Snow.

I want snow. Preferably a lot of it, and now. I want big, stupid, childish hang the consequences snow. Although that probably says a lot more about me than the weather.

The thing is, everything is different in the snow. And I don’t just mean aesthetically. The rules change when there’s snow. It gives us something new to deal with, a new challenge in our everyday existences that we’re not otherwise used to. For want of a better metaphor given the temperature connotations, it spices things up a bit- and I love watching people react to that.

Snow also gives you an excuse for almost anything. You can legitimately get away with not turning up to work, school, social engagements, whatever you like because of the snow. And no one can say anything. Leaves on the line always sounds weak, delayed trains are now too believable to be believable at all. But snow, no can dispute snow.

That said, I do walk to work, so I would benefit very little from this, were I to get my wish. So I think a tiny part of me, okay quite a big part of me, just wants to see what would happen. I’ve never lived in London before- this would be my first city snow in the nearly 5 months I’ve lived here. It seems unimaginable to me that a busy, unsleeping, be-suited city such as London could be felled by a mere snowflake or too. But it happens. It has happened- I’ve seen it on the news, time and time again.

 And now I really, really want to see it for myself. When news stations around the country show footage of ‘how the snow is affecting the capital’, I want to know that I’m there, I’m in it, I’m living it with everyone else.

Just for a day or two though, you understand. I don’t fancy having wet shoes for weeks on end. Although perhaps then I could just buy some wellies and invest in a warmer coat? See? This is what I love about snow. Regardless of snowmen, snowball fights and tearing about open spaces leaving snowy footprints everywhere, for a few days a year, you have to re-evaluate the tiny details of how you live your life. And, just for a few days, that can be really, really fun.

Why I love horror films.

Earlier today I bought and watched The Exorcism of Emily Rose, the 2005 film based on the real-life negligent homicide case against a Catholic priest. Not a particularly remarkable fact, I grant you. But my watching of …Emily Rose becomes perhaps slightly more interesting when I tell you that this is my second exorcism film in as many weeks, and my third in as many months. It’s been right up there with my better home cinema experiences of late, along with Insidious, Paranormal Activity 2, Let the Right One In, and Thirty Days of Night.

Having reviewed my recent DVD purchases, I have decided that it’s time to face facts. A fact, really. And not one I would have foreseen myself facing up to. You see, the thing is… I love horror films. In fact I really love horror films. I can take or leave chick flicks, action movies or even epics- I have to be in the right mood or frame of mind for those. But rare is the occasion when I’m not in the mood for a good old fashioned horror.

I’ve wondered at length as to why this is. I’m not a particularly big fan of being scared for the sake of being scared- my hatred of fairground rides and rollercoasters is notorious amongst those who know me well. So why do I actively seek out and spend good money on films designed to send shivers down my spine? The conclusion I’ve come to is that it is not because they do send shivers down my spine, but because they can.

You see, horror films are really quite clever- they have to be. Even the most low-budget badly made horrors need to be incredibly carefully considered. They’re trying to draw a reaction from you, after all. They have to tap into what scares us, and, with the better films of the genre, why. 

As with my other great genre love, comedy, horror films fascinate me because they exist purely to shock as big a reaction as possible out of their audience. The more they make your brain behave differently, the more the panic sets in, the shortness of breath, the more you hide your face in your boyfriend’s jumper or draw your girlfriend to you, the more scared you find yourself feeling if you nip to the loo before the end of the film- the more stars there are on the reviews.

True, some of them are cheesy, and don’t scare us at all. But it’s the fact that they have to try that really is fascinating. They cannot rely on the parts of human nature other films do, like empathy, or on more structural things like dialogue and plot. They have to tap in to real caveman psychology like the fight or flight response, as well as more modern fears like our suspicion of technology. The simple fact is that, in order to work, they have to know what you’re thinking before you do.

Scary in itself? Maybe. But of course that just makes me, and the millions of other horror fans out there, love them all the more.

New Year's Resolutions.

Being quite an obsessive sort of person, every year I meticulously think up my New Year’s Resolutions and set them carefully to paper. However, being on the other hand a very active member of club scatterbrain, nine times out of ten I lose said piece of paper, become hopelessly confused as to whether there was a piece of paper at all and what it looked like, and/or forget about the existence of New Year’s Resolutions altogether. So, in an attempt to actually keep them this year, or at least remember that I made them in the first place, I have decided to post them on here. It’s possibly the longest blog post I’ve written so far, so do battle on if you feel so inclined. Comments/advice appreciated.

1.       Embrace the anti-climax. I think about this particular one every Christmas/birthday/anniversary/major event of note. I am so convinced that occasions of this sort must be completely earth-shatteringly wonderful from start to finish that I know even before my alarm clock goes off that the day is doomed to be an utter disaster. I then simply watch and wait as it becomes exactly that. Well no more! This Christmas Day managed to be my best for many years- well, since the days when I still believed in the man in the red suit, at least. I strongly believe that this is the result of my very conscious decision (admittedly at around 1am on Christmas morning whilst I was lying awake fretting about anti-climaxes) that this year I would not let Christmas fail me! This year I would expect absolutely nothing, not a single present, sprout or glass of bubbly, and would spend the entire day doing nothing but going with the flow, appreciating everything, and counting my blessings- however small. And to no one’s surprise more than my own- it worked. Thus, this year I have decided to file all of these little pointers to myself under the header of anti-climax appreciation, and endeavour to actually enjoy holidays/festivals and the like from now on. Instead of frittering them away worrying that I’m just not having as much fun as I should be.

2.       Have fewer pre-conceptions, and in so doing become a better shopper. I like to think of myself as a pretty tolerant, accepting and non-judgemental person. And when it comes to people, I am. As soon as you throw a high street shop in my direction, however, I am liable to turn my nose up and refuse to go in for as miniscule a reason as I don’t like their choice of lighting fixtures (New Look), or because I spot someone the same age as my mother walking in beside me. This is the problem I have with Next. I frequently throw a small scale hissy fit if I’m  forced to shop there, on the grounds that it would be theoretically possible to see women of ages ranging from 15 up to death wearing the same top as me, such is the wide range of clientele they cater to. It would be useful to point out at this stage that I am a terrible shopper. Really terrible. Money burns a hole in my pocket, I panic buy, buy stuff I feel I should buy but don’t actually like, hoard truly horrendous pieces out of guilt, buy things I don’t really need just because they’re a bit unusual- the list really is endless. I’m hoping that by having fewer pre-conceptions about not only shops but even the clothes themselves, I will become a better shopper. I might even save myself some money.

3.       Be more spontaneous. After much consideration, I’m still a bit unsure about this one. Attempting spontaneity is notoriously tricky as the moment you become aware you’re being spontaneous, or are trying to be, by definition you no longer are. However as ‘go with the flow’ has already partly been included in my first resolution, I’m already covering my bases and thus in with half a shout of actually achieving this.

4.       Learn more. Having only left university about 6 months ago, I have already begun to feel my mind slowing down a bit, questioning the world around me less and beginning to favour common sense over philosophical, whimsical musings. This must end! By reading more non-fiction articles about issues I haven’t previously known anything about, going to see more unusual films/exhibitions, watching more documentaries, as well as turning somewhat reluctantly back to the type of books I read as part of my degree, I’m hoping that this year I really can learn more. I’ve already read some reports on social media for work, and my Dad has leant me ‘The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People’, so I feel like I’m already half way there with this one.

And finally, the one I hold out the least amount of hope for-

5.       Overthink less. This is the big one, really. The one I need to achieve most, and the one I’m least likely to. It is one of my most irritating and worrisome traits, both to myself and to others, that I over think pretty much everything. On occasion I can be really quite impulsive, with some slightly misinformed souls even commenting upon this. What they don’t see, however, is me sitting awake for half the night after the event worrying about the whys and wherefores of what I did/should have done. If nothing else than for the increase in free time I’d see if I could only stop worrying, this needs to be done.

x

Young Apprentice(s)

I never thought the words would be coming out of my keyboard, but I feel that the time has come to admit that I really, really like Young Apprentice. (I didn’t feel like writing ‘the’ was appropriate, seeing as there are several of them). For some reason that I will doubtless never fully comprehend, I have chosen the time in my life where I have the least free time, to become addicted to a programme the subject of which I care very little about. (I have very little regard for the business world, although I do like the suits). I had all the time in the world to watch Apprentices both miniature and adult when I was a student, but apparently my brain has come to the perfectly reasonable conclusion that squeezing it in around working full time as an intern at a busy marketing agency, finding paid employment, making friends, getting to know London and generally trying to juggle everything I can lay my hands on is by far the most sensible way forward. And who am I to judge?

So anyway, back to the programme itself. I think I watch it because it both disturbs and depresses me- two emotions I evidently wish to put myself through of a Monday evening. For me, watching the young business minds of the future in action is akin to watching one of those ‘freak of the week’ let’s all show how terribly understanding we are by feeling a bit sad when actually we’re just happy we’re not them documentaries on Channel 4- only without the guilt. The range of emotions inflicted upon me by the Young Apprentice (as in the programme, not necessarily the eventual winner), I think occur because on the one hand I manage to be totally appalled at the arrogance and conviction of some of them that they are the world’s next business tycoon, despite the fact that they wouldn’t actually legally be able to celebrate their victory with a glass of champagne. Yet on the other I can’t help but be unbelievably jealous of the sheer balls and drive they clearly have in bucket loads.

I’m muddling along at nearly 22 with only the vaguest idea of what on earth I’m doing from day to day (I often count it a small miracle if I get out of the house on time wearing matching shoes), and there they are at not a day older than seventeen sat in a boardroom with Sir Alan Sugar. The closest I’m ever going to get to Sir Alan Sugar, or equivalent for chosen career, is sugar.

I can only assume that this creates a sort of emotional see-saw effect, whereby I one minute despise the contestants for their unwavering confidence in their own abilities, and in the next second want to emulate and learn from them for exactly the same reason. Finding myself wanting to learn from sixteen year olds is an odd enough experience as it is, especially sixteen year olds who understand the phrase 'getting on brand' more than I do, have smarter clothes and wider ranges of ability.

 I’m not, however, going to let  this emotional turmoil get in the way of finding out who wins- I am after all only writing this whilst I wait for it to appear on iplayer.

Four strikes and you're out.

When the great Samuel Beckett sat down to write Waiting For Godot, I truly and honestly believe that he was thinking of a plumber.

I know this, because being in the possession of a shower without any hot water, I, too, am waiting for a plumber.  I haven’t the foggiest where Vladimir and Estragon have got to but I have two flatmates so they can fill in.

We were told Godot/the plumber would be here last Tuesday evening. He was not. We were then informed that he would be here last Wednesday evening. He was not. We were then informed that he was in fact ill, and would not be with us until Saturday evening. On Saturday evening we were informed that he was unfortunately detained by a plumbing emergency, and would thus not be with us until Sunday (he wasn’t), as we were not enough of a pressing appointment in comparison.

Personally, I feel that he should explain that a lack of clean, hot water is not a pressing matter to medieval sufferers of cholera, or a pneumonia victim in need of being warmed up, as he will not find them any less angry about the situation than me when needing a hot shower post-exercise.

It is now Monday and I am still waiting.

If David Cameron was to not turn up for work four times in a row there would be (amongst some relief) a public outcry. He’d be sacked. If a waitress didn't show up for work four times in a row- she'd be sacked. If a footballer didn't turn up for four games in a row, he'd be sacked. I fail to see why tradesmen are allowed to channel Lord bloody Lucan whenever they feel like it, but the rest of us have to show up on time. It’s not on and I would like my SHOWER FIXED!

Have I told him any of this? Of course not, I want him to show up.

Winter.

There's a lot to be said for being warm and comfortable.

The cold weather is definitely moving in over London. You can see it- a murky grey mist gliding damply in to replace the harsher black smog of pollution fumes. The smoke's Arctic cousin. Perched on top of the buildings, spilling over into the teeming streets.

Aside from my somehwat Dickensian description choices, however, the main reason for this post was to firmly establish, once and for all (well, until Spring) that I am turning my back on my Autumn jacket collection. Surely not? I hear you cry but the time has come. I ponder 'The Great Coat Debate' every Spring and Autumn, but still never manage to time the change quite right. Today, however, if I even removed my scarf for so much as a second my neck felt horribly naked and vulnerable. I also returned from the office
with a very real concern that I was about to lose half of my face to frostbite.

Definitely time for the winter coat.

Welcome.

After much deliberation, hesitation and general digging in of heels, I have decided to set up a blog. I’m hoping the general aesthetics of it will improve as I get my technologically challenged head around it a bit more. Bear with me.

Anyway true to form, I haven’t entirely decided exactly what it’s going to be as yet. I’m intending to use it as a sort of virtual noticeboard for general musings and opinions (god help us all) as I navigate my way around  life and London, as well as a sort of archive for any sparks of creativity I may happen to produce, and reviews of anything that takes my fancy. Theatre, Musicals and Books, most probably. Inspirational quotes from individuals of varying levels of madness may well find their way here, too. In the unlikely event that I figure out how to upload audio, I will also post any of my radio work from my student days. Although I wouldn’t hold your breath.

Any comments throughout the life of this blog will be hugely appreciated. If there’s ever any work you think I can do for, or you for me, don’t hesitate to drop me a line.

 I do genuinely hope you enjoy anything you come across on here. Even if it’s just a sentence.

And if you’ve got to the end of this post, we’re already half way there.