Word Consumption

He consumed his book like a hungry man eating a sandwich. Page after page, flick, flick, flick. Words fell and got stuck in his beard as he ate, but he didn’t let this slow his pace, he just brushed them aside and continued on.  Twisting and turning in his seat in the corner of the Munich cafe his contortions unconfined by the strangers around him.  He stopped twice.  Once to order a coffee and once to eat an actual sandwich. He was my partner in crime as I twisted in turned in my own parallel universe. I missed him when he left. Gone, our epicentre of calm amongst the clinking chattering coffee shop was shattered. I found myself driven out by his replacements, an American woman and her partner. Words masked to me by the clinks, the story of the drivel she poured forth was told by the very bored look on her companions face.  Time to consume elsewhere.

Strange Days Part II

I’m beginning to believe that the flight from Munich to London causes ripples in the fabric of reality, as this the second time I’ve landed into oddity…

Shortly after myself and some 90 other passengers filed off the plane, each on our own personal mission to break the gate to immigration world record, we soon discovered all our rushing was in vain. Instead we found ourselves collected in a hallway that led to a dead end.  This in itself would’ve been odd, but the hallway also contained a lift and stairs that did not lead anywhere. I didn’t try them myself, as my puzzled look was answered by a fellow passenger, “I’ve been up there”, he said, gazing up as if it was another planet, “it’s just a landing that leads to nowhere”. This I confirmed by watching passengers enter the lift only to reappear two minutes later returning down the escalator that ran alongside the stairs. Hilariously it created a feedback loop by causing newly arriving passengers, on seeing people descending, to think this must be a way out and in turn themselves try the lift. So that’s it, we were stuck in the bowels of Heathrow, with only the rotating passengers as an illusion of escape.

It in fact would’ve been a good start to some kind of weird psychological thriller.  As hope extinguished that we would find a way out, passengers started to murmur.  One passenger picked up the airport emergency phone that was mounted on the wall near him and reported that we were trapped.  “Where are you?”,  “I don’t know” he said.   I overheard another questioning out loud “Do they think we have Ebola?”.

Fortunately the psychological thriller in which we were all sealed off in a wing in Heathrow due to someone on the plane having a deadly airborne disease did not eventuate.  A woman with a key appeared, and the seemingly dead end hallway miraculously opened and led us back to reality.

Strange Days

I think perhaps the fact that I’m reading Murakami has somehow seeped through my skin and plastered itself across my chest, inviting weird things to happen.  Or perhaps, it's because Murakami is currently framing my reality, that I see everything strangely.  Still it was surreal, one of those fleeting moments that you almost can’t be sure really happened..

As soon as my flight landed in London, I felt the gravity of the black hole of hurry pulling at my coat tails. I tried to resist, actively meandering for a while, but as it is with black holes, resistance is futile, and by the time I’d reached my tube stop I was in full London mode.  Internally congratulating myself for getting on the carriage that allowed me to be closest to the exit at my stop, I joined the race to get out.  As I moved with the mob up the stairs, other commuters were in their own race downwards.  In this mode you barely hear or see anything, you are just part of the crowd, heat seeking the exit. Still I heard what he said.  I have a vision of what 1/3 of him looks like, out the corner of my eye.  Tall, dark and well dressed, he paused for a second, as his mob passed mine, and said, just loud enough for me to hear, ‘I love you’.

Old Haunts

Sitting in the sunshine in Dalston, at my old favorite cafe, its hard not to wonder if you can ever truly get over your first loves.  Dalston was the first place I lived in London and there's something undeniably comforting about being back on familiar streets.  

I didn't know I was going to love Dalston the first time I laid eyes on it.  I remember looking at Kingsland Rd and wondering why anyone would ever want to walk up there!  All I saw was collection of shops selling junk and chicken.  Yet it's hipsters, with their uniform of rolled up jeans, art events, and quirky cafes with drinkable flat whites, an unusual feat 3 years ago in London, won me over.  To the point that I loved too the African hairdressers, and even the chicken shops that mark its diversity.  Its hard to let go of something that has wriggled its way unexpectedly under your skin. Still I'm reminded as I watch those around me repeating old patterns, and ending up in the same rut, it's healthy to move on.

Its seems obvious from the outside that continuing to hang out with or even holidaying with your ex is not going to help you get over them.  Yet, and I should know, as it's not only Dalston that has wriggled its way under my skin, when you are in the middle of it, even though you know it perpetuates it, saying no feels like denying your heart, and not following your heart is the worst feeling in the world! Neither am I the exemplar of how to solve these problems.  For the longest time a friend's ring tone for me, was 'Don't dream it's over'.

Yet what I do know is that what another friend told me at the time to ease my pain, was right. She said, you will love other people, it will be different, you will love them for other reasons, and as hard as it is now to imagine that you could love anyone else, you will truly love them.

Dalston will always be there. It's not going anywhere. I feel lucky that know it, but I feel lucky too that I learned to let other places into my heart.

Young Fathers

It doesn't matter what music you are into its impossible not to be blown away by Young Fathers live.

Exploring the lineup for Visions they caught my ear.  Hip Hop is not the normal genre I hangout in, but something intoxicating emanates from their sound that crosses genres.  A raw power that reminds me of where hip hop started out.  Excited by what I heard and saw on YouTube, I was proclaiming they would be act to see at the festival, yet they were more than that, they were one of the best live acts I have ever seen!

Watching Young Fathers is more like watching a stage performance than a gig.  Walking out with challenging staunchness, they created an air of voodoo mysticism that almost conjured you to dance to the beat. Being in the front row was insane! You could watch the sweat sparkling on their hard chests and look in the whites of their eyes as they leaned out into the audience, daring you to drink from their cup. Not breaking character for a second, each song dripped with energy. At times you didn't know where to look, from Bankole's stripped bare chest to Massaquoi moving across the room seemingly possessed by the sound. The ending was as slick and as well timed as the rest.  They went out to "I heard", leaving Hastings on stage, backed by strobe lights, singing the chorus into a subdued mic, until the crowd took over, "Inside I'm feeling dirty, It's only cause I'm hurting".  Then he was gone, leaving the crowd heaving, aching for more.

Caught up in the wildness, at the end I was as drenched as they were. But my sweat was worth it. I can't help feeling I was present as something was being born into the consciousness of the mainstream.

Ammirazione

Half Italian, half English, she had the delicate complexion of an English rose but with the Italian temperament coursing in her veins.  It was a potent mix.  She was young, but old enough to know what she was doing.  "I find her the most terrible kind of person" she said, speaking of her friend's partner, "Oh she's pretty", she said, mistakenly thinking we had assumed this wasn't the case. "No she's the worst kind of terrible....Stupid.  There's no excuse for stupidity. I can forgive the ugly, they were born that way, there's nothing they can do."

We'd been discussing if we had any A-sexual male friendships.  The conclusion was no. Unsurprisingly she had a lot to reference.  I know them all from my neighbourhood she said, as if it was the most natural thing to walk around the block and make new "friends".  That's how I met my boyfriend, "He's 39....All my lovers have been 10-15 years older than me." I swear I could hear the swish of male heads snapping our way.  Seemingly pondering him, "What part of the male body do you like?" she asked.  "I like feet", "My most sexual experience was washing a man's feet."

Crossing her ever so slightly chubby pale legs, she tucked her curly brunette locks behind her ear and took a drag on the cigarette she'd been nursing.  "She's blonde", she said, going back to her friends partner, "and a TV presenter".  She gave us a demonstration of how the blonde would stand when greeting people, legs crossed, hips out, shoulders back, hand reached forward. Sitting down again, she gazed out into the courtyard.  It was one of those perfect Saturday evenings were you could stay out all night in light summer clothing. From our spot on the balcony we had a view into half a dozen other apartments. It was fascinating people watching.  It reminded her of Hitchcock's 'Rear Window'.  "Its a stunning movie", stunning, a word she liked to use to describe a lot of things, "Grace Kelly at her peak".  "Its funny, most of my favourite actresses are blonde", the incongruence of this and the TV presenter's blondness bothering her for a second…

We were interrupted by a young man on another balcony taking his shirt off and dancing around in a drunken attempt to entertain his friends.  Conversation moved on.  "How are you finding the long distance relationship?", asked my friend.  "Oh terrible,  I'm not coping at all!". About to finish her thesis, her plan was to move to Brussels and get a job in European public policy. "I'm giving myself until January 2016 before I return to Italy".   "He understands, I'm young I need my time to explore."

Somehow I doubted if her Italian partner was as understanding as she said, but I admired the sexuality and confidence she wore on her sleeve.  I love that I'm allowed to.  One of the few biases tipped in a woman's favour.  

Zigzagging Toward the Light

Sometimes music is the only truth you need.  On a hot and steamy Friday night in London, I was happy Conor Oberst was the only truth I could hear.  I must admit I've long been a captive fan of the song 'First Day Of My Life',  so much so that I hadn't really noticed the rest of his body of work. But none of that mattered, he had me at 'Hello', or rather at the opening song 'Time Forgot'.   In his cowboy hat, mysterious lighting silhouetting him to the audience, he didn't talk for the the longest time,  instead he just sung his truths into our ear.  But I like that, it added to the mystery. 

As he switched between Bright Eyes classics and some of the newer songs from the recently released 'Upside Down Mountain', he almost apologised for playing the new material.  But he needn't have, as I'm sure the audience agreed with the guy who yelled out, 'Its a beautiful album mate!'.  His songs haven't lost their potency or their poetry, I'm as much a fan of 'Zigzagging Towards the Light' as I am of 'We are Nowhere and its Now'.  He performed all with equal urgency in his aching voice, and despite the fact that, as my friend pointed out, he is 34 and married now, I believed he felt every word as he highlighted his points with energetic guitar strokes, and paced in frantic circles during the chorus.  The banter when it came was equally as truthful.  Having played festivals for the last few weeks, he admitted, 'I don't know how they do it', 'the punters that is', 'rolling up night after night'…'I advise against it', he said as he launched into 'Governor's Ball', a song about festivals.

I confess I amassed a little crush on the man in black with his cowboy hat, and swooned along with audience when he would lift it, seemingly along with the mystery, to reveal the man beneath.  Conor Oberst you can come and wash away my troubles any time.  You made everything in the evening seem easy, that in the morning is such a drag!

Through the Giant Apple..

She woke up and rubbed her eyes, that's strange, she thought, stories like this always end this way, its all topsy turvy to be starting out this way, but anyhow her alarm was ringing so she had not time to think about it, she had to go to work.  She went downstairs, patted her pet dinosaur on the head and opened the giant red apple that led out into the world.  It was rather odd that no-one had taken a bite of the apple it was rather big and juicy looking, but she was glad it had stayed that way, she preferred things clean and crisp!

She was wearing a bright purple and blue tie-dye ensemble.  She fitted right in. There had been a big renaissance in tie-dye recently.  After all it was only a matter of time before something as great as tie-dye caught off again!  She danced down to the canal and waited for the next boat to turn up.  She was glad to see a deck chair was still free, she got on. She loved this time of year, she took a deep breath in, ah, you could really smell the foxgloves in the breeze as you glided along.

She got off, happy to see her friends were already there.  "Hey Inger! Hey Hannif! Hey Lili! Hey Mike!", it was good to have them close by after all they had helped write this story. She couldn't stop to chat for too long though, the first activity of the work day, morning yoga was about to start and she was a little late, some things never change! After yoga they all went off eager to get on with their days work, looking forward to seeing each other at the concert that evening.  The Backstreet boys were doing a live ukulele score to the movie 'Back To The Future'.   She was surprised to find out some people have never seen the movie!

Inger went off to climb, she was a spectacular climber.  I'm not sure what she was climbing today but they were sure to hear about her feats that night, if not before, she had a sizeable fan base on social media.  Hannif was planning which 5 star restaurant/hotel to review, while shinning his champagne glasses for his next party.  He was a fantastic host, everyone thought so, but especially the Portuguese, they were his greatest fans.  Lili was working on her latest song, she wrote the most beautiful lyrics, they were so pretty people copied them onto notes and left them all over the city to remind people how wonderful things could be. She had a large following of wide eyed male musicians, who all wanted to collaborate with her, and for some reason especially if their name started with R.  Mike had in fact helped out with the Backstreet boys ukulele score, unsurprisingly they needed a lot of help, it was through him that they had tickets to tonights gig. But he was really famous for playing guitar, though his gigs were an exclusive affair, he only played for people who were deemed cool enough.  Unless you were wearing tie-dyed skinny jeans you weren't getting in! And she, she went off to write her next story, or rather finish this one..

After the concert she came back happy but exhausted and fell into a deep sleep. She had a very odd dream that night.  She dreamt that instead of tie-dye she was wearing only black, she didn't have a pet dinosaur, in fact no pets at all, her flat was too small! Instead of her bright red apple door she had to go through a square door and down some stairs.  Instead of going by boat to work she had to take a rather large vehicle with everyone jammed in, and it smelled like petrol not foxgloves, which in fact didn't smell like anything at all.  She went to work in a building equally as square as her door and sat there stiffly all day, with no yoga breaks, with lots of others doing the same. They weren't really sure why they were doing what they were doing, and if you asked the people they were doing it for, neither were they!  Everyone assumed someone up there knew the reason why, but the truth was no-one did.  And the strangest thing of all no-one danced anywhere.  She wondered what was wrong with them? Were they not happy?

Can Men and Women Truly Be Friends?

I might be about to get myself in trouble here, as I certainly have friends who are of the male persuasion, but here we go, "Fasten your seatbelts, its going to be a bumpy night"...

If I'm truly truly soul searchingly honest about all my male friendships, I doubt very much that they are platonic.  There is in every case some element of attraction there.  And, I'll go as far as to say, I suspect this is true of all male/female friendships.  

First, before you raise your hands in descent, let me define "friend".   I don't mean someone that you're happy chatting with when they happen to be around.  By friend, I mean someone you share personal details with, someone you call up for a chat, someone you hang out with just the two of you. 

But still, "Wait!", I hear you cry, I definitely have friends, as you define as above, that I'm not attracted to.  But here's the thing.  The attraction doesn't have to be on your side, it can be on either side to make it work.  After all, we all enjoy a little attention.  Finally, you cry with a whimper, "But they are in a relationship!"  Don't kid yourself, being in a relationship, happy or not, doesn't stop you being attracted to people.  Stop and think about it for a bit, and be truly truly honest.  

The thing is, I think males and females are fundamentally different.  Different enough that the friendship doesn't work unless lubricated by a little attraction.  For example, I definitely know guys that I have stuff in common with, but with whom I haven't tried to pursue a friendship with.  I've been asking myself why, and I think it simply comes down to the fact that I can't imagine sitting down and chatting with them for a long period of time.  Even though we have things in common, men and women approach how we get from topic A to topic B in different ways, the social glue is just different.  You only have to compare lunch conversations you would have with a group of guys versus lunch conversations you would have with a group of girls to understand what I mean.  When its just my males colleagues we/they talk about external events, what politician said what, who won the snooker, who's going to do well in the world cup, some kind of mammoth feat of driving really fast or long.  I sit there trying to piece together what little scraps of information I know about these things to join in, or if I'm lucky, find enough to direct the conversation elsewhere.  With my female colleagues it's all more personal, what's going on with their partners, their friends, their houses, ok, and the cliche, what handbag/dress do you think I should buy?  These things I find infinitely easier to relate to.  Somehow, whether it is a societal construct or not it, the end result is, it is just different stuff that makes us tick. 

Yet throw some attraction in the mix and it is a whole different story!  Wether we like to admit it or not our basic instinct in life is to procreate, and faced with a possible mate, we suddenly develop a whole new level of interest in the other person.  Getting from topic A to topic B is no longer a problem.  We want to know, what kind of pet they had growing up?  What side of the bed do they sleep on?  What food can they not stand?  All the stuff we are usually not interested in suddenly becomes fascinating when we are attracted to someone.  I've had people describe this to me as a flirting dance.  Sometimes  the dance will end in a relationship, sometimes nothing, and sometimes when you are a match, but not quite enough of one, you become friends instead.  

So how do these friendships work?  Generalising grandly there are two main categories I see them falling into.  Either you are both attracted to each other physically, but the personality is not enough of a match to enjoy spending a lot of time together, i.e. you probably enjoy flirting with each other but are equally happy to say goodbye.  Or secondly, your personality is a match but one side is attracted and the other not.  In which case the friendship works as one person enjoys the attention and the other giving it.

So this begs the question, is it ok?  I think for the most part it is.  I certainly value my male friendships.  And aside from the fact that I concur with my Grandmother's once given wisdom, that there is nothing wrong with a little flirting, I value them also because they give another perspective on things.  One which is often invaluable, not least when I'm involved in another one of those flirting dances, my male friends manage to cut through to the heartbreaking truth with an ease that my female friends are not able to do.

The problem though is that from time to time the line in these friendship can blur, and it can be heartbreaking when it does.  Sometimes for whatever reason one person's needle of attraction tips too far.  I have personally been involved in one of these needle tipping friendships, and while it was heartbreaking for him, it also screwed with my head.  For a while I lost a friend, I didn't know how to behave anymore, I blamed myself for leading him on, I second guessed everything he or I did.  We've healed now and are still friends, time and distance have helped, but it has made me a little bit more cautious, and a little bit more honest about my friendships.

  

Yet surprisingly, despite all these muddy waters, I still believe the answer to my original question, "Can Men and Women truly be friends?", is Yes!   As sometimes you find a friendship where for whatever reason you can be secure in the knowledge the needles will never tip, and despite the attraction, you can treat each other plain and simply as a friend.  If this is the case, you should congratulate yourself for navigating the perilous seas and pay homage to the  bermuda triangle you are in, as it is truly a rare and beautiful place.

Primavera Sound - 3 Days in Music Heaven

I have an inkling that you might have to be music mad to truly enjoy Primavera in bad weather.  Good thing that my needle runs to the totally insane level of music madness.  I loved even the minutes I was sheltering from the Thunder storm!  Here's how it went down..

The Music

Best Hair: La Sera 

Along with her bubblegum pop sound and rather high pitched American voice, she has the kind of hair that is so annoyingly good, that even after head thrashing along to her heavier songs looks perfect.

Biggest Disappointment: Real Estate 

I love listening to their music, but sadly not their awkward stage presence.  Hopefully they'll learn.

Biggest Surprise: Haim

Despite only really being taken by two songs, I'm glad I didn't miss this one.  Their sound was far from the pop I was expecting having listened to their album.  In fact these girls rock!  And they certainly know how to work a crowd.  From Este's crazy facials (see video), to a Drum beating jam.  Este asked  "Are you with me on my spiritual journey Spain?".  We sure were!

Weirdest Act: Connan Mockasin

Even though Este Haim is insane, I have to give it to Blood Orange's new friend, Connan Mockasin, the prize for this one.  Walking out in a blonde wig, head scarf and a white jump suit, along with his keyboardist who looked like the Elvish Queen had stepped right out of Lord of the Rings, was just the start.  I wasn't sure how his spacey sound would be live, but the weirdness carried it off.  At times it felt like we were in the cult of Connan as he raised his arms, and the crowd willingly followed suit.    May not be to everyone's taste but I found him strange but wonderful. 

Best Stadium Act: Foals  

I like my rock n roll with ego, and ego oozes out of every pore of the Foals' frontman Philippakis.  Despite playing at 2 in the morning, the place was buzzing.  Their stage act is nothing short of slick, from the drummers standing call to arms, to  Philippakis' crowd surfing while still playing guitar, it would be hard to walk away not amped from this gig. Leaving during their last song, as my companion had to get to the airport, was one of my most heart breaking moments of Primavera.

Coolest Dude (and music you can most get down to): Blood Orange 

Somehow he made looking like Milli Vanillli has stepped right out of the 90s into the present day cool, and that's no mean feat!  I really enjoyed getting my white arse down to this one, and so did the crowd.

Best Mosh Pit: Cloud Nothings  

Probably playing at a stage too small for their following,  I found myself in the heart of my first mosh pit in years.  Not sure my friend, who didn't really know the band, was so impressed by getting pushed around by the 6"4 guy beside her, but jumping around to "Stay Useless", I loved it. 

Next Big Thing: Future Islands

I knew it was going to be good before it started, yet still I was blown away.  I can't see how a man with this much passion, and crazy dance moves, can possibly stay playing smaller stages.  Truly living every moment of every song, with passionate hand movements and wistful glances, he made you feel like he was looking straight at you!  I love the lyrics, I love the sound. The mixture of 80s love song with occasional guttural metal vocals, works well with the passion.  Another heartbreaking moment is that I missed getting pictures of the crazy antics, stupid iphone!

Music that will stand the test of time: The War on Drugs 

So it seems ever since I walked into Brick Lane and looked and Kurt Vile in the eye, we have a thing.  So it is no surprise that Adam Granducie's  curls and a slight country sound are reminiscent of Vile, as not only does he haunt all my music posts, but he used to be in the band!  Despite Granducie taking forever to set up, and being a bit of dick to the audience as we waited, by literally addressing us with "blah blah blah you guys are great", I forgave it all when the music started!  Kurt might have taken my eye with his curls and sneaky smile, but this music cuts straight to the heart.  I love it when a sound speaks for itself.  A little bit country, a little bit rock, a little bit spacey, totally beautiful, I could listen to this all day!

Best Quote: Angel Olsen 

"Its hard to play a sad song when you are happy, and its hard to play a happy song when you are sad". Clearly enjoying herself just before she closed Primavera for me with White Fire, which starts,  "Everything is broken it all just falls apart.."

The Festival

Best thing to smuggle into primavera: Bottle caps. 

For some reason they are insistent on taking the caps off your water bottles, not only the ones you bring in with you, but also the ones you buy on the venue.  No worry, after learning this we just brought them in wrapped in our jumpers, and hey presto, we could buy a bottle of water that we didn't have to drink on the spot.

Thing I most wish I had: Hover shoes.

To put a buffer between me and the hard concrete.  Standing for 9-10hrs a day my feet fucken hurt.  In fact they still hurt now and I'm on the plane on my way back.

Best Advice: Go to the front!  

A guy I used to go to gigs with in Amsterdam taught me this, and its changed my whole live music experience.  Not only can you see, but the energy is better and you don't feel out of place shaking your arse.  You might think it's not possible at the festival, but apart from the stadium headliners, it totally is.  For a lot of the earlier acts all you have to do is walk around all those clueless people standing miles back, go in from the side, and voila, you are able to look the artist in the eye.  For some of the later smaller stage acts, it means being there 10-20 mins early, but its worth it, trust me!

Best accessory:  My vintage 1980s wool jacket.  

Not because its so cool and styly, although it is, but just because it was lightweight and warm.  It might be Barcelona at the end of spring, but it can still be cold.  Nothing worse than having to bail on the festival because you are freezing.

Best stroke of Luck:  Finding ourselves 2 mins walk away from possibly the only shelter in the whole venue as a massive thunderstorm hit.  

We sat the whole thing out having a picnic of our snacks, stayed dry and warm, and came out it time to watch the rest of Joana Serrat's set, with the back drop of a giant rainbow.

Best thing about it being in Barcelona:  The Beach.  

Sadly it wasn't the sunniest weather, but Sunday was glorious.  When you've come home at 4:30am, spending the day lying on the sand after a meal of sea food tapas, is heaven!  

Would I do it again?  Hell Yes!  I'm already having music withdrawals!

The Upside of Down

The problem with positive thinking courses is that they make you feel guilty for feeling sad.  The theory goes that I control my thoughts and hence my moods they induce.  To be more exact, to think positively I'm supposed to pay more attention to my thoughts and just eliminate the negative ones, and hence if I'm feeling sad it is somewhat of my own making.  They teach you too, its not just the negative thoughts that you should eliminate, but also the passive positive ones, i.e. no more day dreaming, another pastime I happily indulge in!

I learnt all this not as I'd hoped in an Ashram in India, where instead  I met a guy who writes some of the most depressing songs ever, but in a basement in busy Covent Garden during a wet and dark winter.  My teacher for the positive thinking course, was a Ukrainian Astro Physicist.  At least, given her Eastern European accent and her esoteric references to her day job, this is what I like to imagine.  Her ability to answer with stunningly simple common sense any of the strange questions the attendees would think up, helped me break down the barriers I usually put up to all this self help stuff.  And for the most part I'm glad.  It did help me stop wasting time.  Time I wasn't really aware I was spending. On things I can't change!

The thing is though, on some level I actually like a bit of wallowing.  Sometimes I want to spend an evening drinking straight gin and listening to Patsy Cline.  Even if I do get some pleasure out  of drinking the gin from  a tiny little cup that says on it 'why are you so naughty?', and on the other side 'because I'm so happy',  I couldn't help but feel a little guilty.  After all, what I'd learnt meant that this sadness was all my choice, and even if I was enjoying it on some level, it certainly does not endear you to those around you, nor does it lead to productive days.   At the same time though, sadness feels natural, and somewhat therapeutic.  So it led me to pondering that there must be something good out of being sad.  After all evolution tells you generally traits that are not useful don't stick around.

So what is the upside of down?  The first thing that comes to mind is the old stereotype that depression is linked to creativity.  Some googling quickly lead me to, along with a headline that I refused to click on claiming depression ages you, an quite insightful article on the topic.  The article proposes that it is not the depression itself that generates the creativity, rather that it is the other way around.   It points out that generally creative people are more reflective and more reflection along with leading to creativity leads more to depression.  Makes sense, the positive thinking course too tells you that the more you reflect on negative thoughts the greater your troubles seem and the more likely you are to be depressed.  And I know, that the days I'm sitting crying my eyes out on the couch are not days that lend themselves to checking a lot of things off my todo list, let alone creative output.

So if thats not it, what then?  The theory they propose is that it leads us to face up with what is wrong in our life and make some changes.  This goes in direct opposition with what I learnt at the positive thinking course, which just tells me to eliminate these ruminations and instead focus on change by being excited by possibilities.  I see this can work, but sometimes I just don't think it is dramatic enough,  not in the same way an evening emptying out your soul can be, to induce the change required. And while I agree that most days the course is right, these thoughts are just a waste of time.  I've decided, if despite my best efforts, I find myself in a mood to wallow, then that's ok, it just means its time for a little bit of life spring cleaning!  And hell, if there was no wallowing, there would be no Patsy Cline, and in my opinion, the world would be a little worse off without the heartbreak.

Sofas, Breast Enhancements And Cheese

It's still surprising what is surprising in the North..

The other morning we were taxiing as usual to the middle of nowhere, otherwise known as Morrisons head office, and listening to the taxi drivers choice of tunes.  But this was not the surprise, the surprise was what was on between the talking and music:

Advert One: 

Spring is here, its that time of year when you want to throw open the windows stick your head out the window and breathe in the fresh air, but then you think, ah my lounge is not up to scratch, time to get a new sofa!

Advert  Two:

Its that time of year to make a change, why not get a breast enhancement for only £2500 (cheaper than I thought)

Advert Three:

Ah the joy of nothing days, those glorious days where you have nothing planned and you can just sit around and eat slice after slice of cheese. (To be honest the actual ad was more descriptive than this but its the best I can remember)

Morning Positano

Thanks to the couple in the room next door who woke me up early enough to see the stillness of the world.  I love this time of day, the moment when its just you and the birds and the breeze.  When the thoughts can come and stay for a while without being rushed off by the need to hurry out into the day.

I remember being told at an Ashram in India that people can live off air, I took everything there with a grain of salt, but perhaps this is what they meant.  

Up early enough I feel I can feed my soul on the surroundings.  The freshness in the air cooling my eyes, puffy from sleep, drifting out to the silkiness of the sea, where the fisherman, the seemingly only other person awake, sails out into the remaining glints of pink in the sky.  Taking in the vista, its hard not to feel at peace.  

Sadly its a fleeting moment, and not long before the hum of engines and the clink of breakfast plates joins the birds. Morning I hope to visit with you again soon, and listen to what more tales you have to tell me. 

A week in the North

It's funny how culture shock hits you when you are least expecting it, but I guess the hint should be in the "shock" part of the phrase…

If I believed in signs, I should've had an inkling from the mornings attempt at bomb defusal at Kings Cross.  Well not really, but it certainly felt like it as when I typed in my ticket reference code and it didn't work.  Starting a count down of 15 mins to try and sort it out and get on the train.  I must've looked rather odd camped on the floor with my bag open trying to connect both of my laptops to my iphone hotspot, in a desperate attempt to find the reference code somewhere in my work mail.  I'm sad to say had it been a real bomb defusal I would've been blown up.

On the other end, half an hour later than expected, I got into a taxi at Leeds train station.  Hoping the distinct odour of booze and cigarettes was due to the previous occupant and not the driver, I tried to start up a conversation.  From my previous experience up north I've always found the people to be very friendly and talkative. One supermarket attendant once exclaimed over my purchase of wasabi peas,  "What are these?",  "Oh are they any good?", another told me about his weekly martial arts class.  However this driver didn't seem in the mood to partake. At first I thought he was finding it hard to hear me due to the large plastic "driver protection" barrier surrounding his seat,  but I discovered, when I had to ask for the receipt 5 times, the problem was more that he didn't understand my antipodean version of English!

Walking into Morrisons was my next shock.  Happy to find that, although the office was in the middle of nowhere, the interior was actually quite open and sunny.  This was quickly overtaken by the shock of seeing a sea of blue and grey of literally thousands of people dressed in suits quietly beavering away, not talking to each other.  I later discovered the office was purposely designed in the layout of a shopping mall, so it could be easily sold if Morrisons was to go under.   My first task, from my desk, in the corridor, with a view of a wall which is adorned with a picture of a giant chilli,  was to fill in a document full of check boxes, assuring them that my desk was at the right level and that I would not partake in chain mail over the internet.  I must say the tune "Run run as fast as you can!  You can't catch me I'm the gingerbread man" started to cycle in my head. 

As the week's worn on I've got used to the suits, the 10 year old technology, the security checks that wouldn't stop a kindergarten kid from infiltrating the building, and an IT help desk that can't fix anything.  All stuff I've seen before, and unfortunately is still not uncommon in the UK. But the nightlife is not much more inspiring! We are staying in a suburb called Shipley, in which our serviced apartment complex, really just a large cluster of modern looking buildings, is a local highlight!  The Fagley taxi driver, yes that's right there is a suburb is called "Fagley", one to challenge the infamous Whakatane (Fuck-a-ta-ne) in NZ, was amazed.  Driving into the complex he exclaimed "Wow!  Wow so big!".  And this was only the beginning of a chorus of  "Wows" as he drove through to the building we were in.

Not being impressed by my colleagues form of night time entertainment, a sandwich and an evening working on his calculator app,  I am going to run!  To Leeds at least.  

Roll on next week.   Leeds I hope you have more to offer to keep me sane.

Shipley Highstreet

Sometimes the everyday can be wondrous..

A strange thing happened when I went for a walk today, on the sunny street I found the keys to the kingdom of Islington. It started as all good adventures should and chicken jokes do, with the intention to go across the road.

Having just returned from New Zealand, I managed to rouse myself from my jet lagged haze at the respectable hour of midday.  Starving I threw on some clothes to go across the road to buy the first edible thing I could find at the Sainsbury Local.  But stepping outside I discovered the sun was shining.. this changed my intentions, I could venture the few doors down to a shop I needed to go to as well. But as the sun shined on me some more, and by some miracle I realised I wasn't cold walking around London, without a coat, in March, I decided I didn't have to eat Sainsbury food after all!  I could make it to the cafe at the end of the road!

It was here, while sitting, being overly pretentious wearing my sunglasses inside, the pretentiousness I felt was warranted given I hadn't even washed let alone put on makeup, and being ecstatically happy with the sunshine and my breakfast that was taking up the whole table, that I found the keys.

They came in the form of a little guide to Islington, the last one left.  Recognising many places as places I loved, I was excited to see that I did not know most on the list.  As the sunniness had exceeded, even my overly optimistic expectations, I decided to test the keys and venture far into Holloway to find Outpost, which promised to be "a not-for-profit decor shop, and arts and community hub".  Turns out it is run by a housing organisation, that helps the homeless.  A lot of the crafts and exhibitions are from people who are/have been homeless or involved in this cause.  I liked what I saw so much that I bought half the shop, ok an exaggeration, and asked if I could volunteer!  Apparently this was perfect timing for this question, as the woman running the store said she was just finishing up writing a volunteer job description.  She seemed so enthusiastic, she even asked what holidays I had coming up!  Seems these keys are the real deal.  Evidenced further when I later visited, Meek and Wild Fishmongers, also on the list, and as they were closing and I had no cash, gave me the fish on an IOU!

On the way back, excited to take some pictures with my new kaleidoscope that was part of my loot, I have a weird thing for kaleidoscopes, I found one of those loopholes that lets Londoners talk to each other, see below.

Sometimes the everyday can be wondrous!

  

On Island Time - Would you ever go back?

Years ago, before I left NZ shores, a friend returned for a holiday from her new life in England.  It was her first trip back and she said she was surprised at how "quaint" NZ seemed.  Quaint!  I was very offended, what do you mean my life is quaint??  After all I was well educated, I had a good job, I was living in the inner city, of the biggest city nonetheless!

Years later, after having lived overseas for 6 years now, I'm loathe to admit I kind of know what she means.  Its not exactly that I think NZ is quaint, I still wouldn't choose that word, but it does strike me as very much an island, on island time.  Even in the parts of town that I used to see as posh, I feel out of place in my London clothes amongst the sea of t-shirts, jandals, and slacks! Standing out like a sore thumb in my own country, it's hard not to think about the question that everyone eternally asks you about NZ,  "Would you go back?"  And as you stay away for longer, "Would you ever go back?"  I'm not sure I'm ready to answer that question, but its hard not to weigh the pros and cons.  

Despite my initial shock when I returned home for the first time after 3 years, that all the buildings looked quite flat and industrial, you'd have to morbidly depressed not to notice how pretty the country is.  I think, even if you put aside the fact that everything looks better in the sunshine, it is stunningly beautiful. And, I must admit, it's much nicer to look out on green hills and trees listening to the sound of a dog barking and sheep baaing than the constant chorus of sirens and vista of grey rooftops that you get on a London street.   Plus everyone wandering around in their shorts and jandals in the sunshine does seem very chilled out, and friendly.  Certainly being relaxed is a benefit not to be undervalued!

Still it surprised me to hear from some friends who have moved back saying how Kiwis aren't really as friendly and laid back as our reputation proposes.  In truth its not the first time I've heard this story, a Turkish guy I dated for a while while back in NZ for a summer, also complained about how unfriendly, and he added, racist, Kiwis were.  Maybe its the sunshine in my eyes, but I think this is more of a universal story of moving country when you're older.  People have jobs, families, well established friend groups and well, simply less time to go out and socialize with random people. I must say I had numerous friendly interactions with strangers while back.  Conversations with train attendants concerned that I was wasting my money not buying the travel card, especially as I was going all the way to Pukekohe!  A guy at the airport wanting to know who was picking us up, helpfully pointing out if it wasn't a taxi we were in the wrong place. The woman on the plane, whom seeing I was clearly in pain due to my ears, offered me lots of helpful advice.  A random guy joining in on the conversation I was having with my friend about my love woes, "The guy's just a bit stupid", he said.  Actually unfortunately I think it might be me who's being a bit stupid/niave.    

One thing that has struck me on this trip back, though, is that NZers can be quite assertive even a little aggressive.  A number of times on the train people have not had tickets and have refused to get off, we have no gates stopping you from just walking on the train.  I was impressed to see how many others on the train have chimed in and hassled the person in question.  Not that it worked, but had this been London everyone's eyes would be securely looking at the floor.  On one occasion though, a young lad had decided to start smoking on the train, when cries of "Put out the smoke mate!", fell on deaf ears, an older Maori guy really got annoyed.  Standing up, cursing him, he threatened to take him on in a fight! The young guy, either out of some sort of strange respect, or possibly a bit threatened by the size differential, which he may have weighed up as overcoming any benefit youth would give him, cursing back announced he was getting off at this stop anyway.  I'm in two minds about if the old man went too far, after all nothing happened.  But I certainly was shocked by what some undesirables shouted at me on K-Rd after ignoring their cries for attention, "I hope you get raped" was their parting greeting to me.  Charming NZ!

So what's my answer?  Would I ever?   The truth is I don't know, for now at least I think I'm just content to  blow where life takes me.

London & Rough Trade & Courtney Barnett - A Valentines Letter

It's that time of year again, when people insist on the ritual of going  around in pairs carrying flowers and eating in restaurants, squeezing out the rest of us  to stay in our flower barren flats and chance our cooking skills for once. Which turns out can be a health hazard as evidenced by my bandaged hand in the picture below.

Instead I choose to  express my love, by gathering all friends that will follow me on a trip to my mecca, Rough Trade, to see Courtney Barnett and the Courtney Barnetts.  Despite claims from some that "lunchtime gigs are weird", I think if you love music you love it any time of the day, and clearly I'm in good company as the place is packed, so much so they had to lock the doors! Last time I was in such a post coital high with this city, was probably in my first summer here and my first trip to Rough Trade to look Kurt Vile in the eye.

Not really sure what to expect from Courtney live, I was happily surprised to find she rocks!  And despite 2.5 years in London, transforming me from my pastels of the first visit to Londonite greys and blacks, I still like to express myself with more than the hipster head nod, and its hard not to, getting caught up in their shared smiles which each other, as they are clearly enjoying the gig and the turn out.

With beautifully crafted stories of mundanely simple everyday life its difficult not to smile as well.  "Are you eating?  You sound so thin" , "I got drunk and fell asleep atop the sheets but luckily i left the heater on."  The highlight for me was her new song, Depreston.  Inspired by a town in Melbourne called Preston, which she says really isn't that bad....it has a dumping ground....and a post office.  The lyrics are even better and despite the sweet melody most of the crowd is cracking a smile.  A shame I have to wait until April, when the song is officially released, to hear it again.

I love her lyrics so much, I'm inspired to buy my first record in years.  I stay around to get her to sign it, on the inside where there is a picture of a washing line and its says, "Nobody knew whose socks they were, but they had been hanging there for weeks."   Watching everyone get cheesy photos with her, I suggest instead we should get them to join us in the Rough Trade photo booth.  And my friend is brave enough to ask. Score!

London I know we've had our ups and downs, but right now I love you!