My favourite part of the trip though, is when we pass a dance school. There must be a traffic light there, as we sit there for a while. I see the students in their tights and ballet slippers, bent over stretching distracted as they listen to their teacher giving the morning instructions. Looking down I catch odd glimpses in the mirror, pink tights, shoes, muscles, shoulders back necks long exuding elegance and power simultaneously. For a second I join them, I reach my breast bone to the sky, pull back my shoulders extend my arms and lift off out of the bus and dance. I pirouette, I lift my leg point my toes, I arch graceful. Then the light changes. I'm back on the bus, on the way to my desk dreams forgotten again.
Tuesday, 4 October 2011
The dance of the morning commute
I still enjoy my morning commute to work. I take the bus, so can spend the whole trip gazing out the window watching the world go by. London is a great place for people watching, especially in the mornings, where they hustle and bustle on the way to work. Through my headphones I imagine they are taking part in a dance. Walk like an Egyptian plays in my ears, and they strut, they weave, they bounce in their high heels, they groove as they themselves listen to some unknown tune in their headphones. Mad world plays, and they shake their heads, they run, they wait despair written on their faces as the bus doesn't stop.
My favourite part of the trip though, is when we pass a dance school. There must be a traffic light there, as we sit there for a while. I see the students in their tights and ballet slippers, bent over stretching distracted as they listen to their teacher giving the morning instructions. Looking down I catch odd glimpses in the mirror, pink tights, shoes, muscles, shoulders back necks long exuding elegance and power simultaneously. For a second I join them, I reach my breast bone to the sky, pull back my shoulders extend my arms and lift off out of the bus and dance. I pirouette, I lift my leg point my toes, I arch graceful. Then the light changes. I'm back on the bus, on the way to my desk dreams forgotten again.
My favourite part of the trip though, is when we pass a dance school. There must be a traffic light there, as we sit there for a while. I see the students in their tights and ballet slippers, bent over stretching distracted as they listen to their teacher giving the morning instructions. Looking down I catch odd glimpses in the mirror, pink tights, shoes, muscles, shoulders back necks long exuding elegance and power simultaneously. For a second I join them, I reach my breast bone to the sky, pull back my shoulders extend my arms and lift off out of the bus and dance. I pirouette, I lift my leg point my toes, I arch graceful. Then the light changes. I'm back on the bus, on the way to my desk dreams forgotten again.
Tuesday, 16 August 2011
London Riots - The Aftermath
Well it's one week later and it seems that 16,000 police did do the trick. Although I have to wonder if it has more to do with the stern telling off the PM gave the rioters, making them realize in a country that is known for being number one in the world in terms of CCTV coverage, they would be caught!
Like after any big event in society this has got people talking. There seems to be widespread condemnation for the rioters, certainly I've heard no-one trying to argue that they were in any way politically minded. A protest was organized in my suburb on the weekend, and while I was pleased to see people getting together to have their voices heard, I was a little disappointed with the messages being carried by the protesters. The majority of the posters carried two phrases 'Don't blame our kids, blame the Torries' and 'Bankers are the real looters'. Firstly I think sending the message that the rioters are not responsible for their actions is very dangerous, after all what we need is more personal responsibility not less, that's not to say that I don't think that the government has a role to play in building a society educated enough to tell right from wrong, but at the end of the day it is your decision to take part in looting or not, as with anything ignorance is no excuse! My distaste over the 'Blame the Torries banner' is that this problem has been embedded in British society much longer than the current government has been in power, the estates where gangs rule and knife crime is rife did not pop up in the last few years! I have a little bit of sympathy with the other banner, 'Bankers are the real looters'. It is true that what happened to the financial systems was driven by greed and seemed to be done in a vacuum of thought for long term consequences or responsibility to other people. Certainly drawing that parallel is interesting however in my mind the two are only loosely related and focus on bankers detracts from the real issues. If the banks had been more cautious would Britain still have under educated people living in poverty, I think so.
Thankfully these aren't the only two sentiments that are being discussed, there has been a lot of emphasis placed on what I think is at the root of the issue, that these young people did not feel part of the community. Living with my flatmate who is struggling to find work after finishing her Masters last year, I have a little bit of insight into how this could happen. She is on the benefit and has explained what it is like when sometimes they don't pay her and she has to go in and sort it out. Apparently the first question she is faced with is "How did you manage to survive without the money?", after she tells them that she tells them she had to borrow money from her friends she is asked to bring in letters from her friends confirming this. As if borrowing money from your friends wasn't degrading enough! [If this is how social services deals with an unemployed Masters student one wonders what it is like for kids growing up on estates. If the majority of interactions with the people who are supposed to help you when you are in trouble are belittling and degrading it is easy to see how you would grow a distaste for such services and even a desire to rebel against the society that is treating you will very little respect.
Still while all this discourse is great, the question still remains, what do we do to fix it? Sadly on this topic I have heard very little that is inspiring. In fact I'm appalled at one of the government's responses which is to give the councils more power to kick people out of social housing. If you think that problem is that 'society is broken', how is effectively pushing these people even further out of society going to help? Personally i don't know what the answer is either, I suspect we really need to listen to the youth themselves and the people who work with them. I hope the momentum around this issue lasts long enough to come up with some good responses. I asked my current flatmate who is politically active, "Are people still talking about this on your Facebook?", "yes", she said, " a few, what about on your Facebook?" "Well no, not really" I had to admit. The sad truth is that once things go back to normal events are quickly forgotten and people move on to the next big story the media feeds them.
Like after any big event in society this has got people talking. There seems to be widespread condemnation for the rioters, certainly I've heard no-one trying to argue that they were in any way politically minded. A protest was organized in my suburb on the weekend, and while I was pleased to see people getting together to have their voices heard, I was a little disappointed with the messages being carried by the protesters. The majority of the posters carried two phrases 'Don't blame our kids, blame the Torries' and 'Bankers are the real looters'. Firstly I think sending the message that the rioters are not responsible for their actions is very dangerous, after all what we need is more personal responsibility not less, that's not to say that I don't think that the government has a role to play in building a society educated enough to tell right from wrong, but at the end of the day it is your decision to take part in looting or not, as with anything ignorance is no excuse! My distaste over the 'Blame the Torries banner' is that this problem has been embedded in British society much longer than the current government has been in power, the estates where gangs rule and knife crime is rife did not pop up in the last few years! I have a little bit of sympathy with the other banner, 'Bankers are the real looters'. It is true that what happened to the financial systems was driven by greed and seemed to be done in a vacuum of thought for long term consequences or responsibility to other people. Certainly drawing that parallel is interesting however in my mind the two are only loosely related and focus on bankers detracts from the real issues. If the banks had been more cautious would Britain still have under educated people living in poverty, I think so.
Thankfully these aren't the only two sentiments that are being discussed, there has been a lot of emphasis placed on what I think is at the root of the issue, that these young people did not feel part of the community. Living with my flatmate who is struggling to find work after finishing her Masters last year, I have a little bit of insight into how this could happen. She is on the benefit and has explained what it is like when sometimes they don't pay her and she has to go in and sort it out. Apparently the first question she is faced with is "How did you manage to survive without the money?", after she tells them that she tells them she had to borrow money from her friends she is asked to bring in letters from her friends confirming this. As if borrowing money from your friends wasn't degrading enough! [If this is how social services deals with an unemployed Masters student one wonders what it is like for kids growing up on estates. If the majority of interactions with the people who are supposed to help you when you are in trouble are belittling and degrading it is easy to see how you would grow a distaste for such services and even a desire to rebel against the society that is treating you will very little respect.
Still while all this discourse is great, the question still remains, what do we do to fix it? Sadly on this topic I have heard very little that is inspiring. In fact I'm appalled at one of the government's responses which is to give the councils more power to kick people out of social housing. If you think that problem is that 'society is broken', how is effectively pushing these people even further out of society going to help? Personally i don't know what the answer is either, I suspect we really need to listen to the youth themselves and the people who work with them. I hope the momentum around this issue lasts long enough to come up with some good responses. I asked my current flatmate who is politically active, "Are people still talking about this on your Facebook?", "yes", she said, " a few, what about on your Facebook?" "Well no, not really" I had to admit. The sad truth is that once things go back to normal events are quickly forgotten and people move on to the next big story the media feeds them.
Tuesday, 9 August 2011
London Riots
As dusk falls, it's strangely calm in Dalston this evening. I just went for a walk up the road, as much to buy some food as to see what the atmosphere is like in Kingsland Rd, where last night the local Turkish community stood strong against the rioters and managed to prevent any damage in the area. Compared to last night when I went out at 6pm and you could cut the tension in the air with a knife, life, if a bit quiet, seems relatively normal on the streets. People are still out having dinner in the Turkish restaurants along the street, still having a drink in the pub and just walking about. There are signs though that things are not quite as normal, the Argos at the end of my street is completely boarded up, the Tesco and the cafes across the road from it , which are usually buzzing, are all shut. There appears to be groups of Turkish guys gathering, I imagine in case they need to protect their property. Yet a world of difference from last night when there were police helicopters circling all night, and my bus home at around 10pm was not stopping in Dalston Junction leaving me to find for my own way home. Was quite unsettling given that the bus had passed groups of hoodies on bikes carrying wooden batons, and still being relatively new to London I didn't really know where I was. Luckily I found a lady on the bus who lived very near me and who suggested we catch a cab together. We managed to hail one shortly after getting off the bus, and the driver promised to get us as close as he could. Fortunately that turned out to be all the way! After a night of hearing the continuous sound of sirens and the police helicopters, I think all my flatmates went to sleep wondering what we were going to wake up to in the morning. Yet the sunny day in London has brought not much. A strong condemnation of the violence, a lot of questions about why the police were not there to protect them, a decision to provide almost 3x more police tonight, and a few people starting to ask the question in my head, which is, why has this happened? Let me be clear the question is not why are they rioting and looting, I think no-one is really arguing that it is anything more than opportunistic youth with no respect for authority, I heard one commentator describe it as 'aggressive late night shopping', but what are the roots that have created groups of youths that think it is ok to do this? But as darkness falls, first though we have to wonder what tonight will bring, and if 16000 police is enough?
Thursday, 19 May 2011
London - Brick Lane, Kurt Vile
Inspired by the summery London day I turn up in Brick Lane immediately feeling rather too pastel. Surrounded in a sea of stripes, thick rimmed glasses and red lipstick, I stand out like a sore thumb in my restyled vintage yellow dress and tan suede boots.
With the destination being rough trade records, where Kurt Vile is playing a free in-store concert at 1pm, I'm lured into a nearby cafe for a bite to eat. Still starry eyed by the very edible lunch options that just weren't available in Amsterdam's world of kaas and fillet American, don't ask, I find a spot upstairs amongst the couches on one of those graffitied but in a cool way tables and devour my tasty buffalo mozzarella and rucola salad. I notice the book Orphanage in the corner but am happy to people watch. From where I sit London certainly seems more edgier than anywhere I've been before.
Sneaking in store just in as they reach capacity, I find a spot on the outskirts of gathered hipster crowd. Kurt Vile comes on opening with the very country twangy "Jesus Fever", ha hipsters, at least my outfit matches the style of music. With a slight darkness in his eyes and sweet sneaky grin that curls up the half of his face that isn't covered with his curly long brown locks, he is mesmerizing to watch. In my limited corner view that leaves me no choice but to look him straight in the eyes you can't help but feel he is looking straight back, I'm sold. With more psychedelic interludes than I'd noticed listening to his album online, its feels like he's found a good mix between 1970s rock and beautiful deep twangy heartland vocals, mixed with a touch of darkness reminiscent of 90s grunge, or perhaps its the hair making me say that. It takes me back to a warm and fuzzy place when the world was full of possibilities I spent my evenings on my parents furry brown couch exploring my Dad's record collection with the odd Nirvana interlude. That's exactly what you want from music, to transport you! The concert finishes, and on a high, I stay to drink in the surroundings of the rough trade record store. Kurt Vile is signing albums behind the counter, the guitarist from Parts and Labour, who I saw last night in some basement in Shoreditch for 8 pounds, is discussing his album cover with some girl. Just about all the albums on display are ones I've been listening to recently. I long to leave with a rough trade bag full of music, but I slightly forlornly remember that I can listen to them all for free and besides what would I do with all that plastic or vinyl. I don't even have a place to live yet! Time to go.
On the way out I stop to grab the cinnamon danish I resisted at lunchtime, to be greeted by the exclamation of a fellow customer that my dress is beautiful. Ok so perhaps I wasn't too pastel after all. Thanks lady whoever you were. I wander the rest of the Brick Lane Danish in hand, and discover the street turns very Indian with the sweet smell of curry wafting from all directions and the shops full of colorful Indian sweets and savoury treats. If only I'd had a camera this would have made for some great photos. I return happy London is a edgy and varied place, I can't wait to discover more.
With the destination being rough trade records, where Kurt Vile is playing a free in-store concert at 1pm, I'm lured into a nearby cafe for a bite to eat. Still starry eyed by the very edible lunch options that just weren't available in Amsterdam's world of kaas and fillet American, don't ask, I find a spot upstairs amongst the couches on one of those graffitied but in a cool way tables and devour my tasty buffalo mozzarella and rucola salad. I notice the book Orphanage in the corner but am happy to people watch. From where I sit London certainly seems more edgier than anywhere I've been before.
Sneaking in store just in as they reach capacity, I find a spot on the outskirts of gathered hipster crowd. Kurt Vile comes on opening with the very country twangy "Jesus Fever", ha hipsters, at least my outfit matches the style of music. With a slight darkness in his eyes and sweet sneaky grin that curls up the half of his face that isn't covered with his curly long brown locks, he is mesmerizing to watch. In my limited corner view that leaves me no choice but to look him straight in the eyes you can't help but feel he is looking straight back, I'm sold. With more psychedelic interludes than I'd noticed listening to his album online, its feels like he's found a good mix between 1970s rock and beautiful deep twangy heartland vocals, mixed with a touch of darkness reminiscent of 90s grunge, or perhaps its the hair making me say that. It takes me back to a warm and fuzzy place when the world was full of possibilities I spent my evenings on my parents furry brown couch exploring my Dad's record collection with the odd Nirvana interlude. That's exactly what you want from music, to transport you! The concert finishes, and on a high, I stay to drink in the surroundings of the rough trade record store. Kurt Vile is signing albums behind the counter, the guitarist from Parts and Labour, who I saw last night in some basement in Shoreditch for 8 pounds, is discussing his album cover with some girl. Just about all the albums on display are ones I've been listening to recently. I long to leave with a rough trade bag full of music, but I slightly forlornly remember that I can listen to them all for free and besides what would I do with all that plastic or vinyl. I don't even have a place to live yet! Time to go.
On the way out I stop to grab the cinnamon danish I resisted at lunchtime, to be greeted by the exclamation of a fellow customer that my dress is beautiful. Ok so perhaps I wasn't too pastel after all. Thanks lady whoever you were. I wander the rest of the Brick Lane Danish in hand, and discover the street turns very Indian with the sweet smell of curry wafting from all directions and the shops full of colorful Indian sweets and savoury treats. If only I'd had a camera this would have made for some great photos. I return happy London is a edgy and varied place, I can't wait to discover more.
Tuesday, 12 October 2010
Dublin
Dublin to me felt like what London would be like if everyone turned one shade paler, woke up with the worst hangover of their lives, grabbed whatever clothes were closest and went out for the day dragging on a cigarette.
This became apparent even on the bus ride from the airport into town, at one point there was a large bang from the upper level. The American lady behind me started to get excited. 'Can you smell smoke? I think I can smell smoke. Someone tell the driver there is smoke!' The two women standing in the aisle beside us looked unperturbed, 'oh it's probably just a smoke bomb', 'yes', said the people standing beside them, 'it really smells of vomit upstairs'. The American lady looked confused. 'You know like how you light a match in the bathroom to get rid of the smell'. I should also mention the two women in the aisle were dressed up in classic British tart style, with despite not really the figures for it, the shortest dresses they could find. Complete with a fake tan of sorts, the first time I've seen foundation applied to the legs! Though if ever there is a lesson in not judging a book by its cover this was a good test, as after listening to them for a while I discovered one was studying medicine and the other law. Later that evening, on the way to dinner, my friends were telling me to watch for dog poo and the sidewalk, but then after thinking for a second, actually they said, if you are going into town, probably what is of more concern is avoiding pools of vomit. Although I didn't actually notice any vomit while on the town i did have a run in of sorts at the first bar we went to. My friend Mark, while looking for his work colleagues that were supposed to be at the bar, filled me in for what I was in for. His friend Brian he said was very entertaining but was often thrown out of bars. We shortly met Brian and his female companion, who in her drunken state instantly decided that I was going to be her new best friend and led me around by the hand trying to get me to dance with her. This was soon interupted as we were approached by security who had a word with Brian and the girl, and asked them to leave. Apparently shortly before we had arrived the two had had a competition to see who could down a pint of guiness the fastest. The girl won and then downed the rest of Brians drink, unfortunately she shortly after returned it all all over the bar and her companions!
Thats not to say that I didn't enjoy Dublin. The Irish do some things well, on one of them is drinking and live music in bars. No Lady Gaga, just classic Van Morrison, REM, U2, Green Day etc, this is my type of pub music! I had a good night out bar hopping in the temple bar area, and discovering that some whiskey is much better than others, only Redbreast for me now! The other thing the Irish do well is tell a good yarn. On the Sunday, recovering from yet another late night I managed to crawl out of bed and make it to the city for a walking tour by 2:30pm. It seems I was the only one having trouble getting out of bed on Sunday as I ended up having a private tour of the city. It was a very entertaining tour indeed. I wish I could remember all the little sayings the tour guide used had but unfortunately the only one that sticks in my mind is what she said when she was talking about her love life. Apparently her friend had said to her 'Bev, the man good enough for you hasn't been born yet and his mother's dead!'. Expressing my understanding of her situation, she later took me to a church to light a candle that she said would change my life. Unfortunately there was a service on in the church and we couldn't get in. There were some relics of St Valentine at the church, as well as apparently a shrine to the Saint of hopeless cases. Guess I'm destined to stay hopeless!
Wednesday, 15 September 2010
Even the Lizard Scatters In the Sun
I read once that in the warmer climates they know how to handle the heat. The writer was comparing it to the Netherlands, where as soon as the temperature rises above 28C everyone clambers to claim the nearest window and lies there all day. It is true, I myself have spent an entire party sitting in the windowsill, as moving anywhere induced layers of sweat. Yet according to the article in climates where it is warm most of the time people just know how to get on with their day. I don't think this is quite true. In the middle of the day in Croatia you will find people fighting for the shade. Even the cat, who in all the countries I have ever lived is notorious for finding any patch of sun to lie in, will be sleeping under the table. It is just that there is a different pace to the day. You rise early, run your errands, then when the sun makes it impossible to move life slows. It awakes again in the evening, when on any given night the city streets buzz with life and the village pubs emanate with the sound of local music and laughter. Perhaps we do have something to learn from these cultures.
Wednesday, 8 September 2010
This is my life..
My cousin asked me to write this up for a family newsletter she produces and it seemed like a good way to start a blog so here it is:
Branch of family tree where do you fit in?: Granddaughter of Herbert Mankelow, Daughter of Ray Mankelow
Current employment / study: I am a contract software developer and currently taking some time off to enjoy the summer and think about my next move, but previously was working at ING and Tom Tom, and a small Dutch company called Strawberries.
What keeps you busy? interests:
Music - I love checking out new bands and going to concerts. I have always loved music, probably aided by my father constantly surrounding us with it, but now living in a city with a constant supply of good bands visiting this seems to have turned into a hobby.
Travelling - I like to visit new places and explore new cultures, which is a major reason I am living in Amsterdam and not New Zealand.
Photography - I enjoy taking pictures, my camera is a constant companion with me on every trip I go on, if you are on my facebook no doubt you will already know this. I would like to do more while I am not travelling but Amsterdam can be a busy place.
Shopping - this one is going to get me in trouble with my mother, but what can I say I love to shop and with no kids to support and a good paying job this is possible (don't worry Mum I still have lots of savings :))
Cycling - You can't live in Amsterdam and not own a bike, and this is one of the reasons I really love this city. You can get anywhere on your bike in 20 mins, and there is no better way to shake the sleep from your eyes or release the daily stress than a bike ride.
Yoga/Pilates/Dance - along with cycling, this is what keeps me fit and keeps me sane :)
I like to keep busy :)
Most memorable life Moment:
Stoned off your head and answering the door to the police at 3 in the morning is perhaps not a good way to meet your neighbours for the first time! Yet this is what happened when some of my friends from London came to visit me in Amsterdam. They may not appreciate this story as they are still in denial, but you should be able to laugh at yourself I say.
Part of the standard tour of Amsterdam includes sampling the local fare, marajuana, which is legal to smoke in the Netherlands. As neither my friends or I smoke, we decided to sample the brownies, 1 each, first mistake. Ignoring the advice on the label we ate the whole thing, fairly quickly, second mistake. The night quickly turned hilarious and I can remember trying to hide from the police and all holding hands like little kids when crossing the road. Somehow we made it home. The problem with brownies though, is it is a mix and you never know exactly how much marajuna is in each piece, hence why the instructions say to eat a little bit and wait an hour to see how you feel before having more. Unfortuantely there seemed to be quite a lot in ours and after the hilarity passed we all quickly descended into the depths of paranoia. It got to the point that we all thought we were going to die and we rang the ambulance for help, which always amuses people over here. They told us we would be fine and to eat some sugary food. Goodbye expensive chocolates we had purchased earlier that day, hello to my friend making glasses of sugar water following her own personal receipe of 1/2 glass sugar, 1/2 glass of water and forcing everyone to drink them. My friend who I called in the morning to help with the aftermath said he found piles of sugar all over the house. I'm not sure what impression we must have given to the ambulance staff as they sent the police over. Hence my first memory of meeting my neighbours is standing around downstairs surrounded by the them, and their elderly parents who where over for the weekend, all in pjyamas talking to 3 policemen. The police, who were probably relieved to find we had not taken hallucinogenics, just laughed at us and told us we would be fine. We spent the rest of the night taking turns hugging the toliet seat. My advice, follow the instructions.
My favourite part of NZ and why...
My favourite part of NZ are the west coast beaches of Auckland. Although there is many a sunny beach in Europe with white sand and pristine clear water, nothing can compare to the untamed wild beauty of these beaches. Or to the feeling you get from standing hot and sweaty on a lookout platform of the nearby bush and looking out to the ocean with not another soul in sight.
Who/what would you be for a day?
I am perhaps more shallow than I would like to believe, as I would not change places with some great world leader and try to change the world or some great brain to find out what it is like to comprehend this world on another level, but I think for just one day I would change places with a rock star to see what the buzz of being on stage is like. Perhpas with Karen O, from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, who puts on a pretty mean stage performance.
Currently in my CD player...
Well too much to mention really, but some of my recent disoveries are, Band of Skulls, Angus & Julia Stone, Stornoway, Broken Bells. Basically anything Indie Rock, with a touch, of pop, country and folk thrown in there.
Where will you find me at 10pm on Saturday night?
You are always spoilt for choice in Amsterdam, could be at a cocktail bar, at a concert, at a house party, at one of the visiting festivals, out for dinner with friends, or as this week tired from too many nights out during the week, enjoying some time at home watching movies and listening to music.
Favourite quote?
'I firmly believe in making your life a work of art.' - Katherine Oktober Mathews. This is actually a quote from a friend of mine, who has it as her byline on facebook. If everyone would live their life with this in mind, this world would be a more colourful place.
I am inspired by...
I am inspired by the free spirits who live their life with passion and live to create. Their music, pictures, movies, writing leaves me in awe, and makes me want to create also.
If I could give you just one tip, it would be...
Never think you can't do something. Your life will only be as big/rich as you dare to dream. Or in the words of Franklin D Roosevelt 'Men are not prisoners of fate, but only prisoners of their own minds''.
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