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
Wednesday, 26 December 2012
Monday, 24 December 2012
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
Friday, 21 December 2012
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
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
Tuesday, 11 December 2012
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.
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
Friday, 7 December 2012
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
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
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