Thursday, 28 July 2011

"I Can Speak For Myself, Thanks!"

Today has been a weird day. Not for any particular reason, but it just seems to have lasted about five years. The thing is, I am a self-confessed procrastinator. Give me something I am  meant to do, and I can find a million and one ways not to do it. This week instead of cleaning and tidying my own room, I have been doing my family’s ironing, cleaning the whole of the house (except my own room), making sure the windows are finger mark free, cooking proper food (not super noodles) and alphabetically ordering our DVD and cookbook collections. My Mother (bless her heart) finds it really hard not to have a go at me for having a hand made ‘floordrobe’ in the middle of my bedroom, because I have cleaned, tidied and ironed everything else for her.

Yet again, I got out of tidying my room today by taking my library books back and delivering a letter to the Radio station in order to get myself some work experience. I also went to observe court as I haven’t been in a while. For anyone who hasn’t been, observing court is one of the greatest forms of entertainment EVER. It’s even better than Judge Judy, apart from the fact you have to remain silent and straight faced.

This was the plan anyway, but for anyone who has spent even a day in my presence you will know that nothing that I ever intend goes to plan. You see already today I have had a mental breakdown, witnessed one of the sweetest moments of a married couples life, walked face first into a door, pretended to be Polish, pointed a foreign person in a random direction because I didn’t understand what he was saying, had my shoes accidentally cleaned by street cleaning vehicle and shouted at a drunk middle aged man.

My mental breakdown didn’t last long, just about the same amount of time as it took to finally find my B-Line lurking behind the Boots advantage card in my purse. I should mention that this was after I had emptied the entire contents of all of my handbags, drawers and organiser, which is now not so organised. After I finally stopped crying upon finding the sneaky B-Line, I ceremoniously cut up the Boots card in revenge that the scheme I had only signed up for for the free gift, had made me miss the bus I had woken up so early for. Another thing that contributed to my very loud sobbing and screaming was the incredibly inappropriate auto-correcting my word processor decided to do to my ‘I-will-do-anything-for-work-experience’ letter. If I hadn’t noticed the mistake in the spelling of ‘I don’t have any set times currently, but you can arrange them as you see appropriate’ the Head of regional radio really would have thought I was offering him something completely different than a trainee member of their News team. I mean come on, why would Microsoft Word think I meant to put a ‘x’ instead of a ‘t’? (There is a prize for the first person who guesses which word that got auto-corrected)

When I finally got into town I observed Court for a few hours and then whilst it was adjourned I went to return my books, drop off my catastrophic letter, and visit the Job Centre. However, what I didn’t know was that the Library is closed on Wednesdays meaning that I surreptitiously turned into that man from YouTube who shouts ‘WHY ARE YOU CLOSED?’ whilst banging on the glass door.( If you haven’t seen it - ). Also, the radio station only accepts online applications and the Job Centre's receptionist was on her lunch break. I am so desperate for a job I said to the woman on the intercom that if I had that job I wouldn’t take lunch breaks. She told me to come back later.

Feeling like a failure in spite of my good intentions I walked back towards the Courts as I thought that watching people getting cross-examined by the really sexy Lawyer I had previously been drooling over, would cheer me up. And also there’s nothing quite like watching someone being sent to prison to make you feel better about your own life.

Like every British City, Derby has its fair share of alcoholics who sit on benches, and pass comment as you walk by. Today I was not in the mood to deal with them. As I tried to avoid eye contact with the overly sweaty man, I realised I had unwillingly become his target. When he requested that I come over and talk to him I assured him that I was in a hurry, however he took this as an invitation to walk with me! Then he said the 4 words I think he will regret for the rest of his life; “Are you spoken for?”.

This would have been a great time to deploy a technique I have been trying to put into practice in recent months. It is called; ‘Oh bloody hell Rose, think before you speak!’. But unfortunately, the whole ‘thinking’ idea went out of the window and I shouted “No, I can speak for myself, thanks!”. He then assured me that he meant ‘Do you have a Boyfriend?’ to which I replied “Yes, I do!”. I don’t.

I don’t know what it was; the fact that a street cleaner had brushed my brand new shoes with his filthy truck, that I felt bad that a man who hardly spoke English was roaming the streets of Derby unaware a cruel Ginger girl had pointed him in the wrong direction, that the woman who owned the Polish supermarket didn’t believe I was Polish and therefore wouldn’t give me the job, or that my bag still weighed a ton from the three hard-backs on Serial Killing, DNA Evidence and Terrorism I hadn’t been able to return (They were for Extended Project I promise!). I just wanted the pathway to swallow me up right there and then.

Obviously it didn’t, I am sat here right now telling you about it and knocking back the Robinsons. Not the Beer, the fruit squash. I lived to tell the tale. That's the reality of it I suppose, everyone has bad days and good days and everything always gets better. Like after a long day of being an unemployed failure my Nana placed homemade chips in front of me as we watched Murder She Wrote. And like my Nana says ‘You have to take the good with the bad. Do you want some Apple Pie?’

Live. Laugh. Love

Saturday, 16 July 2011

Burn Baby Burn

I have never really considered myself as a fearful person, as I don’t particularly suffer from any of the usual things people are commonly afraid of, such as heights, the dark, public speaking and even a lot of the time I’m OK with spiders. However, I have realised more and more as the weather has got warmer and people have invited me to bonfires that I am a little bit scared of fire. OK more than a little. I had always thought that it was probably me just being cautious and aware of safety when it comes to naked flames. But as it turns out, that time a boy in my science class leant over a bunsen burner and set fire to his fringe, has left more of a lasting impression on me than I had previously thought. 

The thing is, that although you might find something petrifying, another person will of course come along, find you stupid and then ultimately tease you about it. Just like a friend of mine who always finds it funny to set fire to planks of wood and just wave them around really close to me. To which my usual reaction is “Don’t you da.... I swear to Go.... Just stop it!’’. However, a few weeks ago when I went to a party where a girl spent the whole time upstairs because she was scared of balloon's, the first thing I wanted to do was throw hundreds of balloons in the room and shut her in it. Harsh I know.

The actual name for the fear of fire in Arsonphobia (for real, however I doubt Arson is many peoples favourite pastime) and the fear of either death of being hurt by fire is Pyrophobia. For me, I think my main fear about fire is its unpredictability, the fact that in a split second change of wind direction, it can become dangerous. Along with the realisation that after you thought you had successfully put out a fire, that orange glow you think is dying out, almost always lights up again when your’e not looking. Another thing is the embers, the things that a fire spits out at you when it crackles. Little bits that burn wholes in your clothes if you don’t pat them out quick enough, or in some situations can lead to a fire getting out of hand, and quite possibly setting a building on fire. 

Wouldn’t you say that that applies to life in general as well? A small spark that appears relatively harmless at first, can ignite a fire, that you weren’t altogether expecting or prepared for. A fire, that before you know it can cause destruction to many different aspects of your life which are then sometimes hard to get under control. What if you aren’t able to extinguish that fire? What happens then?

I suppose in the same way I am afraid of fire, I am sort of scared of falling in Love. For so many times, I have felt like I have had my fire under control, yet by turning my back for just a second, all of a sudden the flames have got taller than I could handle, and in an automatic reaction I have panicked and rushed to get rid of something I am not comfortable or experienced in. There are also those fires that after ignition seem to die down and fizzle out without you being able to save them, leaving you with no idea what happened. Like a candle, that you only realise has come to its end when there is a small trickle of smoke, and that undeniable smell. (Ironically, I quite like that smell)

What about those fires that well and truly get out of hand? Fire’s that a first keep you warm, but then without you being aware, start to spread. Before you know it, it starts to cause destruction, that can be seen from miles away. Billowing black smoke that makes it aware to everyone around you that you have got yourself into difficulty. Despite your best efforts to extinguish the fire, in the end all you can do is retreat to a safe distance and watch as everything burns to the ground until there is nothing left, and nothing more to carry the fire. Only then, once everything has been burnt away can you start again, with no restrictions. It may seem daunting at first, beginning again, but after a while of missing what you had, you start to realise what can be, now that nothing is standing in your way.
Something that I learnt from one of those really terrible educational videos we used to have to watch in Primary School when it was raining at Break times (can anyone else remember that it was called ‘Wet Play’?) was that Farmers often start fires to clear forest floors, which then makes them more fertile. So girls (and boys of course) now you can use that as an excuse to finish that lad you don’t like anymore, that you need to clear the floor, to make way for other fitter lads. The lad would probably think you were going a bit funny in the head, just like when I finished a boy the other day because of our political differences. I’m actually being serious.

I also learnt today that the best protection from fire, surprisingly is sometimes fire. Apparently if there's a forest fire that is out of control, and you burn away a bit of the ground in advance, that piece of ground will be safe to stand on. Even if the fire totally surrounds you, because you've already burnt away the bits the fire can spread to. So fight that out of control fire, with fire, preferably a much much hotter boy... Sorry I mean fire.

‘...But remember Kids, don’t play with fire.’

Live. Laugh. Love