God Bless Us Everyone

 

I’m guessing that most of the people who read my blog will instantly recognise the title as belonging to Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, arguably one of the best known stories the world over.  There is something so satisfactory about the story of someone who learnt to hate Christmas falling back in love with it, and consequently most of the festive films and stories since - and therefore almost ever! - have taken this as their basis.  If you didn’t recognise the title then it’s time you bought yourself a copy of the book which is so short it will only take an hour or two to read.  It’s a lovely story with a dose of everything and not too much of anything.  Whilst it was this year’s choice for our renowned Sylvanian filming, it is very much a part of our every Christmas.

 

Though I love my current job, a part of me really misses teaching RE at this time of the year.  It’s about the only time when the whole class is guaranteed to all sensibly sit and take part in lessons.  Most of the year RE seemed to be the subject where kids could generally wreak havoc, but at Christmas the pupils really wanted to take part.  I don’t know why it should be the case except that, like A Christmas Carol, the story behind Christmas is all encompassing.  Please note, here: I am talking about Christmas, not solstice or any festival that Christians absorbed to make Christmas more appealing, but CHRISTMAS as in the Mass of Christ!  I know as well as anyone else that the Christians took on traditions that predated their existence, but it drives me mad to hear people saying that Christmas is not a Christian thing (the clue is in the name!).  It’s not surprising that religions have their festival of light in the darkest time of the year, and they do all give and take aspects of each others; it’s still happening today.

 

Sunday saw our church’s Nativity play.  It was very cute and the children did a good job, but I couldn’t help wondering why they felt the need to do the whole play from the point of view of the star.  It’s a play I’d seen before at a different church and I had the same thought then.  Novel, perhaps, but also a little unnecessary.  The Nativity story is so strong it doesn’t need to be re-written to be performed.  I loved studying the texts and meanings within the synoptic gospels’ telling of the birth of Christ and to me nothing could be stronger and more full of hope and meaning than the Christmas story.  Matthew with his account of the lineage, majesty and male importance throughout the story and Luke with his focus on humility, praise and the female perspective together provide a balanced telling of the story.  I love going off on theological and philosophical rants but I shall be good and try to steer back to the point of my blog!

 

At the risk of writing a sermon (for many years I did want to be a priest, so I’ve had all these ideas kicking around in my head) the Nativity’s main star wasn’t the star at all - sorry children!  It was in fact the baby who was given the title Immanuel - God With Us…  Hopefully you’re starting to see a connection!  In the last two blogs I’ve written about an insight into how I view Christmas and what my hope for Christmas would be, this blog is why I have these views and hopes, it’s what Christmas is about to me.  All too often people say “It’s not about the presents”, well of course it’s about the presents, as much as it is about any other aspect because each gift given in love is a reflection of the gift given in love at the Nativity.

 

I’m not going to make any apologies for writing an explicitly religious blog.  These are my beliefs and despite being absolutely, definitely not a Tory, I have to commend David Cameron on standing up and announcing his faith at a recent event celebrating the King James Bible.  And so, there is only one way to finish this blog (I’m sure you’ve worked out by now what that one way is!!!) which is to wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year - I hope 2012 is full of life, love and peace for you all.  And, as Tiny Tim [through Charles Dickens!] once observed:

 

God Bless Us Everyone!

The Perfect Christmas Present

Having been instructed to write a blog - here I am.  My blogs always begin their lives in one of two ways, either I am eagerly typing away as if there was no tomorrow or I sit for ages staring at a blank screen and hope that some inspiration and hopeful words will fall from the sky.  Today I am trying something different.  Today’s blog will be me typing things as I think them.

So often when I reach the end of the day and come to write my Twitter smiley thoughts I cannot remember everything that has happened.  At the moment my free time is being gobbled up in making Christmas presents - which I love - and filing my tax return - which I don’t love!  In the whirl of things to do it is very possible that somewhere along the way the really important things that are worth taking time over get lost.  Last night, as part of an attempt to watch all our Christmas films before Christmas (which is not going to happen because we have just got too many!) we watched The Grinch.  If you haven’t seen it, you’re missing out.  It’s not the ludicrously overacted parts, or the totally bizarre world that is created in it, it’s that age old idea of seeing beyond all the frothy frivolity and working out what really matters.  There is a line in the classic Band Aid single “Do They Know It’s Christmas” that irks me each time I hear it - and as I think that otherwise it is a fantastic song, I hear it quite often!

And there won’t be snow in Africa this Christmas time

And the greatest gift they’ll get this year is life.

I think the greatest gift anyone will get this year is life.  It’s a shame they never thought to swap the word “greatest” for the word “only” (which is what I think they meant!) that might have made it a perfect song!

My light reading entertainment that travels everywhere with me - quite literally as it is shoved in my handbag! - is Philip Glenister’s nostalgic book “Things Ain’t What They Used To Be”.  [It is quite possible that at this point my blog readers will now be utterly confused at the giant tangent I seem to have taken here, but hopefully you will see the point shortly!]  The final section is without a doubt one of my favourite parts of the book where he carefully lays out Christmas as it was when he was a child with a real fondness.  While the image of one brother becoming irate enough to tip up the Monopoly board after the use of some extreme house rules is perhaps the part that makes me chuckle the most, what I really love is the way Christmas really seemed to be a family event.

And now to tie up these rambling observations:
Without meaning to sound too twee, but hoping that some of my point reaches my blog readers, we shall be having all the trimmings.  The turkey, beef, ham, sausages and bacon are all coming from our local butcher, the tree shall be set up and decorated with hundreds of lights and baubles collected over so many years, and there will be presents stacked under it come Christmas day.  And, yes, I will be hanging up a stocking and I do believe in Santa Claus/Father Christmas/Saint Nicolas or whatever you wish to call him - he is, after all, everything that the season stands for in one figure - but I know that come Christmas morning if I have my family, life and health I will have had my best present.

In the meantime, I’ll plough on with my tax return and endeavour to get my presents completed in time… Wish me luck!

The Best Things Are Worth Waiting For

It is good to be back!  Yes, after two months of turmoil my room is finally finished and I have been reunited with Arty, my trusty laptop, so here is the latest instalment of McEwan’s Musings.  The room is everything that I hoped it would be and to those of you that have persevered with my mutterings and ramblings on Twitter, many thanks for bearing with me!!

My room is now absolutely amazing.  It is like being in a cabin on a boat and is more than I could have hoped for.  The décor is everything I wanted and perhaps the most exciting thing of all is that I now have a desk, at which Arty and I can spend many happy and creative hours.  Sorting out the room has taken so long and so much effort that when it was just finished and assembled on Monday night I immediately felt ill - I always get like that when something is completed!

But so much has happened this week!  The ABRSM exams came back with glowing reports for my two pupils and on Thursday I was invited to play for and talk with the local Brownies who are working for their entertainment badge.  A quick recap of the last time I performed for anybody made me realise that it was two and a half years ago and I felt nervous accordingly.  But despite the nerves the appreciation of being asked was great and the anticipation adjusted accordingly.

There’s a lot of anticipation in the air at the moment.  I love Advent perhaps more than Christmas.  The lead up, excitement and general warmth of people’s attitudes is so encouraging and heartening.  The smiles become more frequent and the promise of good things in store sees us through the darkest period of the year - although I have to here admit that winter is the season I love the most and despite the night having deepened by 4 in the afternoon and the temperatures dropping accordingly there is very little that can dampen my spirit of bubbly excitement.

Waiting is something that becomes easier with age, though, and there can be no denying that.  Many of my younger pupils seem fit to burst with the anticipation of Advent leading up to the goal that is ultimately Christmas.  Many people grumble at the way in which Christmas appears in shops before they suppose it is time to, and I - yes, even me! - feel uncomfortable at how it seems to be pushing further and further forward in the year.  Soon we might really be having the commercial Christmas all year round - as well as the spiritual one we are encouraged to carry in our hearts (as Charles Dickens’ wrote about in his immortal story, “A Christmas Carol”).  I suppose it is a bad thing, but it also carries with it a sense of excitement and wonder that is not lacking but frequently overlooked in today’s world.

I’m like a kid at Christmas - not the goat kind, the child kind! - our Christmases are truly amazing and without a doubt one of the highlights of any year.  My brilliant new room is already filling up with wrapped up parcels ready for distributing by post or hand, and already I am eager for the Christmas tree to make its appearance the weekend before Christmas.  I can’t help but smile with giddiness at it all!  Perhaps it is all about the promise; perhaps that is what makes Advent as delightful as Christmas.  As an adult we seem to rush about here, there and everywhere, always in a rush, but here is something that cannot be rushed, something that we have to wait for and it is that which fans the spark of anticipation and allows we busy grown-ups a chance to recapture what it was like to be an excited child.

And this blog is dedicated to the lady who served us today in Tesco.  Excitement can rub off on people and so can a pleasant smile, I hope our excitement at Christmas shopping and our warm smiles brightened up her day and encouraged her to brighten up other peoples.

Thank You

I have a bit of an issue with remembering things.  My brain tends to store the totally pointless trivia that might help on a general knowledge crossword but is basically useless in everyday life.  My head has always been filled with random information and ideas but generally I can't remember what I did the day before.  I've never had a problem remembering lines from films and plays - much to the irritation of people when I constantly quote from things - and I'm generally fairly good with dates, that is until my peculiar form of dyslexia kicks in confusing 4s with 7s and 6s with 8s!!

Earlier this year - way back in January (and yes, I can remember that!) - Alex encouraged me to watch the HBO series Band of Brothers.  In all honesty I didn't really want to.  I'm not a fan of war films, having no pointless trivia relating to the Second World War and viewing the whole affair rather like Carrie's War or Goodnight Mr Tom.  I watched it as much for Alex as for me but was totally hooked on it by the second episode.  Since then I've watched the series a further three times.  It is not at all melodramatic to say that the series has had a profound effect on me and taught me a lot more about the war than I ever learnt at school.  I hated looking at soap adverts and ration books and had in my head that the whole war was fought with aeroplanes and was full of blitzes and little else.  My Grandfather was involved in the war, but I never knew him.  Through Band of Brothers I really felt that I got to know the men of Easy Company and shared in all their emotions as the series unfolded through laughter, tears and smiles.

Believe it or not these two paragraphs do tie together with a point...  In a week and a half the country will come together in an act of remembrance for all the fallen soldiers who gave their lives in the First and Second World Wars as well as the conflicts since.  I have never had a problem remembering to say thank you, I was brought up with immaculate manners (although from time to time they fall by the wayside!) and Remembrance Sunday is one such occasion to stand up and show how grateful I am.  This evening we concluded watching Band of Brothers, and earlier in the day a volunteer for the Royal British Legion of Scotland had been round collecting for the Poppy Appeal.  Things were all fitting into perspective of the sheer scale of courage displayed by soldiers and it is unsurprising, then, that I was totally sickened to read this on the local forum:

"I also don't have a problem with people defacing the poppy etc, after all what did these people fight for if not the freedom for people to protest."

What a stupid comment!  At first I felt incredibly angry that someone could write such an utterly offensive and totally manipulated comment, but after a time it just made me feel overwhelmingly sad.  It's true that I do my best not to let such ignorance pull me down, but likewise at times I can't help it.

Freedom is a word that is banded around so often in today's world without any real consideration of what it means.  It is so easy to quote freedom of speech as a righteous umbrella for all manner of fouling and deceit.  I was not alive during WWI or WWII, I only vaguely remember the first Gulf War - I still have my letter from the soldier I wrote to and the sand that was in the letter he sent back - but to me it is insignificant compared to how I feel about the men who died in them.  The freedom they fought for was not any form of destruction - they did not fight so that someone could burn the poppies people use to remember them by, nor did they fight for the right to ridicule or deride others for not sharing their views on politics or religion.  When I turn up at the War Memorial here in my home town a week on Sunday it shall be to remember men who fought and died for the freedom of others to live.  And though the miserable and negative wretch who wrote such poppycock (see what I did there!?) as the above quote shall no doubt cross my mind, it will only be in a pitying way that he is unable to see the world that those soldiers fought so hard to protect and obtain the freedom they spilled their blood to preserve.

I hope that I never forget to be grateful to those heroes who fought and died yesterday to enable me to live my life today.

Continuity and Change

Today was beyond blustery.  October in its premature stages - being only 3 days in thus far! - is proving itself as being far more typical than any of the summer months and most of the spring ones too!  The turning of the seasons and the stripping of the trees are indicative of the onset of winter through the colourful throws of Autumn.  Or to put it simply: we are having autumn now so that we can have winter.

I always quote winter as my favourite season, but I love them all in their own ways and for their own merits: spring for its lushness and life, summer for its dreamy days (that in this part of the world last almost a full 24 hours) and autumn for its colourful arrays and its decay that in turn leads to further life.  There is something so reassuring about the turning of the season, a clock that you can set your life by.  In the book Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, it mentions the weather being what you would dream of as a kid.  The first time of reading it, that’s almost a throw away remark but it’s quite a powerful observation.  I’m glad we’re having a breezy October with both rain and sun in equal measure.  It feels right.

Autumn is a time of change, a season that’s characteristics are all defined by the alterations in different parts of nature.  In America autumn is still referred to as the fall, and that sums it up entirely.  Things are changing, falling, dying.  But despite that, there is something warm, cosy and homely about autumn and it makes me feel snug to look out of the window at the trees shaking their long branches and shedding their leaves.

I’m one of those people that the film industry hates - I have a big thing about plot continuity.  I don’t know why, when I have such a deep love and understanding of the changing tide in nature - how everything has its time before it changes once again - I love continuity.  I’m not a Luddite, but I am rooted in tradition and, quite honestly, I’m at a point in my life where I would not look to - or wish to - change anything.

But there must be a time for both and, although it sounds paradoxical, there can’t be one without the other.  The seasons, whilst changing from one to another, have a continuity to their cycle.  Life is built up of two way decisions - yes or no, right or left, change or continuity.  There are times to make the choice either way, because both have their strengths and benefits.

Here is what I think: Aim to be continually happy and helpful, cheery and creative.  Change should be reserved for situations where happiness, helpfulness, cheeriness and creativeness can be beneficial.  It is a shame that so many people seem to think that change is the same thing as progression when many of us don’t have to change to make the world better; we just have to look at what is already there and make the right characteristics shine through.

And it’s not hard to do.  Guess what, all it takes is a smile and you can change someone’s outlook on life to be continually better.  It’s amazing what a difference a smile can make!  Have a go and brighten up people’s lives.

*I will resist the temptation to list the films/TV series/books that I have noticed continuity issues in!*

Desert Island Discs or Music That Makes Me Smile

I’m not a big fan of Desert Island Discs.  I don’t religiously tune in to it on a Sunday morning, although I confess that if it’s on and it is someone I have actually heard of, I will be interested enough to give it half of my attention.  I am, after all, a woman and hence more than capable of multi-tasking!  But last Sunday it was Martin Clunes and so this was a rare occasion when not only had I heard of the person being interviewed, I actually liked him, too.

What struck me the most about him was that all of his musical choices fitted - almost - perfectly within a twenty year window.  Clearly to him music was about the memories that it evoked, just as my last blog mentioned.  I was really very surprised by his choices.  I don’t know what I had expected but it certainly hadn’t been T-Rex and Rod Stewart!  But it made me think… (yes, from time to time, I am capable of such a thing!): What would my eight discs - or MP3 files or whatever in this day and age - be?  So here they are, correct to 24th September 2011.  I know the BBC invited listeners to nominate their own 8 earlier this year, but I wasn’t happy with the results and besides I’ve always been a little behind the times!

Take Me Home, Country Roads - John Denver

My first memory of picking what music to listen to, unsurprisingly, comes from the collection of records that belonged to my parents (most of which are still with us minus a few Beatles ones!).  We never listened to the Beatles ones, even when we had them.  They were Dad’s and the only LPs of Dad’s I remember listening to were The Baron Knights and Stanley Holloway.  Melanie, Don McLean and Bad Company - all Mum’s - were amongst the others that we would listen to, along with The Spinners - and I’m not sure who that belonged to but it is definitely in part responsible for my interest and love of folk music.  But one of the only artists whose name appeared more than once on the record collection was John Denver.  He made and moulded what music should be for me, and it probably isn’t the same as most youngsters perceived it.  Here was a man who sang songs about things that I could understand, sometimes fast, fun songs, sometimes slow ballads - but they always told a story.  I don’t think he was what anyone would call glamorous - even me whose taste in men is unlike anyone else’s - in fact I spent some time believing the picture of him on the front of the LP was a scarecrow.  He was such a deep thinking person and produced incredible melodies it is impossible to say which is my favourite.  If I had to pick one track, I’d opt for Take Me Home, Country Roads simply because it was the first time I had heard my name sung.  If I’d been called Jane or Ann it would have been no big deal, but Virginia is a harder name to stumble across in song!

(Everything I Do) I Do It For You - Bryan Adams

I couldn’t miss this out.  My first album at the age of six was Waking Up The Neighbours by Bryan Adams.  This was the forming of my first crush.  We went to see Robin Hood Prince of Thieves at the old Phoenix Cinema in Kirkwall.  I don’t remember too much about the film itself, although each time I rewatch it vague emotions and memories filter through to me from the back of my mind, but I do remember queuing unlike you would ever see today in cinemas.  I never knew there was a caravan park at the back of the supermarket until we had to queue past it.  The song from Robin Hood was just unbelievable, somewhere in my still young heart it stirred a love of those ballads that were predominantly 80s, but it seemed like all the ballads had been leading up to this one.  We bought the single - on cassette as it was in those days, same as my album - and I fell totally in love with it.  And, yes, the rumours are true - I cried when its 16 week reign of the charts came to an end.

The 1812 Overture - Tchaikovsky

The 1812 Overture is like a musical mirror to my soul and personality.  It is quiet and remote in places then thunderous and loud in others.  I’m sure the Music Police will be after me for saying this, but I’m not sure that there is anything - at least of particular note - in the rest of the 1812 and, let’s face it, the overture is long enough in its entirety to count as an entire performance!  It’s a piece that I could listen to over and over again.  And, of course, it is necessary to feign being a conductor at key parts of it, rather like Tristan in All Creatures Great and Small!

Solveig’s Song - Grieg

Grieg is - or rather: was - one of the rarely acknowledged geniuses of the musical world.  With the exception of The Hall of the Mountain King which I used to associate entirely with Alton Towers, I didn’t really discover Grieg’s music until I was about eleven or twelve.  It was at a time when we had just moved away from the idyllic, rich island community of Orkney where I grew up down to the comparative hustle of a small Lincolnshire town.  We didn’t really belong there, after ten years of living with the elements as your neighbours having people kicking in your door or smashing windows was not exactly what we were used to.  How is this possibly relevant?  Simply because Grieg’s music had the power to transport us from that built-up, suffocating place and back to the open countryside where we always really belonged.  Each time I hear that broad violin lead in Solveig’s song it makes me think of a vast greenness of fields and woods, climbing up the sides of mountains and it’s always sunny there.  I think it creates a portal within me to the best times I remember, the sunniest days and the happiest hours with the haunting depth of intensity that the violin gives.

Tear Down These Walls - RunRig

RunRig’s Big Wheel tour in 1991 was a groundbreaking event.  For the first time ever a major rock group were running a tour of the Highlands and Islands.  I know the Beatles came and did gigs north of Inverness, but they were still in utter obscurity at the time.  I don’t begrudge the people who won’t head up here to perform but when RunRig announced their tour small communities were suddenly put on the map and since then several bands have played in the towns of the Scottish Highlands and Islands.  I knew RunRig’s music - I was intensely interested in music at the time they released this album - but it wasn’t until they re-emerged in my life ten years later that I really began to appreciate the lyrics and melodies of their music.  For those of you who know anything about the group you will know that Tear Down These Walls wasn’t even from The Big Wheel album, but I picked this song for two reasons.  Firstly, I love the words and what they mean - I don’t remember where I was when the Berlin Wall came down, but it will henceforth be associated with this song.  And secondly because Donnie Munro’s voice just melts me.  I went to see RunRig in Sheffield a few years ago.  It was a fantastic night, but I have to admit to an element of sadness that I never got to see the “classic six” performing together…

Where The Roses - Donnie Munro

…But then again, I am not sorry that Donnie Munro formed his own band with some fantastic musicians.  I consider some of them real friends, and I can never get to enough of their gigs.  This isn’t my favourite Donnie Munro song, but every time I listen to it I think of seeing them live - standing right beside the amp and jumping up and down to Morph’s guitar lead.  There is a quality of folksiness that seems fitting in a Highlander’s music.  All Donnie Munro’s music makes me smile, it brings happy memories of our first gig in Langholm, gin and Fanta in a teacup, and the utter excitement of being able to walk to one of the gigs, just five minutes from our house.  Gie it mince!

The Breaking of the Fellowship - Howard Shore

As those of you who have stumbled onto this page via my webpage or twitter will know, I love to write.  I write in all styles and genres - some more successfully than others, it must be said! - but at age 15 my writing took a sudden leap forward.  It’s not surprising that it was music that helped me to do this.  Around about the year 2000 epics were enjoying the start of a comeback.  While I utterly love films, particularly those of an epic nature, I began to listen to their soundtracks as pieces of music, not just as where they came in a film.  Since Michael Kamen’s score and Bryan Adams’ song for Robin Hood, I had been very aware of the significance of music in movies, but now - with the arrival of the Gladiator soundtrack - I started to find that the music come mean something specifically for me.  Because the soundtrack tapped into an element of my soul that I had not known of before, my writing did the same thing.  And, as they say, I haven’t looked back since!  The Breaking of the Fellowship from Howard Shore’s Lord of the Rings score is one of the most powerful pieces I have ever heard, and yes - this is one of those pieces I mentioned in last week’s blog as being more than capable of making me cry for no apparent reason at all.

All I Ask Of You - Andrew Lloyd Webber

This had to be here.  Last year a man called Peter Sanderson died.  He was one of those individuals who are like a beacon on life’s journey and his charity group - The Axholme Connexion - was undoubtedly, in part, responsible for encouraging my sisters and myself onto the stage in musical performance.  This was mine and Lydia’s song.  Naturally, I sang the lower part, Lydia’s voice more than comfortably covering Christine’s insanely high range.  Some years later we trundled down for a London adventure to watch Phantom at the west end which was absolutely spellbinding.  We were within reach of the orchestra pit and at times it really felt that the performance was put on just for us.  And the arrival of the film was spectacular in another way; full of glamour and an honest portrayal of how awfully seedy the opera house actually would have been.  But despite all its successes before and since, I can’t listen to Phantom without remembering those Connexion days, not least because Peter’s rendition of Music of the Night - even with the words painted on boards - featured lyrics that Charles Hart and Richard Stilgoe certainly never wrote!

So for those of you who persevered and managed to read all this - congratulations!  There is a portion of my soul through the music that I love and that has defined the person I am.  Just to complete the Desert Island Discs, as well as the Bible and Shakespeare my book would (after much consideration) be Dumas’ The Three Musketeers and my luxury would have the be an unending supply of writing equipment.  I’ve always loved the sea - I could be quite happy living on a desert island.

Well, less Desert Island Discs and more Biopic Through Music, but I hope I’ve proved my point: no chapter of our life is complete without music.

The Power of Music

Unlike Gene Hunt, I am not ashamed to admit to having an appreciation of Roger Whittaker’s music.  In his book about the period (Things Ain’t What They Used to Be) Philip Glenister talked about the significance of the choice of music in the series Life on Mars, but none of the songs have a bigger effect on me than Roger Whittaker’s “I Don‘t Believe in If Anymore”.  There is no wonder that the Life on Mars team thought long and hard about which music to use.  It is the music that transports you back in time, that draws you in and fuels your understanding of impossible events.  I wasn’t around in the seventies, but one of the great things about the internet is how easy it is to get hold of old music.  I’m a signed up member of Spotify which has virtually every song you could hope for and is running 90% of the time.  There is no quiet in this house!

I suppose it is a little like taking work home with me.

In his rather extravagant and self-indulgent opening to Twelfth Night, Shakespeare made one very powerful observation.  I’m not a Shakespeare fan.  I am notoriously bad at reading what I’m told, or even recommended, so having had his plays forced down my throat - not literally! - at school I have never been interested in reading any more of them.  But I really like his analogy of  music as being the food of love.

I’m certain that most of you who read this will know that music is my job.  I know, although I’d be lying if I said I understood, the power that music can have on people.  As I confessed in an earlier blog, I don’t cry at films.  I remember my first trip to the cinema to watch The Land Before Time (which dates me!) and sitting between Mum and Lydia.  They were crying and I don't know now whether I was watching the film or them.  Since then I’m not sure how often I’ve been unwilling more than unable to cry at films but - to reel back in from this enormous tangent! - I can hear a piece of music and just sit and weep.  It’s peculiar the affect it has on me, especially as they are very often pieces of music that I have scarcely any connection with at all.  Roger Whittaker's "I Don't Believe in If Anymore" is one such song, though I don't cry at it, it certainly transports me back to another time and place

There are certain things that open doors into the soul, to things that are so personal that we don’t understand them ourselves and I really believe that music is one such thing.  I think that is why so many people - in fact I’d stake my (limited!) wages on saying all people - love music.  It is no wonder that musicians for centuries have used their compositions as ways to reach and appeal to the masses.  Live Aid is the best example of that.  People unite behind music because it is one of the few things that all people share.  I have come across musicians of all ages, experience and ability, but there is one thing that they all share.  Each one knows that performing music is a two way understanding.  You give to the music and the music will definitely give back to you.

This blog is not meant to be an advertising push.  It all started because I got a song stuck in my head, sang it for two days and realised that I wasn’t singing it to make it sound nice, I was singing it because it made me think about special times.  I am thankful to have a job that can open people’s eyes, ears and minds to music and, in turn, music gives them a mirror to see themselves in.

Whatever your profession, and it may have nothing to do with music, there will be some way in your job that you can help a person.  It’s worth doing.  Because compassion, generosity and charity are - like music - doorways to the soul.  And, like those songs that can transport us to different times and stir up long buried emotions, when you touch a soul it will last forever.

Michelangelo (the best turtle), Anniversaries and Hoping More Than Planning

Last week I missed my blogging.  Things were in such a spin that my mind wouldn’t focus on anything and any attempt I made at writing a blog turned into either a droll little nothingness or a list of things achieved.  I’ve finished one such thing now, and with it has opened a great gap.

My script is done - or at least the first draft is.  It’s had the once through and nod of approval from one sister and I’m just waiting on the a second before I can begin sharing it with the world.  I’m actually quite pleased with it, and with Jude and Clem behind me to drive me forward, I’m hopeful that something will come of it.

Whilst pooling ideas for possible blogs the idea of anniversaries was mentioned.  It’s true that 2011 has been a landmark anniversary year for our family.  Clemency has just turned 18, Judith 21, the two “big” birthdays.  As well as those we celebrated the 25th anniversary of first setting foot on Orcadian soil in March and the 10th anniversary of our first return holiday.  A lot has definitely happened in that time.

But the big family anniversary is happening on 25th September.  This is the founding event, the one that moulded and created the six uniquely individuals that are my siblings and I.  It’s Mum’s and Dad’s wedding anniversary - 35 years.  Their’s is quite a sweet, romantic story, a short courting, a non-existent engagement and a long and happy marriage.  I hope when I fall in love it will be like that.

There is something about spontaneity.  Firstly it’s a fantastic word, although it is rather long considering it’s meaning, and secondly it gives a glow that all the planning in the world can’t light up.  As anyone who knows me will vouch for, I am immensely unorganised and as for planning ahead 5, 10, even 20 years, I'm lucky if I plan 5, 10 or 20 minutes.  When I was teaching in school I would meticulously plan amazingly structured lessons only to find that 5 minutes in I’d left the precision of the A4 sheet and engaged the pupils in a discussion or task that would actually interest them.

Nothing goes to plan.  Only those who have plans can fail to achieve them.  This is not to say that all planning is pointless, but that it should only be a guideline.  How can you sit and plan 10 years in the future when you don’t know what added variables and dependants there may be by then?  It took our parents just over 4 months to know they wanted to be together forever, neither of them planned it.  When we were little Lydia and I would plan every minute of Christmas day and each year we were so glad it never went according to plan, because every year it was better than we could ever have planned it to be.

Randomly, I want to talk about turtles.  No, not the turtles that I used to have to look for down every grate (of which Michelangelo was undoubtedly the best) but normal turtles.  I don’t remember for sure why I wanted to discuss them, but I know I did because Clemency made me a picture of one.  I suppose they are my perfect example, though.  As one of the longest living creatures on the planet, it does not hinder them not to plan what the future has in store for them.  Life can be lived quite happily without having regimented notes of dates and times to adhere to.

That being said, have your hopes, your ambitions and, most of all, your dreams.  Just don’t measure everything against time.  After all, the passage of time is only another example of limitation (as planning is) and it is such limits that stop our hopes and dreams becoming reality.

Today, make a dream come true.  Don’t plan it, just let it happen.

Spreading Ripples in Memory of Doctor Costello

I’m not a person who cries.  I never have been particularly, being able to count on one hand - no, one finger - the number of films that I’ve cried at.  But then neither am I a person prone to shows of emotion, being a sulker more than an angry person and a cautious individual when it comes to showing what I really feel about things.  Despite my hard as nails approach, though, this week has thrown up a very emotional situation.  The small harbour town of Home, and in fact the whole of Caithness has spent the last few days in a state of mild shock.  Part of the beauty of living in such a close knit area is that community still carries its old-fashioned meaning.  Tuesday night saw the dramatic and sudden death of a much respected member of the community, local teacher Doctor Kevin Costello.  I never met him, but he touched the lives of so many people, my family included, that I felt I knew him.

It is not my intention to write an entire blog on the passing of Doctor Costello, but his tragic demise illustrated one very real thing to me.  And it was this: One person may touch the life of a hundred people, but if each of them share it with a hundred more, as quickly as ripples on a lake that single person has impacted on the lives of 100,000 people.  Way back in June when I first began writing these blogs, I spoke about the importance of smiling and how much sunshine that simple gesture could give, and I still maintain that it is the most positive way to share something with the world.

As I am certain most of my readers will know, I come from a family of writers and artists.  One of my sisters runs an online publishing enterprise, another is busy putting her hard work onto the big screen to add an extra page to the history of her hero Charles Edward Stewart, another is poring over her new contract with an American publishing house, whilst the youngest is spending all her free time at the moment constructing her own world and cultures for her book.  A mention must also be made for my Mum who is a poet without compare - and here I will spare no apology for saying that I would sooner use a page of Carol Ann Duffy’s poetry to mop up spilled tea than to read it - and for my brother who, along with my Mum, writes the most amazing prose on observations of the natural world…

…Having finished that shameless plug for my family (of whom, I am excessively proud!), I’ll get to the point I wanted to make.  Not one of us writes for the money - in fact there is little money to make in much of the writing world now - each one of us writes for two reasons:

1) Entirely selfishly, it is something we all love to do.

2) We have a strong desire to bring enjoyment and pleasure to other people through our writings.

It matters to all of us that our work spreads those ripples across the face of the water, and touch the hearts and minds of the people who read our work.

The harsh reality of this world, as the premature death of Dr Costello proved, is that not one of us can know how long we will be here for.  It’s frightens me from time to time, but if I share with the world all the good that I have day by day, offer smiles to strangers on the street and support for those that need it, then my deeds will hopefully spread like ripples and eventually my kindness will touch the lives of hundreds of people.  It isn’t always easy, it must be said.  In town I come across plenty of people I have to remind myself to smile at, but it’s worth it in the end.

I think it should be the hope of every person on the planet to send out as many ripples of happiness across the water of the world as we can.  Doctor Costello may not have been known to many of you, but through me, I hope I am able to pass on the ripples of appreciation to you all and continue the kindness and goodness he started.  After all, isn’t that what we aim to do with memorial events?

So today offer a smile to someone, share a nicety or two, and do it in the memory of Doctor Costello who you probably never knew, but who’s ripples deserve to continue spreading even in his absence.

The Most Individual Individual, Nostalgia and Definition of Self

When I was leaving school, way back in the dark recesses of time, we were each given a yearbook.  It wasn’t one of those fancy shiny ones like my little sister got this year as she prepares to embark on the journey through university, but it is something that I have still kept and occasionally (when I’m having a massive overhaul of my hoarded goods!) it gets flicked through.  Simultaneously to the yearbook being formed we were voted certain ranks or character statements by our peers, things like “the next president” or “most likely to be eaten by a shark”.  I was very pleased with mine, and it is something that, as time goes on, I value more and more.  I was named “the most individual individual”.

I’ve never been one who saw the attraction of crowds, either to follow or be a part of.  I really am my own person.  With all the riots across the English cities people have been heard to say: “Well, X, Y and Z were doing it, so A, B and C thought they could join in.”  No individuality there.  In fact the whole thing stank of a mindlessness, like a group of lemmings swarming without any concept of control or reason.

[In fact, one reason for the lack of blogs has been because I did not want to commence a rant about the riots.  So I‘ll try and leave that there!]

It has been an eye-opener for all parties to see how even in this “civilised” age we still show all the signs of being pack animals.  Peer pressure can drive forward - or in this case: pull back - so many things, and in many respects it is still one of the biggest causes of division, fuelling those horrible -ist words, like ageist, sexist, racist etc

I’m glad I broke the mould.  I’m glad I stepped away from the rest and said that I did not want to do what everybody else did just because it is what everybody else did!  Today, I spent a fantastic dinner at the house of some of my friends.  It meant so much to me, firstly that they’d want to spend time with me, but secondly because if I had gone along with the rest of the crowd I would certainly not be doing what I am doing now.  And I love my job…  Have I mentioned that before?!  When I was little I had a million ideas of what I was going to be when I grew up - who doesn’t? - but never once did I think I would be where I am now and doing the job I now do.

Funny how things turn out, isn’t it?  I’ve just finished reading Philip Glenister’s “Things Ain’t What They Used To Be” (which is a brilliant book that I couldn’t put down without it having to be physically prised from my grip) and I can’t help but wonder, when he was talking about all these things that he did in his youth whether he ever thought he’d end up the massive cultural icon he is now.  I think somewhere along the way (way, way back when I was very small), I decided that making plans did not work.  It was fine to have ambition - admirable, even - but it was only by being my own person, an individual individual, that I would really find out what I should be doing in this world.

And what makes us individual?  That’s easy, it is how individuals view us.  I am not defined by how I view myself, nor by how I endeavour to portray myself.  Ultimately, I am defined by how other people relate to me.  Example: I am a teacher not because I qualified as one (although I did!) but because pupils come to me for lessons.  I am a daughter, a sister, a granddaughter, a teacher and a friend, amongst other things.  And it is only through you all, and your continued relating to me that I remain an individual individual, a title I hope never to give up!

A Script, A Star and A Sincere Thank You

It’s good to be back.

I’m not a very superstitious person, but I have to admit to being a little intrigued at the way, when I was due to post Blog 13, Arty (my trusty laptop) decided that I should no longer be allowed to access the internet.  I can only assume that if you are reading this I have won the battle of wills and - having restored factory settings - am now fully internet connected.

What a lot has happened since I last posted to you all!  Weeks have passed and we are now into August, both the peak of summer and the onset of its end.  Our holiday is looming large, and I’m looking forward to it immensely.  It is not so much that I need a break from work, I love my job, but that I am looking forward to a week of not having to keep times.

But one very good thing has come from the absence of internet on my laptop and that has been the prolific writing that I have sat up doing into the small hours.  For the first time ever I’m trying my hand at script writing, and thus far have achieved 31 pages.  I’m dubious about it all - I’m not sure that script writing is the sort of thing I should branch out into - but, as is so often the case, inspiration appeared and what ungrateful soul would refuse it.

My inspiration came in the form of a truly gifted actor, who inspired me to put pen to paper (or in this modern age: keypad to monitor), but it got me thinking about a few things.  Whilst, without doubt, in my head I can see no one but this individual portraying a character in my script, the real inspiration was not so much him as those people who the roles are based on.  So often people touch our lives without them even knowing it, and sometimes without us knowing it until days, weeks, months, even years later.  First impressions really are lasting, for in most circumstances they are the only impressions we get to make.  I hope that when I walk down the street - on the very rare occasions that I do walk down the street - the impression I give is true to the person I am.

Some many people endeavour to put across a certain image, often one that people would accept, perhaps to fit into the horrible bracket of normal.  All that really matters is that you are yourself, the best version of yourself.  I often wonder what people do see when I walk past them.  A smiling moron?  A determined walker?  One thing is certain, I always try to leave a positive impact on people.

To those people who have touched my life, I want to thank you.  I know most of you will never read this blog, but I guarantee that those of you who do read it are worthy of my thanks.  You are, in truth, my inspiration.  Some of you have driven me to create characters in your honour, people I do not even know, just your characteristics that have shown me that no two people are ever entirely alike and yet all are uniquely fascinating.  I only hope I have done you justice in my writings…

…Watch this space!

And as for superstition - lucky Number 13!  What can be better than a chance to say thank you to you all!

Appreciation - It's About Meaning What You Say

Weekends are not a time to relax here.  Instead they are a time to do things that you really want to do but don’t have chance to over the week.  I suppose they are relaxing in the sense that there is no real responsibility, but they are far from lazy.  This weekend was no exception.

I imagine you all know from my giddy, excited tweets and messages that this Saturday was the Caithness County Show.  It’s been 16 years since I last went to an agricultural show and it is fair to say that my expectations were very high.  I suppose to my readers who live in the cities and always have, this may seem more than a little quaint, after all leading horses is one thing but cows were never meant to be pulled around by thick cords.  But it is not about looks and glamour, it is, in essence, an appreciation of care and devotion to job that farmers and private handlers do.

Appreciation is one of those funny words that we use so often without much regard for how it is branded around and almost taking for granted that, as long as we say the right thing at the right time, we’ve done our bit for it.  That was a fairly long sentence, full of what I wanted to say in too few words.  Here’s a story…

Once upon a time there were two people - for the sake of showing no bias or discrimination I will not state whether they were male or female! - and each were walking through a corridor.  It was a thin corridor, dimly lit with no natural light and periodically intersected by doors, not those swing doors like they have in schools, and which, incidentally, are always bashing poor, unsuspecting children in the face, but those old fashioned type that have a handle and a catch.  One of these people was carrying a cup of coffee, the other was carrying a file full of paper, neither was of great encumbrance, but both were more than a little awkward.  The person with the coffee, being in front, opens the door and stands back to allow the person with the file through.  File (the abbreviated name, as The Person With The File was getting a bit tedious to type!) said thank you and continued down the hall at the same steady speed, neither in a rush nor overtly slowly.  Coffee (did the same thing there, in case you missed it!) followed on and when the next door was reached File opened it and passed through, letting the door close in front of Coffee.  Perhaps Coffee managed not to spill the drink all over themselves, perhaps Coffee just continued on down the corridor without saying a word.  That is not the point of the story.  The point is that, in spite of the fact that File said thank you, File had no appreciation at all for Coffee.  How do I know?  Because otherwise File would have held the second door for Coffee.

[DISCLAIMER: That is not a true story and the two characters were purely fictitious, although if you identify with File, it might be time to rethink your manners and priorities!]

It’s taken me a long time to realise that people very often do not look for appreciation in material terms, and quite frankly those that do will receive nothing from me.  In my job I’ve found that encouragement is the best form of appreciation.  It costs nothing but it shows that you really think someone is capable of achieving something.  Sure, I give out prizes to my younger pupils when they have achieved a target, but it is the fact that they do not look for gifts that makes them deserving of them.  It was one of those epiphany moments when all thinking seems pointless and you notice what you’ve known forever.  A kind and encouraging word costs nothing, but to the recipient it is priceless.  I can recall to mind countless times when individuals have said such deeply gratifying words that I do not think I shall ever forget them, and quite honestly they shall stick with me far longer than any exam percentage.

So here is my little challenge to you, my readers [I don’t know how many of you ever actually rise to my challenges but I like to think that a majority do] take nothing for granted, take no one for granted and most importantly of all - take no opportunity for granted.  Phrases like thank you are ingrained in many people but most don’t stop to think about saying it or even carrying through such a statement of appreciation, like File in the story.  Make sure that today - and hopefully henceforth! - you do.

John O'Groats and the Human Obsession with Labelling

Today the sun has been shining almost continuously in the seaside town of Home.  At times there has not been a cloud visible in the sky.  Arty poetical writers, myself included, tend to refer to a sky like this as “sapphire”, but actually it is only remotely like the colouring of the gemstone.  Really, it is much lighter and paler and so - note to self! - writers should find much better terminology to match such things.

It is an obsession of poets and authors to put labels on things, adjectives thrown in just for the sake of bumping up the word count or trying to describe to their readers exactly what the image in their head looks like.  The only problem is, if you label everything there can be little room for imagination.

Today we travelled off to John O’Groats.  I am assuming that this name means something to all of my readers as it attracts tourists from the world over.  This seasonally affected village is the epitome of labelling.  It’s the end of the road, the journey’s end.  Each year thousands of tourists meander up the thin, twisting and potentially dangerous A9 and A99 to visit and when they get there are confronted with a handful of shops and a little harbour.  In the sunshine, like today, it is all very picturesque with cyclists posing beneath the signpost and cars with registrations from all across Europe.  Last year, whilst busy on the advertising campaign with The Forty Five Project we met a very friendly Italian who very politely listened to us before it became apparent that he only knew about 5 words of English.

The tag attached to John O’Groats is perhaps the single biggest tourist attraction of the Caithness region and I can’t help but wonder what other labels those tourists attribute to my home.  To me it is certainly not the end of the road, because that sounds morbid and depressing!  Journey’s end is a little better as I’ve always felt that home is not so much where the heart is as where the feet lead.

This is the danger of labelling - no two people would ever necessarily use the same label for the same thing.  How many of those visitors to John O’Groats would even consider the lives of the inhabitants, whose labels would be entirely different to the tourists’, and their seasonal struggle during the winter months?  There is a wonderfully crafted line in a Chris De Burgh song that states:

“There’s nothing quite like an out of season holiday town in the rain.”

And all labels are gone.  I love these little Caithness harbour villages when the wind and swell drives the sea up and over the harbour walls.  Here, we get a crusting of salt on our car and windows if the wind is easterly.  And that brings a feeling beyond labels and adjectives.  That sharp taste of salt on the lips and stinging of the salty spray in the eyes brings back a cacophony (very good word I intend to use more often!) of feelings and emotions relating to happy childhood memories.  I would not like to spoil their memory by attaching tags to them.

It may be that, although we are - supposedly! - the most advanced creatures on the planet, we have to accept that some things are beyond words, are ineffable and should remain that way.  Words fail too often, and it is risky to pin too many emotions and hopes on how those words are received by others.  It is all very well sticking labels on scenery and objects, but I don’t think it is ever right to attach them to hopes and memories - trust me, when I’ve tried I sound like I’m really loopy!

So today, or tomorrow since some of you will be reading this at night, look for the beauty in the world around you, whether that is in a friendly smile or a glorious sunset, just be glad it’s there.  By all means try to describe it to someone else, but they won’t feel the same or even understand the way you feel about it.  That’s for you, and you alone.

And, incidentally, there is nothing wrong with arty, poetic language - just so long as it’s relevant and accurate and not just the same general idea - at least I hope there isn’t or my writing is knackered!

Be Happy You're You and Make Others Happy You Are Too!!

It’s taken me three days to recover from this weekend.  It’s not a complaint, I loved it.  Despite being anxious about commencing my second quarter century, it began with style - or at least “Stomper Style”.  Good things come with age - great chances and privileges like you never seem to get as a child.  I intend to smile each day of this year and find at least one good thing per day that I will tweet to the world, so that if you ever struggle to find something to make you smile, you can have a read of what helped turn up the corners of my mouth.

Saturday saw my youngest sister coming of age.  By way of celebration we trekked south to the Highland Wildlife Park.  We had visited once before and were bought sponsorship of the red pandas by Charles Edward, a very important puppet, for our Christmas present.  It didn’t disappoint.  The polar bear splashed down into the water as if on cue and my only real gripe was that the bison have been put behind an extra fence, making it impossible to talk to them.   I don’t believe in reincarnation, but if I did, I think I might have been a bovine in my last life.

The highlight for me was, once again, feeding time in the tiger compound, although maybe not so fun for staunch vegetarians.  I love big cats, they are just so spectacular and graceful.  I did feel rather annoyed at the manners of some of the people barging around while the tiger-keeper was giving his short talk, and in spite of the fact it was pointed out to me that if he could handle tigers - and in truth, he did look like he could give them a run for their money - he probably didn’t mind the rude, ignorant people for whom “excuse me” seemed to be an alien phrase.

Although I love the tigers, in actual fact, I am probably more like the red pandas with such a slow metabolism.  They are very cute, and performed perfectly for my little sister, coming down from the trees and eating just the other side of the glass from where we were standing.  Charles Edward, our own red panda, had to stay in the car.

Clemency loves animals, it was a perfect thing to do on her birthday and, armed with her new digital camera, she really loved the day.  Most of the people there were trailing children behind them, which struck me as something of a shame - does it mean that most adults feel they can no longer enjoy things like this or justify seeing these animals without having children to hide behind?  I really hope not, as each one of the seven of us were adults and we all had a fantastic day.

The wildcat kittens were so sweet, just like little balls of sleepy cat-ness.  It’s hoped that they might, one day, be released into the wild and Scotland’s own little tiger can excel in its natural habitat.  I am fully in support of animals in captivity like this.  It is the breeding programs of these places that might turn around the tide against the poaching to death of certain species.  Besides which, I would never have seen any of the creatures that are there if it were not for parks like this.

So Clemency, my youngest sister, turned 18 and became an adult.  It’s a very odd feeling, that both baby sisters I remember being born so clearly are now 21 and 18 respectively.  Looking back, I don’t know where the past 10 years have vanished off to.  Perhaps that is the fate of our busy world.  Writing these blogs is almost a way of keeping tabs on my life, so I can look back and remind myself of how much I have done and thought over the next section of my life.  I think it’s all about the journey we are making.  Clichéd I know, but I’m beginning to see it more and more.  It’s like doing a picture (or it would be if I had the patience to actually do a decent job on any of them!), each year adds extra detail.

And so, as Sunday dawned, I added a 26th detail to the picture of my life’s journey…

I spent it as I wish I could all my birthdays, by the seaside, playing on the sand, surrounded by my family.  I built castles and played volleyball and behaved like I was dictated more by my character and less by my age.  Being comfortable with who you are is more important than fitting in to society’s mould.  I got fried in the sun and turned a little bit like a lobster, but I had so much fun picnicking and paddling it really didn't matter.

I’m so glad that we live in Caithness - Scotland’s undiscovered gem.  On Monday, I returned to Orkney for a day, reminiscing those formative ten years of my life before we headed south.  For echoes of childhood and memories of precious times and friends, I could not love a place more than Orkney, but for the sheer sense of belonging and a love of the sandy beaches and high rising cliffs, of captivating smells of wild flower perfume, the song that I hear day-in-day-out of birds more varied in size and species than anywhere else I’ve ever been, but most of all for giving me my niche: I love Caithness just as much.

…Although, my only criticism of the Highland Wildlife Park was that it took 4 hours to travel to, but if that’s my only complaint against Caithness that’s not so bad.

The Rocky Paths of the Rites of Passage

I’m reaching a turning point in my life, maybe not a very big one, but one that is inspiring me to re-evaluate what I am doing in the grand scheme of things.  I’ve never been much of a planner, though.  My idea of thinking ahead for the long term involves realising that the kettle needs switching on to make a cup of tea - how quintessentially British of me!  I don’t believe in the ten, five or even one year plan, but meet obstacles and share adventures as and when they head my way.  I’ve finished my first quarter century and - as of Sunday when I shall be 26 - shall be ploughing on with my striving to reach a half century.  I love life, I don’t believe there is a single soul in the world who loves life more than me, and now, as I reach this landmark in my life, I am looking at how to live the life that I love so much.

(Incidentally, I am so glad that I wrote that last line instead of saying it, because I believe it would prove to be a bit of a tongue twister!)

I inwardly squirm when I hear the phrase “rites of passage” being brandished around.  Most people use it to span any event or even substitute the word event for it.  But I do believe that I am now standing before one, hovering on the cusp and waiting to see which fork of road I am going to pick.  I am actually quite happy at the stage I’m at in my life now, content but not without hopes and ambitions.

I was listening to the Bryan Adams song “Native Son” earlier and I was contemplating the peculiar feeling of immense loss and hope that both sing through to me in this song - he probably felt it had totally different undertones but unique understanding is part of the beauty of art.  In turn the song made me think of the film “Stand By Me”.  If you haven’t seen this film then stop reading this blog and sit down and watch it.  It is the definitive film of transition and is so brilliantly crafted, although it leaves me with a peculiar feeling of reality as though it somehow wakes you up to the world around you and the need to get things done in it.

As much as I would love to stay trapped in this moment for the rest of my life, time is still hurrying on, and as a slave to it, I have to follow.  In the past - and even up until sitting here writing this blog at an insanely early time at the beginning of July, if I’m totally honest - I hated the idea of having to conform to the restrictions of time, but now it is a challenge.  I don’t have to change myself to grow older, I just have to learn more and grow in wisdom, that’s what it is all about.  I shall still be flying kites on the beach, collecting shells, watching children’s films and playing games.  When I think of all the people I know - and in my job that covers a decent age range - those that are happiest are the ones who have learnt how to hold on to their inner child.  It is not about combing the town on a Friday or Saturday night, it’s about seeking and seeing adventure when it comes your way.

From a very early age I’ve had dreams of doing exciting things - visiting Norway, for one - now that I’m old enough to do them the question is no longer “Can I do them?” it is “Dare I do them?”.  At the moment the answer is a resounding: no, but as of Sunday things might be different.

26 - I’ve decided - is the age of taking the bull by the horns, let’s see where it leads!