The Revolution

I'm a little late on the commentary but did you see the Paxman-Brand interview? It's here if you missed it.

So...is there going to be a revolution? And will we all sing, like in Les Miserables? Because that is my only knowledge of how a revolution would be, and every time I hear the songs I wish I believed in something as passionately as those characters. 

It seems like Russell Brand does care. It's difficult to tell at first...like when he uses too many fancy words (like he is vomiting a thesaurus) I'm not sure I believe him. It's too scripted. Too pretentious. But then he gets angry and I'm convinced. 

I read an article later, calling him "daft and dangerous" for telling people not to vote. That it does make a difference. But really he isn't saying not to vote, is he? He's saying don't vote unless there is something worth voting for. It seems fair enough really, but I like voting and my history teacher drummed it into us girls that it's an insult to the people she taught us about to waste that right. We studied 'Women's Role in the 20th Century,' where there was much throwing of self under horses and hunger strikes. And then 'Popular Movements' where men protested about all sorts of stuff, but the general aim was a better life and a say in the country they lived in.

And now? Pshhh! Who can be bothered? I'm not sure my life would be massively different if the government changed.

Which is Russell Brand's point. I should care shouldn't I? I should vote because I believe it will make a difference, not because it makes me feel like a grown up.

The thing that he isn't giving me an alternative. What is this new system he has in mind, now he's had time to consider it? I'm no politician or person of knowledge but I don't think there is any good way. 

What a pessimist!! But it's true...people are selfish. And there's the rest of the world. This Utopia would have to be worldwide or it is impossible. We can't exist alone. 

And at this point my brain explodes. No wonder the government are rubbish. It's a quite the headfuck, this world. Where do you even start? 

Sometimes I wonder what I would do if I was Queen of the World, but I would be terrible. I'm almost positive the only way everyone would be equal is if I wound back time to when we were hunter-gatherers. No one with power...they can't be trusted. On the other hand, there are too many people now and we'd all end up with bad teeth and no cake. So it's back to the drawing board.

Thankfully, I don't need to think about it. I don't have any kind of say. What I can do is be vocal when I want something changed. Like that time I wrote a blog about potholes ruining my enjoyment of cycling. You'll all be pleased to hear that bit of road is smooth now and I (vainly and without any evidence) would like to claim artist responsibility for that happening. Boris probably reads my blog, no?

It seems a concern of the writer of the Brand: Daft and Dangerous article that Brand is like the Pied Piper, leading the young into apathy. Probably though, he is not telling anyone what to think, but saying what many people already think. 

I wish I thought it would make a difference. But maybe I'm just being part of the problem. When the revolution comes, I'll join in at the chorus of Do You Hear the People Sing.

We need to talk.

I try my best to avoid the fact but I'm just going to come out and say it. I am bad at confrontation. There. I admitted it. It wasn't so hard, was it?

Unfortunately, in real life though, it really is. It's all very well to complain about stuff in an online blog that people may or may not read; a place where I am both queen and an anonymity; it's quite another to tell someone face to face that I got a problem with them. You got a problem with that, huh?!

Instead of telling people carefully and tactfully that I would like them to be on time please, or wash up please, or make an effort please, I just tell other people my tale of woe. Basically I bitch. And because I find this an appalling trait I'm going to bitch about it to you. 

I don't even know what the point is. The people I complain to can't do anything about it, and they probably don't care at all. I, however, get to have my little rant without provoking the possibility of an argument, which I will always lose because I forget my very rational feelings and opinions and will want to cry. It's a problem. In fact the only person I can argue successfully with is my sister and that is only through years of practice. Besides, that's how we say I love you so it doesn't count at all. 

One of my best friends, who is the most honest person I know, has no qualms about telling me when I'm being an idiot. And then it's fine again. Problem solved because I know about it. But no matter how many times she tells me to man up and have a conversation with someone...I just can't do it. Massive fail. How does she do it?!

What I do do, is have the conversation, argument, whatever, in my head several hundred times as a rehearsal. I'm always stunningly articulate and convincing and it ends beautifully with me wiping away a single glistening tear before my adversary admits their wrongdoing and has my forgiveness generously and moving bestowed... 

But I can never quite remember how I started... Then it starts seeming like a good idea to write it down. Like a script, you know? I do that when I have to leave a voice message so I know it works. Means you get to have a proper practice before, and don't forget to say something crucial like what your name is. 

On the other hand, if you were interrupted mid-speech, you might loose track. You could have a list of prompts of course, but that would be weird and I would be tempted to just hand over my bullet pointed list and run away. And if I'm going to do that I might as well write a letter of complaint, right? 

Wrong. 

Seems a shame but I cannot become a leaver of notes (SEE: I Lick My Cheese, And Other Notes From the Frontline of Flatsharing (I'm not saying I'm complaining about my flatmates...I should put that out there!)). That would make me a sorry individual and unnecessarily passive-agressive. We don't like those people.

Note to self: we also don't like a bitch so stop it.

What is the point, I ask myself, of relationships without communication? You see, I know in theory how it works, but in practice I'd rather the communication be about what would happen in the roof caved in, or how to make crumble. Did you know that when Jack the Ripper...?

What would be ideal would be if people regularly asked me what was bothering me about them, and as an incentive told me how I was annoying in return. Bish bash bosh...everyone's happy, chests cleared, laundry aired. 

The worst of it is that sometimes I want to say something nice to someone and I can't do that either. It sticks in the throat. I'm very much a fan of the neutral. The safe. The impersonal. 

It is personal though I suppose, life. I should probably admit it eventually. 

So I have a question: you want to talk?

Selfies

Here is a picture of me:

I took it myself. You can tell this by the right arm at a weird angle, clearly holding up the camera; the flattering downward shot; and the blank expression (why would I smile, I'm alone?).
This, for those of you blissfully unaware, is a Selfie: a self portrait usually taken on a camera phone and uploaded to Facebook or Twitter or...
This is from my Instagram: friend of bad photographers and the un-photogenic (of which I am both). Select a filter, make your face a bit blurry and TA-DAH! You have a photo that is half-decent. Hurrah!
So why did I take this selfie? I was sitting on my sofa, not doing anything memorable or interesting. I was home alone and bored. And there you have my reason. Boredom. I felt like making a nice Instagram picture to amuse myself for 5 minutes, that being a new toy I'd recently discovered. Nothing of note around me so used myself as a subject of art.
That and I wanted a new profile picture. I get bored of my face if I keep the same photo too long.
But also (I'll be honest enough to admit) I like it when people say I look nice occasionally.
<LIKE>
But I notice that some people take this to an extreme. Why do you post a picture of yourself every day? Does that mean you are confident enough to think you look nice all the time and want to share that? Or does it mean the opposite, that you crave approval?
And then there are other kinds of Selfie that say other things about you. For a start, the ugly Selfie where you pull a stupid face to show you don't take yourself too seriously, that you have a 'Good Sense of Humour.' Or the group Selfie. Or a shot of your feet, or newly tattooed hand, or the beach with your suntanned legs in shot.
The last is to make you feel jealous of the magical view I have while I'm on holiday...clearly in my case I'm not looking for compliments on my non-existent tan.
I know someone who is a fashion blogger. She loves a selfie for business purposes, to show how clothes look and how you can put them together. Other people use them as a bit of promo.
But the thing is, they are no new thing. Here's an Edwardian Selfie taken with an early camera:

There you are: vanity is not a new phenomenon. It goes back even further than this actually, past early portrait painters, to people painting on cave walls. We humans have a bizarre need to leave a record of ourselves. The easier that is to do, the more prolific it is, and that's why we notice it so much now. If this lady had had Facebook this would be her new profile picture, showing off her latest and most technologically advanced toy.
Weird creatures humans, aren't we?
Now, I have been known to take a Selfie or two, but within reason people! Are you really enjoying yourself if you want to stop and take a photo of your fun-having self all the time? So yes, show us the dress your fairy godmother made you for the ball, but then just go and dance Cinderella! 

More procrastination

Yesterday I was having a discussion about my writing. In particular the picture book that is in my head but hasn't quite made it on to paper yet.
Do you know the reason I gave for having done nothing with it yet? That I need to buy a notebook first.
A notebook?!
How many blank notebooks do I have already? But none of them inspire me. I want a bigger one. And some colouring pencils. Until the moment these tools are sitting in front of me, I couldn't possibly channel my genius into a useful form.
Ridiculous, yes. But I do it all the time, and I know you are a culprit too reader.
Instead of finishing the knickers that I'm supposed to be sewing for myself, yesterday I bought lots of new fabric to make a maxi-dress and something else that I haven't decided yet. Why do I not work out how to attached the elastic first before embarking on a new project?
On a much grander scale, I have pretty much written off this year as one of experiments. Get myself back in shape just in case dance work materialises; work as much as possible to save some money; embark on varying work experience placements to see if I actually like anything; write as much as possible.
Then next September, or before if I'm lucky, I'll actually pick something.
This is the shiny side of the coin that I'm presenting to the world but here's the truth:
This morning I could have got up and gone to ballet but I'm actually sitting on the sofa in my pyjamas (at least I'm writing!); I'm going on holiday in a couple of weeks (yayay!!) spending much of what I've saved recently; having done two publishing placements I'm stuck about what to try next- apparently my ideas began and ended with publishing; I make excuses about not having the correct type of notebook to explain my lack of actual written writing.
So what do I do? Procrastinate. Read. Tidy up. Play the ukulele. Look up where I'll go on holiday next. Look at my blog stats to see where people are reading my blog (this week UK, Russia, Peru).
The thing is that I love potential. The magic in a shapeless piece of fabric that could become a ball gown. The energy in an idea in my head that cold be beautiful but might lose steam as soon as I put it on paper. The nobility of my good intentions.
And I guess it all gives me an excuse for my great indecision.
It just occurred to me how often I have mentioned how indecisive I am about my life in this blog. I'm procrastinating by talking about why I'm procrastinating.
So this is where I'll leave you today. I need to sew my pants. No more distractions!

Celebrities

Yesterday I was at the GQ Awards. Obviously I wasn't a guest: I was in prime people watching position. When you work at these things, even if you are standing somewhere very obvious, you are mainly invisible. Understandably so?
They are just so weird, these celebrity events. Shiny people walk in, look sultry for the camera, air kiss the cameraman, then answer questions about their outfit and man crush. Free drinks, a meal. Then the awards, which over-run by an hour because no one can stop mentioning the nazis.
Then I go home.
My first job was red carpet watch (if that is a job). People, I was in smelling distance of Eddie Redmayne, Michael Douglas, Noel Gallagher, Pharrell Williams, Samuel L. Jackson... I did not recognise them all. Far from it. But this started a game.
People who I recognised immediately: Emma Watson, Claudia Winkleman, Russell Brand.
People who I thought I'd met before: Matt Smith.
People who I couldn't remember the name of but knew immediately because they look just like my friend Abi: my friend Abi's brother. I would have loved to tell him to say hi to her from me but a) that would be a bit weird, b) we weren't allowed to let the famouses know we existed.
People who's names I heard later and hadn't recognised at all: Rosie Huntington-Whitley, Rita Ora, Ellie Goulding.
People I thought looked like I should know them and I probably should have if I had any ounce of cool: the man from The Who, Wilko Johnson...this is difficult because I still don't know their names.
People whose lackies are very rude and make furious gestures for me to move out of the way lest I offend the great man's eyes: Elton John.
People who actually seem quite nice and say hello to you: Elton John.


Yep. I just did a blow by blow of who I saw. What a name-dropper eh?

So there was the red carpet. A place to look chic, to show the world that you are friends with Justin Timberlake. A place to only smile when there wasn't a camera pointed at you.
And then there was my second location, smoker's terrace.
Humans are so odd. I often think this about stuff we do: walking on two legs, hair, hands and feet, exercising in front of the telly.
But I mean, places like this seem so much like a watering hole. But instead of sipping water in the cooling shade of an oasis, people smoke and sip champagne and compliment each other on their dresses. But they suddenly don't look like famous people. They look like an office party, which is essentially what these things are, no?
So why so people find them so fascinating? They weren't even very interesting. I know, I heard a lot of speeches. The only vaguely exciting moment was Russell Brand making a joke about Hugo Boss dressing the nazis very elegantly; and every third speech after condemning him for it.
Oh and Elton John gave his award to Wilko Johnson. That was nice.
So that's what I did yesterday. I grew bored by some people. Standard day at work really, except that I wasn't allowed to sit down.

Crazy people

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:

Awful-tattoo-leads-to-amazing-facebook-breakup

Oh dear lord...take down the picture and book yourself in for laser therapy.

This-is-what-crazy-looks-like

Erm...wow.

A letter to the mayor

Dear Mr Johnson,

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.

All I have left to say is have an excellent day.

Yours sincerely.