Not wanting to fall into the realms of an ordinary life

On Christmas Eve I overheard my mother and my aunt getting extremely excited over a new kind of dishcloth that can clean any surface with – wait for it – JUST water. Honestly. Wood, lino, kitchen surfaces…wow. I had a bit of a panic. Will I get to that point in my life when I start to get excited over good cleaning products? Will the stereotype remain through time at that level of intensity that, even though I have a job, my main career is cleaning up after husband and brats?

I love a messy room, filled with random stuff. Bottles, old keys, photos, magazine cuttings and jewellery being my favourite decorative items, I am comfortable surrounded by, well, crap. And junk. “Get rid of anything in your life that isn’t useful, beautiful or joyful.” But what happens when useful becomes the main priority? I just hate the thought of being that water droplet on a car windowpane that you watch slowly but surely trickle into the same course as all the others. Child. Teenager. Student. Adult. *Insert low earning and low achieving job title here.* Wife. Mother. Grandmother. Dead.

Is it childish to hope that I can lead a life of joy and adventure, a life to be remembered? I know all young’uns hope for it. And every single last one of us thinks “It won’t happen for most people…but it HAS to happen for me.” Because even with this sense of an ominous future looming ahead of me, I want to live. Not because it might be the only life I have, or life is short, or any other theological or philosophic reason. Mainly, I want to live my life how I want to, because I am selfish. Are you not?

The idea of having children doesn’t appeal to me. They seem to me to be like little anchors, which grown up and get heavier, and the whole time you are looking after them, keeping the rust off (with varyingly successful cleaning products no doubt) you don’t notice that your ship has been in the same god damn place your whole life. What have you achieved apart from continuing the human race? Not such a skill, I would say. I think my ideal is to find someone likeminded who I wanted to spend my life with, but not “settling down” as the phrase goes. But shaking it up. Doing and seeing everything, going everywhere. It seems bizarre, against the norm. But there is no reason why one shouldn’t aspire to something against the norm.

I wonder if, in 15 years, I’ll look back over the things I’ve written in this blog and laugh. Laugh because I am the only person to have read it, or because I have lost all of these hopes. Maybe. Maybe I’ll live in a 3-bedroom house, learn to cook and have lovely children and be really happy, see it as a success. A change of opinion that comes with growing up. But right now, that easy route the raindrops take? I would deem it a failure.

I get this feeling every now and then that my life won’t be as long as I assume it will be. As depressing as this sounds, it’s not something that bothers me. Que será será. As long as I have a million memories to occupy me on my death bed, I’ll be fine. Death doesn’t scare me. Dying in a painful way does, but that is just an inevitable fear.

Compare Annie Leibovitz and Rankin. Both extremely good photographers, known the world over. Rankin, albeit talented, is an arrogant money grabbing douchebag. In my humblest of opinions that is. A friend of mine worked with him briefly and informed me that he was very self important, pleased with himself. Now Leibovitz must know she’s good. She’s taken more Vogue covers than any other photographer, and captured a very impressive amount of celebs. But she has her privacy, she is modest. Apart from her overly publicised financial problems in ’09, she has keep to herself over the years. When I look at pictures of her, she has this look of content and knowing. Two things I strive to gain in life. So I guess what I’m saying is that I’m happy sauntering through life, rather than running so fast I miss everything on the way to the finish line. But once I get there, if I’m lucky, my trophy will consist of a wealth of mind-blowing memories. Well, if only time will tell, let’s give time time.

Taboo in my personal ranting opinion

It is said that taboo was created by the early Victorians, and that they decided certain elements of life ought to be considered with care; sex, as an obvious example. Because sex is clearly vulgar, unnatural and not to be talked about. I personally have been brought up to get an uncomfortable twist in my stomach when people talk about it…something that is being heartily beaten out of me by my beautifully open uni pals. (I still maintain that Wetherspoons in Canterbury may not be the best place for debates of this nature…especially when a family with smalls are at the next table.) But why is sex hush-hushed but something like violence isn’t? Drinking and smoking aren’t either, yet these are behaviours and activities far worse than sleeping with someone you love.

Lady Gaga. Fashion inspiration (to some) vegan, celebate and quite openly crazy. Her music videos are on the tellybox before watershed and she lashes about, in vicious bikinis and in weird attire. In the space of one video, she promotes poisoning people, wearing police tape in convenient places, getting on strangers and smoking via a pair of lit cigarette sunnies. Now I adore fashion, but wht the hell is that?! Funny how girls in prison all wear heels, designer threads, a severe amount of leather and have a make up artist on hand. I don’t have children (thank god) but I would be horrified if I knew that my little girl was idolising the woman who dances in a bra and thong or less for national telly. This isn’t sex… it’s the suggestion of it, which in modern times is now worse. The implication of violence, of dirt, of drugs and making people perceive this as glamour…All I can say is it’s no wonder the world is royally fucked.

The problem is association. People tell me I’m cruel for going shooting for pheasants when they eat the birds themselves, but my apparent association with a lethal weapon is taboo. People are more worried about kids playing violent video games than actually doing sport such as wrestling or Kung Fu. Bikinis are acceptable in public, underwear isn’t. Where have all this bizarre and conflicting rules come from? Having sex is evil but displaying 98% of your skin for the world to see gets you famous? I’ve said it before; we are hugely illogical beings. Wanting only what is bad for us, relishing in expensive things that ruin our planet. I would have thought a race that has succeeded at the top of the food chain would have had better innate instincts. Survive. A combination of MacDonalds and anorexia. Knowing how to use a gun and how they are often misused. Once non-harmful drugs and illegal backstreet cocaine cut with bleach. Billions being spent on saving the world and funding the creation of jumbo jets and Hummers. What are we doing?

The Earth is over 4.5 billion years old. Life didn’t come into being until about 2 billion years ago. “Land plants did not appear until about 430 million years ago; reptiles, 300 million years ago; and modern mammals, 75 million years ago. The first apes appeared about 35 million years ago, and the first apelike men, about 10 million years ago. Man, himself, has been on earth for only about 300,000 years.” The Roman Empire was in reign for 1000 years, the British; less than 200. At the rate we are going, we won’t last.

I just wish that I could see some form of change in my lifetime. Maybe it will become fashionable to actually be a musician before creating free soft-porn on daytime TV. People will want to learn how to use the weapons they insist protect them. A quarter-pounder with cheese will taste worse than a bowl of garden peas. Maybe eventually we will be able to talk about everything freely, without be judged or accused. No more taboo. In my lifetime though? Doubtful.

City People

This is an article I wrote a year or so ago for YEAH magazine -

http://www.yeah-magazine.com/

"London is the epitome of an oxymoron. Beautiful in it’s grime; colourful in it’s concrete. When I hear urban, I think London. Once I was lost in and around Leicester Square and I had wandered up and down the same street about four times when a homeless guy stood up and walked over to me. Another oxymoron. He didn’t mug me as the fool in me expected, but smiled and said, “You wanna go left at the other end of this road love.” Only in London can a poor man politely help out a stranger, whereas a rich man can be rude to waiters and leave no tip.

The vibrancy and variety in London is part of what makes it triumph over most other places I have ben. It’s why when on holiday I tend to think “It’s nice here, but it’s not England.” I can go to a ballet and get MacDonald’s on the same road. Eat foie gras and go to a basement club on the same square. It’s not dissimilar to wearing a ball gown with a hoodie, trainers and chunky gold jewellery…you would never think of it, but somehow Lily Allen can pull that shit off.

The trains are even stranger to me. So many different people streaming on and off, never speaking, never even acknowledging each others presence even if they are standing mere inches away from each other reading the same book pressed against their noses. Ever noticed how a crowed train carriage can be silent, yet one with two people in it can be deafening?

When I go to London, it’s more of an exciting trip than the norm. I usually head straight to Camden Loch with a load of friends and see how much free stuff we can get. Start at Starbucks, because they always have endless trays of mini tasters, then go around talking to the mowhawked, pierced and tattooed advertisers of the underworld giving out leaflets. Haggling with the stall owners, getting bargains, eating dodgy pizza and fooling around with my friends seems to be the perfect day to me. So why is this a businessman’s idea of a bad day? As men who commute to London everyday, they can’t fathom how intrigued us young’uns are by the city. Instead of getting a travel card and trying to go to as many places as possible, he will go out for dinner or to a wine tasting session with colleagues.

Initially, I can’t help but to be in awe of the sparking lights, the buildings, statues and the massive billboards. But what really makes London what it is, is the people. The snobs, the homeless, the preachers, sellers, buyers, eccentrics, businessman. This bizarre combination of so many opposites makes our pride and joy extraordinary. What do they see when they avoiding each other’s gaze when walking out in the city?

It’s ridiculous how isolated the city people are in their own personal space. It’s not the tea, scones and Big Ben that makes London urban (although we do love these things.) It’s the behaviours of all these people. Next time you’re in London, just stop and look around you. This is the reality of urban life – don’t waste it."

Compromise

I think a problem we as the human race have willingly acquired is this desperate desire to reach that ultimate goal…universal happiness. I, being young and naïve, of course believe that every aspect of my life will fall magically and conveniently into place. I’ll get married at 30, have a million jobs offers the day I leave university, and be comfortable and perfect for the rest of my days. And everybody thinks that. Now there is nothing wrong with ambition, but when did mere contentment with what you have gained become a cop out?

It’s a shame everything nowadays is either dramatized, bubble wrapped or sugar coated. There is no real happy medium anymore. You have glossy celebrities, failed celebrities, and we all know how dismal the news is. When was the last good thing we heard? A celebrity marriage perhaps…because they last long enough to create optimism, obviously.

As I’ve said before, there is a large portion of me that relishes in simplicities, and even more so in beautiful flaws. For example, my lovely friends and I have achieved a brilliantly grown up goal of renting a house for next year. As I walked around the place I fell in love with the dated carpets, the flaking paint, the slightly dusty and potentially destructive wooden floors, the rusty hinges and the curtains held up by drawing pins thumped generously into the wall above the window. Could I be so smug as to say I can apply this love of imperfections to what I want out of life?

Certainly not.

Back in the day men would follow the professions of their fathers and women would be happy as secretaries and/or mothers. There was no such thing as a job not worth doing. People were willing to work hard for their pay, and were willing to pay for the things they needed. I admire this more trustworthy way of being. Nowadays we all want as much as we can get for as little as we can pay. And the more you pay doesn’t necessarily mean better quality either. A tailored suit could cost a lot less than a shiny designer one off Asos. So what am I trying to say in this meandering babble?

I guess I’m saying it’s a shame, the way we have grown accustomed to living. We are all sticky fingered little bastards in one way or another, always on the lookout for what we can get our paws on. I’m no different though, and I would be lying if I straddled my high horse and said I was. Such is life. But I’m pretty sure I was born after my era…1921 would have done me perfect I think. Days of chivalry, patriotic pride, and not a scrap of bubble wrap anywhere.

A few little tid bits:

1. There's a fairly girly and ancient poem by Sara Teasdale called "The Look." Found it in one of those books that smell old called "Gay Yet Wistful."

Strephon kissed me in the Spring,

Robin in the fall,

But Colin only looked at me

And never kissed at all.

Strephon's kiss was lost in jest,

Robin's lost in play,

But the kiss in Colin's eyes

Haunts me night and day.

2. I'm reading a book called Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts. If not for the story, which is true and incredible, read this for the quality of writing. If I can ever write as impeccably as Roberts, I'll die happy.

3. When feeling like your feet are a little too far away from the ground, listen to a classic - Vienna, by Billy Joel. I find it's a winner.

Henri

A wise woman once said, “get rid of everything in your life that isn’t useful, joyful or beautiful.” Admittedly, another wise woman also advised young writers not to fulfil a pitiful cliché by starting a piece with “a wise woman once said.”

I am currently in my tiny and abysmally messy room at university, hiding from the snow and people. Being cooped up in this box of slight madness probably isn’t good for the soul, but being alone when you want to be is, so I guess that counteracts it somewhat. I have been here a mere 10 weeks, although it seems like longer, and already I have managed to plaster the walls with my favourite things. Landscapes of my uncle’s farm, seascapes of the beach in Beer where I go with my parents. A few photographs of friends, some of my favourite works. Henri Cartier-Bresson…I’ll come back to him. Articles I like, beautiful women from the shiny pages of Vogue…inspiration? To an extent I guess. More solemn and secretly unfortunate hope. Remember…nobody really looks like that.

“If you are tired of the old, create the new.”

I must admit, I’m pretty proud of that one. Perhaps I should copyright it, but in a more dignified way than Paris Hilton trying to copyright her signature phrase “That’s hot” a couple of years back. But my quote is flawed, mainly because I am just that kind of painful and indecisive person. I want to spend my days writing in the middle of a snow sodden field, warming my feet on the black flagstones near the open fire in the back kitchen of a farmhouse. I want to go on walks, to appreciate the simple things, and keep my feet firmly on the ground. I want to breathe air that is so clean and crisp I can taste it, feel it billowing down my throat and through my veins.

However.

I also want to stay awake all night mocking the streets of London. I want to sweat and feel grime beneath my nails. I want to dance, to run and to drink. I want to smoke and scream and ignore my ever-persisting conscious. I want to fly, to never lay a toe on the ground again. Live on bohemia. Does it even exist anymore? I don’t suppose many people choose the modern bohemian life. A part of me wishes I could.

Fashion vs. Fields. Drugs vs. Dogs? Manic vs. Mellow. Capital vs. Country. Sticking it to the man vs. Serenity. What a completely odd mix of desires. I’ll be able to decide on those later, like I can talk about Henri Cartier-Bresson later. But one thing, if it is the only thing I confirm all week, is the fact that I never want to be the heartbreaker…ever again. I could wish away my conscious I guess, but what kind of a person would that truly make me? Better to deal with what you have done and become a better person than just be lost in the care-free wilderness of inhumanity. Seems a little drastic, but as faux-horrible as I do love to be, I do love. I hurt when others hurt, and if I’ve caused it? Well. Self-harm isn’t very impressive or respectable really.

You should really look up Henri Cartier-Bresson. He’s very talented.