Alphabet Snob

I think of myself as open-minded. I know I haven't always been, and I know I still have aspects to work on now. But, if this makes sense, I thought I knew which parts of life I still needed to accept fully. I thought I was pretty much there on getting to know people by their actions alone, as opposed to their friends or their clothes or their make-up.

So I was floored when I discovered that this was not, actually, the case.

It was brought to my attention that I am, in fact, an Alphabet Snob. Hereby coining the phrase, I mean that I am a person who will shudder at what I believe to be a mispronunciation of that fateful 8th letter of the alphabet.

I'll let you count. Got there? Good.

I am a firm believer in the pronunciation 'Aitch'. Don't know when we learn these things; probably it all just depends on who's teaching us the alphabet in Reception class/pre-school. When did I even learn the alphabet??

My reasoning is that you can't just pronounce everything wrong! No one will be able to communicate at all! Spelling is difficult because people don't pronounce things how they are spelt. 'Environment' has an 'n' - say it! 'Pronunciation' - no 'o' in the middle! Then I remembered about the country we live in. Everyone throughout our history has pronounced everything exactly how they wish. Heard of Trottiscliffe? Well it's said, 'Trosley'. That's the best one I know of. I believe we can blame Henry VIII for a great deal of the weirdness. So clearly, we've dealt with it for centuries, I don't need to start worrying about it now.

After a long discussion with the 'Haitch'-sayer resulting, probably, from them helping me to spell something, I embarked on an embarrassingly long internet research session into the correct pronunciation of 'H'. And I mean, serious. I even tried Google Scholar.

However, the internet, for once, seemed oddly tactful on the subject. The most useful site was BBC news, not, as I was half-expecting, reporting a grisly murder resulting from a disagreement involving the Eighth Letter, but their guidelines for their reporters. The BBC leave it up to individual reporters to pronounce the letter as they will, but if really pushed for an answer will recommend 'Aitch', as it does get few complaints. From snotty old ladies, like me, probably. I by no means claimed a victory overall at this.

The internet as a whole informed me that although 'Aitch' is the original pronunciation, 'Haitch' is not incorrect and is viewed as a dialect-type-thing. Obviously, we don't tell people not to say 'wee' instead of small, or 'aye' instead of yes. Aitch or Haitch, it's up to you.

Language is adapting all the time. I'm among the very, very few to still type 'all right' instead of the new, shortened 'alright', and you only have to read one line of Shakesparrow to remember that English does not stagnate. It's unsurprising that I'm just a touch behind the times, though. I hate change. My one Apple product was a gift, and according to, well, everyone, I do not make full use of its capabilities; I cannot work the family television; I call it a 'television'; I've had the same model of phone, which was my first, for 6 years; I acquired a laptop (another gift) on my 18th Birthday; and I have ab.sol.utely no idea how to work tumblr.

BUT. Fairness is one thing I like to stay on top of. If you're new here, read a couple more posts. So, I will no longer wince or shudder or punch you in the face Well, I didn't do a great deal of that before... if you are a 'Haitch' sayer, I promise.

Then we happened to get on the subject of whether it's pronounced 'clerk' as in 'jerk' or 'clerk' as in 'dark'...

Yours, comprehensively,
Abby

Binary

We like things to be simple. Easy to work out.

If we can't work something out, we like to have an assumption to fall back on. Gives us security, because we like to know things. Stuff. We can see this through scientific experiment, the constant questioning of our existence and the world around us, and the appearance through the ages of religion, to comfort and explain.

You know what's not simple? People.

Think about objects you can put into nice categories. Cars, bicycles, trains, and a finite number of objects we ride on/in are 'methods of transport'. French, Japanese, German and Sign Language and a finite number of ways of communication are 'languages'.

You know what you can't put into categories? People.

We wish it were easier. We wish there were good people and bad people. Did you know that under Gaddafi, Libya's literacy rate went from below 20% up to 85%? Jus' sayin'. Good people to bad things sometimes, and bad people do good things sometimes.

There aren't only normal people and weird people. There aren't only people who think like you, and people who don't. There aren't only atheists and religious extremists. Everybody's a mixture of everything, and we all believe little bits of everything.

You see, the problem with the boxes and the labels and the filing cabinets we insist on creating for everyone else is that soon you put yourself in one, too. The two categories which follow logically are unfortunately, 'Us and Them'. It seems so unfair to ourselves, is the human race really as boring as all that?

Let's celebrate our differences, and love our individuality. Let's recognise that the categories containing humans are infinite, as much as are the fingerprints we leave behind.

Yours, uniquely,

Abby

Because Sweden

On a slightly extremely bumpy descent into Sweden, one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen presented itself to me. Two hours is not such a long flight after all, so I was not too uncomfortable, but with foul cloudy weather the whole way I was unprepared to be greeted by a sudden streaming past of clouds and the appearance of a pine forest saturated with snow laid out as far as I could see. In the twilight which in wintery Scandinavia sets in at around 3 o'clock it was quite something to behold. The Christmas atmosphere did not recede from that moment for four days further.

It was a trip perfectly in the balance of busy and relaxed. Coffee shops were reclined in, time was taken over eating and cooking meals, almost an hour was spent riding and admiring the Stockholm underground. We also went everywhere we could, both touristy and less-so, mapping out the day ahead the night before.

If ever you find yourself in Stockholm you must visit Gamla Stan, the Old Town, containing Storkyrkan, Stockholm's first Cathedral; the Nobel Museum, and though we didn't manage to get inside, the Royal Palace. I'm almost glad we missed off the latter; I can only imagine straying into its vast depths would have led to aimless wandering around a gilded labryinth, albeit one with high ceilings and elaborate chandeliers.

The Nobel Museum was perhaps the most interesting for me. A place we might have missed but for time to spare before leaving for the airport, and the one which made me glad of a companion to take me to things they were interested in. I know a brief but interesting history of Alfred Nobel and know the only thing I have to do to set up the Harris Prize for Colourful is to become extremely wealthy. I understand the categories of prize themselves, and how many of each have been awarded. I learnt of a few surprising recipients - Churchill is in possession of the Literature Prize, for example - and how few were women. When I consider it, it's exactly my sort of museum; understanding how and why certain individuals are selected to be rewarded for their efforts and successes in improving and moving along the development of humanity? Yes, please.

Please venture to several islands in total. Here:
Map of Stockholm

Outside of Gamla Stan we found Skansen, the world's largest open-air museum and home to several Nordic beasts, ever wanted to see wolves, lynx, reindeer? Filmstaden, where the Swedish film-stars such as Greta Garbo once stayed, worked and ate, and the Vasa, a huge and ornate warship from the 17th century. Commissioned as it was by the King, no one dared point out that the calculations were incorrect, and the Vasa could not sail. Thus on her maiden voyage she sank before completing a nautical mile. Ouch. Although it does mean today we have gorgeous, intact insights into life in Sweden in the 1600s, in far-reaching categories including craftsmanship, disease, and fashion.

At every turn was the influence of Christmas. Christmas markets made up of stalls where I could have happily bought one of everything, spiced wine, or Glogg, and gingerbread, tinsel or wreaths or bells in every restaurant and shop, and the snow, of  course. All this bathed in the muted glow of street-lamps, mostly old and wrought-iron, who are used to being on from mid-afternoon until morning at this time of year. It created an atmosphere of expectation, and instead of being scary, the night was normal in this place. For us outsiders the difference was full of mystery and expectation.

Would I go back? Of course. Next time I'd try another season. The wet feet and biting snowflakes are quickly accepted, and the discomfort could not seem a smaller price next to the rewards. But I'd like to see Spring or Summer; what's in bloom, how the inhabitants act differently, seeing the same places from a whole new perspective.

In this, the first of my true blogged-about adventures, I have discovered a great deal. A new nation and it's language, food, and sensibilities. The way it feels to travel, alone and for the sake of it. How easy it is to take a break from the rush and the noise and the tasks to be completed when you're just too far away to do anything about them. That I like to run, this occasional separation from the 'real world', and that I know who I want to run with me.

Yours, meditatively,
Abby

Knowing

I've never had a set goal in my mind of where my life's going. When I was 5 I wanted to work in a shop because I like lining things up and wanted to make the things go 'beep'. Not a direct quote but it was something along those lines. I do currently work in my University's Student Union shop, which is a lovely job; I get to see my friends and they work around my timetable and it's not far to go. However I wouldn't exactly say that I want to stay as a shop assistant there forever.

As you grow older your ambitions are supposed to grow bigger in some ways, smaller in others. Downsizing in terms of understanding your limitations, for example. It would be difficult, and in some cases impossible for certain children to become astronauts, princesses, or in my case, a mermaid. Achieved as far as possible, I think. But as you understand yourself more, you realise career prospects you would be suited to. Are you caring? Hands-on? Athletic? Political? Your skills and interests line you up to pursue certain paths.

But what if everything interests you? What if, at GCSE level, you could have quite happily taken Geography, History, Japanese, Drama or Music as your extra choices? Psychology wouldn't have been to bad either, had it been offered. And what if, conversely, a great many things frighten you? Death, upset, boredom. It's been so hard for me to align all the parts of myself with a road to walk cycle down.

BUT THEN... University! In the end I just went with something I enjoyed. Something I knew relatively little about, but was anxious to explore and delve into the open and ever-changing world. A subject which seems to fit my personality, my style. A subject which is more academic than many realise, but is at times, hilariously physical. Plenty of extra-curricular to be involved in, too.

Why, drama, of course! Augmented with English to make me seem more smart (so that I could take the term in Japan) I embarked on a whole new subject to see where it would lead. 'Exploration' is probably the best word to describe my course. Of the self, of society, of literature. Of the space you're occupying, of expectations, of everything there is. Mickey-mouse? No. Easy option? No. Tell that to my 3,000 word critical analysis.

Which brings me back to the title, and my meandering train of thought. The analysis I have to write is of a performance I and 4 others produced, devised and scripted ourselves, from completely nada. Small inspiration from lectures on clowning and other forms of popular performance and comedians/comedic performances we already knew and love, but essentially, there was no structure to follow. This was shown most strongly by the diversity of the group performances, and the directions we had all taken.

I don't know if I've ever had so much fun creating something before. I don't know that I have created something entirely out of nothing before. I loved it. Pure and simple. We had to think of everything; costume, props, music/soundtrack, characterisation, and all the explorations I mentioned. We did well, mark-wise, although I maintain that it's not so important at this stage. We made them laugh, a much greater achievement in my eyes, because it shows we have something to work with, a slight spark we can flame.

We are tentative about our dreams these days, at this age. We are worried that others will doubt our ability, and will seem arrogant or ignorant or naive. So I shan't say that I know what it is that I want to spend my whole life doing. I am not sure that I will ever know. I seem too flighty, too intent on learning everything about everything to settle, but if I had to pick something and never diverge, it would be this. Devising, understanding, creating, playing.

Your age is just a number, and I think there's so much to be said for ignoring it.

Oh, jelly and squirty cream. That's me covered in jelly and squirty cream.

Yours, playfully,

Abby

Undeniable Rights

You know how there are two sides to almost every argument? Whether eating meat is right or wrong, whether everyone's eyes see colours in the same way, how our old Earth was begun, why children are growing up so fast, what the perfect diet consists of?

You know how I put 'almost'?

Some subjects, when they're placed in plain view for us to see, cannot be argued against, or evaded, or ignored.

We're all struggling with the changes the government have made to fix our economic situation. Raised taxes, ridiculously high student loans, redundancies. Cut grants for adults with learning disabilities, changed eligibility criteria, different methods of assessment, shaking the security of many people with disabilities. Imagine how much more difficult it is to be independent, or to fund old age, or to adapt a home to your needs with a disability.

Disabled adults have exactly the same requirements to live a purposeful life as non-disabled adults. They need to be able to get around and have a social life. They need to have a place in society. They need a job or occupation. Nothing more than everyone reading this desires. But imagine if you'd missed a key part of education due to ill health, or you needed medical equipment in your home. How much harder it becomes to live a life every adult has the right to.

It is possible to eradicate this problem. Rosa Monckton, British charity campaigner, has set up a petition to ensure financial support for adults with learning disabilities for their whole life. Children with disabilities are usually lucky enough to grow up in a supportive environment with their family around them. The question is this - who supports them when their family are gone?

It is essential that this petition gets 100,000 signatures. There are no advertising tricks; my email address has never been sent to by anything connected to e-petitions. You sign your name (with as many email addresses as possible) and you make a change to an issue which shouldn't even be in question.

Please, please, sign. Please share this blog post or the petition itself far and wide so that we can support a worthy cause. Share on facebook, tumblr, by e-mail, tweet it, any way we can get the numbers up that you can think of. Thank you for doing the right thing.

The petition

Yours, gratefully,
Abby

Cheer Up

Let's face it. The only factor which really has an effect on your mood, is you. Admittedly, some emotions are uncontrollable. The act of laughter, the intensity of crippling pain, emotional or physical, and the effect it has on you. But that's fleeting. One day in your life spent curled in bed is nothing. I have about 30,059 more to live through cheerfully, and at this stage remaining unhappy would simply be negligence.

Life is not predictable, and we have very little control over it. If we were never sad, we'd never know when we were happy. If we were never scared, we'd never realise that we were safe. If we never failed, we'd never know the exultation of achievement.

I need to learn that such is the course of it all. I need to realise that without the balance I wouldn't appreciate how wonderful my world actually is. I need to understand the dependence I have on the network of people around me. My mother, promising that I will never have to live on 50 pence bread alone. The rest of my family, keeping in touch and visiting and solidly present when I need them. Amy and Robin, making me surprises of hot chocolate (made of chocolate!) and chocolate cake (with nutella on top!) when I need it. My frisbee crew, asking if I'm all right and saying they missed me on Saturday. The strangers in the shop who ask how I am, and genuinely seem to mean it, and with whom I have a little chat. Having ridiculous amounts of fun choreographing a piece for Drama, and planning costumes and props and music. My best friends from home, and the day I get to see them again drawing closer. When I line them all up like this and there's more, I can't imagine how I could ever find myself feeling unhappy.

So what if things haven't quite gone my way? I'm not a believer in cosmic plans, but there is always something waiting around the corner, and now I'll have time to meet it full on. When I know what it is, I'll let you know.

It's time to stop indulging in false misery. For one thing, I haven't the time, but also because, when I think it through, I'm not really miserable at all.

Yours, cheerfully
Abby

With every 'no' you're closer to a 'yes'

This post is, frankly, about the millions of auditions well, four which I attended this week, none of which I will know the result of until tomorrow at the earliest. It had to be done straight away before I received the terrifying emails from directors; I might think something entirely different in hindsight, and I wanted to explore the thinks I am thinking at present, unclouded as they are by anything so unattractive as knowledge.

The plays are The Three Musketeers, Midsummer Night's Dream, Twelfth Night and The Merchant of Venice. I know which one I desperately desire a part in, but am loathe to write it. There is only so much potential failure I can set myself up for on the internet.

I have already had two unsuccessful auditions this year. Admittedly, one was a musical I went along to as a bit of fun (aside from the shower, whilst cleaning, or in order to make a fool of myself, I don't sing) but oddly the rejection from this actually stung the more, sure as I was of my incapability of holding up a harmonic line, than the serious play I actually thought I could get a part in.

I think the reason being told you haven't been chosen for a production seems so harsh because we take it personally. I was self-conscious about trying to take myself seriously and sing well. I was rejected by the Director. I used this as proof that I am, as I suspected, terrible at singing. Also, that I am worthless, will never do well in auditions, and should leave University immediately Comic injection - you're allowed to laugh. As it turned out, when I asked for my audition notes the director told me the main reason I hadn't got a part was because my style of singing wasn't right for the production (is Hair; I used to be a choral singer. Go figure.) and because I was so nervous. Not quite what I was beating myself up for...

Auditions are terrifying because we're all a little afraid of being ourselves, as we might not be picked. Of course, you're playing a character and not really yourself at an audition, but aren't these characters merely an extension of your personality? The direction you take a character, or the movement you perform in a workshop is your own personal choice, and it seems as though it is this choice which is unwanted.

To become less afraid of auditions, and to be affected less by directors judgements of me, I need to remember that the ultimate casting decision is down to one, possibly two, people. Just because they weren't in love with the way you performed a certain part, doesn't mean the whole world will think like that. As in auditions, so in life; not everyone will become your friend, and this is in no way a bad thing, nor different for anyone interesting on earth. Another matter I need to come to terms with, incidentally. If you have opinions on any topic, feathers will be ruffled elsewhere.

My advice therefore, is to put yourself out there, and be a little different. In what situation would you be chosen for being the same as everyone else? I can think of few. Stay true to what you believe, that which you enjoy doing, and how you wish to behave. That way, if a director doesn't pick you because you're the wrong height or build, or because you have the wrong kind of voice, you'll know that next time you will fit the preconceived image they have of the character, and your personality will shine through and illustrate you as the sort of person they would like to work with.

This is why I had to write this post before knowing - this way it is neither smug and patronising, nor bitter. Although it may be garbled, as it is four minutes past two in the morning.

Yours, anxiously waiting,
Abby

The Longest Day: Proof

As promised:

On the disgustingly long drive down. Made better by a pile of stones and half-decent car-companions.

Action-shot. To prove I actually did something.

At the end of the exhausting day -  my team 

All the Fly-hardians combined

As I've technically now written 4 thousand words, I'll just finish off with a list of collateral damages:

1. Muscles aching in calves
2. Ditto thighs, back and front
3. Ditto bum
4. Ditto lower back didn't even know I had muscles in my lower back
5. Ditto washboard abs
6. Purpley-red bruises, covering knees
7. Bruise, right hip
8. Lumpy right elbow As assured by house-mate, can't see it myself
9. Scratches and bruises along left fore-arm, where I catch weird
10. Bruises on right hand, because ditto

Bath should have mostly cured me, will no doubt be ready for the continued onslaught of Ultimate on Wednesday at training.

Bring it.

Yours, aching,

Abby

The Longest Day

1. My apologies for missing a day in one-blog-post-a-day-week, I'll make it up to you all, I promise.
2. The reason for missing a day in one-blog-post-a-day-week will now become apparent

With regards to the title, I find it's usually best to be wary of using superlatives about every-day situations - there are so many long days yet to come, to be sure particularly as we're nearing the Winter Equinox but I feel that on this day, the exaggeration is necessary, and next time I have an inordinately long day, I'll just make up a new superlative or something.

Today was the University Mixed Indoor Ultimate Regionals in Plymouth. Firstly, a disgustingly long way from  uni-town, secondly, a whole tournament crammed into a mere day, when they are always, always spread over a weekend. Twice the games, twice the injury to be absorbed, twice the support for your other team, in one fast-paced, exhausting, long day.

But what a day we made of it. As is the frisbee way, we all still went to the pub in lack of a party on the Saturday night, but managed to turn up reasonably fresh-faced and sober on Sunday morning. And the chaos began. I don't think we ever had more than a 45 minute gap between our seven seven games, and a gap that long was rare. Never long enough to eat, we either spectated and cheered for the first Fly Hard team, or I read and read the most wonderful book I have had the pleasure to read in some time. More on that later. I honestly couldn't tell you how many of the games we won today, although I'm leaning towards three... This is just one of the reasons I love this sport. It is rarely about the end result, and it is not what I will remember from this experience. On-pitch I'm competitive as a, well, a human, but when all is said and done from this tournament I am taking away my improvement as player, the bonding as a team, the ever-growing passion I have for Ultimate, the pride in how well the freshers on your team performed, despite this being their first tournament, and how good it feels to belt out 'Forget You' at the end of a 3 hour car journey when home is in sight.

I can only hope that everyone has a passion that makes them feel this positive. I have a feeling I've expressed a similar sentiment before, and if I have, I'm glad. The butterflies building up before a game, the freedom of transforming said butterflies into running until you can run no more, throwing, catching and falling a lot of falling, in my case. I can't wait to inspect bruises tomorrow. The proud exhaustion of knowing you played as well as you could have, and more, in each game. Practically indescribable, and so I'll sign off.

Pics to come soon.

Yours, exhausted,
Abby

A taste of what life will be

I'm not the only student in the world, I'm aware of it, but this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach having to worry so much about money doesn't seem to be affecting everyone. I can't sleep, I feel like I'll never be able to eat anything but white bread at 50p a loaf ever again, there's a constant reminder in the back of my mind that I still don't know how much our quarterly bill is going to cost me.

Is this what life is like? A constant scraping for cash, an anger at colleagues picking up the extra shifts before you, giving up things you'd like to do for what you have to do - work, work, work.

If so, it's not a life I want.

Masks

I like to imagine what life would be like if no one had a screen to hide behind. Those people, you know the type, who act like they're all that because they dress in a certain way and own certain brands.

What if we didn't have foundation and everyone could see what skin actually looks like?
What if we didn't swathe ourselves in material and everyone could see what bodies actually look like?
What if we didn't wear high heels and everyone could see how long legs actually are?
What if we didn't have bras with padding in and everyone knew that we're all different sizes and shapes?
What if we didn't have jewellery and no one knew how much you can afford to spend on precious metals?

Don't misunderstand, I adore self-expression and clashing colours and bold prints and neutral tones and pastel shades and interesting textures and sparkly things and feeling great.

But... why do we need these things to feel great? Clothing, in fact appearance in general should be an accompaniment to ourselves, not an article to hide ourselves behind. Wouldn't it be nice if the reason you came home happy at the end of the day was because you'd managed to make more people laugh than normal, or because someone complimented you on your smile?

I just wonder how relationships and friendships and the way people interact would change if it was all swept away. If all the wobbles and freckles and mismatchedness and insecurities were on show, maybe they wouldn't be insecurities at all.

Yours, naked,
Abby

Charlie Charlie Charlie

Something happened recently, and I'm not entirely sure where I want to go with this blog post, but we'll see where we end up.

Charlie Mcdonnell is a Youtuber from Bath who currently has 1.68 million subscribers. When I first truly discovered the potential of Youtube - how completely this little site is a community - the nature of Charlie's skill became apparent. He has a magnetic personality, which shines through in everything he makes. He is cheery, and creative, and genuine, as well as funny, sensitive, and doesn't take himself too seriously. Also Stephen Fry voices his outros. It never comes as a surprise to me to see multiple comments asking for Charlie's hand in the comments of his videos.

Part of the follow-ability (who needs real words? Whatever.) of Charlie is his willingness to share his audience. I've become something of a Youtube addict, subscribed to over 80 channels, and many of these are people Charlie has collaborated with or mentioned in his videos, and the rest are people those people have mentioned. It's a slippery slope. (Actually, I lie, I small portion is due to my odd and eclectic music tastes). I am aware it's my opinion, as there are many influential Youtubers out there, but to me, Charlie is the centre of the Youniverse.

Therefore, as time went on, and I noticed a distinct lack of content from Charlie's channel, charlieissocoollike, I was not the only one. Because the quality of his work is so high, and the effort which goes in so entirely apparent, I for one assumed he was just putting that much time into each video, and that he had a life to get on with outside of Youtube as well. But after about a year of less and less of Charlie's face in the 'most viewed' section of Youtube's front page, I and his other millions of viewers were faced with this heart-wrenching video:

And his followers responded. All over the internet there are people rallying for Charlie to get back to being comfortable enough to entertain us. On the video, on his website, on twitter, and in video responses. The latter is where I was most impressed. The sheer number of friends from the community who know him personally, as well as those who don't, showed how empathetic humans will be when someone lays their heart bare. And because we all understand. Of course we do. The terror of putting yourself out there, trying to make people laugh, or think, or lead better lives, only to be beaten down and criticised is a feeling we all have known. To some people this is felt by posting their opinions on the internet, but to others it can be felt in as small an action as raising their hand in class.

One of my favourite reactions is from another Youtuber who doesn't post so often, but when he does, wow. I can go into this another time, for now I just want you to listen to Michael Aranda, and his wise, wise words:

Without being falsely complimentary of covering up the truth, he makes me feel so much better about my problems, and the video wasn't even directed at me.

I think this is something which has made me love people a little bit more over this past week. We're all different, and that's wonderful. But we are a little bit the same too, and when we realise this, and put the plea for help out there, friends, family and strangers will respond. Even just the knowledge of the potential for support can help me through a difficult time.

Yours, lovingly,

Abby

Entwined

He knows well the curve of her back, the smell of her hair.
She misses his arms, one under her neck, one cradling her waist, if they're not present.
Breathing slows, mumbling ceases, and they slip into dreams where they can run.
Run with the deer, soar with the falcons, and glide with the otters.

In dreaming, they understand how to live. Everything is easy, easy as breathing.
No decisions, no choices, and no parting, they can explore their own world together.
By the giggling stream they can chase the ripples, in the sun-drenched field they can spy the clouds.
In the rain they can dance, and in the storms they can race.


Upon waking, nothing is as clear.
The swirl of responsibilities pushes and pulls them, the currents allowing brief glimpses,
But never the freedom they had by the brook.
Exhaustion draws near, happiness is tattered, tempers flare.

But their worldly troubles can be pushed aside for a day here, an evening there,
So that they can return for a spell to the place they were free.

Too Many Feels

It seems I am always so angry/passionate about something. Whether it be gender politics, rights for the disabled, the disadvantages of technology, oh my goodness, all the things, I seem to have an opinion on. It can't be making me any friends. I, for one, enjoy a good debate which everyone can just walk away from at the end, but what if everyone else doesn't feel the same way? What if most others hate being challenged, and I'm riling everybody? But what's my alternative? Wander through life in a daze, never questioning or caring or wanting to change anything at all? So many questions. Maybe I'd be fine if I wasn't too worried about what everyone else thinks of me thinking my thinks. But I am! I'll get properly into an argument and not be worried at all at the time but I think I have a debater alter-ego who's not worried about the same things I am in real life. After the heated discussion is over and we've walked away (either physically or mentally) I'm sure the other party forgets everything we've just spoken about. But I get anxious about everything I've just said, will re-play everything over and over to try and convince myself I had my side of the argument correct, get nervous about seeing that person again, or even cry. Yes, really. I'll often try to distract myself immediately after a debate, watching Youtube or working or striking up a new conversation with someone, but my thoughts will return to the agonising possibility that I may have hurt someone's feelings or stirred up someone's beliefs. And the question logically follows, 'What were you trying to achieve if it wasn't those things?' And I have no answer. An irritating conflict of aspects of my personality; wanting to stir things up, keep people's opinions fresh, but wanting to make sure that everyone I know feels constantly all right, that they're not worried about anything, that I've done all in my power to make sure I'm supporting them 100%.
No paragraphs today, no eloquence, no flowers in this language. Too many feels.

Yours, overwhelmed,
Abby

The irony...

...that the very week I post about how to keep your head when all around you are losing theirs, I have the most extreme panic about an assignment. Well, that's life, but it's meant I've kept a lot of thoughts cooped up, and now the stoopid essay's finally complete, they're begging to be let loose. So, one post per day this week, let's see if I can keep up with myself. And no, they won't all be at 2am. Most, perhaps, but not all...

Yours, vocally,
Abby

Sometimes

Sometimes, all I need is a visit from my family.
A chance to catch up on their news.
To be treated to a delicious lunch,
And have my fridge filled with healthy.
To be bought magic pyjamas for the winter, perfect for staying in all day to write an assignment.

Sometimes it's just the little reminders of home,
that are all I need to be happy.

Chill Out

"A memory test - What were you worrying about one year ago today?"

Something I am exceptionally good at, worrying. About? Oh, about money, uni work (2nd year counts?!), my job, being punctual, eating well, the dark, my relationship, the future, audition rejections, my appearance, cleaning the house, keeping everyone happy, performing well at frisbee, my health... the list, as they say, is endless. And see if you can tell how many of those I have absolutely nothing to worry about. That, my situation regarding them is perfect, and I wouldn't change a thing about them.

It's odd, we battle with so many things, and try to better ourselves in so many ways, how is it that so many of the things that keep me awake at night are not problems at all, are even barely the potential to become problems in the future.

"I've been through terrible things in my life... and some of them have actually happened"

I think I've become so used to dealing with stress in my life that if there isn't any - it stresses me out. I put a lot of pressure on myself to succeed; I enjoy often telling the story of how I used to get stress nose-bleeds in GCSE chemistry lessons because I couldn't understand a single stupid thing. Isn't the irony beautiful? Something which used to cause me so much discomfort, actually provides me with entertainment a few years on down the line. And I still don't know what a freakin' mole is.

What I'm trying to say, is that everyone needs to chill. I see constant facebook updates worrying about deadlines, and admittedly it is reassuring to know that I'm not the only one, but I think instead of everyone rushing through life in a blind panic, we should all make a pact to stop the hell worrying about it all. If I just review my life, and breathe, and imagine how in a year's time I'll be making people laugh with tales of my present situation, it helps. Of course that's not actually very constructive, so here is some real advice if worrying about everything is a problem for you, too.

1. Write it all down, in order of priority - Not only will you realise you have no way near as much to do as you think, it'll encourage you to do the most important thing first instead of putting it off.
2. Take breaks during work - Especially important, because it's so easily overlooked. If you don't take 15-20 minute breaks every couple of hours you're just going to lose concentration and go round in circles and take twice as long to get anything done.
3. Ask! - Teachers, lecturers, classmates, anyone you know who has some level of expertise in the subject you're struggling with, will probably feel touched that you've come to them for help. So have chats with people when you get stuck.
4. Don't be so hard on yourself - No one in the world is as hard on yourself as you are. Instead of finding fault with everything, work hard at discovering what you like about your body, personality, whatever. Make a list of things you would never change. Add to it all the time. This girl will help you out: Laci Green
5. You can't be friends with everyone - One that's particularly hard for me to take, if you have opinions, some people will disagree with you. As hard as you try, Abigail, you will not be able to get on with them all. Learn to appreciate those closest to you so that the others cease to matter so much.
6. Ignore the advertising - You are beautiful. Yes, you really are. You're just going to have to get used to it. Ignore products telling you to be thinner, younger, smoother, taller, curvier, big-eyed and pouty. They will never leave you alone and you will never feel good enough. Come to terms with how you really look, and it will be hard for people to shake your confidence.
7. Don't let rejection get you down - It can be horrible, putting yourself in a position of vulnerability and being trodden all over, but try not to let it get to you. Stand up, shake it off, and the most important thing here is that you learn from what went wrong. In most cases, it's not because there's anything wrong with you, it's just that you're not what the Director, boy, girl, etc. was looking for. But don't change for them, soon you will be the person someone is looking for.
8. Use. Your. Words. - Directing this one at relationship issues, but applicable in literally any situation. No one (apart from Derren Brown) can read minds. Are there problems? Talk about them, they will be resolved. Is something going well? Talk about it, so it can be repeated. You just want to have a moan? Your partner will probably be glad to know what's going on in your head, and relieved that it's nothing to do with them. I can't stress this one enough, but I'll give it a go. Use Your Words.
9. Take tissues to chemistry lessons

Of course these are all personal to me, both the problems and the solutions, and things you're struggling with may not correlate with mine at all. But I hope that I have encouraged you to try and think a little more positively about everything.

I think that's probably enough for now. I didn't realise just how much I had to say on this subject until I started writing. I might return to this at some point, but I need to stop for a while. I was only exploring this subject to try and stop myself worrying about my first assignment of the year (due in a week), after all.

Chill out, y'all

Abby

Philanthropy to Misanthropy

On the London South-bank, half-way between the London Eye and the Oxo building, almost underneath Waterloo Bridge, nestles the National Theatre. An archetype of Brutalist architecture in Britain, the theatre is in the impressive position of appearing simultaneously in both the 'most popular' and 'most hated' building lists. It has housed a broad range of productions, one of the most recent and notable being War Horse, but a great many others including Frankenstein and Antigone, as well as Shakespeare works often cropping up. I was present at this historical building on Wednesday, 31st October, but despite being away from the university on Hallowe'en, I feel I may have had a somewhat similar experience as the rest of the students there. Plenty of dressing up, of course, but also fake blood, partying, an excess of expense, greed, and, in a manner not unlike trick-or-treating, a scene where feces was served up for dinner. I was, of course, viewing a little-known Shakespeare play.

Oh, not obvious? Maybe I'll go into a little more detail. Timon (pronounced like Simon) of Athens is a work we're lucky to have knowledge of at this time at all. In 1623 the publisher of the first collected edition of Shakesparrow's plays was having trouble obtaining the rights to Troilus and Cressida, intended to follow Romeo and Juliet in the tragedies section. At the last minute, they grabbed Timon of Athens to fill the gap. We can only hope that plays don't have feelings.

The play contains an ambiguous moral to say the least. The first Act sees Timon (Simon Russell Beale) throwing great banquets and giving presents of expensive jewels to his friends. They flatter and feast and generally make merry until Timon's steward (Or in this production, Flavia the stewardess, played by Deborah Findley) is forced to point out that his money is fast dwindling. Our tragic hero turns to his friends for help, but as it is perhaps possible to guess, every single one can think of an excuse preventing them from returning even a small portion of the generosity displayed to them over the years. My personal favourite was the character (I forget which) who was too offended to give any money, because Timon had not come to them first.

Timon releases an extraordinary amount of rage, loses all his wealth and abandoned his class. Shortly before abandoning Athens completely and making for the wasteland beyond, he throws one final grand supper. Unlike earlier in the play the plates are covered, and somehow the vision flitted through my mind, of what might be on them. Timon gives an impressive speech on the feeling of generosity being met by greed, and the favour never returned. His guests, bound by social convention, sit there spell-bound, and when are told to dig into the feast, uncover plates of excrement. Still they sit (though gagging and choking) to hear Timon out, though the spell is broken when he lifts a handful of their 'meal' to palm it onto a guest's head, and they flee.

Whatever anyone says, Shakespeare knew how to keep the audiences coming, and was not afraid of shocking, repulsing, and insulting his viewers. But Timon was not intending this as a prank, to be forgiven in time. The remainder of the play explores his all-consuming rage with everything Athens is and fails to be, and eventually dies. But it is off-stage, and quiet, and the audience never truly finds out if it is suicide, or by another means. It is a sad death, given no spotlight, nothing overly-dramatic. Now he's no longer freely handing out his wealth, no one is interested in whether Timon is alive or dead. All except the one redeeming character of this play, the stewardess Flavia.

The production was an enjoyable one. I appreciate modern dress in Shakespeare when it is well done, as this was. The scenery and costumes served to show how relevant dear Shakesparrow still is. Particularly appropriate was the scene of the rebelling lower classes camping in modern 2-man tents and brandishing placards. I also liked seeing a work I'd never even heard of, it will be perfect to compare to King Lear, as the most clear example, as well as many other works of Shakespeare's. In addition, one of my favourite things about theatre is the audience themselves. Sharing the atmosphere, laughing, groaning, flinching together, only adds to the experience.

Indeed, it is due to the audience that I experienced the most entertaining conversation I've heard in sometime, as was related by my mother to friend Amy and I in the interval. Two ladies having a conversation in the toilets:
"So, what was it he'd served up to his guests?"
"It... it was faeces."
"Oh! I thought it was poo!"

Fortunate, perhaps, that Shakespeare would never have over-heard that conversation from where they were situated, even if it had been the correct century.

Yours, feeling cultured,
Abby

To Winter

When you step outside and the chill nip at your fingertips reminds you of a pair of gloves, upstairs snuggled in a drawer. But it's too late, and you hurry off, hiding the cold digits in your cuffs.
When the last clutches of auburn leaves break up the harsh black lines of bare branches against the eggshell sky. I wonder if the reason I shall never have walls this colour is because of the reminder it will serve; it is the hue of this cruel wind.
The carpet of fire is completed. The trees have let fall their cadmium colours, and they crunch underfoot. All too soon they will be slippery, a hazardous mush to block drains and freeze across pathways.
The sun shines but it is music falling on a deaf ear. The heat does not reach us, and we huddle, and stamp our feet, and sit by the radiators...
...and watch the bonfires flare against a backdrop of the dark as pitch sky, and squirrel away at roasted chestnuts, and delight in the bundling up of mittens and scarves and novelty hats. All Hallow's Eve is upon us, and costumes are agonised over, and Guy Fawkes celebrations will follow soon after. Fireworks, and the warm glow of your house as it comes into view after a swift walk home, and the dew-drenched cobwebs in the crisp early mornings. Christmas is just around the corner, and we save, and plan gifts, and start counting down...
...Winter is not so bad. He must feel jealous of Summer and her bright colours, her giggling breezes beside his gales, her soft rains beside his storms. He cares gently for his snowdrops, he feeds you crumbles and thick stews and stuffing with the turkey. He casts the silence during the first snow, composes the soft cascade of the flakes that fall. He has made ready all the children's favourite games. Conkers, snowball fights, the glitter-drenched pictures of November 5th. He reminds everyone of friends and family, gathers them together, and watches through the snow-lined window as they sit, and laugh, and make merry.

I can never decide if I'm a summer person or a winter person. Enjoy the beautiful season as it is.

The more you look, the more you see

Yours, Reflectfully,

Abby

Hello readers!

Hi guys,

This one's idle curiosity, but readers in the USA, Russia, Canada, France, who are you?? Leave a comment, introduce yourselves, I'd really love to know how you found me, and what you think of my posts, and what you'd like me to write about!

Looking forward to meeting you,
Abby

Gendered Objects

So I bought five umbrellas the other day. Unfortunately, as you might expect from me, it's not for some elaborate costume, but merely preparation for Winter. I lose umbrellas at an alarming rate, and this behaviour is nothing but sensible. Promise.

What disturbed me about these umbrellas though, was the fashion in which they all claimed to be a 'women's small umbrella'. They came in red, light blue, dark blue, and black. How, I implore you to explain to me, are these solely women's umbrellas? Are men only allowed umbrellas of giant proportions, so that they can demonstrate their strength by not being swept off their feet by huge gusts of wind, or so that they can skewer each other when their Neanderthal instincts call? This isolated situation seems like a fuss over nothing, but I'm afraid the 'women's umbrella' is a poster, behind which is hiding a much larger problem.

As I explained in my post To Each Their Own everyone has ways they wish to express themselves, whether through dress, behaviour, or gender identity. This, I think, is the widest area we can cover with one sentence. Anybody can identify themselves in any way they want. If we let this be true, my issues with the world would be reduced by hundreds. Sadly, we can see this statement being denied in multiple tiny ways.

Men traditionally wear trousers, but women, go ahead! Express yourself, for comfort, or practicality, or because you want to. Women traditionally wear dresses, so men, if you wear one, we will stare, and judge, and in some cases, imprison. Yes, women had to fight to have the right to appear a certain way, as black people fought for integration, and homosexual people are still fighting in many parts the world. But it's not a rite of passage! It's wrong to think that any certain group of people need to fight for the way they want to live before they 'deserve' to live it. People cannot be labelled, they cannot be put into neat drawers. "Women like shopping." "Men watch football." "Lesbians have short hair." "Children can run around and express themselves loudly and openly, but when they grow a little older we'll have to explain to them how they should really be behaving." Our society makes us believe all kinds of facts that aren't true, through TV, advertising (this one especially), and recently, tumblr, twitter, youtube, facebook. The number of ways negative messages can be put across to young, impressionable people is slightly terrifying. There is no rule-book you have to follow, there is only the entire world of possibilities that you can pick from, and choose the behaviours you wish to embody.

If the world can learn anything at all, it should be from its past. Wars are fought over religion, people are imprisoned for sexual identity, neighbours treat each other without respect because they worship different gods. None of these things will stop happening until we realise that everyone is free to act in whichever way they wish, as long as they're not hurting others, and that men can use whatever kind of umbrella they jolly well like.

I saw this video today, and it made me happy

Ultimate

I was always so caught up in music and drama clubs in secondary school that I never had time to consider doing anything else. Occasionally I would attempt an extra-curricular activity in a different field, football and netball, for example, but they were hastily swept aside without exception for rehearsals of plays at my tiny local theatre, or music courses with my county wind orchestra.

I'm the one on the far left of the sofa. Yes, really.

It wasn't until I made it to Uni that I had the joy of a fresh extra-curricular slate which I could fill, guilt-free, with whatever I wanted to be doing, and at last, a sport managed to make it into one of the top spots.

Ultimate frisbee is a relatively little-known sport (so little-known that I have to add the word 'frisbee' to my spell-checker dictionary) which is gradually increasing in popularity, especially at universities. It's a team sport whose objective is to pass an ultimate flying disc (copyright prevents actually calling it a frisbee - that would make way too much sense) between players and ultimately... passing it to a player in the end-zone of the pitch. You can't run with the disc, and whenever it is dropped by the attacking team, the other team gain possession.

Because it is not as well-known as football or rugby, the athleticism needed for this sport is often underestimated. Fitness levels must be high, and players need skill in throwing, catching and agility to name but a few. Anyone who thinks ultimate is "not a real sport" because it is new is painfully ignorant, and should be made to play an outdoor tournament in the height of summer without ever subbing off. Yes, it's that hard.

The reason I adored Winchester Ultimate as soon as I joined was the challenge it presented. Most freshers were in the same boat at the first training session - we didn't even know what the rules were, let alone tactics. This meant no one had a head-start and the race was on to see who could improve the fastest. Competing in our first tournament after three week's worth of trainings soon meant I had my priorities straight though. Fly Hard (our team name) may compete against each other at training, but ultimately (can't help it) we are one entity and it's against all other teams I channel my surprisingly high competitive nature at.

The aspect which sets Ultimate apart is Spirit of the Game. As a referee-free sport, the game relies entirely on sportsmanship of the players to run smoothly. Sounds simple enough, and indeed it makes the game truly enjoyable if both teams are courteous and happy to accept the challenge of a fair game. Matches end cheerful and players remain friends - helpful when you seem the same faces at each tournament.

Fly Hard teams 1 & 2, November 2011

This weekend just gone Fly Hard: Winchester Ultimate and I attended the beginners' tournament at Portsmouth. With two experienced teams and a beginners team there could always be boundless support for whichever team was playing, and we have really come together as a society. Of course, that could be more due to the frisbee house party (and copious drinking which naturally accompanies these events) hosted just two days previously... Hopefully the freshers feel like a true part of Fly Hard now. By this point last year, I knew that some of the greatest friends I'd make at Winchester would be from this society, and it's certainly held true. Ultimate isn't something which has completely taken over my life, merely compliments it, and runs happily alongside everything else I am always busy doing. I wouldn't have the commitment to train at frisbee twice a week and talk about it every day in between if I didn't love it, and I wouldn't love it if I didn't have such wonderful people to train with:

Fly Hard 1st Team, October 2012

It's hard to describe how a tournament makes me feel, but I might try and do so. Tired doesn't cover the emotion, because you're not necessarily sleepy. If you've done it right your body is so drained of any energy in any form you just want to sit and sit and watch the final (always so impressive) and root for the underdogs and never ever get up. As team-mate Jamie says, "If you don't come off the pitch and want to throw up, you haven't run hard enough." The pride of knowing you did all you could in all your games, and that your team were almost communicating telepathically by the end, and that your feet hurt so much that you don't think you'll be walking for several days, and that there are layers of bruises on your knees, elbows, hips, this is what I love about tournaments.

I've set a goal to get exercise every day, following my fantastic weekend; I want to see if I can make it even better next time.

Yours, joyously,

Abby

I haven't written for a while...

But that's okay, neither has Shakespeare!

New post coming soon, I promise dear readers, about one of the great loves of my life.

Transition

Huddled in groups of fast-made friends, casting fearful looks at the older students, clutching NUS cards and accommodation keys, the Freshers are self-concious, but present. I'm glad. Freshers Fayre was as enjoyable for me this year as it was last year, scavenging just as much free food, the sunshine, playing with my Dixie band and having first-years clamouring to sign up for Ultimate Frisbee made it a wonderful day. Before this week I was proud that my recruit count for frisbee was already at 1, grace having become a faithful disciple after just two training sessions. I hadn't realised just how much of a precedent this was, until a further 200 students wanted to attend a training session...

A lot of my New Year's Resolutions were to do with worries I had before term was even due to start, and I am pleased to divulge that I have had some measure of success. Resolutions 1, 2, 3 and 4 are very much achieved, and lots of cycling plus a small portion of frisbee ensures resolution 8 is under-way too. My freshers week included both the first BOP! of the year, and pub golf for my frisbee captain's Birthday; I can tick off number 5 also.

With just resolutions 6 and 7 left to achieve, it means that it's time for real-life to resume. Freshers was fun, but I'm settled, I've got used to my house and lazing around in it, I'm ready for lectures to begin. (Possibly because I was lucky enough to have just one 9am a week). Completely new modules have me interested, and I might even have partaken in some course-related reading already... Here's hoping my new-found enthusiasm for work lasts, I'll be updating with new resolutions soon.

Yours, happily,
Abby

Fulfilling resolutions 4 and 5 

Frisbee team pride

Blue

So, who remembers this hair?

Well, guess what?

Blue is back.
It's not uncommon for many requests of an explanation to come my way as to why I indulge in this insanity, so I thought I could try to explain. Returning to my favourite xkcd may clarify my reasoning.

Everyone has creative tendencies, even those who claim to be 'bad at art'. I was terrible at the subject of art at school, but it was always painfully restrictive, and it's no wonder that the people who never received 'proper' training are often the most successful (Van Morrison an excellent example on the music side of things).

I digress. It's healthy for you to express yourself, through clothing, speech, interests, hair colour... Everyone has a need to do so, and there's no point watering down your ideas, your desires of how to behave, to try to conform, or to please people of higher status than you, or for any reason at all. As I said in my last post, if everyone was accepting of each other, everyone would be a lot happier. I think because it would allow complete freedom of expression.

In short, I dye my hair blue because I like to. It's not necessarily my favourite colour, I'm not just trying to draw attention to myself, I just like my hair to be blue. It's that simple. I think the first time I did it back in March it might have been a small test for myself. I'd never dyed my hair, and it was something I had been curious about for quite a while.

The experience has taught me not to second-guess a way I know I want my appearance to change. Do you want to try a new hair cut or colour? Item or colour of clothing you 'know' (think) you can't pull off? My advice is to just go ahead, don't even think about it, and don't look back. For certain, the person who will notice the biggest difference in appearance is you, your peers will be far more interested in your increase in confidence. Living spontaneously makes life so much more interesting. As xkcd points out, we can't just go on living our lives in a pattern, repeating the same behaviours over and over again. Try something different, something you've always wanted to do. Maybe do it tomorrow? Trust me, go for it.

Yours, leaping before I look,
Abby

The Fox House

It has happened. I am moved in. Why is this for certain now and not three days ago when I arrived? Because, quoting The Incredibles here, I've finally unpacked the last box! I adored my uni accommodation room. It was a good size, only 2 years old, and always seemed so clean. There was a giant pin-board and a full-length mirror and an ensuite, and it was lovely. It does not compare to this. I barely decorated my room last year, it didn't feel enough like my space to go batty with it. This year, all change! This year, my room is MINE. As previously posted, it is gloriously tiny, with no free space making it look big and empty. The walls are covered, and I mean covered, with my posters (Van Gogh Cherry Blossoms, Alex and his Droogs, Plan of the Ghibli Museum, and Flight of the Conchords) photos of all the fabulous people I've met and places I have been in my life, a pin-board overflowing onto the walls with tickets and postcards and letters from my friends, and with all my necklaces hanging from pins. A giant flag with every flag in the world on the ceiling, and Chinese lantern fairy lights and hand-made bunting hanging around. A panda rug covers the only floor space left, and I have a plan for the remaining ceiling space too...

How full my room is should accurately depict just how in love with it I am. My real home will always be in the village where I grew up, but, boy does this place come close. The house-mates are slowly filtering in too, making it seem so much more like home. Just two more of them to move in, and I can't wait until we're all here. The six of us would very often go out as a group together in first year, and for one thing it'll be so much easier logistically when we're all together! The dressing-up box is ready and waiting in the front room for the first BOP!s...

Happy bustling is still going on, so life in Uni Town won't grow static before term starts. Cupboards are being shared out, hot water being understood, and a couple of nights out have happened already. So speaking of which, there's a fridge which needs cleaning of mould...

Yours, hygienically,
Abby

Musings on the bookmark bar

It has recently occurred to me just how much can be learned about someone from the pages they have bookmarked. So, in case you wanted to learn a little more about Yours Truly, these are the pages I consider worthy enough to be bookmarked...

1. My favourite xkcd comic ('Dreams', in case you're interested)
2. A live stream of kittens. Especially entertaining as they're in a separate time-zone. I could watch kittens sleep forever.
3. 5 different pages about Stockholm, Sweden. Including information about a free walking tour, the best youth hostel, and the museum where you can listen to stories by the fireside at Christmastime. This one's very current, the destination on this section of the bookmark bar changes depending on where I'm headed next.
4. A website which sells PERMANENT blue hair dye.
5. Some more live-streamed kittens. Except these ones are named after SCIENTISTS.

I feel like the bookmark bar tag should be a thing. 

Technorati - ignore :)

UYAEA6Q8PNAP

To Each Their Own

There are some facts I think it is very important that people realise. There is so much hatred aimed at total strangers, all for such pointless reasons, and I want to address people's issues.

All bodies should be celebrated.
Whether they are fatter, or thinner, or taller, or shorter, or more muscular, or of a different skin colour, or more freckle-y, or disabled, or with bigger hands, or with knobblier knees, everyone's bodies are different.
Do not let your insecurities about your own body manifest itself in judgement of others.

All genders should be celebrated.
Not everyone who is biologically female will identify as a woman, and not everyone who is biologically male will identify as a man. These people probably had about as much control over which gender they found themselves as you did.
Do not let your ignorance of the way the human body and mind works manifest itself in judgement of others.

Everyone's dress sense should be celebrated.
Everyone has a way they like to express themselves. People have favourite colours, and brands, and styles of dress. Some will like to wear less than you do, some will like to wear more. Some people will spend a long time on their appearance, and this will hold no interest for others.
Do not let your fear of expressing yourself the way you wish to manifest itself in judgement of others.

In a modern world where we have the opportunity, and the gift, and the right to freedom of expression, the only enemy we're left fighting against is ourselves. If you label people and assume you know them from their appearance, not only are you potentially hurting those individuals, but you're continuing the idea that it is okay for a few select members of society to dictate what is right and what is wrong, when in reality, these rules are non-existent.

Next time you find yourself looking at someone and making a snap decision about their personality/sexual orientation/health status or any other aspect of that person's personal life, answer me this; "Are that person's life choices hurting anybody in any way?" If the answer's no, then you need to decide something else too. You need to examine why you're judging that person's decisions. Is it because you wish you could express yourself in a way similar to them? Is it because a book or a film has given you a false perception of what's beautiful? Is it just habit? If all humans went around doing the same thing and looking the same, quite frankly, my habit of people-watching would be ruined.

The world is beautiful because of its diversity. A flower garden with just one type of rose would not interest anybody.

Instead of looking at everyone else all the time, why not take a look at yourself? Maybe there's some changes you'd like to make to your own appearance, and it is this insecurity which causes you to be so quick to judge others. I can tell you from experience that the happier you are with yourself, the happier you will be with everyone else.

It all just comes down to this

Peace an' Love
Abby

New year, fresh start

More and more mentions are appearing about the new academic year. Everyone knows their results, be it GCSEs, A-Levels, or passing various years of university, and no matter what they were, the waiting is over and the multitudes of students know where they're going next. Everyone who hasn't had Glandular Fever, that is. *Grumble grumble* *Changes wrist bracelet is on*

In my experience, it is impossible not to make some sort of resolution when you start a new school year or even a new institute of education altogether. After all, is there anyone out there who failed to make the first page of every new exercise book exquisitely neat? (I always made an annual promise to faithfully underline everything in a different colour every day. This usually stopped long before I had run out of colours with which to do so).

There is something highly treasured in being offered a fresh start. Officially this offering is January 1st, and I'm sure many people do evaluate their life on this day. However I've always found students choose their own times to do so. At the end of the summer term, when you can review your year, and at the beginning of September, when the dazzling summer holiday obscures any sour memories from view, was always when I looked over certain aspects of my life.

The end of my first year and beginning of my second year at university, I've found, is no different in terms of my evaluation. There are many things I have decided I would like to achieve this term, and here are but a choice few:

1. Actually get back into university. (Minor irritation of illness. Exams finally taken. Results on 10th Sept)
2. Make my room mine. As previously posted, my room is gorgeous and I have been collecting for its decoration since mid-May.
3. Move in! I'm going to be living with some wonderful people this year and I can't wait to be in the Fox House with them and sorting out all our grown-up troubles together.
4. Get my hair back. It now seems odd that I first dyed my hair a few short months ago, it feels like I've been doing it forever. This is how the addiction starts, no doubt. But if it's not blue it just doesn't feel right, so this will be rectified.
5. Have a wicked Fresher's Week. I'll be helping to try and successfully recruit for Ultimate Frisbee and Jazz, and I'm looking forward to meeting all the people. Also this year I'll know what's going on and should be able to make the most of Fresher's, as I won't be trying to orientate myself at the same time.
6. Get a First in something.
7. To achieve 6. I must do the reading before every lecture, do the work for every lecture, and type up the notes after every lecture. Without fail.
8. Continue to be mildly sporty. Living further away from uni I intend to healthfully cycle to lectures and what-not, and with frisbee proper starting again in a few short weeks, I could not be more excited.

I'm sure that's enough to getting along with. Most of these are fairly short-term, and doubtless I will be making more once uni life really gets going again. Updates will follow with how everything's progressing, and any further resolutions!

Yours, Resolutely

Abby

Complaining Bracelet

I love syntax ambiguities. But alas, the Complaining Bracelet is not a Harry Potter-esque gadget which vocalises all my complaints for me, it is an attempt to improve my personality.

The idea is that the wearer of the bracelet must change the wrist it is worn on every time they complain about something. After 21 days of wearing the bracelet on the same wrist, they can take it off. But every time the wrist is changed, the Day Count starts from zero again. The aim is 21 days in a row because supposedly this is how long it takes to break a habit, so if you can go 3 weeks without complaining, you can carry on like this forever! I guess if you complain again after you take the bracelet off you have to do the whole thing again...

I heard about the idea of the Complaining Bracelet a while back, and decided to start it now for a number of reasons. The greatest of these is to do with returning to Winchester Uni, something I am so excited about it cannot be contained in a blog post (although I am certain I will try this later). There was one ridiculous thing I repetitively had negative thoughts about, and this was my new room in my new house. There are a great many things I love about this room, even in its bare and empty state. It has masses of storage space, it is wonderfully light due to windows in two of the walls, it has a sloping ceiling, there is a shelf running continuously across two walls, just below ceiling level, there is a handy windowsill right above the bed, and a large flat roof directly under said window, which opens very wide...

And yet for some reason I was bothered by its tiny size. Now I have always adored small rooms, so at first this was difficult for me to understand. My home room in Kent is also teeny, but I love it. It's so much easier to cram a room full of clutter from your childhood and bright colours and souvenirs and cover the walls in postcards and drawings you did when you were younger when your room is small. No, 'tasteful decor' is not a phrase which ever comes anywhere near somewhere I am inhabiting.

If I'm completely honest, which I hope you will appreciate is difficult to do in a domain as public as a blog, my discontent lay in the comparison between mine and my housemates rooms. Of the six of us, four of them have a double bed, and the bedrooms are at least twice the size of mine, and in most cases more. You see?! STOP THAT, Abigail. This is why I need a Complaining Bracelet. My problem is jealousy, it's nothing to do with actually wanting a bigger room. What I need is a halt to all the negativity, so I can let the positive stuff out. (Anyway, think how many glow-in-the-dark stars you'd need for a giant ceiling).

In reality, I am itching to get into that room and start making it my own, and my big Sis (Starting uni this year! Bless ;D) my mother and I are making that all-important trip to our nearest IKEA this evening, for reasonably priced kitchenware, and MEATBALLS AND CHIPS. If you've never eaten at an IKEA, you must. And soon.

Yours, more positively,
Abby

London 2012: Part 3

And there it is. The London 2012 Olympics, finished.

So I'm finally allowed to tell you what I was doing there! Missing the boat completely on applying to be a volunteer, I applied for a job at the Olympics. So it was that I ended up at 7am on 27th July working at Greenwich Park (Equestrian Arena) in a bright orange uniform, flogging programmes to the horse fans. An experience like no other for me, I learnt that being up and out of the house at 5.30 (especially at the weekend) is like learning about a beautiful secret that no one else knows. The long hours and early starts were punishing, and the weather was well and truly British, with torrential rain and electric storms in the morning and scorching sun in the afternoon. I have a tan line where my lanyard was round my neck, then a small gap of tan before the collar of my T shirt intervened. Proud.

The people that I ended up talking to made it all worthwhile as well. There was the volunteer who showed me how to walk the last part of my commute to work, saving me a daily £2.70. There was the man from Pakistan who I had an hour-long conversation with about Ramadan and marriage and how girls in shorts are like sweets without wrappers. He also gave me a meal voucher, and made me promise not to have sex before marriage. There was the man who gave me a lift out of the park on a mobility buggy, and consequently yelled "Hey, Winchester!" at me every time we met because that was the only detail about me he could remember. There were the numerous spectators who explained to me what on earth was going on every day and managed to get me extremely interested in all of the horsie events. Finally, there was my beautiful, wonderful, programme-selling team. They helped motivate me to make the hour-an-a-half journey every morning, protected me from the scarier customers (chuckle) and created a fantastic send-off in Greenwich Wetherspoons when it was all over.

Seeing us win 3 Golds in the horse riding, and at least another Silver and Bronze, was indescribable. I can't believe I didn't cry any of the times I got to sing the National Anthem with a crowd of thousands, and seeing Kate and Wills wasn't half bad either. I'm so glad I was part of this fantastic event. I'm so proud of Britain, team GB, and every Olympic athlete. And of course, I can't wait to show off to any children/grandchildren that not only were the Olympics hosted here when I was in my prime, I was ACTUALLY THERE.

The Closing Ceremony didn't fail to impress either. As ridiculous as the Opening at the beginning there, and then a celebration of everything that has been achieved in these two weeks. 303 boxes to celebrate 303 Olympic events. Sounds like something we'd come up with. The flashbacks to the moment when a normal person becomes an Olympic Champion were wonderful, and I love the fact that we've brought the whole nation together in an acknowledgement of glorious achievement. To my mind in a ceremony of this kind there simply cannot be too much music, and I was not disappointed. It certainly brought out the secret dancer in old Boris. It's quite difficult to sum up the last section of the closing ceremony, but I think it can be agreed that it was wonderful, and crazy, and what I wish all parties were like, and I know I won't be the only one waking up with Always Look on the Bright Side of Life/Our House/Here Comes the Sun stuck in my head tomorrow morning.

GB, for everything, I salute you.