I have begrudgingly sat and watched my house turn into a complete dump and it’s getting truly disgusting. There are dished piles up from three days ago, coffee cups scattered throughout ever room, all just gross really. And I was thinking back to only a few weeks ago, and the house wasn’t that bad, (I’m not the tidiest person in the world, but the last few weeks were doing me good) and then I realised what I was missing. Several weeks ago, my dad found me the complete copy collection of the Harry Potter audio tapes, read by my beloved Stephan Fry. I have always preferred reading to listening, but there is only one exception. When I’m cleaning. I had to do something mind numbing while Mr Fry read to me, or else I’d zone out and think of other things. I'd acctually look forward to cleaning, just to have Fry's voice waft through the house. But now I’ve finished the series, and now, I’m afraid that my house is just going to have to remain like a pig sty.
Sad, but invertible.
Wednesday, 24 August 2011
Tuesday, 23 August 2011
It just made my day....
1. a late morning lie-in with my sister and coffee, best morning possiable
2. the blossom tree outside my house... its glorious scent following me durring my walk to campus, a sure sign that srping is on its way... finally <3
3. a postcard from my family, who are having wonderful travels around the world
4. a surprisingly good mark on an assignment that i was certain to fail
5. my dad, for just being such an inspiration
2. the blossom tree outside my house... its glorious scent following me durring my walk to campus, a sure sign that srping is on its way... finally <3
3. a postcard from my family, who are having wonderful travels around the world
4. a surprisingly good mark on an assignment that i was certain to fail
5. my dad, for just being such an inspiration
Hawaii
currently in love with this song at the moment. It's become my happy song. when i listen to it, i can't help but smile c:
Monday, 22 August 2011
Roller-Coaster
The city had turned into a blur of coloured lights, blending together in the night sky; streaks of yellows and reds, purple, green and the faintest hint of blue. Sound too, melted together. The wind gushing through our ears, the occasional scream and the manic laughter from behind us, and there was always the constant rattle beneath us. We plummeted for the ground; wind billowed past us, pulling at hair and tugging at our clothes. I felt a scream leave my own mouth and beside me, over the noise of the wind and the ride and the countless other people I heard a chuckle. His face was the only thing in focus as he reached out and took my hand.
*
“Rose,” I whined, angrily rifling through the wardrobe and throwing clothes to the ground. “Rose,” Only just out of the shower my hair was wet and wrapped in a damp towel with long strands sticking to my face and neck and I was quickly growing impatient with the lack of options that the wardrobe supplied. “Rose!”
“What?” she called from the bathroom over the drone of the hairdryer.
“I don’t know what to wear,”
She poked her head in through the door, stretching the cord from the hairdryer across the hallway. Her hair was already dry, just billowing in the hot air around her face.
“The black skirt” she instructed.
It lay crumpled beneath my feet, already deemed unacceptable, but not wanting to question her judgment I slipped it on, hoping it would smooth out. Leaving the hairdryer on the floor she found a shirt in the back of the wardrobe.
“And that”
Pulling it on, struggling a little with the mound of towel on my head, it didn’t look bad. It had calmed me a little, but my pulse didn’t feel like slowing, my stomach churned and a lump was beginning to grow in my throat. Looking in the mirror, my pale reflection glared back.
You’re going to have fun I told myself sternly and running my fingers through knotted hair. It’s going to be fine.
The station was a sea of people mixed with the stench of the city, tobacco, petrol coffee and the faint aroma from the florist on the steps. It was all a bit overwhelming. But through the crowd I could just make out a face through the crowd; thick black hair with streaks of blue with a bright red bow on the top and wide grey eyes that widen further when she spotted me.
“Emily!” Alana cried, causing heads to turn around us “You’re here!” Pushing her way through the crowd, she drew closer she threw open her arms and hugged me. Her perfume wafted around me and she squeezed me harder.
“I haven’t seen you in ages” she smiled widely, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Come, meet everyone,” Grabbing my hand she pulled me through the crowd, over to the huddle of people beside the ticket booth.
“This is Charlie,” Alana beamed as we approached, and Charlie, rather pompously held out his hand.
We weren’t really the generation of the handshake, but his formality was comforting. As least someone knew what to do. He had a round face glasses and a friendly air. I smiled nervously and hoped it wouldn’t show.
“And this is Campbell,” Alana smiled. Campbell’s slower reaction suggested that he too was confused with how to behave and a sliver of relief came over me as he stretched out his hand for an awkward handshake. He was taller than Charlie, with light brown hair that swept across his forehead, small eyes and thick brow.
“Campbell. Like the soup,” I blurted out as my face turned red.
“Kinda” He laughed.
Alana was already making plans for dinner, claiming that the best Indian restaurant was right round the corner and began to drag us through the crowd. Charlie tried to keep up with her, but my shoes restricted walking as fast, so Campbell slowed down to walk beside me; the lump growing larger in my throat.
“So, Alana says your best friends” he said calmly.
“We went to school together, feels like I’ve known her forever,” I replied honestly, not indicating whether it was necessarily a good thing.
He nodded as we waited for the lights to change, hands deep in his pockets as we watched Alana and Charlie make small talk with the waiting crowd. We both looked around, trying to find something to spark a conversation.
“The city’s nice here” He said, looking up at the buildings, “I spent the last three years in Singapore. Here you can see the stars,”
“Singapore, wow”
Talk of his travels managed to get us safely to the restaurant, were we were reunited with Alana and Charlie, who were already chatting eagerly with the waitress. Knowing full well that my measly student budget didn’t allow for flamboyant eating I ordered coke on the understanding that I’d already eaten and lentils wouldn’t mix well with roller-coasters.
Over dinner we briefly swapped life stories and by the time the plates were clean of what smelt like delicious curry we were laughing loudly. Charlie and Alana were in the same Spanish class, Charlie and Campbell had met in Singapore to be reunited as housemates and Alana kept looking at me with her intense grey eyes, trying to figure out if I was feeling alright. While we finished our drinks, I looked at Alana for the next phase of the night.
“The carnival” Charlie exclaimed, replacing his glass with a little too much enthusiasm, sloshing coke down his hand.
As we re-traced our steps through the city, Alana walked with me, linking arm like school girls to and she jabbering endlessly. I wasn’t really listening, mostly watching the path ahead, making sure we didn’t fall behind too far and watching the windswept hair ahead of us.
“Emily,” Alana prodded me in the side, “are you even listening?”
“What- yes, of course”
“Really!” Her eyes glowed eagerly before laughing laughed loudly and prodding me in the arm.
The riverbank was filled with people, giant rides erected from trailers, flashing and spinning wildly. The smell of damp grass and popcorn mixed with the natural stench of the river. The lights of the ride glistened in the still river, music pounded and people shouted; some in excitement from the ride, others trying to encourage people to step up take a shot and win a prize.
“This one!” Charlie laughed, pointing at a large Ferris-Wheel that tilted as the ride progressed.
“Nah,” cried Alana, bouncing over to a Giant Drop.
Over the next half hour excess money was spent, tickets bought and stomach churned as each ride was sampled. The Giant Drop was an exaggeration. Above Average would have sufficed. And the line for the insane Ferris-Wheel wound its way around the corner for a ride that lasted a little more than a minute.
We followed Alana to the line of the Cha-Cha, but I chose to hold her bag rather than join her. I’d already had to come to terms with not getting petrol for another week. But as I stepped aside, Campbell looked up from his conversation with Charlie.
“Can you have three in a carriage?”
It sounded innocent enough, but something about it made my heart race, and fumbling with the strap of Alana’s bag, I tried not to look so overwhelmed.
“I can wait here,” I said, hoping it sounded convincing while my gut screamed in rebuttal. But to my utmost relief, Campbell stepped out of the line as Alana and Charlie were shown to their seats.
We watched as they were tossed around, thumping into the sides. But the ride soon became repetitive and topic’s for conversations few, so I turned around, trying to find something of interest.
“Look at that one,”
Campbell pointed to the roller-coaster previously obscured from view by the shooting gallery.
“We have too; you said you wanted to, c’mon”
Alana and Charlie found us in the queue, where Alana relieved me of my bag holding duties.
“That one was so much fun!” she said, bouncing again. “You have to go on it. And Charlie was telling me about this club, it’s just down the road. And…” she smiled gleefully, “Free entry!”
She waited for me to show as much enthusiasm as she but I didn’t.
“I just wanted to go on this one,”
“But we’re going now, it’s only free before eleven,”
“We’ll meet you there,” Campbell interjected, “We already have tickets.”
While we had been bickering, I hadn’t noticed that we’d be pushed forward through the line, now at the ticket booth, and Campbell holding two slips of paper.
“Well, ok, call me when you need directions, ‘kay,” She beamed yet again and turned away, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she walked.
The short conductor showed us to the back of the ride, and after ensuring our safety rails were firmly in place, he turned away.
“How much do I owe you,” I asked, pulling out my near empty purse, not willing to believe that chivalry still existed.
“Nothing; two for the price of one,”
“Oh,” I tried to control my smile as I returned my purse to my bag.
“Did you know” he asked calmly, looking down at the track beneath us, “that if just one bolt fell off we would all die?”
“That was just what I wanted to hear right now,” I laughed, as the ride began to gain memento.
The city lights quickly blurred together with the sound of the ride; the wind, the gasps and manic laughter. The pit of my stomach gave way as the track suddenly dropped, and from the collective gasps around me, so had every ones else’s.
“Just one bolt” he shouted, a single loose screw”
“Don’t tell me that!” I replied, portraying more fear than I felt and he laughed.
The track dipped and weaved, throwing us around, jolted by the will of the roller-coater- my knuckles white on the rail- and as we pulled around a sharp bend I felt a scream leave me.
Again he was laughing, but it wasn’t cruel. Instead he reached out and covered my hand with his. It was surprisingly smooth. I tried not to look at him to save the embarrassment of him seeing my blushing face.
It was just his hand. Just in mine. Nothing should be made of this, yet something other than the roller-coaster was making my inside dance; something that was turning me into my fourteen year old self.
We never met up with Alana and Charlie, who were both ignoring their phone. So we wandered through the carnival, until I felt it time to find a taxi. He waited with me at the taxi rank and we watched the businessman in front shout into his phone before giving up his cab and storming down the street.
“Well…”
“Yeah,”
The driver nudged at the petals, making the car roll slightly, signalling that our time was up.
“I’ll see you around sometime,” He said, stepping back so I could shut the door.
I smiled, and nodded, not entirely sure what I was supposed to say, so I simply waved goodnight and shut the door as the drivers pulled off the curb.
I glanced over my shoulder.
He was still standing there, the glow of his phone lighting up his face, and just as the car approached the corner, he looked at the cab. And smiled.
*
“Rose,” I whined, angrily rifling through the wardrobe and throwing clothes to the ground. “Rose,” Only just out of the shower my hair was wet and wrapped in a damp towel with long strands sticking to my face and neck and I was quickly growing impatient with the lack of options that the wardrobe supplied. “Rose!”
“What?” she called from the bathroom over the drone of the hairdryer.
“I don’t know what to wear,”
She poked her head in through the door, stretching the cord from the hairdryer across the hallway. Her hair was already dry, just billowing in the hot air around her face.
“The black skirt” she instructed.
It lay crumpled beneath my feet, already deemed unacceptable, but not wanting to question her judgment I slipped it on, hoping it would smooth out. Leaving the hairdryer on the floor she found a shirt in the back of the wardrobe.
“And that”
Pulling it on, struggling a little with the mound of towel on my head, it didn’t look bad. It had calmed me a little, but my pulse didn’t feel like slowing, my stomach churned and a lump was beginning to grow in my throat. Looking in the mirror, my pale reflection glared back.
You’re going to have fun I told myself sternly and running my fingers through knotted hair. It’s going to be fine.
The station was a sea of people mixed with the stench of the city, tobacco, petrol coffee and the faint aroma from the florist on the steps. It was all a bit overwhelming. But through the crowd I could just make out a face through the crowd; thick black hair with streaks of blue with a bright red bow on the top and wide grey eyes that widen further when she spotted me.
“Emily!” Alana cried, causing heads to turn around us “You’re here!” Pushing her way through the crowd, she drew closer she threw open her arms and hugged me. Her perfume wafted around me and she squeezed me harder.
“I haven’t seen you in ages” she smiled widely, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Come, meet everyone,” Grabbing my hand she pulled me through the crowd, over to the huddle of people beside the ticket booth.
“This is Charlie,” Alana beamed as we approached, and Charlie, rather pompously held out his hand.
We weren’t really the generation of the handshake, but his formality was comforting. As least someone knew what to do. He had a round face glasses and a friendly air. I smiled nervously and hoped it wouldn’t show.
“And this is Campbell,” Alana smiled. Campbell’s slower reaction suggested that he too was confused with how to behave and a sliver of relief came over me as he stretched out his hand for an awkward handshake. He was taller than Charlie, with light brown hair that swept across his forehead, small eyes and thick brow.
“Campbell. Like the soup,” I blurted out as my face turned red.
“Kinda” He laughed.
Alana was already making plans for dinner, claiming that the best Indian restaurant was right round the corner and began to drag us through the crowd. Charlie tried to keep up with her, but my shoes restricted walking as fast, so Campbell slowed down to walk beside me; the lump growing larger in my throat.
“So, Alana says your best friends” he said calmly.
“We went to school together, feels like I’ve known her forever,” I replied honestly, not indicating whether it was necessarily a good thing.
He nodded as we waited for the lights to change, hands deep in his pockets as we watched Alana and Charlie make small talk with the waiting crowd. We both looked around, trying to find something to spark a conversation.
“The city’s nice here” He said, looking up at the buildings, “I spent the last three years in Singapore. Here you can see the stars,”
“Singapore, wow”
Talk of his travels managed to get us safely to the restaurant, were we were reunited with Alana and Charlie, who were already chatting eagerly with the waitress. Knowing full well that my measly student budget didn’t allow for flamboyant eating I ordered coke on the understanding that I’d already eaten and lentils wouldn’t mix well with roller-coasters.
Over dinner we briefly swapped life stories and by the time the plates were clean of what smelt like delicious curry we were laughing loudly. Charlie and Alana were in the same Spanish class, Charlie and Campbell had met in Singapore to be reunited as housemates and Alana kept looking at me with her intense grey eyes, trying to figure out if I was feeling alright. While we finished our drinks, I looked at Alana for the next phase of the night.
“The carnival” Charlie exclaimed, replacing his glass with a little too much enthusiasm, sloshing coke down his hand.
As we re-traced our steps through the city, Alana walked with me, linking arm like school girls to and she jabbering endlessly. I wasn’t really listening, mostly watching the path ahead, making sure we didn’t fall behind too far and watching the windswept hair ahead of us.
“Emily,” Alana prodded me in the side, “are you even listening?”
“What- yes, of course”
“Really!” Her eyes glowed eagerly before laughing laughed loudly and prodding me in the arm.
The riverbank was filled with people, giant rides erected from trailers, flashing and spinning wildly. The smell of damp grass and popcorn mixed with the natural stench of the river. The lights of the ride glistened in the still river, music pounded and people shouted; some in excitement from the ride, others trying to encourage people to step up take a shot and win a prize.
“This one!” Charlie laughed, pointing at a large Ferris-Wheel that tilted as the ride progressed.
“Nah,” cried Alana, bouncing over to a Giant Drop.
Over the next half hour excess money was spent, tickets bought and stomach churned as each ride was sampled. The Giant Drop was an exaggeration. Above Average would have sufficed. And the line for the insane Ferris-Wheel wound its way around the corner for a ride that lasted a little more than a minute.
We followed Alana to the line of the Cha-Cha, but I chose to hold her bag rather than join her. I’d already had to come to terms with not getting petrol for another week. But as I stepped aside, Campbell looked up from his conversation with Charlie.
“Can you have three in a carriage?”
It sounded innocent enough, but something about it made my heart race, and fumbling with the strap of Alana’s bag, I tried not to look so overwhelmed.
“I can wait here,” I said, hoping it sounded convincing while my gut screamed in rebuttal. But to my utmost relief, Campbell stepped out of the line as Alana and Charlie were shown to their seats.
We watched as they were tossed around, thumping into the sides. But the ride soon became repetitive and topic’s for conversations few, so I turned around, trying to find something of interest.
“Look at that one,”
Campbell pointed to the roller-coaster previously obscured from view by the shooting gallery.
“We have too; you said you wanted to, c’mon”
Alana and Charlie found us in the queue, where Alana relieved me of my bag holding duties.
“That one was so much fun!” she said, bouncing again. “You have to go on it. And Charlie was telling me about this club, it’s just down the road. And…” she smiled gleefully, “Free entry!”
She waited for me to show as much enthusiasm as she but I didn’t.
“I just wanted to go on this one,”
“But we’re going now, it’s only free before eleven,”
“We’ll meet you there,” Campbell interjected, “We already have tickets.”
While we had been bickering, I hadn’t noticed that we’d be pushed forward through the line, now at the ticket booth, and Campbell holding two slips of paper.
“Well, ok, call me when you need directions, ‘kay,” She beamed yet again and turned away, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she walked.
The short conductor showed us to the back of the ride, and after ensuring our safety rails were firmly in place, he turned away.
“How much do I owe you,” I asked, pulling out my near empty purse, not willing to believe that chivalry still existed.
“Nothing; two for the price of one,”
“Oh,” I tried to control my smile as I returned my purse to my bag.
“Did you know” he asked calmly, looking down at the track beneath us, “that if just one bolt fell off we would all die?”
“That was just what I wanted to hear right now,” I laughed, as the ride began to gain memento.
The city lights quickly blurred together with the sound of the ride; the wind, the gasps and manic laughter. The pit of my stomach gave way as the track suddenly dropped, and from the collective gasps around me, so had every ones else’s.
“Just one bolt” he shouted, a single loose screw”
“Don’t tell me that!” I replied, portraying more fear than I felt and he laughed.
The track dipped and weaved, throwing us around, jolted by the will of the roller-coater- my knuckles white on the rail- and as we pulled around a sharp bend I felt a scream leave me.
Again he was laughing, but it wasn’t cruel. Instead he reached out and covered my hand with his. It was surprisingly smooth. I tried not to look at him to save the embarrassment of him seeing my blushing face.
It was just his hand. Just in mine. Nothing should be made of this, yet something other than the roller-coaster was making my inside dance; something that was turning me into my fourteen year old self.
We never met up with Alana and Charlie, who were both ignoring their phone. So we wandered through the carnival, until I felt it time to find a taxi. He waited with me at the taxi rank and we watched the businessman in front shout into his phone before giving up his cab and storming down the street.
“Well…”
“Yeah,”
The driver nudged at the petals, making the car roll slightly, signalling that our time was up.
“I’ll see you around sometime,” He said, stepping back so I could shut the door.
I smiled, and nodded, not entirely sure what I was supposed to say, so I simply waved goodnight and shut the door as the drivers pulled off the curb.
I glanced over my shoulder.
He was still standing there, the glow of his phone lighting up his face, and just as the car approached the corner, he looked at the cab. And smiled.
Thursday, 18 August 2011
Pottermore
Clearly JK Rowling is one of the most powerful people of our generation. She has a million people on a string and is able to pull them in any direction she likes. I was so excited when she announced Pottermore, I waited up and watched the owls gathering and watched the video. I marked the thirty-first in my calendar and stopped what I was doing the moment the page changed so I could solve the first clue as soon as possible. But, rather than an online experience of the books, it’s become an online waiting game, each step of progress involved a week or two of waiting and several hours refreshing our emails, and it’s just getting frustrating.
If anybody suggested that you wait up until three o’clock in the morning to watch a new youtube video being uploaded, you wouldn’t. And I have never been more diligent with my email. But it’s JK, we’d do it for her. We are doing it for her. No doubt she could tell us that we have to hop around on one foot, with a thumb in our ear and singing at the top of our lungs. But hey, if that’s what I have to do to get in early, where to I hop?
But it’s not that I’m not excited, oh god I am. Not so much for the game and the online experience, but for the extra information- that’s what I love about JK, she just has so much more than novels. I adore her personal website. jkrowling.com, and could spend hours just looking through everything on her desk and discovering its secrets. If she has the same inspiration and the same creative team behind her on this website, I’m sure I’m going to love it too. And in all honesty, a biggest part of my Harry Potter memory, (which spans over a decade) more than half of it was spent waiting in anticipation, trying to work out what was coming next and praying that the day comes faster. Whenever that day is.
If anybody suggested that you wait up until three o’clock in the morning to watch a new youtube video being uploaded, you wouldn’t. And I have never been more diligent with my email. But it’s JK, we’d do it for her. We are doing it for her. No doubt she could tell us that we have to hop around on one foot, with a thumb in our ear and singing at the top of our lungs. But hey, if that’s what I have to do to get in early, where to I hop?
But it’s not that I’m not excited, oh god I am. Not so much for the game and the online experience, but for the extra information- that’s what I love about JK, she just has so much more than novels. I adore her personal website. jkrowling.com, and could spend hours just looking through everything on her desk and discovering its secrets. If she has the same inspiration and the same creative team behind her on this website, I’m sure I’m going to love it too. And in all honesty, a biggest part of my Harry Potter memory, (which spans over a decade) more than half of it was spent waiting in anticipation, trying to work out what was coming next and praying that the day comes faster. Whenever that day is.
Morning Reflections
She stands there, in faded pyjamas and slippers. Straw coloured hair hanging limply around her face, grey eyes surrounded by faint lines, thin, pale lips and soft hands feeling out the work before her. The rhythmic work, smoothing the creases out of white pants, unaware my presence. I stand outside. In the pane of glass I can see my reflection looking curiously over her shoulder: dressed in the apparent uniform of early morning, hair arranged artfully by the night, a pale face, shadowed eyes and a dog standing on my foot, aching for the attention to return to it.
And she does not notice.
The room surrounding her, and I, is cluttered: an assortment of clothes, bottles, a mop leaning against the wall, it’s sad, grey head softly dripping. The washing machine rattles beside her, decorated in a week’s worth of single, lonesome socks and behind us, an open door; leading out from the grey of this room to the subtle green of the next. My translucent face rests on framed memories; faces that have passed or aged beyond recognition, the captured moments of childhood, happiness and blissful ignorance. And there I stand, in the clouded morning sun, unaware that it had softly begun to rain.
And she does not notice.
The room surrounding her, and I, is cluttered: an assortment of clothes, bottles, a mop leaning against the wall, it’s sad, grey head softly dripping. The washing machine rattles beside her, decorated in a week’s worth of single, lonesome socks and behind us, an open door; leading out from the grey of this room to the subtle green of the next. My translucent face rests on framed memories; faces that have passed or aged beyond recognition, the captured moments of childhood, happiness and blissful ignorance. And there I stand, in the clouded morning sun, unaware that it had softly begun to rain.
Wednesday, 17 August 2011
Becoming A Writer
I have discovered one of those gems that you didn’t realise would be amazing until your part way through and your mind is sufficiently blown. I have this odd little break in my timetable, in which I try, almost always, to find something to broaden the mind in the massively huge university library. While struggling with the dewy decimal system, which is a rant entirely within itself, I eventually stumbled across the writing section. I was never one for the books that tell you how to write, and naturally there are a great many number of them out there. And in between all those books about “How to Write a Good Sentence” and “Plots: What to avoid” there has to be something that is going to actually help you. And I found it. Dorathea Brande, an amazingly helpful writer who knows just what to say and, as promised on the back, “get over yourself and start writing".
What I thought was most curious about her writing was her very old style, and phrases along the lines of “you can use a type writer, if you know how to” and being a curious being, I checked the publication date, to find out it was published nearly ninety years ago. Clearly there are things that stand the test of time, the moody, self indulgent writer that she describes, is clearly one of them. And although I’m one of her reader that is able to brave the computer, her advice, wisdom and ideas are some of the most inspiring I have come across. Things on how to write any time anywhere and how to not take rejection less personally, and better yet, not a single chapter on how to structure sentences.
What I thought was most curious about her writing was her very old style, and phrases along the lines of “you can use a type writer, if you know how to” and being a curious being, I checked the publication date, to find out it was published nearly ninety years ago. Clearly there are things that stand the test of time, the moody, self indulgent writer that she describes, is clearly one of them. And although I’m one of her reader that is able to brave the computer, her advice, wisdom and ideas are some of the most inspiring I have come across. Things on how to write any time anywhere and how to not take rejection less personally, and better yet, not a single chapter on how to structure sentences.
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