What's 'normal'? As a person who is occasionally told I'm weird, I would like to argue that everyone is. It would be an incredibly dull world if no one had their little quirks. But my occasional outbreaks of dance, imaginary conversations and random whistling (feel free to add to this list) are nothing compared with the following.
Just click on the links and enjoy the real crazy:
I was not sure whether to write this letter to you or to Mr Corbyn, my local MP. However, as this concerns areas outside Islington North I thought it best to go directly to The Big Cheese (or whoever reads his post).
I am a cyclist and I'm writing to express my dismay at the condition of the roads in London. I'm not the most confident cyclist but due to the expense of public transport, I have little other option than to go by bike if I want to afford to appreciate our wonderful city.
That said, I feel I have enough to worry about on the roads, what with bus and taxi drivers who seem determined to make me fall over (as a cyclist I'm sure you understand- maybe it's worse for you as mayor and recognisable target?!) without adding a road which resembles a lunar landscape.
May I bring particular attention to Upper Woburn Place. Crossing Euston Road into this street and down toward Holborn is a most uncomfortable ride, not to mention hazardous as its far from quiet.
Once I cycled this way with a box of raspberries in my basket and they were basically compote by the time I arrived at work. A minor tragedy, I'm sure you'll agree.
I know many people who wish to start cycling but are too afraid of the roads. This is such a shame since its so important at the moment, not only to save money in these times of recession, but to reduce our carbon footprint.
I'm convinced that better and safer road surfaces would encourage more people to take to their bikes; as well as making people like me safer road users as we would be saved from having to swerve suddenly to avoid plummeting into that crater, and then that one, and then that one...
This is the first letter I have ever written to a politician so I hope I have expressed my concerns in a clear and savvy (I always wanted to be savvy) manner.
The day before I turned 13 I cried.
"Urgh," I thought, "growing up..."
Far from wanting to be an adult, wanting my freedom like everyone else seemed to, I was dubious about how much I'd enjoy it. First there would be that awkward teenage-ness where everything would get all emotional and solitary, when my body would be replaced by one that I was happy to forego the inconvenience of.
I'd have to stop playing make-believe (yes, I still played it at 12) and start pretending to be interested in boys and make-up and Bacardi Breezers; start to make decisions about what I thought about women's rights, God and Coldplay.
Then obviously I'd end up doing my own laundry, cooking, having to use public transport... Worst, get a job. Maybe I'd have to do the same thing everyday forever!
All things worthy of my tears.
And this year, out of nowhere (how do these things come around so fast), I will reach the grand old age of a quarter of a century.
"Urgh," I think, "growing up..."
Basically I still think I'm not an adult yet. I have a job, I do my own laundry, I cook occasionally. I have decided women should have rights(!); God does exist but is probably not a bearded old man sat on a cloud; and Coldplay remind me of one of my best friends and butterflies falling from the ceiling. Bacardi Breezers are gross but I like the fire whisky leaves in your throat. I like drinking it when I wear red lipstick.
I still wish I could play make believe.
Those fears are gone I suppose. But now I have new fears. I'm pretty sure my habit of raising my eyebrows a little too often is going to make my forehead stick like that soon. Should I start using anti-wrinkle cream?
Someone I met recently asked me why I wasn't married with babies yet. "I had 3 when I was your age," he told me, "women can't leave it too late."
WHAT!!! NOOOOOO!!
Not that I haven't heard this before....yes Nanna, I'm talking to you. But let me state quite firmly and clearly, right now: I will not get married until I decide its a good idea, and I will not have babies until I am not so keen on having a flat stomach. Besides, I'd much rather spend my time and money on seeing new places, eating good food, and ballet classes than on an expensive meal for everyone I know and a lot of nappies.
I fear that I might have to think about getting a pension soon or risk living on £30 a week.
I fear that I'm too unaware of what's going on in the world to change it. I imagine I'd be a marvellous Queen of the World if I was better informed.
I mainly fear that I'll forget how good life is. I don't really know why as I distinctly remember how sweet it was being 12. But what if I get to 50, 70, whatever, and think that I didn't do anything. That I didn't make the most of it all. That would make me sad.
And so I'm starting a project. Laugh at me if you will but I like it.
I watched a film recently, Before Midnight, that is basically a snapshot of two people's life. A fragment of time. There is no conclusion and very little really happens, but it's beautiful (as are the others Before Sunset and Before Sunrise). In this film, one of the characters mentions a letter he wrote himself. 22 year old him to 42 year old him. I don't know what this letter said, whether it offered advice or support or... but it gave me the idea of making a time capsule for myself. A birthday present for me at 50 (not old of course Mother) when I probably will have a few laughter lines, and may have decided to spend 18 years contributing to the over-population of the world.
So I wrote myself a letter, just like I was writing to a pen-pal. I wrote about where I was, what I was doing. I mentioned my friends and the cat which was beside me. I spoke about things I intended to do soon and the song that was stuck in my head that day.
50 year old me will probably enjoy a)remembering an otherwise uneventful day that in all probability would be lost in the void of time, b)the hand-written nature of the letter as I imagine in 25 years handwriting will be a lost skill and we will communicate only by teleportation.
So, what I would like for my birthday this year is a handwritten letter from you. It doesn't have to be about something important or momentous. It certainly doesn't have to be sentimental or tell me that I'm wonderful (although feel free if you can't help but sing my praises).
If you want a letter in return I'm happy to reciprocate. I write a cracking letter and I know everyone likes post.
When I finally open these letters in 2038 I will be so inspired by the mundane/not wonders of your lives that maybe I'll put you in the book I'll write on the whole, lovely, dripping-in-nostalgia project. Cross my heart, I won't read them until then.
