Well I reall feel like I've been through the mixer lately and now I'm trying my best to sort myself out. After a few shitty weeks of lonely travelling, cultural differences, idiot humans, unsafe appartments, ridiculous hick towns and utterly SELFISH BASTARDS I am now home!!!
And what have I learned?
- Don't trust people you don't know (even when they seem delightfully helpful and the start)
- Don't believe anything people say over a phone call.
- Never expect companies to help you once they've had you're money from you (thats all they were after in the first place!)
- Don't think people are your friends when you've only just met them, and don't expect them not to bitch about you behind you're back.
- Home is always more beautiful when you're away from it (especially when your in an ugly place, alone.)
As a result I'm choosing to take up this blog again with full force to exorcise my demons and improve my writing skills.
Plus when I'm a mega-rich award-winning author I'll buy the entirety of Mackinaw City and bulldoze the pile of shit to the ground for my own simple enjoyment!! Watch your back Shirt Tales Inc, you vile cretins!
Monday, 11 July 2011
Saturday, 14 May 2011
Such a beautiful song and performance . . .
Gotta hand it to Glee to give you chills . . .
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNcSZxR1ztw
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNcSZxR1ztw
Tuesday, 12 October 2010
A Ghost Story.
Lavender.
She hadn’t been sleeping well for days now. The light on the landing had become a residual comfort as it spilled into her bedroom with resolute assurance. This was not normal for Sarah, being unable to sleep in the dark. Sleep was easy; a well deserved break from her busy life but of late she had begun to feel a slight sense of foreboding when reaching to turn out the light and within a few days she ceased in this act completely. The landing light was her new best friend.
She had no explanation as to why she had gained this sudden trouble in achieving the sweet solitude she was usually accustomed. Up until this blip she had always been somewhat of a night owl, relishing the silence and dreamlike state the side of the world in which she occupied seemed to inhabit once everyone’s curtains were closed and they were tucked up beneath their cosy covers of a thousand quilts. The night time allowed her to break away from who she was now and return to who she had been when she was not yet sixteen. Curtains drawn, television on low, glass in hand and head gliding back on floral pillows her mother thought would give her flat a more grown up style. Her thoughts would always slip right back to the days of giggling at the back of Year 10 English or running through the football field at lunchtime to the shaded place beneath the trees where no teachers would ever look. Her life was a million miles away now though; wife, mother and part time music teacher she could barely remember who she had once been while continuously on the go. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes she missed this care free girl and her sleep deprivation made her long for her memory more than ever before.
***
As she closed her car door with a click and walked up to the old house with her son Sam in arm, she pondered how wealthy families found it easy to pay for the up keep of such grand homes. This house was no exception, gigantic in size and swelling with the wealth of a different time it leered over its country surroundings with austere harshness. It had a cruel beauty that seemed to make everyone around act quietly. The reception was desolate apart from a single lonely receptionist who could barley muster a smile in Sarah’s direction and she couldn’t help but feel as though the receptionist wanted her to leave so she wouldn’t have to speak to her.
“Erm, hi . . . I have a room booked under the name Johnson, Sarah Johnson?” she said in hushed tones.
“Hmm? Oh yes, now let me see, Johnson . . . yes there you are. Not that it’s hard to find you, you’re our only guest tonight.” The receptionist said, seeming to have warmed up slightly.
“Really? You must have many rooms in a house so big?”
“Fifteen in total. There was supposed to be a old retired couple staying on tonight as well but they decided to skip out early so you and your little boy will be the only one’s we’ll see for breakfast in the morning. Feel free to order whatever you like, I’ll have to the time to cook it!” she said with a little snort of laughter, her glasses sliding a little down her nose.
“Oh, so you’re the cook as well as the receptionist?” said Sarah feeling pleased that her first impression of the receptionist had been altered somewhat.
“I’m the caretaker, cleaner, housekeeper, you name in round here! We don’t get as many guests as you might think seen as we’re off the beaten track so one member of staff can usually handle all the main duties the owner finds.” She pushed her glasses up her nose with her index finger and reached round to extract a key from an open box screwed to the wall containing all the room keys.
“Here you go Mrs Johnson, it’s just up the stairs and the first door on the right. Enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you. I’ll be thrilled if I can manage to get some sound sleep tonight, I haven’t slept well for days.” Sarah wondered straight after she’d finished her sentence why she had chosen to share this with the receptionist, maybe it was how her face had become so much friendlier now she was up close or maybe it was because she was the only other person here to speak to at all.
“Oh well, you should try lavender, it’s wonderful for aiding a restful night’s sleep.” The receptionist said looking down at Sam and smiling. “Bet he’ll do his best to keep you up though?”
“Well, actually he’s a very good baby. Quite a heavy sleeper and he tends to sleep straight through so here’s hoping he will tonight! Anyway, I think I’ll see myself up.”
She turned with Sam in one arm and her overnight bag in the other and headed up the stairs until she reached the first door on the right, which had the number one scrawled upon it. Next to it hung an old painting of a young woman in a lilac dress and a purple flower in her hair. Underneath the plaque read: ‘Selena Comings – Lady of the House, 1898.’ Inside the room was clean and bright and the king-size bed that took pride of place in the room looked incredibly inviting. A pristine white cot stood adjacent and two small mints lay on the fluffy white pillows of the bed. Sarah thought her best plan of action would be to tire herself and Sam out by going for a walk through the house’s grounds before coming back here and getting an early night. It was her husband, Martin, who had suggested she take the night away while he was at his conference so she could try and get a solid night’s sleep. He thought she might do better in different surrounding and Sarah couldn’t see how she could not sleep well in this room.
***
After returning from their long walk, which had only ended by the somewhat sudden cover of darkness, they were greeted by the deep and potent scent of lavender as they entered the bedroom. Looking around she found a large sprig of lavender tied with a white ribbon lying upon her pillow and Sarah felt a warm sense of gratitude at considering how the receptionist must have gone into the gardens to cut some fresh lavender to help her sleep. She really could not believe the first impression she had had of her now.
She reached for the sprig and brought it to her nose with a long intake of breath. The scent was almost overpowering in its freshness and she slid it under her pillow and then proceeded to get herself and her son ready for bed.
***
After a little tossing and turning it appeared that the lavender had worked its magic and Sarah had drifted into a deep and fierce sleep. Her breathing was deep and relaxed and her son lay beside her in the cot, his own breathing in unison with his mother’s. The window on the far left of the room was slightly ajar and a quiet but high pitched whistling could be heard through the crack. The net curtains billowed on occasion and let in a glimmer on moonlight that shone briefly upon the carpet before being snatched away again. Throughout the house doors and stairs creaked. A rat scuttled across the attic floor as if startled and the distant sound of moving bedsprings could be heard from a far off part of the house.
Sarah turned over in her own bed facing away from the window and her breathing became shallower as though she had caught a sudden draft of cold. She was dreaming. Dreaming of a young woman with a beautiful face and long, dark curls for hair which housed a single purple flower. She sat on a velvet chair so pale it was as if she had been handcrafted in watercolour. The colour of her dress was so faint she could barely make it out. What was it? A dull sound of scratching could be heard miles away, outside. She felt the air change as the beautiful woman began to rise to her feet. She towered over her in statuesque refinement, her dress bellowing like the net curtains. No, through the net curtains. No, how could that be? One hand on the arm of the velvet chair and one on the – what? Sarah turned back over in her sleep as the woman of such grand beauty clasped her hand to the frame of the window outside and scratched lightly so as to not wake the child. The hand slithered through the open crack and worked the handle of the next much larger window.
With concrete determination she silently flung open the other window and with a satisfied smile on her pure looking face she slipped like a shadow into the bedroom and glided across the floor to the bed, but not before stealing a glance into the pristine white cot. The cot that should have been home to so many babies and yet never was. Well, now finally it would be, for all eternity.
Sarah began to cough lightly as the figure in the (what was it, blue? Lilac?) dress drew nearer to her as she lay on the bed made for two. Her eyes flickered beneath their lids as the beauty’s youthful hands grew ever closer, closer to her throat then . . . stop. Draw back, then one hand dropped to the mattress and felt beside where its victim lay – dreaming. Still dreaming? Under the pillow the hand slid, fluid as water, until it froze with shocking certainty.
***
When the only guests had not come down for breakfast the next morning the receptionist feared that they must have left very early without paying because they were so dissatisfied. She could hardly be surprised, this had happened quite a lot of late. So she decided, after waiting till after lunchtime on the off chance the young woman and her son were sleeping in late, to go up to room one and perform her role as housekeeper.
She knocked on the door in a perfunctory manner and when no answer came she tried the handle. Locked. Using the skeleton key she dubiously turned the lock and the door creaked open slowly to reveal the before her.
Lying in the king-size bed made for two lay her rigid and ice cold body. Her bright eyes wide open in shock and anger and protruding from her mouth could be seen a small purple flower with white ribbon dangling down her chin.
The pristine white cot that stood next to her lay empty.
She hadn’t been sleeping well for days now. The light on the landing had become a residual comfort as it spilled into her bedroom with resolute assurance. This was not normal for Sarah, being unable to sleep in the dark. Sleep was easy; a well deserved break from her busy life but of late she had begun to feel a slight sense of foreboding when reaching to turn out the light and within a few days she ceased in this act completely. The landing light was her new best friend.
She had no explanation as to why she had gained this sudden trouble in achieving the sweet solitude she was usually accustomed. Up until this blip she had always been somewhat of a night owl, relishing the silence and dreamlike state the side of the world in which she occupied seemed to inhabit once everyone’s curtains were closed and they were tucked up beneath their cosy covers of a thousand quilts. The night time allowed her to break away from who she was now and return to who she had been when she was not yet sixteen. Curtains drawn, television on low, glass in hand and head gliding back on floral pillows her mother thought would give her flat a more grown up style. Her thoughts would always slip right back to the days of giggling at the back of Year 10 English or running through the football field at lunchtime to the shaded place beneath the trees where no teachers would ever look. Her life was a million miles away now though; wife, mother and part time music teacher she could barely remember who she had once been while continuously on the go. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes she missed this care free girl and her sleep deprivation made her long for her memory more than ever before.
***
As she closed her car door with a click and walked up to the old house with her son Sam in arm, she pondered how wealthy families found it easy to pay for the up keep of such grand homes. This house was no exception, gigantic in size and swelling with the wealth of a different time it leered over its country surroundings with austere harshness. It had a cruel beauty that seemed to make everyone around act quietly. The reception was desolate apart from a single lonely receptionist who could barley muster a smile in Sarah’s direction and she couldn’t help but feel as though the receptionist wanted her to leave so she wouldn’t have to speak to her.
“Erm, hi . . . I have a room booked under the name Johnson, Sarah Johnson?” she said in hushed tones.
“Hmm? Oh yes, now let me see, Johnson . . . yes there you are. Not that it’s hard to find you, you’re our only guest tonight.” The receptionist said, seeming to have warmed up slightly.
“Really? You must have many rooms in a house so big?”
“Fifteen in total. There was supposed to be a old retired couple staying on tonight as well but they decided to skip out early so you and your little boy will be the only one’s we’ll see for breakfast in the morning. Feel free to order whatever you like, I’ll have to the time to cook it!” she said with a little snort of laughter, her glasses sliding a little down her nose.
“Oh, so you’re the cook as well as the receptionist?” said Sarah feeling pleased that her first impression of the receptionist had been altered somewhat.
“I’m the caretaker, cleaner, housekeeper, you name in round here! We don’t get as many guests as you might think seen as we’re off the beaten track so one member of staff can usually handle all the main duties the owner finds.” She pushed her glasses up her nose with her index finger and reached round to extract a key from an open box screwed to the wall containing all the room keys.
“Here you go Mrs Johnson, it’s just up the stairs and the first door on the right. Enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you. I’ll be thrilled if I can manage to get some sound sleep tonight, I haven’t slept well for days.” Sarah wondered straight after she’d finished her sentence why she had chosen to share this with the receptionist, maybe it was how her face had become so much friendlier now she was up close or maybe it was because she was the only other person here to speak to at all.
“Oh well, you should try lavender, it’s wonderful for aiding a restful night’s sleep.” The receptionist said looking down at Sam and smiling. “Bet he’ll do his best to keep you up though?”
“Well, actually he’s a very good baby. Quite a heavy sleeper and he tends to sleep straight through so here’s hoping he will tonight! Anyway, I think I’ll see myself up.”
She turned with Sam in one arm and her overnight bag in the other and headed up the stairs until she reached the first door on the right, which had the number one scrawled upon it. Next to it hung an old painting of a young woman in a lilac dress and a purple flower in her hair. Underneath the plaque read: ‘Selena Comings – Lady of the House, 1898.’ Inside the room was clean and bright and the king-size bed that took pride of place in the room looked incredibly inviting. A pristine white cot stood adjacent and two small mints lay on the fluffy white pillows of the bed. Sarah thought her best plan of action would be to tire herself and Sam out by going for a walk through the house’s grounds before coming back here and getting an early night. It was her husband, Martin, who had suggested she take the night away while he was at his conference so she could try and get a solid night’s sleep. He thought she might do better in different surrounding and Sarah couldn’t see how she could not sleep well in this room.
***
After returning from their long walk, which had only ended by the somewhat sudden cover of darkness, they were greeted by the deep and potent scent of lavender as they entered the bedroom. Looking around she found a large sprig of lavender tied with a white ribbon lying upon her pillow and Sarah felt a warm sense of gratitude at considering how the receptionist must have gone into the gardens to cut some fresh lavender to help her sleep. She really could not believe the first impression she had had of her now.
She reached for the sprig and brought it to her nose with a long intake of breath. The scent was almost overpowering in its freshness and she slid it under her pillow and then proceeded to get herself and her son ready for bed.
***
After a little tossing and turning it appeared that the lavender had worked its magic and Sarah had drifted into a deep and fierce sleep. Her breathing was deep and relaxed and her son lay beside her in the cot, his own breathing in unison with his mother’s. The window on the far left of the room was slightly ajar and a quiet but high pitched whistling could be heard through the crack. The net curtains billowed on occasion and let in a glimmer on moonlight that shone briefly upon the carpet before being snatched away again. Throughout the house doors and stairs creaked. A rat scuttled across the attic floor as if startled and the distant sound of moving bedsprings could be heard from a far off part of the house.
Sarah turned over in her own bed facing away from the window and her breathing became shallower as though she had caught a sudden draft of cold. She was dreaming. Dreaming of a young woman with a beautiful face and long, dark curls for hair which housed a single purple flower. She sat on a velvet chair so pale it was as if she had been handcrafted in watercolour. The colour of her dress was so faint she could barely make it out. What was it? A dull sound of scratching could be heard miles away, outside. She felt the air change as the beautiful woman began to rise to her feet. She towered over her in statuesque refinement, her dress bellowing like the net curtains. No, through the net curtains. No, how could that be? One hand on the arm of the velvet chair and one on the – what? Sarah turned back over in her sleep as the woman of such grand beauty clasped her hand to the frame of the window outside and scratched lightly so as to not wake the child. The hand slithered through the open crack and worked the handle of the next much larger window.
With concrete determination she silently flung open the other window and with a satisfied smile on her pure looking face she slipped like a shadow into the bedroom and glided across the floor to the bed, but not before stealing a glance into the pristine white cot. The cot that should have been home to so many babies and yet never was. Well, now finally it would be, for all eternity.
Sarah began to cough lightly as the figure in the (what was it, blue? Lilac?) dress drew nearer to her as she lay on the bed made for two. Her eyes flickered beneath their lids as the beauty’s youthful hands grew ever closer, closer to her throat then . . . stop. Draw back, then one hand dropped to the mattress and felt beside where its victim lay – dreaming. Still dreaming? Under the pillow the hand slid, fluid as water, until it froze with shocking certainty.
***
When the only guests had not come down for breakfast the next morning the receptionist feared that they must have left very early without paying because they were so dissatisfied. She could hardly be surprised, this had happened quite a lot of late. So she decided, after waiting till after lunchtime on the off chance the young woman and her son were sleeping in late, to go up to room one and perform her role as housekeeper.
She knocked on the door in a perfunctory manner and when no answer came she tried the handle. Locked. Using the skeleton key she dubiously turned the lock and the door creaked open slowly to reveal the before her.
Lying in the king-size bed made for two lay her rigid and ice cold body. Her bright eyes wide open in shock and anger and protruding from her mouth could be seen a small purple flower with white ribbon dangling down her chin.
The pristine white cot that stood next to her lay empty.
Wednesday, 22 September 2010
Madcap 50's glam and glorious melodies . . .
On a much lighter note my Paloma Faith cd arrived in the post today and I feel the need to profess my love for her! She has a truely amazing voice, is a fierce campaigner for bringing 50's glam back to the mainstream and she's also as mad as a box of frogs! I adore her and encourage all of you to buy her album Do you want the truth or something beautiful?, or at least listen to some of her songs on YouTube. Smoke and Mirrors and Stargazer are particular delights. Go forth and purchase bloggers . . .
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3TkmriXKoVc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8H4d_0yw6g
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3TkmriXKoVc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8H4d_0yw6g
Ever so evil enticement!
So, I open a letter from my bank today and they have decided to inform me that they have taken the liberty to 'reserve' me a loan for £13,000, if I would like to accept it? Now, I know this is junk but it is also a standard that the company employ, which basically means trying to ensnare not so well off people into accepting this generous offer so that maybe they can leave the terribly underpaid and under appreciated jobs they spend their days slaving away at and attempt to fulfill their modest dreams. These dreams are even stated within this oh so very kindly sounding letter. We understand you the company say. We know what its like. Hell they do! These life-ruining decisions are made by immensely rich stuffed shirts who, ironically, have never needed to borrow money in the entirety of their lives!
This also transfers over to the likes of University's and, lets never forget, the Government who seem determined to make decisions on the basis that people choose to be in the positions their in so indeed deserve what they have to put up with. The high and mighty attitude of these blessed few is responsible for keeping the working class in their place, exactly bellow them! Causing continuous debit is another way to keep the poor poor, and then they have the audacity to blame you for your poor choices once they realise you can't pay them back!
But of course, they knew that already didn't they? I mean their willing to give £13,000 to a full time student with over £3,000 in tuition fee costs and is only contracted to earn £18 a week. Well, they would take that for a start so I would have no money to live on, then they would force me to sell the car I drive, and I'm guessing they still wouldn't be happy even if they took the clothes off my back! Funny isn't it how these friendly companies can suddenly turn into monsters seemingly overnight?
In short, these banks, companies, Universities etc should not be allowed through (morally bankrupt) Government policy to send out deliciously enticing letters to members of the public who are too beaten down by The Man to fight back anymore.
Bastards.
P.S. I shall be burning my letter.
This also transfers over to the likes of University's and, lets never forget, the Government who seem determined to make decisions on the basis that people choose to be in the positions their in so indeed deserve what they have to put up with. The high and mighty attitude of these blessed few is responsible for keeping the working class in their place, exactly bellow them! Causing continuous debit is another way to keep the poor poor, and then they have the audacity to blame you for your poor choices once they realise you can't pay them back!
But of course, they knew that already didn't they? I mean their willing to give £13,000 to a full time student with over £3,000 in tuition fee costs and is only contracted to earn £18 a week. Well, they would take that for a start so I would have no money to live on, then they would force me to sell the car I drive, and I'm guessing they still wouldn't be happy even if they took the clothes off my back! Funny isn't it how these friendly companies can suddenly turn into monsters seemingly overnight?
In short, these banks, companies, Universities etc should not be allowed through (morally bankrupt) Government policy to send out deliciously enticing letters to members of the public who are too beaten down by The Man to fight back anymore.
Bastards.
P.S. I shall be burning my letter.
Wednesday, 3 March 2010
Friday, 26 February 2010
The Lovely Bones Verdict
Okay, so went or go see The Lovely Bones on Wednesday and yes, it was as brilliant as I'd speculated. It was so beautifully sad that I now really want to read the book. If the book's better than the film (which they almost always are, although this may well be an exception) then it's a marvelous read. Just to bad I can't read it yet becuase I'm still buried under all my books from the library. Why do I never think about how much reading I will have to do when I pick my modules? Will have to wait until the summer then, but that won't stop me ordering it off Amazon right now!
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