A couple of weekends ago I participated in a 'photo marathon'. It was a really fun event that involved picking up two themes every two hours and going out to get one shot of each theme. These were my six shots. The first theme was circle(s).

The second theme was the street. I did several long exposures trying to capture the movement of it and bring it to life a bit. This is the one I submitted:

After a coffee and cake break, we went back for more. The next two themes were Looking In, and Green. Looking in:

Green:

Finally, (and at this point the hubby had gone home as he'd had enough and wanted to watch the F1 qualifier) the last two themes were Unique and Shadow. I admit my enthusiasm was also waning a bit here, I'd gone home and come back out again so had only an hour to get both themes done and choose the six photos to submit, so didn't spend much time on these. But here are the two I ended up with: Unique:

And finally, Shadow:

So that was that. The weather was beautiful all day and I actually got slightly sunburned from walking around in the lovely Autumn sun all day. I enjoyed taking part and it was fun seeing all the other photographers about town doing funny things. It also got me to think about different concepts. For circles for example, I thought about doing a circle of friends holding hands, or a load of bubbles in the air (though we did try that and it was too windy). I also got a picture of a bunch of circles I drew in the sand. I didn't win anything in the competition although sitting and having tea and cake afterwards one of the judges sat with us and said that one of my pictures had been in contention. Can you guess which one? All of the pictures are up in the Morlan centre for viewing for the next couple of weeks I think. And you can see the winning photos here: http://ffotoaber.com/en/photomarathon

Sick trees

Last night I dreamt of a woodland that I was in charge of caring for. It was sickly, having suffered the felling of many trees, the planting of others that didn't fit with the ecosystem... and was now left a scraggly, rough, neglected place that needed much nurturing to bring it back to a healthy state. But I was alone, and people were after me, two men, who were trying to convince me to leave, who were menacing. I left, fearing my own safety, but had a terrible feeling they would burn it all down while I was away, and I felt guilty for putting my own safety first, but also relieved that I was alive and alright and could go on.

It's not (just) what you eat...

I've been thinking a lot about health and well-being lately. In part this is inspired by my own desire to become more healthful, in part it is inspired by intellectual musings on the eco-village I am researching, and the lifestyles of inhabitants there.

 My husband pointed me to a program on BBC2 about fasting, which started by focusing on a 101-year old Indian man running a marathon. While much of the rest of the program made me very skeptical, that first image stayed with me, and I've been wondering about this man and his lifestyle ever since. Why? Because I'd like to know more about the kind of healthy lifestyle that allows a person to live that long and be in that good shape. Wouldn't we all? I mean, there is most likely some element of luck involved, but I had a feeling from the brief interview they conducted with him that it was much more about an approach to life. The relative running with him said that he always ate very small portions of food. Obviously he was taking care of his exercise as well by running a marathon. So in some ways, no surprises there. But actually I think in the midst of this running interview, the interviewer wasn't asking the right questions. So focused was he on the food and exercise, in a quite mechanical way (as evidenced by the types of studies he looked at in the rest of the program) that he probably missed what I think is a very important point.

The running man was wearing a turban and obviously hailed from the Sikh faith. From a quick look at wikipedia (font of all wisdom ;-)) I found this about the Sikh teachings:

The Sikh religion teaches that human life is very precious, described as more precious than a diamond, which comes after great spiritual deeds and merits are done, and Sikh teachings are filled with guidance on how one should conduct one's self in order to find peace in this life and unite with God.

And also that: 

The Sikh code of conduct strictly forbids the use of intoxicants, drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, narcotics and any other foreign substance which disrupt the body; sexual relationship outside of marriage; consumption of sacrificial meat (Kutha meat) and cutting of hair. 

A mechanical view might consider that if the man was devout in his religion, not consuming intoxicants, drugs, alchohol etc, is likely to have had a significant effect on his health and longevity. But I think the first point is also very significant, that of considering human life precious and trying to live in such a way that brings peace to the self and others. Since stress is probably the number one cause of death, all things considered, putting finding peace at the core of one's goals is likely to have a massively positive effect.  I read that:

Sikhism believes in the concept of a human  Soul; (Self (spirituality) or consciousness or spirit or astral body)

Sikhs believe they can unite and become one with God in this life (Gurmukh), as the consciousness merges with God (Supreme Consciousness) through truthful living and actions and is only a matter of realization. Sikhs always greet each other with the words "Sat Sri Akaal" which literally means "Truth is Time-less being". Truth, truthful living, equality, freedom and justice are the core principles of Sikh philosophy. And this makes me think again of the eco-village and of how people are trying to live in a truthful way, trying to remove some of the elements of modern living that discord strongly with their beliefs and desires. In another similarity between the eco-villagers and Sikhs, 

Sikhs are not required to renounce the world. They aspire to live the life of a householder. Seva(selfless service) is an integral part of Sikh worship, observed in the gurdwara. Visitors of any religious or socio-economic background are welcomed, where langar(food for all) is always served to people of all origins, the same (vegetarian) food, while sitting together on the same level of the floor.

And so, I continue to play with the idea that it is not just what you eat and how much activity your body gets. Obviously both of these things are important, but I think in order both to be able to effectively manage and improve on those things, a philosophical approach is beneficial. Such an approach would consider that life, and the living body, the self, are precious gifts that connect us to 'god', in the sense that god is in everything, our selves included. Such an approach would mean that we treat our selves with care and respect, that we consider the outcomes of our actions on our bodies as well as our minds and our souls. It means looking outwards as well as inwards, as in the Sikh policy of serving the same food to people of all origins and beliefs, while sitting at the same level as everyone else. I think too, that perhaps the vegetarian aspect of the food is also significant, in the sense that it is saying that the life of animals is also sacred.  On this final point I have been pondering a lot. Vegetarianism is something I have thought about a great deal. Today I decided to draw upon the great journal access I have as part of the university and read up on the connections between vegetarianism and health. I'll save my findings for another post, and instead leave on the idea of living a truthful, egalitarian, just and peaceful life in which the self is cared for so that care can be bestowed on others. 

Saturday morning swim Part Deux: Rhythms

There are three of us in the pool, each making our steady lines back and forth, back and forth. Our breaths, in and out, bubbles to the surface, a gasp inwards, and again, and repeat, 1-2-3, 1-2-3, (in my case); But we all have our own rhythms. For a moment, all three of us are resting and the surface of the pool slowly returns to calmness, we all breathe in and out together, at three corners, and the surface slowly settles, as though our collective calm were calming it too. I set off first, into that calm, smooth water, but slowly, reverently. I break the surface with my hands, but gently, stroke, stroke, stroke, and then another person joins in, adding their rhythm to mine and we are making music, dum-dadumdum, dum-dadumdum, and on top of that dumdumdidum, dumdumdidum, and then a third beat joins in and we are a symphony of watersounds, rhythmic, polyrhythmic, complex and yet simple, a human aquatic harmony.

I had a dream...

We were visiting somewhere in North Wales. There was a festival on, lots of singing and dancing and a really fun atmosphere. I couldn't understand any of the words, and most of the people dancing were Ethiopian. I asked some people what was going on and they said it was a traditional festival of the Ethiopian people, who had been long established in the area since coming there to work in the mines. When I woke up I thought, firstly, how this didn't seem unlikely at all, except it hasn't happened, yet. Secondly, I thought, how wonderful if it did happen, and a real cultural diversity would start to show and become part of Wales and Welshness. Someone I know from my department has a quote in his email tag that says: "Can we imagine Wales as consisting of a plurality of experiences, cultures and identities? Can we rethink Welshness as heterogenous, as inclusive of difference?" (Jordan, 2005) I'd like to think we can, not least because, if I can't say I belong here, where I was born and brought up, then where can I say I am from? Three generations at least on my dad's side were born and brought up in Wales. None spoke Welsh, so does that make us always and inevitably outsiders? If I spoke Welsh would I be Welsh then? Part of me thinks identity comes about through our inhabited spaces, and the more time spent in them, the more we connect to them and the flow between our selves and our spaces becomes richer and we become our places more and more. We can still carry other places and cultures in our hearts but they will always be shaped by the place where we dwell. So we always belong in some ways, we are all global citizens, we belong wherever we are.  

World on Fire

Last night I dreamed that I was in an apartment, in a big block of apartments, surrounded by many more big blocks of apartments. The sky was dark, and fire was spreading from balcony to balcony in apartments near and far. There were several people with me, but their voices and actions did not feature. Instead, these thoughts went through my mind. First: 'Quick! Let's get fire extinguishers handy right now! When the fire spreads to the balcony we'll quickly put it out and that way we'll prevent out flat from burning!' Second: 'No, that's not going to work, the whole block will be set aflame and protecting our one flat will be futile, it will burn all the same as it's part of the building. Let's pack up everything we want to salvage and get out of here now!' Third: 'Ok, maybe just a backpack... what should I take? Photo albums? Jewelry? Books?' Fourth: 'There is nothing here that I can't replace except my self. Leave everything and get out.'

The fourth and final thought is what I was left with when I woke up. Perhaps my subconscious is trying to tell me something. What's important? No thing. What's important is living.

Saturday Morning Swim

Clothes are shed, and all belongings, save the film of a bathing suit, a swimming cap, goggles, are locked away in a little box. There is only me left, in the changing room, a calm soothing transition space. A shower to wash away the outside world, a cleansing act. And then, acceptance into the waters blue, a faint whiff of chlorine, childhood memories of Saturdays at the pool, a chemical smell with joyous associations. I drop into the water, straight down, like an anchor, giving myself to the water, and it releases me back up just the same. Breathe. The preciousness that is air. Goggles on now, and the world made slightly hazy by them, shut out, I push myself off the wall and arm over arm, breathe, arm over arm. I am not aware of my legs as they are doing their job automatically, but I am aware of my breath. Under the water I blow out, streams of bubbles float away, then head lifted a deep gulp of air, so appreciated, before plunging in again. I count, 1-2-3- breathe, 1-2-3- breathe... The outside world is lost and no thoughts are in my mind except the counting and the breathing and the movements of my body, propelling itself forwards through the water. What joy, to think that I can be a creature of the water too, that I can move in it and play in it, what freedom.

The morning had started out dull but halfway through my session the sun comes out and shafts of sunlight rain down onto the pool, making the water glisten and glitter and then it's like swimming through sunshine, through light, and I think how much like a church this is, a temple to being, a beautiful thing. The sunlight dances on our faces and bodies as we repeat the motions that take us through the water, necessarily repetitive because this is meditation after all. We the swimmers, the sun, the water, the muted sounds, murmurs and gurgles, a serene ecclesiastical ritual of living.

Thoughts of a part-time insomniac

I've always loved the sweet silence of 4am, 5am... When I lived in Vancouver, sometimes I would get up at these times, if I couldn't sleep, and walk down to the beach, watch the herons fishing at the shore in the early dawn light, feel the cool smoothness of the sand under my feet. I'd write poetry or meander through side streets and feel like I was sharing the secrets of a sleeping city.

These days I don't often leave the house when I'm up at odd hours, not least because my family and neighbors would no doubt find this strange and perhaps distressing. You learn to live within certain expectations. That said, I did tiptoe out of the house one early morning and go down to the seafront, where, as the light came up, I saw dolphins playing the bay, and soon a surfer on a longboard joined them. It was nearing 7ish by then, but still decidedly magic!

Even if I don't leave the house though, the early morning is a quiet, secret space. It's soundtrack only occasional soft snores from the other room, and now the steady hum of my computer. It's been a long time since I blogged to I checked my previous posts and found the one I started on Morocco, and decided I wanted to go back there in my mind. I watched the short video clips I'd taken, some from the Djema El Fna at night, musicians and performers and men who put barbary apes on your shoulders, and the videos taken from the roof terrace of the riad. The music of the streets sooths me, the steady bustle of people walking or on scooters passing through the streets, small groups forming to chat, sample the offerings of the food vendors, buy some fruit or mint for mint tea. A gentle breeze in the hot night carried the smell of meat over a charcoal fire, the sound of the call to prayer in the distance, feet on the road below, the buzz and beep beep of the scooters, children talking, gurgling, playing... the tempo slows, becomes more rhythmic, trance-like in my mind as I listen. I can take myself back there now, could fall asleep on that roof terrace, cradled by the rhythms and harmonies of life.

Be yourself, because no one else can.

Last night I tried out a new yoga class which I had just heard about. Incidentally it is taught by our wonderful town councilor, Sue Jones-Davies, who is famous for having played Judith in The Life of Brian. She is a truly inspiring woman in her own very humble way. What I think I like most about her is her openness, her general willingness to share herself with others, her whole self, knowing that it doesn't matter what people think, that's their problem, she is who she is. In this way she reminds me of my mother, who also has lived her life always making her own decisions and standing her own ground. When absolutely everyone told my mother that moving to Iran was madness, she just went ahead and did it anyway because she had decided it was the right thing to do at the time. She doesn't falter. Sometimes I feel like I am her complete opposite, it takes very little to utterly shatter my confidence and I spend a lot of time dwelling on my own perception of my own shortcomings. Which brings me to the point of this post if you like, something that Sue shared with us in the yoga class and something which I thought I would share here too. She read this quote by Martha Graham, a dancer, and I think everyone in the room (all women) had something of an 'aha' moment hearing it. As we sat in our padma-asanas, we let the words soak into us, and I'm sure I wasn't the only one in the room thinking 'yes. yes. yes.'


“There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique, and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium; and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, not how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open.” Martha Graham (emphasis added)

I think this is such a good message, probably for everyone, but especially for people like me who have this tendency of constantly self-criticizing, particularly the things I produce. I like it because it's not about reassuring yourself that you are in fact good or better or whatever, instead it's just about removing that comparison, ignoring it, not thinking about it at all, and that is what I need to do.

Marrakech - Arrival and first impressions

I had been wanting to go to Morocco for years. I'm not sure exactly where or when the attraction began, but the more I read about the place, the people, the culture, the more intrigued I became. I had felt the influence of the Moors in the architecture and culture of Seville, Cordoba and Granada... in Vancouver, a favorite restaurant and hang out had been a Moroccan place on Commercial Drive where we indulged in many a delicious tagine, couscous, syrupy sweets and of course the lovely mint tea. I had studied my Rough Guide thoroughly, marveling at thoughts of the Berber villages, the great mountain ranges, the Sahara desert, the wind-swept coastlines. I had read about the waves of colonization, the Romans, Arabs, French, Spaniards... hippies... and the influences these different cultures had left behind on the various parts of the country. In short, I was intrigued.

It took almost a year of convincing to warm my other half to the idea of going to Morocco for our honeymoon. Besides all the wonderful cultural and activity possibilities, he feared it would resemble his experience of Tunisia, which must have involved a great intensity of hustling and haggling, besides heat and dust. But finally, with the help of some friends who raved about how they'd loved it, he was sold on the idea. So it was with some trepidation on both of our parts that we approached on the plane in July, two days after our wedding. From my point of view, if he was right to be hesitant, it wouldn't be a very romantic honeymoon!



After a comfortable Ryanair flight from Bristol, we were greeted at Marrakech airport by Hassan, an incredibly cheery and wonderfully camp Moroccan man whose very good English was spoken with what sounded like a New York accent! After changing some money, we walked through the very balmy evening, across the car park to the 'grand taxi' that Hassan was driving. On the way we saw a mangy stray dog running through the car park. We'd been warned about rabid animals so we imagined there would be many more, though I think that might have been the only one we saw the whole trip in the end.

Once we were settled into the luxurious back seats of this air-conditioned SUV, we were surprised (and delighted) by an amazing array of sights as we drove past. The roads were wide, and besides the speeding cars, there were innumerable scooters, on which rode sometimes families, sometimes couples, sometimes women only, sometimes with their faces covered in addition to their heads, but only with veils (no one wore a helmet). The scooters weaved in an out of traffic, along with a few horse-drawn carriages and occasionally a donkey cart. Next to the street on a patch of grass some young boys were practicing some form of martial art, families with children were out and about and there was as much bustle at 9pm as you might see during a festival or fair in Britain. What was nicer is that people seemed to be just spending time together, they weren't on a mission to buy things, they were just being together, playing, talking...



As we drove, Hassan bubbled away in English about how he used to live in Manhattan and work at a tour company, running tours to Morocco. He told us about the American tourists and what they liked to see, and about where he came from and what he enjoyed. He was really excited to hear that we had just gotten married. By the time we reached Bab Ailen (the stop at the edge of the Medina nearest our riad, we already felt like friends.

We were met at Bab Ailen by Lissan, a handsome young man, probably in his early twenties with a serene face and ever-present soft smile. When I try to conjure Lissan up in my mind's eye, besides his smile I remember his posture, at once relaxed and perfectly proper and upright, which I think describes his personality as well. Lissan walked us into the Medina, which is a network of narrow streets not really suited to cars (though a few do struggle their way in and out, amidst the horse carts, scooters, donkey carts, bicycles, and throngs of people and prams, children and animals). After ducking into a small entryway to the side of one of the roads we arrived at the Riad (Les 5 Soeurs). It was just like the reviewers online had said, we left the hustle and bustle of the Medina and were welcomed into a serene oasis of calmness.



We were treated to our first 'Whisky Morrocain' as it's sometimes called, the wonderful sweet mint tea, by Abdul, the Riad manager. Abdul's English was less fluid than either Hassan's or Lissan's and sad to say, neither the hubby or I are particularly fluent in French, so we struggled through our communications with Abdul using a mixture of the two, and even the odd bit of Arabic thrown in eventually. Abdul was all smiles and attention as well, and showed us around the Riad, including all the other free rooms. Then we freshened up and headed to the roof terrace for a late, delicious dinner. From the roof we could hear all the sounds of the street and covertly watch the action. We spent the evening soaking it all in, breathing in the rhythm of what we could tell already, was a very special place.

A post of positivity

Well, in keeping with the last post I figured why not start right away? After all, it's happy times for me at the moment! I'm getting married in just over two weeks, which means I'll be surrounded by family and friends, celebrating, getting prettied up, walking down the aisle to my lovely man and formally taking my place at his side for the rest of this journey through life... things are pretty damn awesome at the moment! If I wanted to list all the good things it would be a very long list indeed! Instead, I think I'll share just one pleasant thing.

In the process of trying to figure out some live music for the wedding (which we ultimately haven't done, but nevermind), I discovered a lovely local band called Ember. After listening to a couple of songs online, I sent an email to this duo to ask if they could play the wedding. Sadly, they aren't currently singing together due to other commitments (one of them with work and the other with a baby). Nevertheless we had a few emails back and forth while the one girl tried to figure out if she could play with someone else or help me work something else out. In the end it didn't work out but in the meantime I bought Ember's CDs and I've been enjoying them SO much! It was really cool to find out that this lovely band was just in the next town over.

This is one of my favorite songs of theirs. Not the best videos, but the sound is good:





I love this song because of the lyrics as well as the beautiful harmonies (and the clever bits like the violin shivers on the 'shiver in the dark' part). In keeping with my last post, I think this reminds me of how we sometimes end up feeling sad even when times are good, and it's a reminder to focus on the important things in life. Here are the lyrics:

Abundance Blues by Ember

Are you afraid your creator has forgotten your face?
Locked you down in the cellar or some other dark place
Where you shiver in the damp, and you shuffle in the dark
Only looking for a lamp, but never finding that spark

Oh, and sometimes it's so hard to rise from my bed
Knowing it's still the same me here in my head
If only an angel would visit me now
And say something poetic, her hand upon my brow

Are you afraid your creator is favouring you
Born to a land of abundance where we fortunate few
We buy all we want, and we bow to no one
No famine, no drought and no foreigner's gun

So tell me: why is it so hard to rise from my bed?
Oh the blessing and the curse, being here in my head
No shimmering wings, no divine poetry
I just get coffee and toast, with a drop of honey

Oh, honey my darling, were you sent from above?
Maybe he gave me life, but you gave me love
With you hand on my chest you open up my heart
Now I know we are blessed, so may be rarely be apart

Badadeedeeda bedeedadada woahh badadeedeedadeedeedadada... :-)

Going backwards

I see I haven't posted here since February so perhaps it's time for a new post. I guess there is this tension for me between wanting to share deeper thoughts and feelings on here, and at the same time wanting to protect myself. Probably the best thing to do would be to focus on newsy-type posts where I update about where I've been and what I've been up to that's interesting. For example, I could post about the sustainable farm that I visited a few weeks ago and talk about their carbon-saving strategies, or about the honey farm I visited this weekend and how the colonies of bees work, how honey is collected, the properties of propolis... Or the very nice seafood we had in Newquay (Wales) and the dolphins we saw playing in the bay. All this stuff is interesting and fun, yet I don't seem to make the time to post about it.

Instead, what I feel like posting about are the adventures into my mind, and body to a certain extent, since they aren't separate things really. As it was Sunday yesterday, one of the tasks I had set for myself was to clear out some of my old stuff to make way for the things that my soon-to-be-hubby will be bringing with himself when he moves in two and a half weeks from now. I shifted a box from a closet and found it labeled 'correspondence'. Well I don't know about you, but I find it irresistible sometimes when faced with a box containing old letters and the like, to simply shift it without at least having a peek inside. So naturally I did open it up, and found not only letters but also my diaries from about age 12 onwards. I was pretty sporadic with diary-keeping so there are only 5 or 6 of them, sometimes spanning 2 years. There's a gap where I first started blogging as I guess that was an alternative outlet then, and there's only so much writing about your life you can do.

I have to say this, reading your diaries from years back is an almost surreal experience. You know that's it's you yourself that wrote them, although it seems like another you, a different person. I remember writing some of the posts quite clearly, especially ones that had early experiences with the opposite sex. And there were things I didn't even admit within the pages, but that I alluded to in ways that jog my memory now. In some ways it was quite fun reading through, but in other ways it also brought up loads of pain too. And looking back at what it was like then, when it felt like anything was possible because my whole life was ahead of me, brings up disappointment that I didn't do many of the things I'd hoped to as well. After reading through I found myself battling with some of the negative feelings that I had written about at different stages in life, particularly from when I was 15! So I'm torn now. On one hand, they are a record of those times of life. On the other hand, they seem to have recorded a disproportionate amount of the bad times, probably due to the nature of diary-keeping, as a place to vent or come to terms with things. Part of me wants to destroy them, to leave behind the negatives of the past and think only day by day. But another part of me sees them as precious, even in all their sadness in some ways. I did feel compelled though, to ask the hubby-to-be to destroy them if for some reason I died before him.

Maybe I should work on writing them into an auto-biography of sorts, or better still, a fictionalized, anonymized novel. Then I could pull out the positives, re-write the bad stuff with the benefits of hindsight, and get rid of the offending things forever. Because am I really want to look back when I'm an old lady and remember all the painful times and sadness? I think from now on at least I should make a point of recording the good and beautiful things in life much more and focusing my attention on them as much as possible.

Memories of winter calm

It feels like Spring is just around the corner, but I wanted to have a last look back at this lovely winter we've just had. It was truly beautiful, the landscape dusted with snow, frost decorating the leaves, and me, feeling surrounded by love and peace. What more could anyone ask for? I know it's February now and these pictures are from two months ago! Where has the time gone? But I wanted to remember it, and so I decided to post this slideshow here so I can look back at it later on and enjoy it all over again.

Riding the bus

I had a dream last night that I was riding a bus. I was the only passenger and it was an open top bus. It was driving through beautiful scenery, fields of golden corn, the sun low in the sky creating a beautiful summery mood. I'd forgotten my camera at home, and had been heading to some lovely destination. I decided I didn't want to go without my camera so I would ride the bus back to closer to home and walk home to get the camera. Along the ride I saw my friend Maryam jogging by the side of the road. She was smiling to herself, listening to music, she didn't see me. I sat back and enjoyed the scenery until I got to the place I wanted to get off, pushed the button and as I was getting off the driver said I'd be ok to walk the rest of the way home as it was still light out.

I woke up this morning thinking a few things, firstly, I need to get my driver's license and start driving again. I wasn't thinking about the dream when I thought this, just that I needed to get in control of this part of my life. On reflection I think the two things are related... the bus carrying me where it goes, me just going along for the ride, not being in control. I thought that as well, while brushing my teeth, wondering about my PhD and why I'm doing it. I think it's too late to back out now and I won't, because I think I can do it if I just don't question my motivation too much. I just have to keep plugging away day after day and I will get there. But it's a bit bizarre because I feel like I'm just doing it for the sake of it now, because I started it, and not because I have any special desire to, or that it was a part of my grand plan. But I guess that's how life works out sometimes. There's always the chance that I did in fact make this happen because it is something I wanted, deep down? I don't know. I think the point is that I need to get into the driver's seat in this respect and others, decide what I want and work towards it.

F**k F**king F**K F**K

When I created this blog, I was trying to move away from the silliness that was my former blog and be a little more sophisticated, hence the moody profile picture etc. But I can't get away from it, I'm a silly person, so maybe I'll just turn this thing green and call it baconandbananas again and go back to being, silly.

The silly thing I'm thinking at the moment is why are today's pop songs so terribly lyrically impoverished? And rude! They are so rude. I mean, I heard that Enrique Inglesias had a new album so I looked it up on myspace and in one of the songs he says something like 'excuse me if you think I'm being rude, but tonight I'm fucking you'. This is what he says, over and over. I mean, am I being a prude here? Or is that just totally wrong and disgusting? It's like this fruity pop song and then THOSE are the lyrics? Kids are going to be bopping around to this and you know that urge when you want to sing along to the chorus of something... Well, I just don't know what to say. Granted when I was young we used to listen to Nirvana and liked the song 'Rape me'. But, and this could just be my personal bias, I feel like that at least had some depth and poignancy to it.

Maybe I'm just getting old. The problem is, I still like dancing around my house in the mornings to nice upbeat music, and lately I've been turning on the radio rather than choosing a CD, but I really have to suppress my disgust while I'm dancing around because I just find some of the music just so appalling. I like the stuff that is inspired by soul music, like Christina Aguilera and Duffy etc, and I'm fond of Cee Lo Green and even love the song 'Fuck you'. Does that contradict my initial argument here? Why is it that I think that is ok and the Enrique one is not? Maybe it has to do with power and respect. In the Cee Lo song he's apparently expressing his attitude towards a girl who won't give him the time of day. It's pretty benign. On the other hand the Enrique song gives the impression of treating women as playthings, so maybe that's why I'm offended by it.

In any case, this is what can happen if you have rude lyrics to upbeat pop songs:

Things wot I done learned today...

1. Dying your hair first thing in the morning and then trying to multi-task by eating breakfast with a plastic bag tied around your head is not really a very good idea.

2. Some hair dyes require you to wet your hair before applying. This means your head is not only saturated with hair dye, but also, drippy.
3. Hair dye is initially clear to the touch, but after a short amount of time, turns dark.
4. Hair dye does not come out of linoleum floor coverings, nor off of painted white doors.
5. Sometimes doing too many things at once means that you don't do any of them particularly well.
6. Breakfast is not improved when there are hairs in it.
7. If you are doing multiple things with time limits, it's best to coordinate them well, otherwise you will end up with overboiled coffee, which then goes cold.
8. Black hair does not suit me.

Love, hate, and marriage

My hubby-to-be and I have been engaged now for about three weeks. It's a lovely time in a way; getting engaged was so pleasant and easy, it just seemed the natural thing to do. In general I'm enjoying planning for our wedding, but I have some misgivings, hence the 'hate' in the title of this post, though hate is a bit of a strong word. I guess one thing that my future husband and I have in common is our distaste for being told what we have to do and we dislike the rampant commercialism of so many things. Living out in a sleepy little town in Wales we get away from a lot of that, which is a relief. Nevertheless, when it comes to things like weddings, it does manage to creep in a little. When I originally started planning, I was strongly resisting anything that might be expensive. I was outraged by the extra £600 it would cost to get married in the hotel where we're having our reception, as opposed to the registrar's office, but eventually I was sold on the idea. I figured I would find a dress at a charity shop or on eBay, create table decorations out of things found and foraged, and have various people we know take on all the necessary roles such as dj, photographer, and so on. Much of this may still happen, but it's such a pull against the current. For example, on the dress front, the more you look the more you see these amazing gowns. I hate to say it but it's a bit like the Sex in the City film where Carrie starts off wanting to have a really simple wedding but then she tries on all these fabulous gowns and everything changes. Well, I am very far away from that but I do want to look nice, and the temptation is there to splash out a bit... must resist!

Another thing that I am hating a bit is how self and body conscious this whole process is making me. As if I didn't feel fat already, there's nothing like trying on a white dress in your usual size only to find yourself absolutely busting out of it, in all the wrong places. Ugh. Then there's the suggestions (by my mother) that I should get a facial as it might help with acne, or maybe get facial hair removal etc. Great. I know moustaches on women are pretty awful, but I don't at all like the idea of someone ripping strips of wax off my delicate upper lip area. Sigh. I had a good close look in the mirror today and felt a bit worried. There's a part of me that wants to be defiant about all this and say no to all the fuss, refuse to cave in to the pressure to work on being prettier... but on the other hand... why am I so resistant? Maybe I could do with a little polishing up and tweaking and plucking and so on. Actually I know I could, I think I just hate facing the fact that I need a bit of work. Ugh. It's much nicer being oblivious to all the imperfections.

Anyway, it's my goal to turn this all into a positive experience. I want to start taking better care of myself, holistically. De-stressing, getting enough exercise, eating well, etc. It's a bit tricky at the moment since I busted my knee up two months ago and it's still not totally back to normal. I can't sit crossed-legged so yoga is pretty much out, though I might try anyway. Running is also out, my knee does weird wobbly things if I so much as jog a little. Swimming is ok but only frontcrawl, which I find more tiring than breaststroke. Might go for a swim now actually since I am totally not doing work at the moment. More about what I love/hate about wedding planning later.

First attempt at a wedding styleboard

The power of apocalyptic imaginations

Today I am writing about the apocalyptic visions that propel climate change discourse forward. In my usual random association kind of way, I decided to look up the Metallica song Enter Sandman to give me some background music that would inspire apocalyptic writings. I found on youtube video footage of what looks to be a truly EPIC concert in Moscow in 1991. There is something truly amazing about this and it is making me think of the influence of this music, this band, these performances on things as profound as international relations and domestic politics. The connections are made explicitly in some of the videos, the Russian police, protests, the quest for freedom, rebellion, and the love shown by the people at the concert not only for the band, but for America. I can't help but think how interesting it would be to do a project, interviewing people in places like Moscow about the influence this music had on them during this time period. I know from my own experience living in Iran in the 1990s that Metallica among others was one of the most influential bands. Though they couldn't come there to play, walls were graffittied with their name and privately people were rocking out to them, releasing all that pent up tension and feeling for a moment the sensation of being FREE, of being master of their own destiny, of indulging in the fantasies of breaking free from the oppressive control enacted by the state.

Watching these videos I find myself filled with energy, enthusiasm, joy! There is something so alive about this music, it's not sitting back and taking anything, it's standing up, jumping up! Expressing freedom and power and life in the face of difficulty and danger and threat and death. I wonder if that kind of power and life fire can only be expressed in the face of the threat of the opposite, powerlessness, apathy, disaster and depression. Listening to those guitar riffs I feel those feelings are being confronted full on, goaded out and fully destroyed. Wahaaaay!

Colour Palettes

I am sitting at my desk in the office that I share with other postgrads. It's a beautiful sunny day outside, though very icy and treacherous. In the morning, all the plants, leaves, blades of grass, twigs, were frosted, as though they had been lightly dusted with icing sugar. The sky is clear and if I turn my head I can see the deep blue sea. In front of me, behind my computer and my desk covered in papers and books, is my corkboard which I have decorated with photographs. My selection of pictures is colourful and quite simple, firey autumn leaves, a red sunset, a pink sky reflected on the wet sand of a beach, green trees, a yellow wall in front of which is a display of rustic food... Daubs of bright colour, simple, beautiful shapes, all outside. The photos lift my spirits and give me something to look at which I find inspiring and calming at the same time. My eyes seem to find the photo that reflects the colour I need an infusion of, bright red and orange for a little fireiness, soothing blues and greens for some calm...

I remember reading a book when I was a child about a man who had had a near death experience, and once he came out of it he decided to set up a centre for colour therapy, where people could come and go into different coloured rooms to achieve different states of mind. I think that would be a fun experiment, to see the effect that different colours had on people. I've heard that people's favourite colours say a lot about their personalities as well, even that people have different coloured souls :-) . I wonder how the same colour might influence different people differently.

Do you have a favourite colour? Why do you like it? Do you find you surround yourself with things of a particular colour? Like to dress in certain colours?