Nostalgia

For a brief moment whilst sitting in the bath last night, I considered rejoining Facebook. After about three seconds of contemplation, I decided against it. My original reason for leaving the site was because I felt I was allowing a website to dictate my personal and social interactions with a vast swathe of friends and more tragically, family members. Also, I spent a disproportionate (but probably not as much as the majority) amount of time looking through old posts, photos and statuses; reminiscing or feeling nostalgic.

There is a comforting warmth that comes with looking over tastefully edited Instagram photos, comments from friends and happy statuses.. But when this becomes a full time hobby; what value is given to nostalgia? Before Facebook, ("B.F." as it'll probably be referred to by future generations) did you spend every evening going through all of your old photo albums? I doubt it. The real question is how can you move forward and look forward to the future if you spend so much time looking backwards? Social media is not as a history lesson. The new Timeline feature on Facebook (which I haven't used but I've seen a demo of online) looks spectacular, but only serves to further meet the needs of the starry eyed.

Nostalgia is not what it used to be..

(This story on the Gizmodo site reinforces some of my points quite eloquently..)

Happiness > Revenge

"That's the best revenge of all: happiness. Nothing drives people crazier than seeing someone have a good fucking life."

Sometimes

Sometimes I cry with a smile.
Asymmetric grooves line my face
as the moment cracks and smoulders.
Crows feet tread gently on
tears, welling.
Translucent teeth.
Bluebells nod their heads in the wind
less than me.
Knuckles whiten.
Look down at the tap tap tap tapping shiny black chukka boot.
Loosen my tie
and make my excuses.

Ain't no easy way

An oldie but a goodie.

BRMC - Ain't No Easy Way

Parallel tracks

Rotting feathers peel from the grey mangled body
Laid between parallel tracks shiny by enormous pressure
Brakes screeching
Red twig legs

Four eyes meet as wheels clip shoes
Directions change avoiding
Collisions
Colliding for a perfect moment
Dimples and a scratchy black beret
Numbers exchange overhead and in hands
Promises

the night will always win

I miss your* stupid face.

(*her.)

The fastest way back home (con'td)

I forgot to say that I was listening to this song, on my way back home..

And here is the link for Two Rivers Press. It's probably bad form to reproduce a poet's work without permission, so instead, here is a link to Paul Bavister's website. His poem "Earley" (yes, that's spelt write) envokes memories of walking around Earley and Lower Earley as a child "when it was all fields...". Unfortunately, that particular poem isn't on his site, but I know exactly where he writing about in his poem "Changing Names". It eloquently describes an area of east Reading, where two roads meet at Cemetery Junction.. Victorian terraces are held back from the river by the motorway bridge, which separates a business park from empty marshland and onto Sonning further east. Many friends of mine have lived here and some still do.

Poetry, to me, has always been about expressing an emotion or a moment in time - a look from a stranger or a sunrise, the longing for love lost or anticipation of a new love.. Reading words about places which I am so intimately aware of is a novel yet incredibly satisfying experience. It creates an instant connection between the reader and the writer through shared knowledge. I want to learn more.

The fastest way back home

After doing a very unscientific and slap-dash calculation, I have conclusively worked out that there are more orange people per capita in Reading than anywhere in the country outside of Essex and Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory.

Whilst browsing in Waterstones, Reading redeemed itself from this dubious accolade.. In the poetry section, I spotted a book which I thought was entitled 'reading poetry'.. In fact in was called 'Reading poetry'. Inside I found a collection of poems written about, inspired by or written in Reading. Two jumped out at me immediately - 'In Reading' and 'The Forbury Gardens' - both of which encapsulate their subjects perfectly. I'll put them up here, along with the link to the (Reading based) Two Rivers Press publishers when I'm home and not using the Blogger app.. Which, incidentally, is useful but lacks a lot of the functions of the new (and vastly improved) Google / Blogger interface.

Unknown

I do not know what I want, but I know what I do not want. Looking backwards helps make better informed decisions about going forward.

Despite these statements, which I hold to be true; a small but powerful part of me wants to ignore it all and throw caution to the wind.

Gutted

Somehow, I've managed to delete three years worth of a message thread on my phone and I can't restore it. It was a diary of the events of my life along with one particular person's thoughts and feelings towards me. You can't replace the physical experiences but it was good to be able look back at those times, even if only in text.

Blind desire

What makes us lust and desire for those people and activities that are so bad for us?

Cigarettes and chocolate milk
These are just a couple of my cravings
Everything it seems I like's a little bit stronger
A little bit thicker, a little bit harmful for me

If I should buy jellybeans
Have to eat them all in just one sitting
Everything it seems I like's a little bit sweeter
A little bit fatter, a little bit harmful for me

And then there's those other things
Which for several reasons we won't mention
Everything about 'em is a little bit stranger, a little bit harder
A little bit deadly

It isn't very smart
Tends to make one part
So brokenhearted

Sitting here remembering me
Always been a shoe made for the city
Go ahead accuse me of just singing about places
With scrappy boys faces have general run of the town

Playing with prodigal sons
Take a lot of sentimental valiums
Can't expect the world to be your Raggedy Andy
While running on empty you little old doll with a frown

You got to keep in the game
Retaining mystique while facing forward
I suggest a reading of Lessoon in Tightropes
Or urfing Your High Hopes or dios Kansas

It isn't very smart
Tends to make one part
So brokenhearted

Still there's not a show on my back
Holes or a friendly intervention
I'm just a little bit heiress, a little bit Irish
A little bit Tower of Pisa
Whenever I see ya
So please be kind if I'm a mess

Cigarettes and chocolate milk
Cigarettes and chocolate milk

Word of the day

'Scuppernong'
noun
1. a silvery amber-green variety of muscadine grape.
2. the vine bearing this fruit grown in the southern US.

Small talk

Award or prize giving ceremonies usually bore me to death or turn my stomach. The thought of making small talk, laughing at a local Councillor's shit jokes and generally being nicey nicey to smarmy business types makes my skin crawl. This evening however, I've been pleasantly surprised. I attended The Hilton Community Foundation's £10k Giveaway ceremony, unsurprisingly, at The Hilton in Reading.

Small talk was on the menu, but on the whole everyone in attendance was from an organisation or small charity were interesting, engaging and were doing some fantastic things for children in Reading. The story of The Red Balloon Learner Centres, who work with children who are experiencing severe bullying, brought a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes. They were successful in getting funding for tonnes of new musical equipment which will be used for increasing the confidence of the young people they work with. A local music shop came forward and helped the cause by offering their experience in selecting equipment and would also maintain their instruments for free. An great example of local collaboration between a small charitable organisation and a small local business being supported by the clout money from a large multi-national company.

The organisation I work for was successful in getting a big cut of the £10k to provide accredited qualifications for 16-25 year olds who have been affected by homelessness. We were lucky enough to be joined by a young lady who had recently left our services after two successful years. She spoke with eloquence and passion about how the organisation had shaped her life into what it is today, after the turmoil she experienced whilst she was homeless. Although it wasn't a competition, we definitely got the loudest round of applause.

There were 8 other really worthy charities, who shared the rest of the £10k... Happily, there weren't any long speeches and that was left photos, a sip of champagne and a smutty joke with the Mayor (she's a good sport). I was home and eating a bowl of Shreddies by 8.15pm.

UPDATE - Got sent this link earlier today - http://www.getreading.co.uk/community/s/2105089_hiltons_10000_christmas_gift_to_reading_children AWFUL photo.

In less charitable but more exciting news, Tennis release their latest 7" "Origins" and "Deep In The Woods". Along with Yuck, these guys were the soundtrack to my summer - so I had high expectations.. Which have been met with abundance. Their latest offering of twinkly piano'd, starry eyed pop songs whisk your thoughts off to warmer climes on even the frostiest of days. Get involved.

Calling

Blogging has become an incredibly enjoyable, expressive and cathartic exercise over the past few weeks, which partially explains the sheer volumes of recent postings. If it's not being read by a single soul and I'm bellowing into an empty wilderness - all the better.

I found a poem which, according to the date tag on the file, was created on 9 January 2010.

A new England

After seeing Frank Turner a few weeks ago, it's only right that I start listening to the original protest-come-love-story-singer-song-maestro - Mr Billy Bragg. If you recognise it, but not in this guise; it was  made famous by Kirsty MacColl (albeit with an added verse as KMcC thought it too short) in 1985. The lyrics tales of romantic loss were inspired by two passing satellites in the night's sky... Not sure about the "space hardware" rhyme, but the lyrics speak volumes to me.

I was twenty one years when I wrote this songI'm twenty two now, but I won't be for longPeople ask when will you grow up to be a manBut all the girls I loved at schoolAre already pushing prams
I loved you then as I love you stillThough I put you on a pedestalThey put you on the pillI don't feel bad about letting you goI just feel sad about letting you know

I don't want to change the worldI'm not looking for a new EnglandI'm just looking for another girl
I don't want to change the worldI'm not looking for a new EnglandI'm just looking for another girl

I loved the words you wrote to meBut that was bloody yesterdayI can't survive on what you sendEvery time you need a friend
I saw two shooting stars last nightI wished on them but they were only satellitesIs it wrong to wish on space hardwareI wish, I wish, I wish you'd care

I don't want to change the worldI'm not looking for a new EnglandI'm just looking for another girl

A week..

..in photos

Unmistakable handwriting, which hasn't improved much over the years. In 1991 THE must have item for Christmas was Dark World for any discerning six year old. Not sure what was going on with the request for an Arsenal shirt?

"Great Dane's cheekbones..."

 Isn't she just?

As close to a Christmas tradition as I'm going to get... Christmas Pudding Truffles.

Sweet potato, peanut butter and cinnamon baked fries.

Robin

Are Red Breasted Robins brave, tolerant or wise?

La la la la la means I love you

Billy Bragg - The Saturday Boy

Gomez - Getting Better

(The snarling vocals make it an acceptable Beatles cover..)

Pan Am

Serving cups of coffee, asking "chicken or fish?" and checking that the tray is folded and the seat is in an upright position might not sound the dew point for female empowerment. Yet, the creators of Pan Am have created a platform for telling the story of a turning point in social history through the tales of four stewardesses and the world which they carve out.

The world of Pan Am is one full of Technicolor glamour and understated elegance. It is plain to see why parallels have been drawn with the HBO series Mad Men, with the nonchalant cigarettes, sartorial grace and mise en scène straight from a sixties Eames catalogue.

Despite the style, it is not a world full of societal intelligence or understanding. Subplots of racism, sexism and ageism litter the episodes. The issues are sometimes dealt with a hammer blow and other times not at all. A young black man is beaten in public for holding the hand of a white female as she stands by him receiving abuse. Yet, stewardesses are routinely harassed by drunken passengers and then their actions defended by the First Officer.

Amongst this world of injustices, the four women display power that comes from the responsibility of being charged with a planes full of passengers, worldly experience, their sexuality and relative increasing equality. These factors enforce the freedom which the programme showcases eloquently.

The subplot of Kate's subversive recruitment into the CIA in the time of the Cold War is a fantastical idea; yet crowbars Kate into a world which is used to male domination. Laura, Kate's younger sister, enters the Pan Am after running out on her wedding day, dreaming of a life outside of the kitchen and shopping mall. Christina Ricci's character is the embodiment of confidence, with a poise and grace that is incredibly alluring.

Respect, affection and comradery is deeply rooted between the flight crew, which translates into deep affinity for the characters from the viewer's perspective.

There's nothing currently on TV which can match it for glamour, societal reflection and pure entertainment.

Winter sun

At this time of year, the darkness of the morning clears so quickly above misty fields. Purple and orange haze greets me through a rain stained window.