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I’ll keep blogging

6 Mar

Funny how that never works. I always thought I would have time to keep blogging. Thoughts to express.

I recently left Christchurch. My travels these past few years have led me back and forth between Australia and New Zealand, once again here I am sitting in the Blue Mountains with more questions than answers.

As I’m sure you are all aware there was recently a big earthquake in Christchurch, NZ. The quake caused damage and destruction to people, property and the lifes of everyone in a country – hardly noticed by the rest of the world.

After the ground started shaking I remember jumping to my feet and running as fast as possible from the building, where I come from no-one tells us to hide under tables or in door frames. I wasn’t about to sit in the attic and wait for it to collapse on me.

Fighting against the movements of the building,avoiding falling objects – TV’s, books and paraphenalia I somehow managed to reach the fire door – only to find it locked. I grabbed a fallen french man and leapt across the room and out the door.

The carpark was full of people, dust choked the air and I stumbled over to a recognisable face. “What the Fuck!?”

Looking out across the street at a collapsed building was my first indication that things were more serious than I first believed. The cars around me we all at funny angles, everyone was babbling about how everything had moved and floods of people were suddenly everywhere. Moving through the streets. Alarms and sirens were to be heard everywhere and slowly I walked against the flow. Half in shock half in awe. My mind trying to take in everything at once. Neighbours soon had the radio on and I blindly walked through the city.

Men were cycling past me with huge cuts to their forehead, buisness suits of all shapes and sizes seemed to be all that was holding some people together, on the edge of desperation I could see tears and desperate phone calls everywhere I went. Everywhere I looked there was destruction, I walked past Stonehurst backpackersjust as someone ran past, what looked like authority. Into a completely collapsed and destroyed backpackers. I wondered to myself what I would do if my home had just collapsed with everything I knew inside. I own very little and my sense of property is warped, yet I see why someone would make such a desperate move.

Water was seeping up through cracks in the ground and as I round a new corner I see the side of a building has come down and someone is trying to resucitate a lady lying on the ground in the rubble.

100’s of people had gathered around the cathedral in the central square and seemed to be milling around. I think some unsure of what to do, other, like me in morbid fascination mixed with what emotions were holding together a shocked and scared mind. I know how it took 2 days for the shock to set in and thats when I cried. Right now a lady was being helped out of the cathedral by what I assume was rescue workers. Calling for a bottle of water the crowd offered what it could. There we were dispersed and told to leave the city if we could. Emergency aid was waiting in parks around the city and if all else. Stay, listen to the radio and await further information.

We turned and left walking past broken buildings and support polls that had come down and literally flattened several small cars.

Aftershocks persisted through the night and with a dry throat I lay half asleep listening to the boom of the earth and feverishly praying that nothing else would collapse.

This is not the end of the story, but for the time. Now only weeks later have I escaped the news coverage, the people, the affects and am able to wind my mind back in and calm down in serenity

Growing with Grandparents

12 May

I don’t really know where this thought came from, I remember sitting back and watching or reading something and seeing the word grandparent.

Do you know the saying – no-body’s born a parent? or similar, basically saying that nobody knows how to be a parent on the off. It got me thinking that maybe its better that children grow up with their grandparents, because lets face it – they have already done it before? so surely they know better.

I think unfortunately here is where it all starts to break down. Let’s look at old people in general, smelly, grouchy and most of all stuck in their ways. After all, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. So here’s the thought that, being older won’tย  make them better parents, they will continue to make the same mistakes because its in their nature to nurture in their particular fashion. The thought is not likely to come to them that maybe they did make mistakes in bringing up their own children so being parental, their little angels are perfect.

So what about children that have much older brothers and sisters? It seems like a fairly perfect middle ground until you realise that, if the older siblings are past the teenage years, or have left home. The likely hood is that the younger siblings will get mothered and smothered. Having their every whim catered to. Spoilt!
The reason I think this would happen is that parents always want the best for their children, what they couldn’t give the first and older child they are more likely to give to the next child. After all, over time they have got used to their budget, they have matured, and could be financially better off. Mistake. Children need to be treated well of course but you can’t give them everything they want, they need to learn some real life values of hard work and intelligence, they need to understand that life won’t just hand them everything they want.

So maybe….just maybe if children are brought up in a small group, similar ages then they might have a fair chance, because the parents won’t be able to spoil them. They will learn from their siblings and peers and the parents learn quicker because the “mistakes” are more likely to happen with more children.

Don’t get me started on only children…I do wonder though if foster children are the exception to these rules and ideas??? Anyone know?

Acceptance of foriegn culture

9 May
Italy 3
Italy 3

I have recently returned from visiting Italy with little Floperv and have once again found myself in a situation several times feeling very frustrated and aggressive. The reason being that I am still English and with that comes a natural nature to Que. To be polite and to generally try to be pleasant to people. What I experienced in Italy was a very near opposite of these basic ideals I tend to live by. My blood began to boil and whilst waiting in the que for the plane I began to have Italians forming up on my flanks, obviously waiting to step in front of me or to step into the que at any moment. My hand was shaking and from nowhere came this beast, ready to fling burning coffee into everyone’s faces. It was only the calming influence of my company that saved the blister’s from the Italian buggers.

What I am curious of clearly is if really this was an act of aggression from a misunderstanding or intollerance of anothers culture or are they just rude buggers who need a slap. What really constitutes intollerance?

And now for some pictures I took whilst in Italy. Enjoy

Naked Wireless

22 Apr

I recently brought a Bluetooth headset for my IPod and as is only natural have taken every opportunity to walk around my flat naked wearing only my headset listening to some nice misc. Very nice.

There’s no real purpose or thought behind this post really. I’m sitting on the train and feel the need to write. I#’m slightly scared of the swan song….
Writing my last entry without realising would be even worse. But Im happy and relaxed and for once my mind is not running in circles constantly. 2 goals, both achievable. 1 love. Very nice ๐Ÿ™‚

Now for the running commentary –

Hopefull a fat person won’t sit next to me…..

6:57 – Sidcup station, large man, pink shirt. Fuck! Terhe’s a gap between us but if some fatty sits down next I’ll be stuck between a wall and a fat person.
Music – Jack Johnson

07:00 – New Eltham Station. Skinny lady, beige coat, metro. Some lttle boy on the front – apparently a 12 year old kiler. What a little bastard!!!. I’m slightly nervous at how close people are, that they could read this. I need some kind of “Don’t look at my screen” shield.
Music – Dirty Pretty Things

07:03 – Mottingham Station. I’m safe. All the seats in my area are taken up but I’m snnoyed that I managed to pick a seat in front of the old lady who would drop coffee by my feet.
Music – Dirty Pretty Things

07:05 – Lee Station. I’ve just realised this train stops more frequently than busses how do I manage to ever get to work on time.
Music – Linkin Park

07:06 – I’m bored of this commentary, going to read.

A little truth in a short poem

9 Apr

A short reflection of self with a poem about me :D, of course written by me.

I am a poet, at heart and at soul.
My mind corrupts and my mouth destroys,

Therefore I write.
The language of the soul,
Used, to echo the truth from my heart.

The relationship status

2 Apr

3:35 GMT

I think I like waking up at this time with a thought or an idea that makes me want to write so much.

I feel I may have been neglecting my blog for a while so this is me showing her I still care. (isn’t that strange) the emotion I attach to my blog is a female personification. Much like a ship or the sea. I have women at 3am with a need to feel her embrace and respect. Overcome with fear and suspicion my mind aches to relieve some of those worries. So much that I type on my iPod knowing it will generate lots of spelling errors. Knowing that using big words will confuse my phone and end up with a jumbled, ignorant looking post. Well – I can fix that tomorrow. Aha I have foiled the only foible. Now to the crux:

I think I have just pinpointed a curious idea about our social behaviour, the way we interact with each other and I guess this need to keep a few things mysterious. Particularly prevalent in online networking sites ala Facebook. But I feel just as relevant in face to face booking. Hehehe see what I did there?

So the idea, we lie about our relationship status when we feel the need to be accepted by our peers. The best example being “it’s complicated” what a stroke of brilliance.
Those 3 little words are frickin’ genius (like sharks with laserbeams attached to their heads). The words it’s complicated could mean so much.

In fact all these relationship statuses could just be a lie! That’s right, there I said it – when I have been ‘engaged’ for the past year or so. Well it was a lie, when it says it’s complicated chances are I’m single and sleeping around or I’m not single but I’m not making a big deal about it, pretending to the world and myself that I can resist the urge to shout it out. Oh and by the way her names flo ๐Ÿ™‚

It’s complicated is such universal and open ended statement. I like the idea that you here or see “It’s complicated” and then just make your own mind up – deciding that maybe they person doesn’t want to talk about it. Or maybe deciding that are gay and ashamed? It’s a sentence that doesn’t actually tell you anything real, solid or factual but our mind fills in the details allowing us to gloss over the missing parts and proceed with the next question or thought, as if we have learned what we asked, in fact. We have learned what we already believe to be true

Comment copy

9 Mar

Sometimes my best writing is in my comments to other people

I know for a fact that whenever Iโ€™m not in London I want to be back there. I have a cankering for my own bed – my own place. Theres always a certain smell, a feel, an emotion about a city that you wear like a cloak.

I donโ€™t think we ever give up our security blankets as children. I think we just transform our world into one. Wrapping up against the cold night. Ahhh – The city is a mistress, warm in her bossoms.