Lights, camera, action

I need to unpack. My suitcase from Norway is sprawled open on my bedroom floor with only the necessities taken out of it. I keep meaning to deal with the rest but I spent most of my time in thermals and horrible jumpers and so if they are not immediately washed then it doesn’t really affect me (although it was jolly cold this morning). I then followed up my jaunt to the fjords with a hen night and so have just loaded another unpacked bag on top of the other. It’s getting to the stage where it might be easier to move...at least I’m already packed.

But... I saw the lights, I saw the lights, I saw the lights. As experiences go, standing on a beach well inside the Arctic circle at 2am, drinking coffee and warmed by a campfire whilst the sky goes mental ranks up there with the best of memories. There are no words to describe it. I am going to attempt to add a photo to this post (first photo of the blog) but even that doesn’t truly represent how amazing it was. I’ve been hankering after seeing the lights for years now and been on several trips and if anything this has only fuelled the fire. I am thinking Canada next.

I would also like to go back to Norway although I would possibly plan my trip a little better. This trip was booked on a whim during an incredibly stressful day at work when I gave in to ‘let’s just run away and leave this town behind’ feelings and abused the credit card. I possibly didn’t do my research properly and work out that the only thing to do where I was staying was see the lights. Even the woman in the tourist information looked at me aghast when I said I was there for four days and said ‘What are you going to do?’ Well the answer to that is walk a lot, become incredibly confused by there only being three hours of daylight (which was more twilight) and on one strange day walk an hour to go to a museum which was all about... well I’m not too sure what it was about, it didn’t really seem themed. Luckily it was free. Unluckily I was the only person in there and was watched the whole time by the five members of staff who were drinking coffee. Therefore rather than walking straight back out again I spent an hour reading about Russian ship workers and (my favourite) ‘The Amazing Story of Ivan Ibalokvik’s Suitcase’. I read all about Ivan’s sisters life. All about his brother’s lives. I learnt nothing about Ivan and his suitcase was never mentioned again.

But it was all about the lights. They didn’t disappoint. Now where can I go next...

Native tongue

I am going to Norway on Wednesday. As always with my holidaying I have placed the fact that I am going to have to go on a plane to the back of my mind. In actual fact I am going to have to go on two planes, as I have to change at Oslo airport. I am already dreading it and eating kalms like they are smarties. Which they might as well be, I’m still crapping myself. But when I get there it should be super and I’ll have a good few days before I have to start dreading the flight home. I’m going straight from work tomorrow which means I need to pack tonight. I have no idea what is clean but the upside of travelling on your own is that you really don’t care what you look like. So horrible hooded tops and jeans a go go. In fact the fewer choices of clothes the better, then I can stuff the suitcase full of books. I’ve been to the library especially. In order to make all case space available I went to the website of the place I am staying to see if they provide towels. It was then I remembered my deep and quite useful skill.

I am spontaneously fluent in all Scandinavian languages.

This skill first presented itself when I went to Amsterdam. There I stunned and amazed my travelling companion by effortlessly understanding train announcements and reading signposts. What was really good was that the train announcements were followed by an identical announcement in English so I could check I was right. All trace of bi-linguality was instantly lost the second I returned home. Until, that is, today. Sadly the website of my hotel is only in Norweigan. I was hoping that something would leap out at me and low and behold. I spied the phrase Klikk her for mer info. Something inside me whispered ‘click here for more info’. It was like a bolt out of the blue. My gift had returned.

I am willing to admit that it helps that all the languages I am fluent in are just bizarrely spelled English. But what’s wrong with that? Hasn’t held the Americans back.

Part of the joy of going away is not having a clue what is going on. I went to Iceland in February and spent 2 hours in an art gallery watching an Icelandic film. My gifting must have failed me as I didn’t have a clue what was going on (I’d guess at a film about camping) but I watched the lot and thoroughly enjoyed it. I want to go to shops and have no idea what is inside packets. I want to walk past newsagents and have no idea what any of the magazines are about. It also helps that when people walk past me and say ‘What the hell is that girl wearing? I bet she didn’t pack enough clothes to make room in her suitcase for books.’ I have no idea what they are saying. Unless of course they say ‘Wot tha hel is that gul waring? I bit shhe didddnt pak enuf cloves to mayk rume in her sootcas for boks’ In which case I’ll understand instantly.

It's time...to face... the music

So we are only two weeks in and we have already lost five contestants from X factor. Now let’s be honest. The ones that went last week weren’t shocking. They were merely the ones who were put through so they could be culled in a “shocking twist” and then the competition could begin properly the following week. If you genuinely thought John-Joe was in with a chance then you don’t deserve to have ears. As for the others. Two Shoes were a lot of fun and could sing but clearly the production budget didn’t stretch to the sheer volume of bisto it would take to keep those two oven fresh. They also didn’t seem to be able to count how many shoes they need to cover all of their feet so things could have got confusing later in the competition. Amelia. Fine until you realise that she’s only 16 and then she becomes terrifying. I can’t even remember who the boy was… he sang a Beatles song in an incredibly boring way….. nope. He has no name. Bernie? He wore a hat.
There doesn’t seem to be anyone of Wagner proportions this year, which is a shame as I love a bit of bongos . Louis tried when he put Goldie through but it prompted a twist no one ever saw coming – ‘X Factor contestant in self awareness shocker’. So now we have no one who is going to come on and dance like a bear on hot coals and upset the voting when people who can hold a tune go out over someone who sings without a second thought for tune or scanning. Let’s have a look at who’s left (if you could imagine all the catergories and names being bellowed in a Peter Dickinson style voice then you’ll find you enjoy this a lot more).
THE GIRLS
Being headed up by Kelly Rowland, which is fairly impressive, even though Kelly’s main aim is to keep mentioning her single title ‘Put it down’ at every available opportunity. Even to the point of correcting herself ‘You shut that down, no you PUT IT DOWN’. It’s never an idea to have a catch phrase that sounds like you’re scolding a troublesome dog.
Sophie Habibas
Can be summed up in one word. Nice. Nice voice, nice looking, nice girl. Yeah, she’s alright. She’s nice. Don’t bother getting too attached though. As yet she hasn’t PUT IT DOWN
Micha B
Why she is called Micha B is beyond me as there isn’t another Micha and they need to differentiate but there you are. I like this girl as I remember her audition and not just for the fact that she PUT IT DOWN (please) but because there was a whole VT about who going to the audition on the bus (while dressed in a very short skirt) and how she dreamed of a better life only to get to the audition and her whole family was there. But they hadn’t been on the bus. Why did they drive and leave her to make her own way? Either way she’s very talented. Her performances are the ones you don’t fast forward through and anyone who remasters Charles and Eddie is someone I want to see more of.
Janet Devlin
I don’t like her. Obviously I don’t mean ‘her’. I’m sure she’s fine. She’s sixteen she’s never met another human before as she was raised by horses in Ireland ( I think that’s what her VT said, I drifted) and she’s now being branded as ‘incredibly different and new’. Or she sings like the woman from the Cranberries and sings every song really, flipping slowly and occasionally her voice cracks. Just in case we’re not sure how Irish she is, her hair has been dyed orange. Nice girl but I don’t want to listen to her. I want her to PUT IT DOWN

THE BOYS
Being mentored by Gary (hot) Barlow. According to the VTs they are at a slight disadvantage as Gary waits until the Saturday rehearsal before saying ‘I don’t like it, it’s the wrong song’ and then changing it. As all they seem to sing is Snow Patrol/The Feeling/Daniel Merryweather interchangeable dirge this shouldn’t really effect their performance at all. Apart from Craig. Craig does his own thing. And points.
Frankie Cocozza
I mention him first because he’ll be gone first. He needs a wash. He is alledegedly a cheeky chappy. This is slang for ‘knob’. He has all the names of a load of girls he slept with tattooed on his arse, he has hair that has been knitted out of a tramps pubes and wears trousers that he has vacuumed formed on to his own legs. He’s already been in the bottom two because he sings like a breathy, tuneless halfwit. He also screws his face up like he’s feeling the emotional torment of every word of the song…or his trousers are giving him gip.

Craig
He should be everything I hate, yet I only hate that I love him. He is Mary the bellower from last year made in to chunky man. He snarls at the camera, he points at the camera, he’s sassy, he treats the camera like the naughty girl it is and he does it all with Bob Carolgees haircut. He’s bravely attempting skinny jeans. He’s a hero for our time.

Marcus
Marcus can sing. He can dance, he seems really nice. He can sing- he really can. And yet he was cast as the underdog before he even started. Why? I genuinely don’t have an answer. Gary, sort it out. Give the boy something to do.

THE GROUPS
Mentored by Tulisa who is allowed not to have a surname. She has some tattoo on her arm that she waves at the camera. I don’t know what it says. She should be annoying but she’s actually very sensible.
The Risk
Put together at Boot Camp and are surprisingly good and don’t hate each other. Slightly disturbing taste in Waistcoats but that’s probably not their fault.

Rhythmix
A girl group who are actually good shocker. Utterly disturbing taste in clothes though. It’s a bit like they’ve covered themselves in glue then ran through a market stall in 1988. However all this is overshadowed as there is a girl in the group who looks astonishingly like Carol Voderman and I am constantly distracted by her.
THE OVER 25s.
Louis just doesn’t learn. His idea of heaven is a Spanish disco in 1982, ideally with party games and people being “wacky”. You can imagine him watching Timmy Mallet and wetting himself, slapping his thigh and saying to his carer ‘those glasses are just too big Ian. Too big HAHAHAHAHA”. Sadly for his contestants it’s game over. You don’t have a hope.
Johnny
Can sing albeit insanely high. Sadly now Louis has his hands on him he’s being turned in to some terrifying shiny disco robot who comes on as the ‘comedy act’. This could be down to Goldie leaving and Louis being deprived of his funny act. Poor Johnny.

Sami
Can’t spell her own name which is a bit of a shame. She is also this year’s bellower. She’ll stand still and shout a song out. Also thinks that wobbling her lips extends notes. She’s legally contracted not to be able to sing a song that was written post 1995. She is power ballad made flesh

Kitty
Not well.

Balance

When you essentially write about nothing and you don’t have a theme it can sometimes feel as though nothing is happening to you as you are unable to format it in to words. Or things occur that you don’t want to share with the three readers you have or events over take you and you don’t feel particularly amusing or want to paint things in an ironic way. The problem is then that the words remain unwritten and you feel that you have been doing nothing when in fact you have been doing too much and the pleasure that arises from small things in life (and fuels this blog) has been unable to happen.

In short; I have been busy. Not saving the world, not pioneering a mission to Mars but simply trying to get through the days without dropping the ball. It makes Jack a very dull boy. It also makes Jack (why I have changed genders remains a mystery) long to win the lottery.
Now besides the fact I haven’t bought a ticket in goodness knows how long and the last time I won something was nearly five years ago (which was £80, with which I was very chuffed) I still remain convinced that my time will come. On a very long coach trip in Greece I was daydreaming so much about winning a hundred and twenty-five million in the euro millions that I actually became quite overwhelmed by how much it was and whether I would be able to cope with the conditions it would inflict upon my life.

Of course I’d give most of it away. How could you not? No one needs a hundred and twenty five million. But then who would you give it to? Friends and family obviously then a few select charities chosen carefully to maximise good in the world. But then my idea of good in the world may not be the same as everyone else. I could inadvertently fund some very bad things indeed. Then if I give too much to friends and family they might lose a sense of drive and purpose and then end up with terrible and overwhelming ennui.

All in all I think it is best that I don’t win the lottery.

London's Burning

I thought long and hard about whether to write about the riots, not least because they were a week ago and it’s kind of late to be jumping on the bandwagon but also because I’m not sure what my opinion is. I’ve found it strange/amusing that over the last week every politician that’s been interviewed has said ‘Can I start by saying that I completely condemn these activities’ as if we were all sitting at home thinking: “Now I wonder what David Cameron thinks of these savage and unprecedented attacks on our country? I bet he’s all for it” .

There seems to be two views emerging. One that these are all little bastards who should be stamped on and beaten and have all their benefits and housing taken away and then set fire to; and the other view that these are poor delicate flowers who had no other option that to loot Curry’s as our society is so evil. I think like everyone else I am somewhere in between. Some of them are deprived, some are not: either way – setting fire to people’s homes is not the answer. The big question is where do we go from here. Here’s what I think:

Bring Back Grammar Schools
Brightness and intelligence is not related to class or wealth. However with school fees for public schools costing thousands of pounds a year their attendance is the preserve of the rich. Attendance of state schools is based on location so at the moment if you live in a deprived area then you’re going to go to a struggling school and not get the education you deserve. Grammar schools would enable those with academic abilities to be with others learning at the same rate and give them access to more qualifications. It would also encourage social mobility and mean that good jobs are not restricted to those that have had a private education. Which isn’t to say that those who are not academic would be abandoned, they would be able to learn in classes with others working at the same speed and not feel left behind or different. Which leads me to my next point.

Stop constant tests and the thought that everyone needs to go to university
We’re not all good at everything. How many of us have sat in a Maths class (or my personal nemesis– chemistry) not having a clue what is going on and knowing full well that we’re not going to use this in our real lives. Now let’s face it, most of us aren’t going to use these things in everyday life. Now I’m not saying abandon learning all together and there is a strong argument of learning for learnings sake but it’s not for everyone. So give everyone a solid grounding then let people specialise. Those that want to be academic can continue on that path, those that aren’t led to that area could have training in vocational subjects. Everyone needs a skill and a job and all should be equally valued and catered for. It’s not fair that we only concentrate on academia. We also need to limit the numbers that go to university. Not everyone needs to go. Many degrees are worthless. If we cut the numbers of those that need to attend then tuition fees could come down and then those who are academically gifted could attend and not be held back by their financial circumstances.

Value
We need to glorifying people because of their status. We need to value everyone’s contribution to society and stop glorifying people based on their wealth. No more articles in magazines about WAGs, no more Jeremy Kyle. We need to stop viewing success as fame and fortune but instead value it on what contribution you make to the world.

Make it worth your while to work
There are people growing up in households where 3 generations haven’t worked. Yes, we need to help the vulnerable in society, yes we should be proud of our strong social security system but we need to make it worth peoples while to work. Raise the minimum wage, tax breaks for those on low salaries – it should not be easier to be on benefits.

Rights without responsibility
Respect needs to be earned not just given. If you want people to give you respect than behave in a way that earns it. And this is not reserved for children. Parents too. Too many children are bought up in homes where parents have absolved all responsibility for their children. If you’re a bad parent then yeah, I’ll judge you – man up and take responsibility.

Repopulate town and city centres and change our culture
If you walk around city centres in the continent then often you’ll see friends catching up over coffee until the early hours. Admittedly we don’t really have the climate for pavement dining but if coffee shops etc were open till the early hours then there would be more people on the streets and more importantly, more people on the streets not fuelled by alcohol. On the same note if there were more residential buildings in town and city centres then cities wouldn’t become no-go areas at nights and groups couldn’t congregate to the same extent.

Punishment.
All of the above is well and good but sometimes bad stuff happens. In that case the full force of the law should come down on you. We work together for the common good. Not for the promotion of the individual.

We have to accept that we are all in this together. We have to value everyone’s contribution to society, so many of these kids have been made to feel like they don’t matter and have responded accordingly. We need to react against the 80s – there is such a thing as society and it’s up to us to make it as good as it can be, no man left behind

Magazines

I rarely find myself spurred in to action. I don't have a quick temper, I slowly build myself in to epic tantrums and then thirty seconds in to the tantrum realise I'm being a bit of a knob and simmer down. I get over myself pretty quickly. However sometimes the rage likes to direct itself in to letter writing and now so many companies have little links on their website encouraging me to 'contact us' I occasionally write overblown emails. Many is the time I have come home to find letters from companies apologising for stuff. I can rarely remember what I wrote and can never remember what prompted such fits of rage. They are usually directed at train companies, power companies and makers of substandard eye liners. However this week I took on a new giant - magazines.

Let me be clear. I love magazines. I've worked at a few and although I don't buy as many as I once did I still dip in to one or two of the weekly gossip ones. It's worth noting that this isn't directed at monthy women's magazines. I have issues with them but they are normally along the 'who spends £700 on a pair of trousers' type issues. Anyway. A couple of months ago I stopped buying Heat. I've read it pretty much weekly for ten years and I found it quite amusing. Not as amusing as they find themselves but I'd still buy it. Then one day I was reading the tv reviews and I can't remember what the programme was (I think it was Derren Brown but I can't be sure) but the review, written by Boyd Hilton, said something along the lines of 'blah blah takes on religion, this should be quite easy as God doesn't exist'. I found that quite astonishingly rude. He's entitled to his opinion, he can think what he wants (that's his God given right, boom boom) but to casually disregard thousands of people's beliefs in a smug and patronising way I found pathetic. So I stopped buying it.

And I started buying New! instead. Drawn in by it's optimistic exclamation mark and cheap price tag. It's not a taxing read and it kept me amused on the commute, it's always interesting to get Peter Andre's take on world events. However, little did I know that it was to lead me to my next campaign. They have a page called 'celebrity shame' or something. Basically it's pictures of celebrities not looking their best with the offending articles helpfully ringed in red so we can really know how they've screwed up. Such things as having their flies undone, a horrible top and the like are all ringed. So far so asinine. Each misdemenour is accompanied by a bit of text ridiculing the said celebrity. It's not nice but I usually imagine that the celeb in question couldn't really give a monkeys.

However on Tuesday I took a look and there was a picture of Penny Lancaster. I literally have no opinion on this woman. None. However New! magazine had ringed her boobs in red and entitled it 'Penny's massive nipples'. Then followed a blurb ridiculing her for the afore mentioned transgression and (this is the bit that got me) saying that she should get a personalised number plate that said B1G N1P3. I actually said out loud 'Oh for fucks sake'. This had the benefits of slightly relieving my frustration and giving me a bit more room on the train as people backed away from me. I never thought I would have a reaction to Penny Lancaster but seriously. Ridiculing a woman for something she has no control over (by the way, in the picture she looked fine), she has also recently given birth and is probably still breast feeding and now she's getting mocked in public. It annoyed me that this is acceptable. That it's someone's job to sit there pulling people apart and writing bitchy copy about some poor woman who's just getting on with her life. It's not fair and I don't want a part of it. So I'm not buying New! anymore. And I wrote them an email telling them to grow up.

So that's been my week. I started my own cultural revolution based around Penny Lancaster's breasts. Not a sentance I ever thought I'd write.

Tea and Sympathy

I was ill last week. I don't wish to overplay it but I'm fairly convinced it was dysentery. Some of sort of 24 hour dysentery. Either way I exploded for 12 hours non stop and then spent 12 hours laying around softly moaning. The next day I was fine and merrily tucked in to piles of toast whilst at work while people around me muttered to themselves 'wasn't she off sick yesterday? Doesn't seem very ill to me'. I didn't like to rid them of their illusions and tell them that it was possibly one of the most violent episodes I had every had the misfortune to be a part of. Instead I smiled and said 'bit of an upset stomach, all better now'. Luckily I work with people who have the same approach to illness as myself. That is: check the person is better and then tell them not to give it to you. I just can't be doing with over sympathetic people.

If I'm throwing up I want the nearest person to me to be in Wales. I don't want you holding my hair back, I don't want you banging on my door to see if I'm OK, I want to be left alone to deal with this by myself. If I'm having to get up fifteen times in one night to empty myself then I have enough issues. I don't want to have to worry about making conversation at the same time. I'll be in touch when it's all over.

It was the next day I really wanted someone around. I was knackered and everytime I lifted my head I was so overwhelmed by the need to throw up that I decided not to move for three hours which led to some serious dehydration. I lay there and I wondered who I could text to come in and get me a drink. There were a few options but as I lay there, phone in hand, I remembered that I had locked the front door so I would have to get up and let them in anyway. So I rolled out of bed and then slid down the stairs on my back. By the time I got downstairs I was so tired I couldn't be bothered to get a drink.

All the same I was relieved there was no one there. I wasn't longing for company, I was longing for a drinks dispenser. I don't deal with the milk of human kindness very well. Which is why I was relieved to be greeted with these kind words on my return to work. 'You been vomming? Urgh'.