Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter

The sun has evaded us for so long, but summer is hopefully, on its way.... If nothing else, my summer holiday is on its way and therein lies the crux of this post.

Understandably, I am quite excited to go away for a week, carefree and see the giant ball of fire in the sky which has eluded British shores for the most part of this year. Even though, my pallor isn't sun-friendly, I am excited to be in the shade so, as not to reflect its rays and blind everyone.

But, like a lot of people, I'm very self-conscious and rightly so, really. I don't have an enviable figure, I'm not tall and slim. I certainly, don't have a 'beach ready' body.  I'm wobbly, a little too big and all the little things that come with this.

Oh, don't get me wrong I will still be donning a bikini and swimming in the sea. You can't stop me. I'm not that harsh on myself, that I will allow my body hang ups to stop me enjoying myself. There's more to life than my figure, and I like to have a drink... so.... I, really won't care after the first cocktail.

Going on holiday with friends and not solo, does put the hang ups under harsher inspection. These are people you know and will see again. All those little things I can normally hide under clothes will be exposed - that shit tattoo that no one is allowed to see will be making a guest appearance. My friends won't even notice, and if they do, won't care or point out anything that I'm worried about. They're lovely and good friends, who I'm sure have their own worries (not that they need to).

Sure, I could have been in the gym or running for the past few months but that is also, too daunting, and worse still when I'd have to go it alone. 

What a lot of all this stems from is fear, and being judged.

Going to the gym - terrifying. People who are already fit and running miles on treadmills whereas I'd be wheezing and sweating after 3minutes.

Going to the beach in a bikini - terrifying. People who are happy, strutting around whereas I'll be wiggling and feeling uncomfortable in less time than I would at the gym. 

Even after the initial bikini parade is over, that's only the beginning and when I think about it, the easiest part. It's the consequences of being slightly overweight which put the most fear in my heart and make my stomach do somersaults. 

This next bit, is a bit no holds barred. Slightly graphic. That was your warning. 

If you'd rather not know certain things about me, this would be the time to click off. Thanks for reading to this point. Let's continue.

For those who don't have such problems let me make a short list:

• top of the thighs that jiggle together and essentially chafe. It's disgusting and unpleasant and unavoidable (until you lose weight)
• because it's hot, just armpit area starts feeling uncomfortable - why do you do that arm?
• generally just being too hot. All the time. Drinking as much water as you are perspiring. Gross.
• stretch marks, they're always nice, they could be worse though, I guess
• cellulite, or those little pock marks that appear from frickin' nowhere, again they're always nice

Not to mention that with my skin colouring and dark hair, always having the feeling that everyone can see any hair on your legs or armpits (even though you know they can't). Oh! And having bad skin is yet another factor! Unfortunately, not so much on my face but on my back because I got all the good genes.

The list goes on and on and on....

I'm not fishing for compliments. God knows my Mum is far too willing to dish them out and claim I'm being too harsh on myself. I am a little critical but all of the above, that's facts. 

I will still put my bikini on, swim in the sea, bask in the shade, drink cocktails, enjoy myself. It'll only be until I'm there that all of my fears will be put on the side lines. They will still be there, but I'll bite the bullet and just perhaps cry in the sea, because that's already salt water. 

If nothing else, I have started to eat a little less, a little healthier and walk a little further. I'll be fighting fit for NYE. Just you see....

Phraseology Pains

Recently, I've noticed a few terms and phrases sneaking into language used by those on my tellybox or wireless and now I've noticed I can't stop.

The incriminating phrases are:

'organic process'
&
'special relationship'

The latter is mainly used to describe our fine country's relationship with the land of the free, our MPs and their senators. Is it not a little creepy? Potentially innuendo filled if said in a certain tone? When did this become the top term for a professional, political relationship between two countries anyway?

It's been battered around even more so lately with the death of Maggie Thatcher and her 'special relationship' with Reagan.

It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up but that may well be due to the often accompanying sickening picture of two slimy politicians sidling up next to one another with stretched smiles and menace in their eyes (Thatcher's & Reagan's photographs together are particularly sinister in a wax work kind of way, see below)

photo from theweek.com

The phrase 'organic process' seems to rarely be about growing vegetables or something of a similar ilk when I hear it in interviews. The main culprits are musicians so it may go a little something like this:

Interviewer: 'so how did it come about collaborating with Mr. Big Shot Indie-Producer when you're better known for your hardcore grime street lyrics?'

Interviewee: 'well, we just got a phone call and from then on it was  real organic process, from the writing to producing the song'

I'm aware that they're trying to say that it wasn't a forced collaboration between record companies in a bid to make more of money (but I'm sure this frequently happens too), it's been used way too much recently. It's a go-to term for creative types to announce that they are still in touch with their roots and the symbolism of all these words is quite evocative, I must confess.

Yet, it makes me feel a little bit uncomfortable. It sounds somewhat forced and makes me question how organic it was. That is probably the cynic in side me.

When trying to find an apt picture this came up so I'm sticking with it:

photo from a Canadian research paper, sorry guys

There will be more that for unjustified reasons rile me up and perhaps over time I'll admit defeat, accept the convention and state that the special relationship occurred through an organic process...

Spilling my Guts

'Listen to your gut' - Arthur Smith/Yakult told us in their 2011 ad campaign.

I think they meant more in a health wise way but I have no knowledge on such things so rather I'm going to go with the listen-to-your-gut-instinct angle.

I like logic and reason. It serves my brain well of how to get to a to b in the easiest, quickest fashion and how to prioritise problems so I don't curl up in a ball (although sometimes I'm less successful and curling in a ball helps). It tends to solve problems rather than complicate or create them. It means that I know where the forks are in the draw without looking and saves me having to play a game of hide and seek with the cultery.

Yet, I will throw out all logic and reason, stamp on it and grind it into ashes if my gut instinct pops up saying 'you know what Carys? It may seem illogical and I can't really give you a reason why you should go against your brain but... you should' and I normally do. It's been right more times than it's been wrong. And! my brain controls my gut so it's all intertwined!

My gut instinct has led me to decide off the cuff to do everything from stretching ears to writing something, applying for postions/jobs I wouldn't usually, talking to someone and being bold about it to buying another drink (even when the brain is hazily saying to stop). That last one is an example of one of the rare occasions it hasn't entirely been correct or resulted in a good outcome.

My gut led me to leave high school and go to a college where I didn't think I knew anyone, I decided one day and gut went 'do it'. It led me to introducing myself to some of the most important people in my life, it's led me to quitting a dead-end job in the hope something might take off, it's led me to cutting the bad people out of my life. It's wonderful, it frees up the brain to allow that to help me walk without tripping (another less successful aspect of my life) and making tea - you know, the really important daily life activities.

Recently, I feel appalled that I've completely betrayed my gut (sorry, little guy). I listened to my head, saw the reasoning and followed that route even though my gut was basically freaking out, shouting and hitting it's metaphorical head against a brick wall. It's really hard explaining to people why I've been hesitant because my gut is telling me to be. Why is it telling me to be? I have not the foggiest, it simply is and won't stop telling me, every waking moment - 'oh you're watching TV? Right well, let me interrupt by saying I don't think this is the smartest idea after all' or 'hey! you! tell brain to piss off with it's reason and it being the right thing to do, bloody troublemaker' etc.

Time will tell whether I have to apologise refusely to my gut, begging for forgiveness so that it will steer me correctly in the future, promising that I will forever listen to it and be in its debt.

Somewhere in the dark recesses, I think brain is secretly hoping that gut is right too...

After all Alexander Bain said 'instinct is untaught ability'.

Fight or Flighter

Everyone knows about fight or flight, whether you use the burst of adrenaline in a stressful situation to attack or flee?

I'm a flighter. I'd run away from any situation as fast as my stumpy legs would allow. The idea of running away has always been an attractive option in my mind and I can't remember a time when I haven't loved the idea. Imagine any problem, any stressful situation, any embarrassing moment, any nerve wracking event and like in cartoons, you leave only a mere dust trail and some speed lines behind you. 

As a child, the running away spot was in the garden. The furtherest point from the back door, hidden by the side of the shed so I couldn't be seen from any window. I'd go there, become invisible for a while and retreat back in, cool as a cucumber hoping that whatever had happened that I didn't like had disappeared. As I got a bit older, I favoured my bedroom, the sanctuary that it still is to this day. Whenever any teenage angst fuelled arguments flared up in the house - straight up the stairs, door tightly shut, music on and book out. I couldn't physically flight off so I'd delve into a fictional world. Rather ironically reading about heroic characters in all forms who would fight for what they believed in, rose to the occasion and faced their demons (sometimes quite literally) head on and there I was sulking and ignoring what was in front of me.

Now, as a burgeoning adult, more than ever do I want to hot tail it to anywhere. I'd just take off, I'd ignore texts, calls, tweets, facebook messages, emails until I saw fit. Ideally, I'd go to a cabin a bit off the grid near a lake or the shore. Just me. I'd communicate with the outside world on my terms and my terms only. I would return, when the loneliness became more crippling than the boredom and I'd expect to able to do this with no-one asking me where I went, why I left or had I figured out the solution to what I was running away from. 

Taken from cabinporn.com 

Not often do I question this need that bubbles up from the pit of my stomach, that fills my throat and makes me feel on edge, that tells me to 'RUN'. It does feel though, when you take a step back that is it the most cowardly approach to dealing with life's problems. Is it though? It mightn't seem so outwardly valiant or productive but it allows time for reflection, putting distance between yourself and said problem can present you with a way to move forward in a more careful, thoughtful manner than squaring up to a much bigger, stronger opponent. It's gotten me this far, I'm unsure how useful it will be in the next few decades.

Will this feeling ever go away? Will it become less overwhelming and all consuming? Will it become a less frequent voice? I'm pretty certain that it won't, that this is for life and I'll carry it with me, wearing it on my self like scars. I was born with it, like the birthmark on my leg and now I'm stuck with it. It is part of the personality makeup of which I am made up of. 

This got me thinking perhaps it is 'genetic'? I didn't have far to look really. This led to my conclusion of: I blame my father. I would say he too, is a bit of a flighter, he has his form of escapism and both of us agree, the great open waters are an endless opportunity of adventure and 'getting away'. It's okay though, he can blame his father who was a sailor - a great job for a flighter not having any sort of permanent location for much of a given time. 

And thus conclusively, I was born to flight.

Right now, this very moment, today, yesterday, tomorrow my need to flight is stronger than ever. The voice is louder, angrier, more persistent. I'm like a deer in the woods, listening for any branch to snap. I just need the excuse, the reason and I am gone, Roadrunner quick - at least, for a short while.

Hometown Pride

Liverpool.

The Beatles. Football. Scousers.

She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah. You'll Never Walk Alone. Calm down, calm down laa. 

Liverpool is my hometown (city, it's definitely a city; it has not one but two cathedrals, on the same street no less).  There's around 2million population, so it's not a huge city, I'll give you that. 

My stereotypical view of Americans is that they are very proud of their hometowns and colleges. Whereas us stereotypical Brits are less likely to be so audibly and showy about our hometown pride, but there is devout hometown pride nonetheless.

Of course, The Beatles, football and a view of Scousers are not all that this city has to offer. As I mentioned, we have two cathedrals on either end of the same street, much more music than just The Beatles, the Cavern and Mathew Street, museums, theatres, venues, bars/pubs/clubs galore, three universities and much more.  There's things to do and see on every night of the week, all within walking distance in heels.

You want more? You're highly likely to bump into a musician on any corner, actors, writers, boxers, footballers and academics too. Possibly for 4/6 of those on Hope Street or Bold Street alone. History is everywhere from the Bombed-Out Church (properly but not officially known as St. Luke's), Chinatown, the docks which encompasses prosperity and slavery and Mathew Street. Go into any drinking establishment and someone will be spin you a yarn, it might even be true. Anfield and Goodison are the churches of the football fans, pick a side and stick to it, but you must unite against Manchester United (apparently, I am not a football fan which I know is a slanderous act) and even non-football fans like me will solemnly unite for Justice for the 96. Go shopping in rollers, pyjamas and fake tanned, fake eyelashed up and you really won't get stared at. Hear loud, fast talking, slang swinging men, women and children just about everywhere - whether they're happy or angry or sad, you'll know about it.

I can fly the flag of what's going on in Liverpool any day of the week. See the Liver Bird and know where you stand.

Yet, I'm not hugely filled with hometown pride. I live outside of the city anyway, it's very close to woolyback land (google will help you out here). Either way it's not close enough to Liverpool city centre and equally not far enough away either.

Perhaps my distain for the city comes from having never lived anywhere else, the shine has faded and I have become cynical and jaded. I can see all the cracks and flaws, the murky areas and unemployment.

It's an insular city. Everyone knows everyone else, somehow. However, if you are in the fold, you will be looked after but trying to break away can rub people up wrongly.

Yes, yes, we're a friendly chatty bunch, we're Northerners but it is grim up here, weather wise mostly but look at someone the wrong way and a torrid fire of 'who you lookin' at? why d'ya think you can look at me like that' will come your way. The answer is 'no-one' or silence.

There is a lot of things to see and do, in walking distance which makes the claustrophobia set in. You will struggle to get lost. The Beatles - great band but there really are hundreds of past and present bands out there doing fine work in the city and I do like The Beatles, but I do prefer other bands and the Cavern isn't a magical place, rather a dark, dingy cellar. Yet, there are tribes of fashionistas, scallies, goths etc and I never seem to feel comfortable in any. I've been to the museums, I try to go to the theatre, I love seeing bands, I like having cups of tea in one of the many independent coffee/tea shops, I enjoy being able to stumble drunkenly from bar to bar without great effort and still at the end of the night have enough change for a chippy.

I'm very white, with dark hair (dyed half blonde courtesy of the finest hairdresser in Liverpool/anywhere, he works at Beauty Bazaar and his name is David if you are interested but I digress....), I have a few not-that-visible-tattoos, stretched ears but not to the extent that anyone notices and I dress mainly in black, but to no extremes. Right there, means that on nights out on more than one occasion I have been told by big haired, spider-leg-lashed, tanned girls in heels that are not far off stilts, that I look 'corpselike', 'ohmygod you're so pale, is that even natural? or 'are you a goth?'. No I'm not a goth, yes it is my natural pallor, thank you for the comparison to a dead body.

I'm sure, absolutely sure that for some people the city has everything and more to offer. It holds the key to their happiness, well being and success. It is actually a fine city, with lovely architecture and is always trying to self improve. Personally though, I am constantly trying to flee (unsuccessfully so, it seems). I've never came back from a visit elsewhere and been glad to be in the city. Home is different, home is where my bed is, my comforts, my cat but it's the whole 'wherever I lay my hat, that's my home' deal. You can become a big fish in the little Liverpool pond, but I still want to leapfrog over to another pond. 

This lack of city, hometown pride does make me feel a bit guilty and sad to tell you the truth. Wouldn't it be nice to proclaim loud and proud, with joy and heart where you stem from? To want to encourage people to visit the area, defiantly defend the place against those who think their hometown is better? Absolutely.

Liverpool will always be my hometown. I can't escape that fact and granted there are worse places to hail from.

Saying all that though, if you're not from Liverpool and you try to say it's rubbish.... wharra y'sayin'? you haven't even been. Who are ya? Aye lad, don't tell me to calm down mate. Errr no! 

It's my hometown. I'm allowed to slate it, but you're not.

Not my view, I'm British as well.

Come with me my love, to the sea

'I loved the Sea.

Whether in calm it glassed the gracious day

With all its light, the night with all its fires;

Whether in storm it lashed its sullen spray,

Wild as the heart when passionate youth expires;

Or lay, as now, a torture to my mind,

In yonder land-locked bay, unwrinkled by the wind.'

- Carmen Naturae Triumphale; Richard Henry Stoddard 

In film theory I was told that the ocean, the sea, water can represent a number of things for the characters and plot - new life, death, a change. 

'We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch - we are going back from whence we came.'

- John F. Kennedy

I live fairly close to the sea, sometimes it's not close enough but I find myself going there and sitting for hours, just sitting and watching and listening. It's a zen-like, meditative time of calm. The weather doesn't have to be sunny. It's somewhat preferably when there's a bite in the wind, nipping at your cheeks.

I find myself compelled to go when I have big decisions to make or when things are weighing heavy on my mind - especially when a bath can't do the trick. The sea, the waves, the water will fix it all.

As I sat on the shore in Split, Croatia a few years ago an elderly local man told me that the sea can heal all wounds but equally can cause them just as easy. He'd swam every day in the sea for as long as he could remember but he told me that never can you under estimate its power or fail to respect it. 

Watch the waves roll, lap at the sand. The magnitude of every ripple, the tiniest of crashes that had started miles away. How it's all connected with the rest of the world. It's mind blowing and puts you in your place. 

Company and entertainment is not needed when sitting on the shore. I always leave feeling less laden with worry, centred and relaxed.

Artists, musicians, writers and philosophers alike have been captivated by it for centuries. It's allure, I find undeniable and indescribable.

'The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever'

- Jacques Cousteau

Girls, Girls, Girls

If you hadn't noticed, realised or knew by now - and this may come as a surprise - I am a girl. A female. A lady. Not a man.

And being of said gender I have a group of 'girls' who are my closest alibis. There are three of them. Three beautiful ladies to whom I can have heartfelt conversations with, talk bollocks with, hang out, watch films, drink, go for lunch and all those wonderful things a friendship entails. I endlessly appreciate that I can send them a text about a TV show they've never watched, a picture of my cat or a cry for help. These are my 'girls' but you will never hear me say 'I'm going out with the girls' it doesn't feel comfortable rolling off my tongue.

I am also a fan of the HBO show 'Girls'. I like this show but I think the cons are on a par with the pros but hey, it's half an hour where I can sit back, have a little laugh and be simultaneously in so much awe and be so incredibly jealous of its' creator, Lena Dunham.  

If you have not watched Girls, there's a group of four girls in their early twenties living in New York City dealing with life, work, the future and their social lives. Each is a very distinct character but the lead is Lena's character of Hannah. I won't go in to the ins and outs of the show but I'm pretty sure you get the gist from that small description. They're very close to each other and extremely open and honest. That, is where the (one of the) problem lies.

They are extremely open and honest with each other.

Is this a bad thing you may ask? Probably not.
Is it just because you're not that open and honest? Possibly, probably.

Having discussed with my 'girls' (does putting it in quotations make it seem like I'm questioning if they are females or in fact, real? I stated why up there, I don't like using it) not being that open and honest is absolutely spiffingly great and it does not deter from our friendships.

Quite frankly, sharing a bath or bathing time with my best friend gives me the creeps - yes this happens on more than one occasion in this series. Shivers and crawly-feeling skin, the whole shebang. Perhaps, I like my privacy and that makes me the weirdo but the general consensus suggests otherwise. 

Since Sex and the City it feels as though there has been this pressure on groups of females who are friends to tell each other details of their sex lives, share everything, feel comfortable stripping naked in front of each other whilst still maintaining an average conversation. It is great for these characters but really is this how everything is or am I a repressed prude? I like to think I'm not but the fictional world of television has seeped into reality has it not. I'm fairly happy to discuss things honestly but only if necessary and I don't want to be hearing about other peoples sex lives really. I wasn't involved at the time, please don't involve me now. 

Being open and honesty is a great way to be. Yet, a little discretion goes a long way.

I love my girl friends, but I'd rather not see them naked. I'd prefer not to know what they get up to in the bedroom, I'm pretty sure we're old enough to assume we're doing the down and dirty  with our partners/choices in a safe way! There's honesty and laying everything out on the table. 

Or is there? 

I hope this isn't just how I and my friends feel, maybe we are the ones missing out on another level of friendship and closeness by not flaunting ourselves both physically and emotionally to each other? Yet, you can be open and honest and assume that your friends will also be making assumptions without you having to say a word. They'll know if you're sad through a text so they don't have to sit on the side of your bath tub. They'll know if you're having fun with your boyfriend or what have you because well, they ain't stupid. They'll know. They'll just know. As beautiful and sexy as they are, I like them in their clothes.

When it comes to Girls, Girls, Girls and honesty, I'll just rock out to Motley Crue.

Life Notes #1

I'm getting old. I hit my early twenties this month, officially.

Two decades and a bit I have graced this planet and I don't feel I have been appropriately prepared for the next four to six decades never mind this fearsome decade of choice and new experiences.

There is no book I can read to help me, there were no designated lessons at school, no documentary or television series to watch and make notes and when asking those older than me I don't think they really know either. 

So mainly, I thought that should I write what I stumble across so that should I happen to pop some sprogs out in the future I can smugly say 'here you go, sproglette one and sproglette two, never fear for the great dreaded growing up can be fun' or can safely say 'sproglette, growing up is stupid, ridiculous, too serious and I wholeheartedly recommend that you avoid such a preposterous notion and go skip in the fields of wonder without responsibility and stress'.

And that, my future spawns of my own, is lesson number one. You will not know how to approach life as it's one of those things that is unique to everyone and with new technologies and hurdles, there's no one set person to help or show you the way. 

BUT! my life experience is pretty much next to nothing, I'd give it until Life Notes #459 or near enough until you get to read something truly useful or noteworthy.

This whole fiasco of realisation began when I rediscovered bands I had listened to from the ages of 12-15 roughly. This is nearly a decade ago, half my life so far, a turning point. Not that it matters (but it may throw others into this spiral of despair I'm currently going through) the bands in question are CKY, HIM, Trivium, The Blackout Pact, Alexisonfire, Bullet For My Valentine, Placebo, Alkaline Trio etc. 

I had joyously added them to my ipod, perfect for total immersion on public transport. Super! I couldn't wait, it was going to be wonderful and my journeys would be transformed from the dire ones of late. Off I trotted.

I got on the bus. I sat nearish to the back, headphones in, gazing out of the window. I was really enjoying myself. Smiling remembering when a song that doesn't so great to my ears now was back then, the greatest thing I had ever heard and would ever hear.

I remembered I used to listen to a lot of these bands on my bus journey to high school. I put on one of the songs I pretty much listened to on a daily basis as I neared school when I realised this was the same bus journey and I was about to go past my old high school. 

The old trepidation and sickly feelings returned. The anxious habit of playing with my nails returned. 
How strange? I'd left six years ago, vowed never to return and had gone past the place countless times without a second (or first) glance. 

This was the kickstarter.

Six years had passed. 

My plans from that time have largely not came to fruition, not in part because some were mildly ridiculous and many have changed or evolved but it did start me off thinking incessantly about my future. That big old bleak black hole looming in front of me, behind me and over me. 

I concocted a plan. A plan for the future of Carys and mankind.

Come back to Life Notes #9,871 to see if the plan works. 

What's that? Woody Allen? Make plans to make God laugh?  Don't be absurd sproggie, how do you even know about Woody Allen at your tender age? And God? Don't get me started. You've a lot to learn, Sprogmeister go back to Life Note #78. There will be a test on it over breakfast.

I'm Just A Peeping Tom

I'm a self confessed people watcher. I love it. 

Sitting in a coffee shop window staring on to a busy street watching people go by is a fantastic way to spend an afternoon. Largely, no one notices you staring at them, you're not a part of their world but then there are those who do. I quite like those who you awkwardly make eye contact with, I've grown so confident in my people watching I like to hold the gaze until they look away first - victory! Although they tend to look away first because they're heading somewhere, the window ends and they have to navigate a street without bumping into people.

I like to imagine what they do, or what conversation they may be having; the arguing couple, the parent and child, the elderly, the friend group, the odd couple etc. It's even better with a friend, you can then take on the roles of people or help each other out in spotting anything of significance (for example, just this week I did this with a friend and we spotted three guys of university age walking at a quick pace and with purpose.... whilst one held tightly on to a hobby horse. We saw them return with bags of clothes shopping with said hobby horse still walking quickly and with purpose. I wonder...)

I don't do this on the train or bus. The rules change. I don't ever know where is a safe place to look, I never want to stare at someone and the window can be a deadly minefield especially when it's dark. Not to mention at peak time most people look pretty glum, tired and generally hassled. But that's a whole other ball field.

A lot of the time, my thoughts focus on what they may do for a living. Are they wearing that suit for a special meeting or is that their daily work attire? Why do they need a suit? Some look comfortable in a suit, some look especially confined.

Are they happy with their life? Is their job what they always wanted or did they 'fall' into it? What are their hopes and aspirations or is everything exactly as they had wished for? What are they listening to on their mp3 players? Do they like it loud or just loud enough so they can still hear train announcements or other peoples' conversations? Would I judge them if I knew what they were reading on their kindle? They read that paper? What a shame.

Those who show hints of their personality even in their banal work uniform or suit are always of interest to me. Those in the smart suit but with a mohawk. Too many piercings in the ears or stretched ears. The hint of a tattoo. Do they let loose on the weekends? Even those who are 100% dedicated to their 'alternative' lifestyle spring many more questions. Not all of them can be in 'creative' or alternative job roles (tattooists, piercers, artists, musicians), do they have lenient managers? Are they the manager? Is it all they have left of themselves before selling the rest to the 'man' or Apple?

Do these people have partners? Children? Family? Friends? Did they grow up near by? Did they like school or were they bullied? Alternatively, were they the bully? What do they remember about the last five years? Are they in love? Are they sad? What are they going to have for dinner? Do they prefer tea or coffee? And what is their favourite colour?

I wonder what I must convey to other people watchers. I'm undoubtedly impossibly boring to watch. I don't think I give much away most days - lots of black clothing, hair which has mouldy-green ends (I'm washing it out, it's not just sheer laziness like the majority of the time), but what else? I look out of windows a lot, or read or sleep whilst commuting. Do I look thoughtful as I hope I do? Does my makeup say anything about me? Is it odd that I'm so pale in a city of tan-admirers? Did I go to school with you? If so, I'm going to try my best not to make eye contact. 

Most of all, I wonder are most people just generally happy? Happy with their lot, or what they're striving for. I hope they are, I hope that waking up isn't a struggle for them and even though they might be having a bad patch I hope that people can get through it. It sounds coy, pathetic and hippy-esque but surely everyone deserves to be happy?

My favourite people to people watch are those who are alone and smile to themselves. A happy thought or a text or idea that their face couldn't hide. It's a beautiful moment that I, as the voyeur, can't help but join in on.

Life Through Eddie's Eyes #1

#1: Wildlife Programmes

Let's make introductions first, so as not to be rude.

World this is Eddie:

This is his TV face

Eddie is my 2yr old-ish rescue cat. We haven't had him so long but he fits in with our small household just perfectly and we are still learning each others' idiosyncrasies.

We have learned he shares my love of wildlife programmes. 


His favourites so far are:

• any David Attenborough (we've watched Africa, Galapagos & The Life of Mammals), 

• Polar Family & Me (with Gordon Buchanan, a firm favourite in our house)

• he also enjoys Winterwatch (I'm less of a fan but it's a compromise and I think he liked it because of the birds and Gordon Buchanan's voice which he recognised. Clever cat)

• and we've (we being myself and my Mum, this was her doing - she defended herself by saying at least what he was watching was educational...) even started enabling his viewing abilities, this is how he watched the Natural World Special: Jaguars - Born Free

Next, I'm going to try to get him to watch Simon Reeve when he next has a show on. I'm sure he'll share my love for Simon. Positive.

In spite of the adorability of the above, I can't help but think how confusing watching a wildlife programme must be for the little guy. He sits watching birds through the patio window, plotting how he'll get his murderous way but understands that when he goes outside these are the same blasted birds that taunt him when he's inside. He'll have his way with them as soon as he's allowed out unsupervised (vets orders, honest).

On the flipside these animals on the TV are right there in front of him, so brazen and unaware of his presence; he pads at the screen trying to catch the baby ostriches, padding at the eyes of a ginormous bird and stalking leopards but even though he's touching them - he's not. He looks at the ceiling when the birds fly off, goes behind the screen to see where the big cats went and looks at me for help. Sorry little one, better luck next time. 

It results in one confused cat, who then takes his frustration out on my arms and feet.

What must cats think when they watch wildlife programmes? They recognise animals but they obviously can't comprehend the idea of a television and how it's a recording. I often wonder what goes through his mind (do cats have thoughts other than food, toilet, kill?)

Selfishly, I hope he never figures out that he won't be able to kill an ostrich or stalk with jaguars because I love watching him, watching the television so intently and climbing up to get a better look at those huge fish and brushing his face against the screen when he sees bear cubs. It's one of the many little things that makes being a cat-mum so fun, enjoyable and lovely.

But, not wanting to be biased I thought I'd let Eddie give his version of events.

Here's what he had to say:

``z ;./;./ggf/ftg./d./erdxe33333333µ

He hasn't mastered using a keyboard yet but let's not hold that against him eh? 

He was looking for an escape route, I was trying to make him wave

All photos are mine, please don't steal them. He's my kitty, very cute yes, but just say that they're mine, that be nice. Pleaaaase don't be a thief! Thank you, please, etc. Lovely people.

Oh god, I'm one of those internet people now aren't I? Any other photos of mine, feel free just leave the kitty! 

Overheard This Week

I've hopped on the train more than normal this week, and due to failure on my part for not charging my ipod and not having any reading material I have rediscovered the joys and banes of travelling on the train without entertainment.

The main joy is listening in to peoples' conversations. Now I know this rude, or so I've been told, however I have never listened in to someone's conversation unless they were talking quite loudly which means I don't have to strain to listen at all. 

Here is a small sample of what I heard...

1. Woman of around 30yrs old talking to a work colleague (I'm assuming, as she told him she'd see him the next day in the hellhole - this may or may not have been an euphemism)

'Well, when I was getting my butterfly tattoos, I was spyin' on the guy in front of me gettin' his done and he got British tattooed right across his back but the guy who'd done it spelt British with two t's! Never laughed so much, but at least you can't misspell a butterfly eh? But yeah, I'm going to get them covered up next week'

Now, as someone who has tattoos and knows a fair few tattooists, I did find this anecdote amusing but not in the way she did. (If you are reading this and are wanting/about to get tattooed do NOT allow someone to touch you with a needle that marks you for the rest of your life who cannot spell). Anyway, I guess her just desserts are that she works in a hellhole and you can't misspell a butterfly but you sure as hell can eff it up.

2. A young, pregnant woman on the phone to her friend

'I told him that he weren't coming in the room with I'm pushing it out. I know! I'll hold it in if I have to, I don't want him anywhere near me and if he is in there I'll break his hand. Awh, I'm tellin' ya if I weren't so far along I would not be havin' his baby'

This was confusing. In spite of me not being a mother, I'm almost certain you can't hold a baby in if you're in labour and I'm now worried about the future of this child's life. I'm sure this young lady was having a bad patch, she did go on to say how much she had bought for her future arrival - lots of pink.

3. Two young women chatting next to me. They were fairly banal and although it was compulsive listening they didn't say much of merit or intelligence (if I may be so judgmental) but they did offer up this:

'if I push on my nail right here, see, I get like this white liquid come out'
'what is it?'
'I dunno, it tastes a bit salty'

... I don't know what to say about that one.

Those are the joys, you get snippets in to peoples' lives on a short journey and you can wonder if that is them as standard, or are they having a bad/good day? I wonder what they do when they're alone on the train and what they'd think of me when I'm having a rare conversation with someone on the train. 

The bane of travelling the trains without entertainment is when you get caught with the crazy passenger. I had gone all week without this, I should have known my time was up. 

I'd got the train with due time, I'd found a good seat - near a heater but not directly, window seat with sight of the carriage door - and was settled in for looking out the window and daydreaming (perhaps this blogpost would have been better if I had such a chance?).

She sat in front of me and I continued on out the window even though we were still stationary on the platform. I had assumed if you don't make eye contact with people you're safe. Oh no... how wrong I was.  

She tapped me on my knee.

Firstly, that is to me a true invasion of my personal space and privacy unless I had something on my face, there was a fire behind me or she knew me.

I gave a slight smile at this lady, asking what she wanted without actually speaking.

She didn't even say hello, she just offered me a tissue. I said no thank you, I'm fine and I had a packet in my bag anyway. Oh she replied I offer them to most people in case. I politely thanked her and went back to my vigilant post of looking out the window.

This did not deter her.

She tapped me on the knee again.

She went into a small spiel about the weather, how she'd been out to get some food. I smiled again, wary not to be overly enthusiastic with my facial expressions and keep talking to a minimum. She continued. 

To cut it short, as it was a torturous 20mins for me, she explained how to make spaghetti Bolognese and then freeze it, but when you reheat it you just add a bit of soy sauce to the pasta to make it fresher tasting (why?! why would you add soy sauce to just the pasta section if at all to spaghetti Bolognese?!). The journey seemed longer than twenty minutes, I had exchanged panic glances with a guy across from us, he was no help he chuckled to himself and looked at his ipod - damn! He was prepared! I endured for twenty minutes before practically running off the train to freedom. Sweet, sweet freedom.

I learned a harsh lesson. 

Charge iPod.

Carry book.

Fandom: The Fantastic & Frightening World Of

 

Fandom

noun; fans collectively, as of a motion-picture star or a professional game or sport

Fandom, fangirls, fanboys - they’re the full-on, bordering on obsessive fans of anything really: actors, films, TV series, musicians, fashion, comedians, hair styles, cartoon characters, places, design, houses etc.

My name is Carys and I am a fangirl. 

I spilt the things I fan over into two categories. 

1. The constants. The things I adore long term and have done so for a while.

2. The currents. They are what I obsess over in the short term and it’s likely some of the currents will move in to the constants. 

Here are mine:

Constants:

Eddie Vedder/Pearl Jam

Robb Flynn/Machine Head

Aaron Taylor-Johnson

Harry Potter (films/books/actors - in particular Severus Snape, Sirius Black & Bellatrix Lestrange. For the record, I’m a Slytherin and proud)

Currents:

American Horror Story/Evan Peters

Liam Cormier

Jon Richardson

Chris Ramsay

I could go into great detail as to why I love them but I think my tumblr page does that sufficiently.

Tumblr is the spiritual home for the majority of fan girls and boys. 

However, I know my fangirling days started a long time ago before Tumblr. I used to buy any magazine/DVD, watch any show or DVD with my first love - Bam Margera. Ah young love, it was never to last!

But yes, I fangirl on Tumblr, where I can find others who share the same feelings I do for my constants and currents. Usually the fans stick together, you can remain unjudged on the sometimes extremely crude things you feel and say towards those you fan over. In fact, a large majority of the time you are encouraged and are led to believe it’s completely normal to feel absurdly angry for no reason over a famous person you’ve never met flicking their hair and looking 100% beautiful, so beautiful it makes you want to sob into your keyboard and cry to the heavens ‘whhhhhhy? why would you make someone so perfect?!’ until you go outside in to the scary world of real life and you meet someone who smashes the bubble into a million tiny pieces.... sorry, let’s smile and carry on shall we?

Tumblr Speak

For the new to fangirling in the internet (Tumblr) age there are a few phrases that are associated with the general world of fanning but usually each group of fans have collective names (e.g. Harry Potter fans - Potterheads, Robb Flynn (aka The General) tends to refer to his fans as Motherfuckers - I promise it’s meant in a loving, tender way) and phrases to that particular band/actor and so forth.

Here is a quick look guide to some of these phrases:

Feels; a sweeping term for anything you feel towards actor/musician etc. This can be good/bad/indescribable/irrational/angry. You have feels. You never know what to do with feels, they are just there.

asindfbkdfakjj; a keyboard smash. Used when you can’t describe the feels or don’t know what to say. 

ovaries...burst; for women mainly, when something extraordinarily cute/sweet/lovely/sexy is seen and your ovaries burst because... well they just do because your body can’t handle whatever youre seeing or hearing.

^_^; this a squee face, when you see something cute or something that makes you happy and makes you pull a face like that which is a bit feline

shipping; when you take two people in a band/film/TV show and ‘ship’ them together as a couple. I spoke to my dear friend and fellow fangirl, Sarah on this and she said the following:

‘the only thing that makes me laugh about it is people saying "I will go down with this ship" or more simply "I'm on this ship" makes them sound like cargo."I ship these together" On the same boat? Okay then’

So you think you're a fangirl/boy?

So how do you know if you are a fangirl? The dear friend, mentioned above has made a fangirl handbook so I extracted some of the symptoms which are included (if you need the full book, I would find her somehow it’s very useful). 

Usually you are in over your head before you can do anything about it, and fanning is not something new - groupies have been the somewhat ‘controversial’ fangirls of many a great rock band for decades.

Symptoms:

Irrational anger; for example does seeing an actor you have feels for make you angry for no reason say if they look particularly dashing with a new hair cut?

flailing; this is a physical reaction to the above

sobbing; whether in reality or not, you can be sobbing at the beauty of a person or a particularly sweet thing they did. 

The symptoms aren’t a general thing, they can be specific to the individual. Luckily it is easily diagnosed but sadly not easily cured. 

Further to the symptoms here's a few things you should look out for:

• Do you find yourself watching videos on youtube, DVDs or looking at photos of someone/thing that you like more often than you used to? 
• Do you find yourself saying I’ll just watch this 10minute video and 10hours later you’re still watching videos? 
• Do you get very defensive if someone questions why you like said famous person/book? 

Then you may be a fan girl or boy! Congratulations & apologies! (I’m not really sorry, I’m a long lost cause and happy to float on the metaphorical sea of my fangirl tears).

In for the long haul

Being a fan is wonderful and sometimes can be strange. A fellow fan will understand, an outsider will see you as weird and the whole thing very bizarre. You may grow out of it, it may be a passing phase but for some it may be a lifelong dedication that will shape the person they are. It’s not assigned to a certain gender, age group or ‘type’ of person and it isn’t a new phenomena. 

I’ve met people who will travel the country, the continent and the world to see their favourite band, camp outside venues and premieres for hours to sometimes just catch a glimpse of an actress they admire. People may sneer and scoff, but the dedication, passion and adoration of fans is what makes the majority of films, bands, actors, models, politicians, books successful. Without the fans, they are nothing. 

See below, Eddie Vedder with some of the fans. Look at the fans' faces and his. It's pretty self explanatory.

My name is Carys and I am a fangirl who is going to go look at more photos of any one of my constants and currents!

NOTICE: If you have been affected by anything you have read today, please go to tumblr.com and post about it with an accompanying gif and I will get back to you as soon as possible.