Bonfires, Bollards, Bankers, and Bangers!

Once again I have let my blogging slide. Many apologies to the 3 people who read my blog, I'm back! :D

And, as promised in the last post, here is a blog entry about Bonfire Night (or Guy Fawkes or Fireworks Night as it is also known).

Bonfire Night is a big deal in my home county. There's a whole lot of history behind it, and various assertions and speculations as to why this particular region holds the celebration of the foiling of the Gunpowder Plot of 1605 in such high esteem. I won't expound all those different theories here, but I can recommend a good book.

The town of Lewes has the biggest (and frankly best) bonfire celebrations in the whole country. There are seven different Bonfire societies, six of which hold their firework display on 5th November. The evening starts with big street processions of all these societies, and supporting societies from the nearby villages and towns. Most of the society members are in fancy dress, which can range from Red Indians to Tudor queens, from Greek Hoplites to fantasy characters, and so on. Other Bonfire Boyes and Belles of each society are dressed as smugglers in their society's own colours. Many carry flaming torches and there are some who wield the society's emblem. Then there are hundreds of bangers that get let off throughout the procession, and you are generally left half deaf by the end of the evening, or with a rather irritating ringing in your ears! Each society's Guy will also be paraded through this procession, as well as an huge tableau, which is usually illustrating something of particular political chagrin at the current moment in time. After the Grand United Procession through the town centre, the societies branch off in different direction, with their supporting societies from the other towns and villages, and head to their fire site for the marvellous fireworks displays. The whole evening really is a fantastic spectacle and well worth the visit. Crowds flock to Bonfire Night in Lewes, although in recent years there has been effort to reduce the volume of people, as there's only so much a small historical town with narrow streets can take!

This year it was yet another brilliant night. We had a friend down from Oxford, who loved every minute and got some great photos (something of a challenge considering all the bright lights!). My brothers and the youngest one's girlfriend also joined us, and thankfully it didn't rain, so we were able to stay dry whilst watching the procession. We then headed back to our house where were able to watch four different fireworks displayed, followed by marshmallows and bananas with chocolate fondue! It was a great night, and some of the fireworks were simply breathtaking. Bonfire Night is always a good laugh, and I wore ear-muffs this year to protect my hearing from those pesky bangers! And, as I'm sure you can imagine, the effigies this year were those of fat cats and greedy bankers.

Which brings me to my next story. The Saturday before Bonfire Night, it was the turn of my parents' village to have their Bonfire celebrations. Now most of the local villages around Lewes have Bonfire Night on the weekends surrounding the 5th, throughout October and November. This is because they are all in Lewes on the 5th itself! In my parents' village the firework display on the Green is always utterly fantastic. Sadly, this year, it was very foggy, and so much of the spectacle got lost - great sound effects though! The processions in the villages are always a fraction of the size of those in Lewes. The villages have visiting societies too, including those from Lewes, but each society will give a much smaller representation, saving up for 5th itself. It's still good fun though. This year was a good evening, despite the disappointment of being unable to see half of the display, however, there was something a bit off about the village's chosen tableau: bollards. Yes, you did read that correctly, bollards. We couldn't hear the announcer guy (don't know what his official title is) who leads us into the Remember Remember rhyme before the fireworks begin, very well, but I got the gist of, "Blah blah (angry tone) BOLLARDS, blah blah (angry tone) BOLLARDS!" And indeed, a tableau of some bollards was blown up. Ok, so the parish council or whoever, I don't know, have arranged to have a few, relatively inoffensive, wooden bollards to be put up along grass verges around the village where people shouldn't park. And apparently this is a huge crime, worthy of exploding. Seriously, with everything else in the world, do they have nothing better to complain about!? Apparently the problem is the control element, but as it's happened on about 3 verges, where parking there seems like a bad idea (but clearly people do it) I can't see much to get upset about. What I don't understand is how they ran out of ideas this year... However, I find that this particular village is always a bit thin on the ground for good effigies on Bonfire Night, but their firework display is so fantastic I always let them off. So I guess the fog made me pay more attention this year.

All in all Bonfire Night round these parts is brilliant! You may wonder why people moan about bollards, but that's village life for you ;) And, well, I guess they just live it up to their big sister to give us the really daring stuff. If your problem is bollards or bankers, who cares when there are amazing bonfires and bangers, combined with fireworks and fondue! A great evening :D

And So...

October is almost over too, ARGH! However, this signals Bonfire Season, and where I'm from this is a big deal and lots of fun too! So, I hope to be updating my blog more frequently over the next few months, and Bonfire is likely to be a good starting topic for November, so watch this space...

September

I say not much else happened in August, but somehow I didn't seem to stop being busy!

September was better, with more interesting things happening like my turning a quarter of a century old, my oh my, and my youngest brother starting university, eep! How time flies!

It was also the release of Muse's new album. Whilst not as good as the last one, it's a grower, and me likes it :)

August

Well July ended with my mostly being sick after my wisdom teeth operation, thanks to the cocktail of painkillers and antibiotics I had to take *grumble* But during that time my left cheek de-swelled and I began to look less and less like Popeye, phew!

And then I started my new job in local government! It's been a very interesting and quite exciting time, and I'm learning a lot. Of course, I get to do a lot of boring jobs, but also there's a lot of fun and challenging stuff.

Other exciting developments were two of my closest girlfriends getting engaged to their respective men in the same weekend! I am very happy for couples, and 2010 is already looking to be rather full of weddings, huzzah!

Speaking of weddings, we popped into the evening reception of another of my old sixth-form friends, on a balmy evening towards the end of the month. Probably the shortest amount of time I've ever spent at a wedding, as whilst I knew the bride, and we'd been good friends at college, we felt a bit lost. The bride looked stunning in her outfit, and it was wonderful to see her again, as it's been a couple of years, and it looked like they had had a fantastic day. But we had rocked up after seeing my youngest brother perform spectacularly as Bagheera in his local youth drama society's open-air production of 'The Jungle Book'. Despite the frequent interference of wasps at the picnic (they were so determined to get drunk on our wine!), it was a jolly good show! So we turned up at this reception looking a bit like we'd just had a tumble in the hay bales of some random stable on the way there - although we were smart(ish) we had been lolling on the grass, sipping wine, while enjoying the show under the afternoon sun, and then we had traipsed through a couple of miles of country lanes to get the wedding reception. Still, that's kind of how late summer days should be. An amateur open-air play, getting lost in our Sunday best down isolated country lanes, and then awkwardly drinking coffee in the corner of a marquee at a wedding where we hardly know anyone, and then disappearing, giggling, into the night, to jaunt back down an unlit road to the parents' house for a cup of tea... *sigh* You can tell we're getting old can't you? Just can't handle our nights out like we could in our youth can we? ;)

Long Time, No Blog...

Aha, yes, I have not blogged for over two months *slaps wrists*. Life has been very busy and I feel a bit like I've lost track of time. I love being busy but I don't like it when I can't find any time to myself, not even to write a blog entry, and that's what it is has been like for me recently.

So, here's to my return to the blogging world, and to all two of my readers - who are both great I might add :D

I shall start with a couple of updates on the past few weeks.

I'm Popeye the Sailor Man!

I had all four of my wisdom teeth removed under general anaesthetic yesterday. I'm on a cocktail of drugs to help ease pain and decrease the risk of infection. The house is stocked to the brim with soups, smoothies, mousses, and ice-cream which I am indulging in until it is safe to eat solids again!

It was the first time I have ever had an operation of any kind. I've never even had a standard tooth extraction under local anaesthetic, so I didn't know what to expect. The whole experience was a little surreal. I had been very nervous beforehand, but had begun to feel a peace about it all by the time we rocked up at the day surgery. My fiance and my mum came to the hospital with me and stayed with me until I was called to gown up ready for the op. Shortly after I was wheeled from the recovery room to the ward I saw them wander in, and was able to limply wave at them. I was so glad to have them there. It was a simple procedure, and it all went well. I still have a numb lip and tongue, but that's normal. I'm very tired still, the pain comes and goes, especially on my left-side as that is where they had to remove some bone too, yeuch! And that is also why I look like Popeye! Hopefully I will look less like him before I start my new job next week!

My fiance is proving to be a wonderful nurse and is taking great care of me. Knowing I had him and my mum to wake up too helped me immensely, but it was God who really kept me cool throughout. Even a simple procedure like mine was daunting for me. I didn't like the idea of going under anaesthetic whilst someone sliced at gums and teeth (Who named them wisdom teeth for goodness sake??? It's so ridiculous!), and I was a little afraid that there would be lots of blood and adverse consequences to the op. Many people offered kind words and support, others would scare me with horror stories, but God, and the people who put round me, showed me there was nothing to be afraid of.

I am back home, in some pain, being taken care of, I look like Popeye, and now I fancy some soft pudding, hooray!

Saying Goodbye

I left my job today. It was very strange indeed. I'm moving on to something new in my home town which means I can now walk to work - the long commute is over, hoorah! I'm really looking forward to starting my new job, getting different experience, and having 3 hours a day back!

I had been so eager to leave my job. I was working for an international development and humanitarian aid charity, one of the bigger ones. It is a place of passion and inspiration, and so much of the work they do is fantastic. After eighteen months I had begun to tire of my role though. There wasn't much scope for me to move up in the organisation as I was lacking in a lot of the key skills such as fluency in another language. Whilst I could have taken evening classes to improve this the long commute was taking its toll and I found myself too worn out, with a number of other commitments already, that it was out of the question. My health was affected by the long hours and travelling, which I found to be very stressful. This was coupled with the fact that I was itching to try something a bit more challenging intellectually. I had plenty of challenges in the role, just none that required my degree-level research and reporting skills. That is something which my new job will provide some scope for, and I am looking forward to trying something new.

Despite this, I have left the a place that has actually done a lot for me. It was my first real job after leaving university. I'd done a load of part-time work during my studies, but this job was my entry into the working world. It was an incredibly enlightening and eye-opening experience. I got the opportunity to understand how an international development organisation works behind the scenes at every level. On a daily basis I was in contact with the people who put this work into action and also with those who were offering us valuable support, either financially or through campaigns etc. I also got to encounter all the different office stereotypes - the good and bad - the ones who other people warn you about ;)

And so, actually, although I was excited to be going, I realised this was the end of an era for me. I have made some good friends - two lovely women who I worked on our staff conference with - we became "ladies who lunch". I was part of a lunchtime prayer group that met once a week, I had a friend who described himself as a "discoverer of shadow artists" and once he found out I write fiction we became firm friends :) And I also had a great team - they were only 5 of us, and despite the occasional bad day for any one of us, we all got on really well. I know I was lucky to have such a team, and I don't know if I will find one like that again. I didn't realise that I made any impact at all at the organisation until it came to my leaving... The prayer group surprised me with a card signed by them all and a Bible. My lunching ladies, one of whom was also leaving, surprised me with a filofax because of my hectic life at the moment! My shadow artist friend threw a small leaving tea for me, with an enormous creamy chocolate cake. And my team surprised me today with a lunchtime party in the office and lots of gifts - they had made a special effort to get me fair trade and ethically sourced presents, some of them as joint engagement gifts for me and my fiance. I was so touched by the effort they had made. I know when people leave somewhere they do get a lot of attention, cake and presents are common, but even so, I felt like I had received far more than I deserved, and I hadn't been expecting any of it. I didn't cry over any of the gestures, but it did emphasise for me how blessed I have been over the last almost two years I've been working there. For all the ups and downs I have a lot to be thankful for - this was something I believed I needed to see before I left, and the last two weeks, as I prepared to leave, highlighted this for me more than ever. Hindsight is wonderful thing - I need to remember that more during the rubbish times.

So, it's not "goodbye" it's "see you later". I have lots of happy memories, and I know that I've also gained a lot of valuable experience - both work and life wise - that I would now be lacking if it hadn't been for this job and the people I have met through it. I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. As with everything that's happened to me in my life so far, this is further proof :)

Black Holes

On Saturday my belly dancing class held an 'Arabian Nights' party in order to raise some money for the local village hall. It was great fun. My fiance made loads of Moroccan style food - couscous, tabouleh, houmous and flat bread - bizarrely most other people bought standard quiches and sausage rolls...but they can't all be as talented as he is ;)

The dances all went really well. It was my class' first time putting on a show, and thankfully everyone loved it. Luckily for me, the table I happened to be dancing nearest to most of the time was where my fiance, our housemate, and some friends of my brother and his girlfriend were sitting. I would have felt a little uncomfortable shimmying that close to a bunch of strangers!

Anyway, I am pleased to say that mine and my brother's girlfriend's duet went brilliantly. We managed to find proper belly dancing skirts made of black chiffon from Bellylicious (see my post 'Fashion is my Foe'). Our dance was inspired by this article I found on twin black holes that dance around each other, so what better song to set it to that one by our favourite band? We danced to 'Supermassive Black Hole' by Muse, which we had previously decided was crying out for some good belly dancing choreography :D We wore black, purple and silver to represent the sparkling universe, and used big black satin-y veils, decorated with silver stars. The idea was to give the impression of black holes dancing around each other. The audience loved it, so thankfully it went really well. We were both incredibly nervous, but hopefully we did both the song, and the concept of dancing black holes, justice.

I love dancing, and for me, being inspired by something like these black holes gives the dance meaning. Of course we had artistic licence and creativity to guide us - I'm sure the black holes don't really look like two young women swinging pretty veils around, but they captured our imagination. It used to do a lot of dance and drama in my school days, especially improvisation, and this was the first time since then I was able to create something of that nature. It was so much fun that we are both thinking of what we should come up with next. Ideas on a postcard! And special thanks to my brother's girlfriend for being such an awesome dance partner - you rock! :D

Scrumptious

My lunch was a little disappointing today. This was because it was shop bought. Time and supplies at home were both against me this morning so I had to buy my lunch. I got a chicken and noodle salad from the Marks & Spencer Food up at the station near work, and it was satisfying enough, especially as it was followed by fruit.

The reason I found today's lunch disappointing is because I have been enjoying salads, home-made by my fiance, all week and home-made is well and truly the best, and always will be. I take a packed lunch into work most of the time. The exceptions to this are when I go out for lunch with friends or when we've run out of food at home, so it is rare that I am without my lunch box on a weekday. Three days this week I have enjoyed an exceptional cheese and houmous salad. My fiance made the houmous himself, using a recipe that my childhood best friend and her husband gave us when we visited them recently. Delicious :D I loved it because the houmous was so full of flavour, the cheese was mature, and the rest of the salad was spinach, lettuce, red peppers and carrot - that's how I like my salads, good and simple. I hate dressings (other than houmous), so this was close to my perfect salad. Yesterday it was a sardine salad - less scrumptious than the cheese and houmous one, but better for my iodine levels. When we don't take salads into work we take sandwiches, often made with our own bread, my favourite of which is tomato and herb bread, filled with cheese, houmous and salad...am I boring you yet?

Moving on...enjoying said scrumptious home-made houmous, bread etc got me thinking about how much better my home-made packed lunches are. Marks & Spencer do fairly decent sandwiches and salads, but they are still lacking because they are pre-packed. There is a Boots opposite the office but their Meal Deals never satisfy. When my fiance and I make our own packed lunches they taste wonderful (I'm allowed to say that because he makes virtually all of them, not me...) and we can have a good portion that will keep us full until we get home.

Thinking of food in this way often makes me a little nostalgic for the university days when we seemed to find it quite acceptable to eat loads of take-away pizza, processed food, or anything that had a value sticker on it even though it looked suspiciously unedible... I was happy enough to live like that in my first year. I was in catered halls and the food was edible most of the time, occasionally quite good, sometimes vile, and once or twice would look and taste worryingly like something you would expect my fiance to be examining under a microscope for signs of disease... Ah, such is the joy of university canteen food... In my second year I lived in a house with four fellow Classics girlies, and the quest for better food began. One housemate took it a tad too far and would buy the most expensive version of everything, something the rest of us couldn't really afford to do. However, I enjoyed learning to cook more for myself. I didn't get terribly adventurous because I was afraid of cooking meat for some time - that was all thanks to a Food Tech teacher at secondary school terrifying me about food poisoning when I was at a particularly impressionable age (she called us her "little munchkins", wouldn't that terrify you!?) Anyway, being an impoverished student there was plenty of unhealthy eating and takeaway pizzas in the mix, but because I didn't drink much and rarely went out clubbing, I was able to spend more on reasonable quality food - unlike some people I knew who were living off Tesco Value beans on toasted Tesco Value bread most of the time (on good days they could even sprinkle on some grated Tesco Value cheese as a treat!)

Then I moved back into catered halls for my third year. I didn't think it was possible, but the canteen food tasted far worse than it had before, and was about twice the price *shakes fist at inflation*. It was worth eating flavourless cardboard food just to live in these particular halls though - I had a top-floor room between two turrets in the university's Victorian chateau-style building. But still...some of the food... all I can say is I don't miss it at all. That being the case, I was immensely grateful that I was part of a brilliant church in the local town during this time. So many of the people there took pity on us unhealthy students and invited us round for dinners and parties where there would be such delicious home-made food that we would weep to return to halls afterwards. I also appreciated the wonderful cooking my dad does more than I ever had before when I went home for the holidays.

Now I am lucky enough to be engaged to a fantastic cook. My fiance makes brilliant meals, included the best mashed potato I have ever tried as well as some of his own invented recipes. Now it is time for me to work on my skills. A few weeks ago I tried my hand at a Brazilian fish stew, which came out very well. My other specialities are vegetarian stuffed peppers and fish risotto. My baking skills extend to chocolate rice krispie cakes, which isn't really baking at all. So I've acquired a few recipe books, old and new, so I can practise and become a half-decent chef (other than my specialities I currently cook fairly mediocre meals). So here's to some cooking and baking adventures!

Added to this we've been a little adventurous in our house - in our patio garden we have lots of plant pots that promise to develop into yummy broccoli, squash, oregano and thyme. Last year we grew tomatoes, courgettes, and both sweet and chilli peppers, but alas those plants succumbed to the snow and frosts this winter. But we are hoping to grow more. With both the cooking and the growing, it'll be a real learning experience, hopefully with "fruitful" results ;)

PS. Thanks again J & J for the houmous recipe!

Wiltshire

Words can't do my brilliant holiday to Wiltshire with my fiance and his family justice. We went to so many places that I can't even begin to start writing blog entries about each place we went to. So here are some of my favourite photos (am working on my photography skills) from our trip. Enjoy :)

Salisbury Cathedral

A day on the Kennet & Avon Canal

Old Wardour Castle

Stourhead

The bottom of the infamous Caen Hill Locks

Crofton Pumping Station

Fashion Is My Foe

Fashion has never been my friend, it has always been my foe. We are like chalk and cheese. Pressurised at school, and desperate to be cool, I pursued fashion for many years. It didn't always suit me, but it was fashionable right? I've only recently given up buying trashy magazines emblazoned with images telling me how this skirt will make me look great etc. Sorry, but tulip skirts are ridiculous...I think they are the ugliest fashion item to have ever been made. Well one of them. Jumpsuits and shoulder pads are infinitely worse.

As a teenager I used to enjoy shopping. However, in my old age I have developed a dislike of crowds and people who walk slowly - that is what shopping is all about. I can't stand it. And in the age of the internet I feel more comfortable buying clothes online now. That, and my ethics have changed. Where possible I want my clothes to be fairly traded, even better if they can be made with organic materials. I can't get everything appropriate from fair trade clothes websites however, often because I can't afford the price tag. I am doing a fairly good job at wearing out the clothes I currently own though. My wardrobe hasn't had that many new additions since I left university. I had to sew up a hole in a black linen skirt during my lunch break the other day, because a colleague had spotted my knickers through it...oops... Yep, a lot of my clothes are getting a little worn, but if I can make them survive then I can avoid shopping!

So, you get my drift - I hate fashion and I hate shopping. The two are usually synonomous with one another. On occasion, however, I have to brave the high street. Shoe shopping (which I loathe above all) is usually one reason why because I have awkward feet and I need to check any new shoes will fit me properly. My most recent "proper" shopping expedition was a few weeks ago, when my brother's girlfriend, who is also a good friend of mine, and I headed into our local city to hunt out belly dancing outfits. We take belly dancing classes once a week and our class is putting on an 'Arabian Nights' themed show in less than a month's time. We are performing a duet to a song by our favourite band, and therefore we needed quite specific costumes that match/complement each other's. The internet proved lacking in the colours we desired - purple and black - and so we braved sweltering temperatures and crowds on a Saturday afternoon to hunt out our dream outfits. We were lucky enough to stick to the city's back streets and buy the perfect purple tops with matching coin belts, as well as pretty shiny material to make our dance veils with, from a couple of specialist shops there. This meant we could avoid the horrible city centre complete with it's stuffy mall, badly stocked high street, and frightening fashionistas who watch you like a hawk just because your tie-dye dress is so 1969 man! So, a successful trip for us both, completed with a good guzzling of Guarana Antarctica (that stuff is amazing and deserves a future blog post for itself).

I didn't have to worry about tackling another carbon copy high street again until yesterday. And eww, was it nasty! My fiance needed a his hair cut before we head off on holiday this weekend so I stayed in the city where we both work, waiting for him, and decided to do some shopping, primarily for a road atlas for him. Secondarily I thought I would kill time by looking for the final addition to our 'Arabian Nights' outfits. We need black gypsy skirts. Long, flowing, pretty black skirts. And I couldn't find any anywhere. No, instead I came across, and I am really not joking, human-sized versions of the very clothing I used to dress my Barbie and Sindy dolls with back in the 80s. Horrific - that very same hot pink one shoulder dress (the shoulder bit has a flowing trumpet style addition to it...), the very same clashing floral boob tube with random frills that fluff out of nowhere. Please don't tell me people are buying this stuff... Neon stuff everywhere. Argh! Ok, so I hate fashion, and therefore I technically have no right to judge what the "fashionable" shops choose to stock, but I couldn't believe that the light, pretty hippy summer clothes that are available every year were no where to be seen. They had been replaced with monstrous over-sized outfits that had originally been designed for plastic dolls with weird proportions! Not one high street shop could offer me a simple long black skirt with a bit of flare. Oh, as it's a belly dance we could wear harem pants because they are apparently in fashion right now... No, no, no! We are representing spinning dancing black holes, it's all about seamless flow, only skirts will do!

Yep, that experience has reminded me why I will (almost) never shop on the high street again! The reason I chose to risk it on this occasion was because my internet favourites had let me down too. However, I have yet to try the more individual shops back in my local city (we didn't look for skirts that particular Saturday because we were under the illusion that they would be easy to find at a later date). And here's hoping that will be fruitful.

I hate fashion, fashion is my foe. When it reproduces my Barbie doll's clothes it takes it all too far.

Rant over...

Why Trivialising Phobias Isn't Helpful

The hot summer weather is usually presumed a good thing, but whilst I enjoy the excuse to eat copious amounts of ice cream, it also signals the increased likelihood of thunder storms. This fills me with a certain element of dread, for I suffer from brontophobia (personally I think that is the greatest phobia name ever!), which means a fear of thunder and lightning storms, which apparently can also be termed as keraunophobia or astraphobia. This is no mere dislike of storms, no it is a proper full-blown fear. Dark clouds on a heavily humid day put me on alert. Quite often rain will come but not always thunder. Even so, if the heavy air indicates a storm I will start to be worried. When sparks fly up from the train home on days like this I am particularly jumpy. Camera flashes on such days don't help either. So, I wander around nursing extra anxiety in my chest on such days.

When a storm really does happen then the fear enters it's full blown realm. I shake, feel horribly nauseous, can't sleep, and definitely, no way, can stay on my own. Even with a whole group of other people my symptoms don't change, but they are considerably worse on the couple of occasions when I have been alone. I also turn off all electrical appliances and stay away from phones and showers (you might think that's crazy, but actually that's sensible advice). Most people wouldn't be phased by such things, especially in the UK. I know, it's not like we live in USA where some regions experience severe thunder storms at certain times of year. I would hate to have my phobia and be living there! My phobia doesn't interfere with daily life, as it can only come to the surface every so often. I'm lucky to be living in Britain for that reason! My other major fear, arachnophobia, exists on a similar premise - I don't come into contact with spiders on a daily basis, but when I do it's not pleasant - I have to run out of the room that I find a spider in and absolutely insist that someone removes the offensive creature from the building before I vomit everywhere.

Anyway, the reason I am blabbering on about my specific fears is that I have real difficulty with people who don't understand, who don't even try to, just because it doesn't scare them. Both family and friends have made me feel pretty stupid for being terrified of storms and spiders. "Oh, you'll grow out of it" they say. Erm...mid-twenties, fears still as acute as always, don't think there's much chance of "growing out of it." Phobias are actually a form of anxiety disorder, and are therefore caused by imbalances in the brain. Usually they are triggered by a past event or ordeal, or they are the effect of nature gone a bit haywire. For example, in evolution it would be natural to be wary of a poisonous snake, and where possible to avoid one altogether, let alone just avoid upsetting it. A phobia of a snake, however, is worrying everytime you walk in the woods you will risk stepping on one, feeling sick when you see one safely behind glass in a zoo, or (like one of my housemates) running out of the room when one appears on a television documentary. The fear is palpable, and being told to "just grow up" or "they can't really hurt you" or "they're not likely to hurt you" is just not good enough. Not to mention a tad patronising. Don't you think I'm aware that a common British house spider can't eat my face? It doesn't mean I want to share a room with it! Don't you think I'm aware that it is unlikely I will ever be hit by lightning, and that thunder itself does no damage? Of course I am, but no amount of pep talk will get rid of a phobia. You can be as logical as you like about it, so can I - I've tried, it doesn't work. And I have really tried with a "can do" attitude. Apparently hypnotism works for some people, not really my game. Cognitive behavioural therapy can work for those with social phobias, and I guess it could for other fears too. Again, would rather not go there. I have no specific event in my life to tie-in with my phobias, none at all. I just have them. I can live with them, as long as people can come to my rescue. I have actually cried and shouted until a family member or friend has removed a spider from the house. They think I'm being an overreactive idiot, so do I, but it only happens a couple of times a year. Same with thunder storms. So it's something I can put up with, even though the experience is very unpleasant for me.

This is just a plea really, to all of you who are lucky enough to be phobialess (yes, I did just make that word up). Have a little sympathy, and count yourself lucky that you don't have to experience physical symptoms and stress when you encounter something your brain believes to be untoward and dangerous.

Summer

Yesterday a visitor at my office was taken aback when he asked me the date and I politely replied that it was 22nd June. He couldn't believe that the previous day had been the longest day of the year, and then, in that typically British way, he began to bemoan the fact that we hadn't had much of a summer. I challenged him on this though. I mean, seriously, where has this guy been? We've had some great weather this May (which technically isn't summer) and June. And we still have July and August to go, not to mention the potential for some summery style weather in September. So I thought this guy was being pretty pessimistic. He shrugged and said he supposed I was right, but that all of his childhood (I'm guessing 60s/70s) he remembered long, hot summers.

Sure...

I mean, yeah, weather changes, and there is no denying that the summers of 2007 and 2008 were almost complete washouts compared with recent years! This summer probably won't be the best either, but it's already been a damn site better than last year! It made me think though. This man was telling me all his childhood summers had been long and hot, and whilst he didn't say, I am assuming he spent them in this country and not the Tropics. I think, however, that not all of the summers he lived through were as perfect as he remembers.

For me, the hottest summer I remember is that of 2003. However, according to records, I know that 2003 was not, in fact, the hottest summer I have lived through. But it was a brilliant summer. I finished my A-Levels in mid-June, and didn't start university until mid-September, so I had a summer of freedom! My friends and I were constantly out and about spending days by the sea, lazing in parks, camping on the Downs, barbequing in our parents' gardens...every birthday party in those months was held outside... We all had a great time - many of my friends, like me, were off to university that year, and others were off travelling or pursuing gap years and careers. So it was a big summer of partying and enjoying the freedom before more hard work came along. I also had a part-time job doing bar work and waitressing at one of the local pubs on the village green. Built in the 15th century it offered virtually no respite from the soaring temperatures, as the low beams and dark walls kept the heat firmly locked inside. It was horrible when people ordered steaming steaks and roasts - I'm amazed the chefs in the kitchen didn't collapse in what had become a sauna - seriously, no need for ovens, you could put a lump of beef on the work surface and it would cook in seconds! Ok, that last bit was something of an embellishment of the truth...but you get my drift - it was hot, hot, hot in there!

It was a hot summer, but I remember it so much more because of all the things we did. I was constantly outside with my friends and family, and the pub kept running out of ice because of how ridiculously thirsty the staff were, let alone the punters! There may have been less camping and more indoor buffets than barbeques had it been a rainy summer, but would that have made it any less memorable? Definitely not. Summer, like any time of year, is what you make it. This year we've had some pretty good weather, indulging in picnics and barbeques. It wasn't a hot day when I went to the wedding (as described in my previous post), but it was still a fantastic day. Last summer I went to two weddings, and it absolutely chucked it down for both. However, they were still beautiful and memorable days.

It can be disappointing when our summers aren't like those of 2003, or of this visitor's past... I should know, I have SAD, and I miss the sun terribly when it doesn't shine. But more importantly is what we do with the summer. Keeping that stiff upper lip and getting on with it, come rain or shine. I mean, come on, it wouldn't be Britain if the we didn't have to stand on rain alert everytime we hang the bed linen out to dry in the garden...British holidays wouldn't be the same without the 'just in case' rain mac stuffed in your rucksack...likewise, they wouldn't be the same without the comedy sunburn marks because you didn't realise how powerful the British summer sun can be (come on people, you can't have it both ways!)

Whatever this man's childhood was like, I'm sure his happy memories come from the things he did and enjoyed in the summer, rather than from the hot weather itself. Of course, good weather always helps with certain activities, but it needn't be the defining factor of good times spent.

Enjoy the summer we're having right now, whatever the weather, I know I am :)

An Inspiration

On Saturday I went to the wedding of my childhood best friend. It was fantastic. I've been to quite a few weddings now - the further I've got into my twenties the thicker and faster the invitations have come, as friends pair up and seal their union in marriage.

I love weddings. They are always such beautiful, joyful events, but especially when it is the marriage of someone you know well, someone you share many memories with. That is what it was like for me on Saturday. My childhood best friend is nine days younger than me, we were born in the same hospital, and used to live just around the corner from each other. When we were still babies our families moved, mine a bit further south to the coast, and hers a bit further north to the centre of the county. Despite this our families remained good friends, and many a Sunday was spent together. When we reached our late teens we grew apart, our lives being led in different directions. Nevertheless, our mums have "kept up to date" with each other, and as such we had something of a reunion last summer, both families together. It was on this occasion that my childhood best friend and her boyfriend announced to us their engagement, and so it was with great pleasure that my family, my fiance, and I attended their awesome wedding this weekend just gone.

The wedding was so special because it was that of my childhood best friend, but also because she and her husband are so clearly made for each other. Their love is obvious for all to see, and this was reflected in their big day. Family and close friends were in attendance, and every last touch to the wedding was amazing. Why? Because they had done everything themselves, with the help of special (and very talented) people, mainly family. Everything was hand-made from recycled and/or organic materials, from the bridal dresses to the placemats, from the bunting to the flowers, I could go on  And it all looked absolutely beautiful. Every last touch was organic or recycled, so completely ethical, at the same time reflecting the lifestyle of the bride and groom so completely. It really was magical.

The reception venue was the next amazing thing. The groom's grandparents live in a wonderful house in the countryside, with fantastic landscaped gardens that they open up in the summer for visitors to raise money for charity. These gardens were perfect for adventure, games, and just taking a wander around after a very filling but absolutely delicious organic lunch - in fact running round parts of the garden was essential to make room for the equally delicious organic buffet that was served in the evening!

We couldn't have asked for a more special day. The marriage of my childhood best friend to the love of her life that was all about their love and their values. There was no conforming to the norm. Yes there were plenty of traditions - they were married in a church, there were bridesmaids and a best man, there were speeches at the reception, there was a cake (with lots of yummy cupcakes!) etc, but the day was still uniquely their own.

We left completely inspired. We won't be copying their wedding, but it has encouraged us more than ever to be conscious of our choices for our big day, and also to ensure we don't lose sight of what the wedding day is really all about. There will be plenty of traditional elements in ours too, but like our friends, we want the day to be a true reflection of what matters in our lives.

Tower Bridge

So continuing my theme of historical buildings as part of this blog (maybe I should set up a specific historical sites blog and work on my travel-writing skills? *shrug*)...this time I am talking about a bridge, possibly one of the prettiest bridges that there is in the world.

On Saturday we battled our way through crowds of blue and white painted Gillingham supporters on the underground to get to my best friend and her husband for lunch in central London. It was a humid, overcast day, but after lunch we decided to do something touristy that might give us some respite from the heat. We headed up to Tower Bridge, none of us ever having gone up it before. It's one of those great London monuments I take completely for-granted. I've always liked the look of it. I was impressed when, in my first year at university, I was at a cocktail party aboard the Dixie Queen for the James Bond Appreciation Society, and the bridge lifted to let us through. I found it highly amusing when I was a teenager walking along it to get to HMS Belfast with my scout troop when I heard an excited American tourist loudly exclaim, "Wow! So this is Tower Bridge!" And when my old uni housemate and I took our Canadian friend to see the Tower of London, I got lots of pretty pictures of the bridge, taken from the tower battlements. But no, perhaps in true British resident style, I hadn't actually been up one of the towers itself, and neither had my companions.

So, we climbed the many stairs to the top - not the most sensible of choices on a particularly hot day when our water was in short supply - at least it was cool in the tower. The galleries were worth the climb (except the freaky barrel organ music playing the background - I mean seriously, what is that about?). The views up and down the Thames were stunning - Canary Wharf on the one side; St Paul's Cathedral, HMS Belfast, City Hall, and the London Eye on the other. We stayed there for some time, practising our panoramic photography skills, and enjoying the cool breeze that drifted in through the open windows. I must say, much of the exhibitions on the history of the bridge and its construction, on bridges around the world, and on the bridge hydraulics etc were lost on us, although my fiance indulged in the sciencey stuff. Sorry to say I let down the history side of things, but personally I was more taken with the view :)

We descended from the opposing tower to the one we had climbed - don't ask me which is which, I have no sense of left or right, or north, south, east, and west :P I am good with directions though, go figure! I digress... So, we then followed the exciting blue line along the pavement to the engine rooms, which were vaguely fascinating. At least, my fiance and my friend's husband seemed pretty interested in all the old equipment. My friend and I were disappointed with the lack of hands-on displays and toys to mess around with - the Science Museum it ain't, bah! Although there was some hands-on stuff right at the end, hooray! And to be fair, it is a fairly small museum.

It was then on to Mr Whippy ice-cream cone complete with flake by the river! This was a new novelty for me, as having grown up on the coast and near forests, I always associate Mr Whippys with those places. It's just not a London thing. Ah well, it was fun to be a London tourist for a couple of hours. We then reverted to the less touristy activity of a drink in the OXO Tower, looking across the river, and watching the world go by. I guess it's technically still spring, but hooray for beautiful summer afteroons spent with best friends :D As much as the city generally stresses me out on this occasion I couldn't have felt more relaxed.

Battle Abbey

When I wrote my post about castles back in April I said that I would report back on some of the ones I visit. Well, why stop at castles? They are my favourite type of historical building admittedly, but there are many more fascinating ones round and about.

So onto an abbey!

Yesterday morning we decided to brave the rain and go to Battle Abbey, which is next to the field where the famous Battle of 1066 took place, hence the name of the town. It took us just under an hour of driving through continuous torrential rain to get there, and when we made it, looking drop-dead gorgeous in our kaghouls (as you do), the custodian warned us that most of the site was outdoors. We were unperturbed however. We have both grown up on British summer holidays, and are therefore old hat when it comes to visiting open-air sites in rainy weather.

The abbey, owned by English Heritage, is an interesting place. It was allegedly in a privileged position due to its proximity to the famous battle, and therefore received great honour and wealth. I've often struggled with this about abbeys, monasteries, and priories, and I'm still unsure what to make of them. The museum in the Gatehouse gives a good illustration on life as a Medieval monk. There were many artefacts in the museum in glass cases that had special alarms fitted. Even items that many of us (including me with an archaeological background) would consider to be of little monetary value (always of great historical value), seem to have been targeted or actually stolen at one stage or another, so needed to be kept closely guarded. The abbey itself is mostly ruins, very little of what the Normans built remains, although there are number of rooms built later in the Medieval period, that retain their original shape and vaulted ceilings, so you can get a sense of what the space was like. After the dissolution of the monasteries Henry VIII handed Battle Abbey over to some lord, who turned it the western part into his private home. That part is now a private school.

For us the most fascinating buildings were the little dairy, and the ice store, which were built in the nineteenth century. The ice store initially looks like a Second World War Anderson shelter, although made out of brick. You enter and go down some metal stairs to stand above what looks like a well. My fiance was enamoured - as he always is by anything underground and apparently secret - whereas I freaked out a bit at how unsturdy the metal seemed, and turned to leave too quickly, smacking my head on one of the low wooden beams at the entrance, doh!

Undoubtedly, my favourite area of the site was the battlefield itself. The view from the abbey across it is stunning. As the rain cleared and rays of sunlight burst their way through the clouds, the field spoke of nothing but peace and beauty. And yet it was where, almost 1000 years ago, the course of English history changed dramatically. It is where hundreds of men died, and much blood was spilt, where history was turned on its head in a day. You would never know it to look at it now. It is like peace has descended upon a place that was the witness to so much pain, and cleared it of all agony. It is a strange phenomena. I had a similar experience, although the history is achingly recent, when I visited the Somme battlefields in France. It seems like a trite example, and it does sound like I am being sentimental, but for me, this sense of tranquillity demonstrates hope. Hope of healing. It can be hard to relate to soldiers in 1066, but they were real, living breathing men, who had families. 1066 or 1916 the principle of lost lives is the same, and there is a beautiful melancholy about those battlefields now. What will it be like for those places, destroyed by battles, not just wars, but of all kinds, now? Sometimes it feels like those places will never know healing, will never be beautiful. But I have a hope that there is.

Ok, seriously off on a tangent there...

I should end that serious note, on a silly one. In the cafe at the abbey there were quotes relating to the Battle of 1066 dotted around the walls. The one next to our table read, "The Norman Conquest was a good thing, as from this time onwards England stopped being conquered and thus was able to become top nation." Sellar & Yeatman, 1066 and All That, 1930 - to which my fiance responded, "The irony is that the opposite was true for France!"

Enough! (and Hooray for the Phantom Bat)

Right, now I really want to let rip and lose my temper at the government for what they are doing to my county! Go here.

Build, build, build, it's all they flipping do. And what? Any more jobs to go with that? No, and there aren't enough for the volume of people who live there anyway. Mmm, let me see, Labour think it is a terribly good idea to build all over green field sites, to expand villages into towns with no real community or infrastructure, and to basically completely destroy everything!

If you read my previous post on over population you might be thinking "you can't have it both ways Fire Fairy", and of course, a greater population does mean more homes are needed, and it doesn't sit well with me, it never did. But, it wouldn't be quite so bad if they actually built affordable houses, that were comfortable but not huge. Take the village where my parents and brothers live as a prime example. All of the new houses that have been built there since we moved into ours in summer 2001 have been hideous sprawling mansions, with no character, behind gross electric gates. The residents do not get involved in village life, give nothing back to the community, and their beastly homes take up a disproportionate amount of land i.e. three six bedroom monsters with private gyms take up the same space that approximately twenty reasonable sized homes for the average Joe would take. So, now that these huge houses have taken up so much valuable space, where oh where will all these new houses the government want built go? It's annoying, because they push first-time buyers out of their home towns by building so-called plush pads, and then they discover they need to build more and more houses elsewhere, and by doing so communities slowly begin to disintegrate and lose their identity.

Space is not being used wisely! Sure, we don't all want to live on top of each other, and we see examples of this in very built-up areas, where new developments are crammed into even the tiniest of lots. What about disused buildings that have fallen into disrepair? Why isn't more being done to renovate them, providing homes in spaces that were originally allocated as such? Often brown field sites are not always picked before green field sites which infuriates me greatly. Not only does it have a negative effect on all things naturally beautiful it is ultimately destructive to animal habitats, trees and plants. Flood plains are becoming over-burdened, we are encountering problems with the water supply, and traffic is also growing at an alarming rate, further burdening our planet with pollution and potential disaster.

I'm so annoyed about this because our area of the country constantly feels trampled on. From the sewage works being built in my old home town to take the rubbish for the city a few miles away, () to the new football stadium being built on a green field site by a tiny village, instead of the sensible option to build it on a brown field site next to the city station. The views of the residents of these places were treated with utter disregard by the government.

One news story that did raise a smile for me though, was about a developer who has had to build a special house for bats found on the site where he was building flats (not in itself a wholly negative thing, as he is replacing two houses). But still, go bats! Note this amusing quote from the developer, "I just feel that perhaps we have gone a step too far in the protection of one bat which as of today no one has seen. As of today we have spent £20,000 to £30,000 building a structure for a phantom bat that is heated on the say-so of an ecologist who found some droppings in the house." And his point is? The bats deserve protecting if their habitat is being destroyed by yet more development. And 800 droppings are fairly good evidence of the existence of bats that haven't been seen. Are these builders working by candlelight? I doubt it, so it's no real wonder considering bats are nocturnal. Even if the bats no longer dwell at the property, creating a habitat for them can be no bad thing. After all, they have just as much right to lofts as humans and spiders do :)

There are glimmers of hope on the horizon in the form of novel bat houses... Ok, it's just a story that made me grin muchly, but I feel tired on behalf of my homeland for all these new buildings being smacked upon it. When will it end? Can it end? Is it just us, or is the rest of the country experiencing the same problem? And is it all really necessary? And have I now just found myself in a depressing conundrum with my opinion on over population meaning one thing, but the reality of over development meaning another. More for me to ponder about... I shall also daydream some fantastical solutions - I mean we could always emigrate under the sea like Homer Simpson visualises...or we could move to space a la Pixar's Wall-E, although I'm not so sure about the sedantry lifestyle... Or maybe we could all run through the next antique wardrobe we see and find ourselves in Narnia... *sigh* If only...

Exciting News!

My boyfriend and I are now engaged! On Saturday we went up onto a secluded spot of heathland on the South Downs for a picnic, where he got down on one knee to propose. It was beautiful.

We are both very happy and excited, and are so so blessed to have each other.

Just wanted to share the exciting news with anyone who may stumble across my blog :D

These Books Were Made For Reading

Books, books, books, how I love books. Ever since I could read I have read book after book. In fact, before I could read I looked at books all the time pretending that I could read them and making up the stories from looking at the pictures.

Yesterday on the packed commuter train into work I saw a woman reading one of those e-book things - the little electronic device that can hold multiple books. How convenient it seems, and it would be far easier to carry around in my bag than the hefty volumes I usually have stuffed in there. But then it also involves reading a screen, something which I do all day at work, and as I enjoy both writing and gaming I am often gazing at a screen in my spare time too. Therefore I wouldn't want to read in the same way, as I am already well on my way to developing square eyes...

Pondering this as I left the train, I realised that I love books far too much to compress them all into one neat, and potentially unreliable, little electronic device. I rather like the inconvenience of lugging around a cumbersome historical novel in my bag (although I think my right shoulder disagrees with me here). There is so much more to a book than the story or information it contains inside. The book itself has its own story.

Take the one I am reading at the moment for example. It is a 1950 edition of I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith, that I read for the first time two years ago when I was supposed to *ahem* be working on a mountain of essays for my MA. It provided the perfect escapism, however, and it is just my kind of story. Anyway, I saved the book when my family and I were clearing out the house where my mum grew up after my grandma died. The book had the smell of age to it, and it had gathered a reasonable layer of dust on top to imply that it had not been removed from the bookshelf for some years. My mum and her sister both read it in the 60s. So I like the fact this book has a little history, and is also a very enjoyable read. I made some more exciting discoveries of a literary nature that same afternoon, such as a couple of delicious Jane Austen novels from the turn of the century, as well as a host of other fascinating books.

I like books both young and old. The younger books start to age as soon as I start reading them because, like bedraggled teddy bears, they are well loved! Many of my fellow academics had a pet hate for people like me, who leave books open and face-down on a table, as it stretches the spine. Personally I like doing that to books, but I have bought a couple of lovely home-made bookmarks from Jenny Foreman (you can also find her on my blog list - Jenny's Textiles), so that I can treat my books with slightly more respect. Plus it makes the pages much easier to find once the book has been closed!

One of the best ways of being surrounded by young and old books alike is of course to spend time in a library. During my third and fourth years at university I worked as a shelving assistant for the science and humanities library, so I got to spend time caring for wonderful, wonderful books (well except the horrible management ones)! My degrees also meant spending a lot of time travelling into London to use the University of London shared library at Senate House, and the specialist library of the Institute of Classical Studies. And this is where books became very exciting indeed. I was surrounded by masses of material on my very subject. Floor to ceiling cases jam-packed with huge tomes, and tiny volumes that tried to hide as they sneakily slipped down the backs of shelves. Inches of dust covered some sections, whereas other areas never needed a clean, so frequently were books taken out as soon as they were put back. Maybe it's a Classicist thing, I don't know, but there is some very real excitement about being the first person since 1979 to take out a Loeb edition of Valerius Maximus. There is an element of geeky coolness that surrounds being in brief possession the little red book typed up in both Latin and English translation. One of my housemates was a Greek historian specialising in archaeology, me a Roman historian specialising in literature, and we both got far too excited about old books. They smell musty, they are covered in dust so old that it makes your fingers itch, and the pages are all yellowed. New books are exciting too, especially brand new editions of ground-breaking works in Graeco-Romano culture, when you're the first person to get your mitts on it as soon as it has been let loose in the library. Sometimes the content of such books leaves much to be desired, but they deserve special credit simply for being a book, that I can have looking smart and bright on my own bookshelf...

So, this is really a rather pointless ramble into my love of books. I am being extremely ineloquent about it, and I am sure none of you care. But, what I actually want to say is, how can the e-book compare to real breathing paper books? Hard-back, paper-back, old, new, dusty, pristeen - the e-book just doesn't cut it. So after that brief flirtation with it on the train, reading it over its owner's shoulder, I decided I won't be buying one. And my shoulders and back will just have to put up with the heavy bags until my boyfriend develops teleportation and I can leave the books in one place only to have them appear by my side just when I want them :)

Confessions of a Tea Drinker

Whilst I am not the most patriotic person in the world I am in possession of a few characteristics that are quintessentially British. One such example is talking about the weather on a daily basis, and indeed, complaining about it, but today is a beautiful spring day, so there is no need to go down that route at the moment...

Another is that I love my tea, milk no sugar, a strong, well-brewed "builder's" tea. Mmm, just lovely. And none of that fancy stuff please. No green tea, no flower or fruit flavoured pond water, and please no Earl Grey or any other miserable weak flavour that exists.

I average about five or six cups a day it; is my favourite drink. Usually all the caffeine fix I need is a strong cup of tea when I wake up in the morning, and I'm ready for the rest of the day. Sometimes however, I am traitorous to my love of tea, and I enter the opposing world of coffee *shock horror*

Now, coffee is quite nice. But only when it is sweet. And herein lies the problem. Whenever I have a coffee one sugar doesn't suffice. Neither does two. Three sometimes does, but my preferred dosage is four. My boyfriend, family and friends all find this outrageous and look at me as though I am lacing my occasional cappuccino with drugs. So it is rare that I drink coffee. That, and I seem to be intolerant to it, as every time I drink it, it gives me a tummy ache and nausea.

By now you are probably thinking that it is not worth me bothering to drink coffee and in that I guess you would be right.

One day, when I was in my third year at university, I decided I wanted to be more sophisticated (erm...was going through a weird phase obviously), and I wanted to drink more coffee, but wean myself off the sugar habit. My best friend persuaded me this was a good idea and that after approximately nineteen cups without sugar my brain would have become accustomed to coffee that was no longer sweet. It seemed a fair experiment. What I didn't reckon on at this time was how hard this would be to maintain when I was in Brazil. I went on a short-term mission with my university church to Recife on the North-East coast about a week or so after making this pledge to no longer sweeten coffee, and I found the Brazilian coffee very good but difficult to drink. Then a member of my team exclaimed in dismay that I was mad for drinking it unsweetened. He declared that Brazilian coffee was meant to be sweet, and introduced me to the syrup they had, which you only needed a smidgen of to make it taste like my usual four sugars, only better. Yummy - interestingly Brazilian coffee didn't make me feel sick either XD

So as you can gather I failed on the quest to becoming a sophisticated coffee drinker with no need of the saccharine. So what? I hardly drink it anyway.

But...but...but...I always think it's a good idea to have coffee at the time, and then I nearly always regret it afterwards. This morning I felt exceptionally tired, having gone late to bed last night and then waking up earlier than usual. My normal morning cup of tea had done little to snap me out of my zombie-like state, so as I walked past the very good independent coffee shop just a few doors down from my office I had to nip in and grab a takeaway coffee. The guy asked me how many sugars I wanted, and too embarassed by my usual four, I settled for three, which was bad enough! Anyway, it did the trick. I soon felt alert and ready to take on the day at work. But only a few minutes had passed before my tummy began to hurt :( And so the coffee had beaten me again. And the stupidity of it was that I knew that would happen, doh!

Was it worth it? Well I eventually felt better, but this afternoon I was back to my trusty cup of tea. And I think that is what I should stick to. Although I know deep down I will betray tea and resort to coffee again... It's only a matter of time.

But the Brazilians and my boyfriend do make good coffee, that doesn't make me ill, so there is hope yet. Just don't tell the tea leaves...

When Patience Wears Thin

Patience. What is that? Anyone care to tell me? I'm not sure that I am familiar with the term myself... Sarcasm and self-deprecation aside, patience is something I possess very little of. I wish I was more patient. In fact I am impatient to become patient! Argh! A vicious circle of impatience ensues, and I discover that I still don't get anywhere!

What am I impatient about at the moment in particular? Well two things - one is that I would like a different job to my current one that is substantially more fulfilling intellectually. Trying to find one such job in a recession is difficult to say the least. The competition is significantly higher than it otherwise would be, and therefore my arts degrees and basic office experience are not getting me very far. My impatience isn't helping this situation. I am grateful that I have a job, and I work for a fantastic organisation, but I am feeling the need to move on - now isn't really the time to do that it seems, but I am so impatient for change I struggle to sit back and count my blessings.

The second thing I am impatient about is my entire personality - well almost! I wish I was a better person. I know I am a work in progress, and I have a long way to go. I have wonderful friends, family, colleagues, and a brilliant boyfriend. Most importantly I have God. But I am not satisfied with myself. They all love me but I don't love myself very much at all. I wish I was more patient, amongst other things. But I also hate the fact that I seem to have turned into an anxious, stressy, moany person, who is taking it out on the very people I love. I am showing depressive symptoms, but I know that I am not clinically depressed. Gargh, what is wrong with me? I don't know! And I suspect that me not liking myself because of this isn't helping! And I am impatient for a fast solution to sorting the trouble out. Every time I declare I will moan about things less, I end up failing miserably. I can trust God to help me, and I can trust my loved ones to help me. Yet at the same time my very impatient nature lets me down because I want the changes to be immediate. I want to become brighter and happier within seconds. Funnily enough it doesn't work like that.

I accept that in many ways this will all be a learning process for me. When I look back at things in my past I see ways in which I grew and changed for the better, but at the time I didn't always see it like that. A lot can be said for the benefit of hindsight, as I am sure you all understand yourselves. Even knowing this hasn't quite helped me quell my impatience to be a better person.

Oh, my patience is wearing thin, but then there wasn't much there to begin with. It is rather like those cheap kitchen towels you get from the supermarket that can absorb one drop of tea, but otherwise become a messy great tear the minute you need them to mop up a proper spillage. I accept that the deepest flaw in my personality is my impatience, as it leads on to many negative responses on my part in my day to day life.

My fear now is that the patience of others will wear thin with me. Haven't they had enough of me yet? Why not? It is a grievance that has little grounding in reality. Yep, no doubt my moaning makes people impatient with me from time to time. My boyfriend lost his rag, quite rightly so, with me this very morning. We were both better for it afterwards though, and I snapped out of my mood pretty quickly as I was brought to my senses.

It's often what I need - a series of short, sharp shocks. God is most often the one to give me that metaphoric slap round the face - it often hurts at the time, smarts for a bit afterwards, but ultimately the pain disappears and you have come round to your senses. He constantly shows His love for me in so many amazing ways. All this, despite the fact I behave like a petulant child who wants their dinner before it has finished cooking. If the parent gave their child a half-cooked dinner it would be cold, probably taste vile, and be rather unsatisfying, not to mention there could be a risk of food poisoning making them regret the meal for some time afterwards. However, if the child had waited the dinner would be delicious, fulfilling, and it would have been well worth putting up with the hunger pangs just before it. The half-cooked meal leaves the child worse off than if she had waited for it to be finished and flavoured properly. Good things come to those who wait.

Sometimes I think I need my brain examined for steaming ahead with plans and ideas without stopping to think, without stopping to pray. That's what I have been doing with job applications, that's what I've been doing with trying to better myself. The end result is what? I still haven't found the answers and I am still not happy about things. I don't presume that by waiting I will be infinitely happy, but in my heart I want to do what is right, and to ensure that I am doing what is right I need to take a step back, I need to stop, I need to ask, I need to listen, I need to understand. Patience comes with time, and I am probably much better than when I was younger. Even so, trying to be patient about becoming patient is one of the most challenging things I am going through right now.

It's times like these when I frequently need to remind myself of the famous passage in Jeremiah 29:11: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you." The more I trust God with this the more I am able to wait calmly on Him. He is always there for me, and He has surrounded me with incredible people who love me, and somehow don't tire of me or give up on me, for which I am profoundly grateful. I don't always get my own way because I don't always realise what is best for me. God, however, knows what is best for me. Isn't that worth waiting for? I believe so, and pray that I can be patient to His will.

"Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him" Psalm 37: 7

PS. This one is for my boyfriend who has been impatient for me to post a new blog entry ;) And also because he deserves a gold medal for putting up with me.

Over Population

Ok, so now is the time for me to introduce some controversial subject material into my blog. Apparently over population is a taboo subject and environmentalists keep avoiding it for fear of upsetting people. So David Attenborough and co have decided to actively campaign about it. I was on the BBC website reading about this, and it led me to several links to other articles about over population.

What do I find? Well, at first the writers of these articles appear to be making interesting, and potentially valid points. If disagreeable the arguments raised are certainly worth thinking about. However, does one single person (writer or commentator) give one humane solution to the problem? With all their self-righteous whining what is their suggestion? Well many state that they won't have any children. Fine. Some say they will adopt. I am much more for this idea. Others are totalitarian, suggesting governmental control of the number of children people have, deciding who should be allowed to have children, or indeed some have even suggested mass culling. Hmmm... This is all because of the massive "carbon footprints" each individual allegedly generates. I wonder how many of the anti-population individuals take steps to reduce their "carbon footprint"? How many of them are using more than their fair share of resources? And at the same time how many large families (perceived in these articles to be families of five and upwards) have actually contributed to saving the planet? Well, I don't know the answer, but I can say with certainty that there are some individuals who use too much, and some families that don't. Likewise, I don't deny that can work the other way round, but my point is, who is really the judge of who, individually, is contributing worst to pollution and climate change? Well, I think that none of us are in a position to say who has more of a right to be on this planet than anyone else. And also, it is worth pointing out, that in Africa, where there are often large families, the overall "carbon footprints" are so much less than those of the UK and USA that it is frankly quite sickening. That is my first point of contention with such articles and their ensuing comments.

My second problem is this: I am one of three children myself. That makes my parents selfish apparently. I completely disagree! My brothers are two of my best friends. We grew up wearing hand-me-down clothes, often sharing toys (not all made of plastic either), supporting each other through thick and thin, and learning life lessons of friendship, caring and sharing. So, what does that lead to? More giving back to society. And yes, that includes helping the environment. Both my youngest brother and I have campaigned, volunteered, and at present I work for a charity that covers the issue of carbon emissions as a significant part of its workload. Some people may shrug and say, well that's just one family that turned out to be vaguely beneficial to state and planet. To an extent they may be right, I wouldn't like to say, but I happen to know other families of our size and bigger that are made up of some of the most wonderful people I know. Call it sentimentality if you will, but there it is, and my experience of this heavily influences my opinions on the matter. I'm not having a go at smaller families, I know just as wonderful people from those too, but merely defending those of us who come from the larger kind :)

My third problem is: there is something wrong with blindly accepting statistics of alleged future figures based on current population growth when external factors have not been taken into consideration. The statistics indicate how population is likely to increase, if it continues at the same trend, regardless of illness (especially those resulting in fatality), natural disaster, wars, personal choice to not have children etc. When these things are factored in then the outcome is somewhat different. Some of the comments I read say that we must act now to stem population growth before Mother Nature finds her own ways...erm...what? Hang on a sec... Isn't Mother Nature acting all the time anyway? Are there not a number of other terrifying natural occurrences (yes, some worsened or doubling in number by the humanly sped up climate change)? Add to this the nature of disease bacterium and viruses to multiply and change and consequently infect thousands... All this stuff is going on now! And it always has been! We are not waiting for more...we know that there will be more, and there has been much in the past! What do the anti-poulationists say to that? That we don't respond and let people die? It makes me think of the way Ebenezer Scrooge talks to the charity collectors in 'A Christmas Carol when they mention the plight of the poor. "If they are going to die then they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population!" To be fair to those anti-populationists, none of them have declared anything against humanitarian aid - but essentially, as humans, we do work to preserve our lives and the lives of others. If we can be strict on childbirth, then who's to say we won't become the same about who deserves to be helped to stay alive? Under their argument could they not say, "Well, we will save two of the children, but let the other four die, because they shouldn't have had that many in the first place!" The concept is disgusting isn't it? But, to me, it has the potential to be the result of these crazy suggestions about population control. Mind you, I have a tendency to get over-excited and melodramatic about all things of an Orwellian nature...but that's only because I fear there is some truth in the matter...

Placing restrictions on child numbers is not the answer to the problems of this world. It seems logical that a reduction in number of people would help the situation the world finds itself in, yet there is no way to go about this without damaging the human race completely. Penalising families who have more than two children could lead to forced abortions, isolation of those born who would be considered a "spare part" to the family and a burden on society, not to mention all manner of other social ills.

If you don't want children then don't have any. But don't stand there and judge all others as stupid or selfish just because they do.

The focus needs to be shifted and centred on the real solutions to the environmental problems in this world. Remember your three Rs firstly - Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. The main focus being on Reduce. Reduction of our use of resources is key, and we, in the UK, can all be held accountable for this. What characteristic helps with reduction of resources? The ability to share. How did I learn to share? I have two brothers.

The Prodigal Son

The parable of The Prodigal Son in the gospel of Luke was read at church on Easter Sunday. It is, the fifth time within a year that this parable has been brought to my attention. Less than a year ago I went to my parents' church to help with the youth service, the theme of which was The Prodigal Son. I was the narrator in the dramatisation my youngest brother had written. And since then I have been to another church service dedicated to this passage of Luke 15:11-32, studied it in house group and at the fellowship group at work, and there it was again this last Sunday.

There is nothing wrong with looking at something that many times in a year. Indeed, it's regular occurrence makes me question further the relevance to my own life and what it is God is trying to tell me through this famous story. That is because with God these things aren't just mere coincidences. It has been easy for me to accept the story as part and parcel of what I have been learning about God's grace over the past year. It's something that in the many years of being a Christian I have understood, yet how much have I really understood it? This past year I have realised the awesome power of God's saving grace in His Son, Jesus Christ, than I ever realised before. So amazing, breathtaking. I cannot even find the words to describe how awesome it is fully here.

The parable of the Prodigal Son focuses on this grace, this passionate love of God to save us. It is momentous, the father who welcomes the son back with open arms, a feast, no questions, nothing but pure love and joy. The son is ready with his protestations and his words of apology, but the father has already forgiven him - he has his son back! It is mind-blowing, and as such I considered the parable to tie-in exceptionally well with everything else I've been coming to grips with about the grace of our Lord.

However, it was on Sunday that I realised something else that God was saying to me through this parable. It is in verse 31. The eldest son of the father is angry that his brother is so readily accepted back into the family when he left them and squandered his inheritance on things of questionable morality. The eldest son is upset that no great party has ever been thrown for him, despite him doing good and working hard. Unlike the eldest son I am excited when someone becomes a Christian. It is worth celebrating in the way the father does for his youngest son. But the words the father says to the eldest son really do ring true with me. Why?

I became a Christian when I was five years old, which in the grand scheme of things, is pretty young! One of my childhood best friends took me along to Sunday School with him, where I first found out about Jesus and realised what He had done for me. It's quite dramatic for a five year old to get to grips with that, but in my child eyes it made perfect sense and was undoubtedly true. I believed it unquestionably. And through various trials and tribulations in the almost twenty years since then, I have come to know God more. We've had a pretty exciting child/parent relationship, and I played the part of rebellious teenager rather well. He is my Lord, my Father, and my best friend. And there have been numerous ups and downs, and yes, there have also been doubts and deeper investigation into my beliefs.

Nevertheless I became a Christian when I was five. There is perhaps nothing terribly remarkable about that. The thing is, becoming a Christian that young, has meant that through my life I have witnessed people become Christians through life-altering transformations. I have heard powerful testimonies of people's lives being changed fantastically, completely turned around. I have read inspired books about different people's journeys with Christ. And so, I have felt a little confused and even a little jealous that this is isn't how it happened for me. It has been bothering me more recently, enhanced perhaps by my boyfriend's own coming to Christ in recent times, and seeing the powerful transformation take place in his life. And that is why, on Sunday, verse 31 finally hit me in a unique way that answered my troubles about my young faith. The father says, "My son, you are always with me and everything I have is yours." Yes, I became a Christian young, but look at what that has meant for my life! I always knew God was with me, but I never understood it in this way. And I am sure there was a party in heaven the day I gave my life to Him at five years old. And I am also sure that I am just like the youngest son, in that every time I have strayed and wandered (sometimes ran) away from God and His will for my life, He has been there, looking out on the horizon for my return, welcoming me back with open arms and a love that can never be equalled.

Castles

I love castles.

I think they are amazing. Why? I am a historian, I am a romantic, I am an escapist. Castles inspire all three of those elements of my personality. I grew up visiting castles as my family were members of both English Heritage and National Trust, and as we always holidayed at home in the UK, castles were often on our 'things to do and see' list. Growing up on the South Coast, where there are a number of castles and forts from different eras, has also helped fuel my passion, and yes, relatively geeky love of castles! Oh, and when we're talking castles, we're not talking stately homes. No, we are talking about the ones that were used as defences, many of which are utterly ruinous these days. I love castles so much that there is a strong chance, this blog continuing, that I will visit many and report back on them.

I visited one such building yesterday, which inspired me to write this post. I had a hospital appointment in the morning, and so took the day off work as holiday because it was easier than battling my way from one city to another to get into the office by lunchtime. My boyfriend accompanied me to the hospital. The day had started bleak, cloudy, and rainy, but after my appointment the skies had cleared and beautiful spring sunshine had broken through. So, having the day ahead of us to do as we pleased we took a train along the coast to the small village of Pevensey where there is a stunning ruined castle, these days owned by English Heritage.

Pevensey was one of the castles my family frequented most during my childhood. My parents loved it because it meant they could sit back and relax whilst my brothers and I ran around the ruins, playing all manner of Medieval themed make believe games, or just good old hide and seek. Yesterday it was quiet and peaceful. Despite it being the Easter holidays it wasn't a popular day for the castle, so my boyfriend and I could wander around, exploring every tower, relatively undisturbed.

I love Pevensey Castle because it is so quintessentially ancient. It started life as a Roman fort and was developed into a castle by the Normans shortly after the Battle of 1066, it survived four sieges, and was eventually abandoned in 1500 after it was no longer needed as a crucial defence point. And there it remained to eventually become ruins. The Roman wall still stands, and then the inner wall of the Norman castle remains inside it. There are a number of rooms to be explored, although with little in them. You can get some idea of its original shape - it was unusual in that it had seven towers, and you can make out the originally defensive position it once held. If you're interested you can read up on some of its basic history on the English Heritage website, which there is a link to in my list of favourite websites.

For me just being within those ruined walls offers a strange sense of tranquillity. It is perhaps bizarre when you consider what went on within the walls, and how lively they once were, particularly in times of war. Pevensey was also used as a state prison at one stage. It's not exactly a place that naturally falls into the category of peace, joy, and love! Even so, there is some romantic ideal about a building like that. It has been left open to the elements, to be weathered down, and for grass to grow and flourish within it, weeds to pop up and expand over its walls. It holds more power to me in this state than it would if it was completely intact and looking like a fully-functioning Medieval castle would. I can read up on the history if I want, and I can certainly imagine the lives of those lived there (however historically inaccurate those ideas may be!), and I prefer that to having the history all laid out before me, all the details filled in in stark technicolour. The mystery keeps history, and therefore castles, exciting.

Perhaps its just my over-imaginative historical mind seeing it that way. There are castles, like Dover, which have more too them. Dover is a lot more interactive, and as a result it does manage to bring history to life. I would have found the secret war-time tunnels there far less interesting if you weren't guided through and if some of the original equipment hadn't been kept down there.

But there is no escaping the peace and tranquillity a historian can gather from sitting amongst the castle ruins and appreciating the unknown element of history - sometimes having to sift through some great tome on this war and that battle is just plain boring. Sometimes castles that are also museums are fascinating places to be, with much to learn from, but other times those crumbling ruins that give a hint of what was past but otherwise submit to their fate of eroding back to nature are the exciting ones.

I love castles either way, and as a mere peasant I enjoy treading through their old corridors and ruined grounds piecing the history and archaeology together, or else just sitting back and letting my imagination do the work.

Spring

Stuck for inspiration as I have been recently, it seemed obvious to look around me, and there it all is, right before me: beautiful spring.

I absolutely love this time of year. Everything coming to life once again. The trees growing greener by the day, brightly-coloured flowers blooming, birdsong filling the air. It is a season of beauty and peace, especially when out in the countryside. I live in the South Downs, and whichever way I choose to leave my house, I can eventually arrive at some countryside, either the Downs themselves, the river bank, or woods and copses. All of these areas are teeming with nature, and are a far cry from the city where I work. I am prone to stress and anxiety, and just being outside in the open countryside gives me an overwhelming peace that reduces my stress-levels to zilch.

It's kind of obvious that I should welcome spring. I suffer from ye olde winter blues (known as SAD - seasonal affective disorder), which, for me, is characterised by bouts of depression and tiredness through late autumn and all of winter. I can be very happy throughout this time as well, but my mood is often low, and once low, difficult to lift. In the spring however, when a low mood occurs, just spending some time outdoors is medicine enough.

Spring has it's downsides though. The onset of hayfever for one, ho hum. The spring gales and rains can be frustrating too - you're always left with that dilemma of needing to take a rain mac or umbrella with you, even when it is beautiful sunshine out, just in case! Having said that, spring rains are ultimately refreshing, and just contribute to the beauty of the season further still.

Yep, generally I love spring. The mild temperatures suit me - I'm not good with extremes. Spring flowers are stunning. The bank holidays are always welcome. The longer daylight hours mean that I can return from work in the daylight and feel like I have a longer evening ahead of me. The joy of seeing newborn lambs in the fields is the same as it was for me when I was little. You can smell summer on the breeze. There is a renewed sense of that freedom and relaxation I used to get when I was at university at the end of deadlines just before the Easter holidays, and of the end of exams in May.

I think my one real resentment towards spring is that the sun is shining out there while I'm in an office in central London, grrr. Ah well, it just makes the weekends all the more precious, and thank goodness for the four spring bank holidays, eh?