lot. I'll be posting again with more details soon. Please contact me if you wanna help out, on rw604@soton.ac.uk or acoustic_bex@hotmail.com

Many many thanks
Bx xx

Are you sitting comfortably?

2006-11-03T10:36:00.000Z

Does no body relax at home with a glass of wine, some chocolate, a good book or a movie any more? Almost every week there's a new advert for some half price sale (or at least hugely slashed prices) on sofas.

Now, this can really only mean one of two things. Either some Larry in the sales department seriously undervalues the amount of work which goes into a beautifully crafted setee, or people nationwide have decided to stop buying furniture. It's the minimalist, feng shui look, right? Walk into any home in the country and you will be greeted with open arms, a cup of tea, and a cardboard box to sit on.

Perhaps because every one is now wading through deep and relentless waves of debt, comfortable seating just isn't high up on the list. When there are mortages, fast cars, fancy holidays, clothes, shoes and hair-dos, why would anyone pay full price for a sofa?!

Well I say farewell day-spa, farewell working overtime, and hello long nights curled up on a comfy sofa with a cuppa and a thoroughly good novel! Ahh yes the idyll begins.....

Bx

Word, yo.

2006-11-01T11:07:00.000Z

I just had to laugh at this.

Ok, so the expletive is unnecessary, but, it's hilarious.

I wonder if Bill Gates has seen it. He seems like the kinda guy who might be able to laugh at himself.

Microsoft. Word.

By the way, the works of women are symbolical

2006-10-31T21:38:00.000Z

I'm having some teething problems with this blog.
It'll be better soon.
'Til then, here's a quote to sink your chops into...

"By the way,
The works of women are symbolical,
We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull our sight,
Producing what? A pair of slippers, sir,
To put on when you're weary - or a stool
To stumble over and vex you...'curse that stool!'
Or else at best, a cushion, where you lean
And sleep, and dream of something we are not
But would be for your sake. Alas, alas!
This hurts most, this - that after all, we are paid
The worth of our work, perhaps."

I don't really know what she's getting at, but I like it! I'm no feminist, believe you me. Something about this quote just struck a chord. Well, a momentary moment of, 'aaaah, cool.' You know the feeling. Or perhaps you don't. How presumptuous of me!

I think you should read Dark Looks by Denise Riley. It's weird but good. As is most vaguely modern poetry! The thing is, it catches you out the first time. I mean, you phase out half way thru, and then you see that last line and its like she knew it would happen! Good work Denise Riley.

Bx

It was a phase. I'm over it.

2006-10-31T20:39:00.001Z

I have tried (and failed) on three occasions to start a blog. I don't know, none of them were really 'me'. The first wasn't supposed to be. It was going to be the anonymous musings of a slightly world weary late-teen...aka thoroughly uninteresting egomaniacal self-pity in text form. It was a phase. I'm over it.

Today I felt like blogging. I read some good blogs that made me chuckle and ponder, hand stroking chin and everything. Blogs like that make me want to blog. Occasionally they make me want to chop off my fingertips so I can't type in an attempt to blog. Today they made me want to blog. Thing is, I think you have to find your 'blog voice.'

Oh dear, it's all too much pressure. Really I didn't want to strap on the harness and begin to negotiate this solar eclipsing mountain of work I have to do. I don't care how beautiful the snow-capped peak is. Or how the air up there is so fresh it boots you in the nostrils with every breath. Or whether clouds really do feel like candy floss. I just don't want to do it. But, kids, I'm gunna. I've gotta.

I leave you with this; The word 'poetry' is funny. If you write it or type it or look at it too much, it makes you smile. Poetry. Poem. Poet. Poetry. Poetry. Po is a Tellytubby. Edgar Allen Poe was a writer. Poetry is a funny word. Don't you think?

Bx