...that's really too bad.

Quote of the day: Don't take my photograph, 'cos I don't want to know how it looks to feel like this. [Newton Faulkner]

Sort out your damn priorities.

Two days ago, a modern fundamentalist Nazi killed over ninety Norweigan people.

Yesterday, Amy Winehouse died.

Channel 4 news: "Our top story today: pop singer Amy Winehouse, aged twenty-seven, has been found dead in her London apartment. In other news, the confirmed death count in Norway has risen to ninety-two, with more still missing."

Am I the only person who thinks that's just wrong?

A person has to be the next Diana for their death to be considered more worthy of news than an unprecedented massacre of almost one hundred people. So the teenagers in Norway weren't famous singers, but that's hundreds of people who have lost someone special to them - the country hasn't seen destruction like it since WW2. Amy Winehouse... I'm sorry, but she isn't more important than they are! Not one person is! It makes me angry that the attitude towards the celebrity-civilian balance is so hideously out of proportion.

Amy Winehouse > Ninety + innocents in an inoffensive country = WRONG

An important life lesson:

They say you should write about what you know, what interests you, which causes a problem when you don't know anything and nothing interests you.

That is my observation for the day.

Quote of the day: There's something vaguely phallic about this pudding...

...at least try and remember where you're coming from

I did another stupid thing.

I spent the weekend with my sister in Norwich, and, as anyone living within ten miles of the city will know, it's been the mayor's parade. What this basically meant is that the whole of Norwich ground to a halt for the weekend - streets and parks and main roads replaced by people selling food and hippy stalls and the Norfolk Ukulele Society [no joke], with local bands playing nonstop on a big inflatable stage and making small children in buggies hold their hands over their ears and cry. One of the headlining events was a Take That tribute band. Considering my utter indifference to the real deal, I was mildly surprised to find myself the only sober person amongst several hundred Norwich folk in varying stages of intoxication, watching this [surprisingly good] band whilst protecting my camera with a vigilance that would make North Korea proud and putting up with being groped every now and then. I took it as a compliment that whoever it was kept coming back, even if they did run away when I turned to shout at them.

Anyway - my idiot moment came in the finale. It doesn't matter how much of a die-hard Take That antifan you are, everyone knows that Never Forget will always, without fail, be played last. [Note - Never Forget is the only one Howard Donald sings, and it is also the band's most famous song. Am I the only one who sees this as evidence that the he should sing more?] This is the one with the prepubescent boy singing at the start, and then the gradual build up to what has got to be one of the most iconic choruses of all time, in which everyone, without fail, feels compelled to join in with the actions. If you don't know them, shame on you. Anyway, this song is a little misleading. There's one verse, and it sounds like there should be a chorus after that, except there bloody well isn't, as I found out after being the only person to thrust both hands in the air and shout "NEEEEEEEVER" and clap while fake Howard launched into another verse, the bastard. 

Not being completely familiar with the song itself, I should have been able to just laugh it off, but it didn't work out that way. It was awful. I had to pretend to be completely wasted just so I had an excuse to pretend to not notice the hearty, slurred laughter from all around me. Needless to say, I didn't hang around once the song was over - though this did enable me to have my picture taken with the delicious, sweaty, knackered fake Howard. [It's worth noting that this guy had an accent comparable to Ben Stiller in Zoolander and gives out really good hugs, even to completely mental teenage girls banging on about how cute he is. Totally not me, I hasten to lie.]

Doesn't he look just delighted.

Anyway, this humiliated rant does have a point, as I have just thought of one. The chorus to the song I now blush upon hearing goes like this:

Never forget where you're coming from

Never pretend that it's all real

Someday all this will all be someone else's dream

Listen to the song, it will change your life. Possibly by giving you a phobia of large crowds, but whatever. The point is, lately I've been having [more] trouble distinguishing between reality and wishful thinking, and being reminded of this song, along with being told by an incredibly pragmatic friend that "it's okay to dream" has worked to stop me freaking out and going to lengths to squash my unrealistic ambitions.

Have a list:

* Unrealistic ambition number one: Write the next Harry Potter.

* Unrealistic ambition number two: Build my own little house in the country in which to cohabit with my best friend.

* Unrealistic ambition number three: Fix the damn MJ poster to the damn wall. [It doesn't matter how much damn blu-tac I use, I still wake most mornings to find the damn thing on the floor.]

In being calm about it all, I've come to understand something: people whose dreams are realised... People probably told them their ambitions were unrealistic, that they'd never do it, that they'd best give up. How much I'd like to be able to throw those sorts of comments back in their faces! Everyone has anchors in their lives - people or events that drag them down, and stop them from going in the direction they want to because it's "safer" to be sensible. Screw being sensible! Where's the fun in that? I'm going to do my level best to be able, at the end of my life, to look back on my accomplishments and say, with a smug grin, "Up yours', anchors." Starting with the damn poster. Then I'll keep writing and experimenting and practicing and being a grammar Nazi and hoping and praying with every fibre of my being that, one day, I'll be able to support myself with my novel-length rambles. Then the house. Maybe in Ireland, so I can search for leprechauns in my spare time.

On a completely unrelated subject - I'd like to take this opportunity to advertise my complete support for the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender foundation to the one, solitary person who's reading this. Check it out: http://www.lgbt.co.uk/

Quote of the day: Channing Tatum: Ex fashion model turned actor, Channing Tatum comes top of our top 10 list. His rugged, bad ass roles in the likes of Fighting really got us going whilst Dear John showed us his romantic side. Disaster almost struck whilst filming The Eagle of the Ninth, when a crew member accidentally poured boiling water down his wetsuit, burning the skin off his penis. Luckily, he’s made a full recovery. [Number one on Top Ten Sexy Men list, LGBT website. I laughed until my stomach hurt.]

...make an epic fool of yourself

I did something stupid, and now I am embarrassed.

Last Sunday, this kid I know was getting baptised, and the church was crammed. I was sitting at the back next to a woman I'd never met before, and, like the socially not-awkward idiot I am, I tried many times to strike up a conversation. It took about ten minutes of monosyllabic, noncommittal responses to my stupid questions for me to realise she was three things:

    1) Not listening.

    2) Not caring, even if she was.

    3) Breastfeeding.

It really made me think: maybe some people were placed on this Earth purely to give God a good laugh. I wouldn't mind so much if I wasn't completely certain that I am one of those people. As it is, I seriously resent the whole system.

Some people are so damn perfect, it makes you sick. People like Prof. Brian Cox. He's charming, he's insanely clever, he's hot [for a forty-something year old physicist], and he sported some seriously cool hair when he was younger, not counting the mullet. Were it not for the fact that I'm completely in love with him for all the said reasons, I'd probably hate him for being stupidly flawless.

And then there are the people who know they're flawed, but don't care - and in not caring, they make their flaws less so. If I could choose, this is the kind of person I'd be; imperfect, but confident enough to wear my faults on my sleeve, as if to say, "This is me, and I'm not changing for you or anyone else."

And the people like me - acutely aware of our blemishes, made insecure and neurotic because of them, dangerously low self esteem, etc. It's a bummer, and it's massively unfair. 

What makes a person confident or shy? What makes a person gay or straight [or bi, for the Hovis effect*]? Why am I incapable of working with numbers, but relatively competent at manipulating the English language?

Nature or nurture? Is it my fault, or can I blame my genetics? What about my upbringing? How much of an impact on my adult self has my awful primary schooling made? I want to know.

Quote of the day: Any fool knows that bravado is a cover-up for insecurity. [Bobby Darin]

* Best of both

...laugh it off

They say that laughter is the best medicine, and I have to say, I completely agree.

Think about the saddest moment of your life until you're nice and depressed. Now think of the best joke anyone's ever told you, the time your brother accidentally swore really loudly in a church, seeing your uncle get wasted at a wedding and stand up on a table and sing Lionel Richie, any one of the millions of things I've done to look like a tit over the years.

If you're anything like me, smiling upon recalling a happy/funny/enjoyable memory has always, and always will, have the ability to make any situation a little bit less crap. In this day and age, where unfortunate events and occurrences seem to be happening on a more regular basis than they were a few centuries ago, I think that's an important thing to remember.

Personal saddest moments of my life so far? Watching a family friend disintegrate as a result of MS in front of my eyes, being told by someone I love dearly that they want nothing to do with me, burying three pet cats, times I've felt alone and overlooked and all I've wanted to do is jump off a cliff to see if anyone gives a damn and actually pays attention to me.

And the best? Thrashing my brother at Tekken 3 [sad, but it got me hooked on what is, undeniably, the best game out there], undergoing a fit of epiphany last summer and realising just how amazing my friends are, the anticipation of knowing I'm going to be an auntie, times when I'm able to just chill and forget everything for a short time.
It's all relative; anything can be made good. Things happen, some good, some bad, and it's up to us to take everything in our stride - baby steps, one day at a time. We can learn something from every second of every day, something that makes us grow into who we are, and we could sit around forever and learn and become amazing people - but we're only human. All we can do is what we're capable of - and I genuinely believe that life will never throw at us that which we are not able to handle, if not immediately, then we grow to be able to handle it. If we can't like it, we learn to abide it. We're humans. We adapt.

Quote of the day: See... Once it's empty, you open up the cardboard and take it out and recycle it! It's like a striptease... for milk! *Hums suggestive music and strips a milk bottle* [The guy in Budgens who tried to sell me milk in a recyclable cardboard container earlier today]

...it was always going to be offending someone

A man says to his nine-year-old son, "Son, I have a challenge for you. Ask your mother, your sister and your brother if they would sleep with Brad Pitt for a million pounds, and come back and tell me the difference between what is potential and what is real."

The boy goes to his mum and asks her if she'd sleep with Brad Pitt for a million pounds.

"Ohh yes!" she says, looking up from her book. "He is rather dashing."

He then goes to his sister in her room and asks her the same question.

"Hell YES! He is welcome in my bed any day!"

He asks his brother. His brother "umm"s and "aah"s before coming to a conclusion.

"I would," he answers slowly. "But only because I want the money."

The boy returns to his father, who asks if he's found the difference between what is potential and what is real.

He thinks his answer through carefully. 

"Potentially, we're three million pounds richer. In reality, we're living with two sluts and a queer."

When I heard this joke for the first time, I fell over laughing. I'm still unable to be in the same room as the person who initially told it without crying with laughter. That was two years ago. I think it's fair to say, this joke is a personal favourite.

A few days ago, I read an article online about political correctness, and how it causes us to suppress our true opinions and encourages us to lie and all that, and, to an extent, I agree - but typing the very last word of the joke makes me uncomfortable, just as it always makes me uncomfortable every time I say it aloud. 

"Queer - Originally pejorative for gay, now being reclaimed by some gay men, lesbians, bisexuals and transgendered persons as a self-affirming umbrella term. Caution: still extremely offensive when used as an epithet." [Urban Dictionary definition]

It's one of those awkward situations - to use the correct term, "homosexual", completely ruins the flow of the joke. The word "gay" isn't technically a noun in itself, and so, in that context, would be incorrect usage of the English language. That is definite. Once that's decided, it's an uncomfortable game called "which term is least offensive?"

[Here I'd like to say that I am homophobiaphobic]

Poof? Faggot? Bender? Nancy? Dyke? [Actually used when referring to a lesbian, but still.]

Why is it such a massive problem?! The only reason people hesitate when wondering what to call gays is because society has had it tattooed onto our minds that all slang is offensive. Does it have to be? I'm called names such as "fatty", "gingy" and "dumbass" so often that I'd sink into my own little depressed hole and grow to despise everyone and starve to death and be found in a state of half-decay several weeks later if I took offence every time they're casually thrown in my direction. Maybe it's just me, or maybe it's to do with familiarity [despite what you might think, strangers don't often address me with insults], but I do think that, when you take a step back, the situation has surpassed the interests of politeness and general etiquette and has entered into the realm of the completely ridiculous. 

Yes, it always has been, and always will be, unacceptable to glorify racism, sexism, homophobia - any form of discrimination - but what makes jokingly calling a friend "a fairy" when he expresses feminine tendencies abominably rude? Is it only considered oafish to refer to women as "birds" because, several decades ago, it was just decided that life was boring and a word was chosen to become taboo without reason or justifiable cause? Quite possibly, in my humble opinion.

It's difficult, really difficult, to discern between the acceptable and the shootable offences. I think it's fair to say, and it's an overused quote - that this is political correctness gone mad.

                    

Quote of the day: A quick test to see if you are a feminist. Stick your hand down your pants. a) Do you have a vagina? b) Do you want to be in control of it? If your answer to both was "yes" then, congratulations! You are a feminist. [Caitlin Moran]

...turn them into lemonade without the ade

Had my last exam at half one today. German reading. As I walked out of the hall fifty minutes later, I was ecstatic, jubilant, elated, rhapsodic, overjoyed at the prospect of never having to speak another word of German ever again! Ja ja ja ja ja! Screw modal verbs, screw past participles, screw "der, die, das" - I'm FREE of this bitch that has been dragging me down until I'm on the verge of committing racial homicide for so long*! I'm FREE, DAMNIT! FREE! Not only that, but it was my LAST GCSE! No more exams! HEAR THAT? Summer! I'm freeee

Celebrated by pottering along to Stefan's place with Ben and spending a lovely couple of hours sunbathing in the shadiest space available [I burn like toast], eating cake and drinking Coke out of a glass bottle. [Is there anything more awesome than Coke in a glass bottle? Unlikely.] It was really, really nice, just to chill and talk about mindless stuff and drink "lemonade without the fizz", courtesy of Stefan, and it occurred to me that this is the start of what could be the best summer of my life.

Three weeks from now: my brother, Robert, flies his skinny arse over here so I can kick it for being away for so long. A week after that: the four of us [parents, my brother and I] drive up to Skye and inflict ourselves upon our cousins. A few days after that: we all travel to a charmingly Scottish holiday resort and stay for a week. During that time: big family reunion [my sister, her husband, Granny, the seldom-seen Uncle Peter, his wife, Rob's girlfriend] to celebrate dad's upcoming birthday. Following that: puppet academy [don't ask - I have peculiar hobbies, but at least I'm damn good at them].  After that: Soul Survivor [my favourite place in the world, without a doubt]. After that: exam results! And then: a few weeks of sitting around, scratching my nose, growing more and more nervous about starting a new school in September.

[You probably didn't need to know my entire timetable for this summer, and you almost certainly couldn't care less, but I'm not bothered.]

All in all - a bloody amazing couple of months, no?

I'm about to go off at a tangent.

As a rule, I dislike summer. I'm more of a winter person, in every way. I like rain, I don't do well in heat, I have typical "ginger skin" and burn ridiculously easily, I hate all the beetles that occupy the garden when it gets warm, I don't like going into swimming pools to cool down because I'm too insecure - the list goes on. ANYWAY, this evening I braved the midges, I defied the pitiful Suffolk sun, I donned my straw hat and sat outside with my ukulele for a few hours and was completely amazed by how good it felt. Yes, it was too humid, yes, I was sweating like a pig, yes, a multitude of many-legged organisms were crawling all over me, but it was actually really really nice. So then I got thinking - why can't the rest of the holiday be like this? It can be - I have about ten weeks until I need to wake up at any reasonable time and shake myself out of a nocturnal habit again, why not spend it enjoying summer?

I've [hopefully] a time of acclimatising myself to the outside and twiddling with the uke and laughing with friends and reading good books and having fun ahead of me, and I want to take advantage of that. Maybe at the end of it I'll have earned myself a tan, who knows.

I suppose the moral of the story, and everyone already knows it, is: enjoy life. It's too precious to waste sitting indoors, thinking about what's going on "out there". Get "out there" and see for yourself. There's nothing that can't be overcome with patience and persistence and the knowledge that you have people to help you every step of the way.

Since I started writing this, I've been debating with myself whether or not to actually post it. Is it my honest opinion? Yes, completely. Is it likely to turn the German nation against me? Hopefully not. Might it be seen as massively insensitive? Quite possibly, and that, I admit, I'm worried about - call me a bitch, a bad friend, an intrinsically evil human being, but I'm not going to tiptoe around other people if it means distancing myself from what makes me happy. I know it isn't, but if it was me, if I had a lot to think about [euphemistically speaking], I know I'd want people to be normal, because normality gives me something to aim towards when things outside of my control are changing around me. I'm sorry if this causes offence or displeasure, but I'm not being deliberately vindictive; I'm here to be a friend, and I'm trying to be as helpful as I can.

Quote of the day: When one door closes, another opens; but often we look so long and regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us. [Alexander Graham Bell]

* From a politically correct perspective - I have no hard feelings against the Germans. Not enough to collectively wish them misfortune, anyway.