Monday, 12 December 2011


This was written in September last year. It's more true now, so I'm posting it again.

I want to stand.

To replace reaction with action

To move without trigger, my fuse already lit

I want to stop knowing things

And start knowing something

My present likes the drifting

But my future creaks and rots

I want to stand

I want to make absurd, ridiculous promises

And keep them

And make you amazing, like I should be

I want to feel what you feel

And take up arms for it

Your Protector

I want to stand

I want to tell you I'm worth more than what you see

I want to tell myself I'm worth more than what I see

I want to tell you you're worth more than what I see

I want to know most things have more value than I could ever imagine

Stop sampling imitations of real things

And eat them whole

And then lick the sugar off my lips

And then bake them in my oven

And give them away, anonymously

In little scarlet parcels

I want to dance on the wind, not drift on the breeze

Be amazing enough that you want all of me

Be beautiful enough that I want all of you

But what I want and what I do are so separate

That all I can do is sit down

And think about how separate they are

And so I'm sitting on my dreams, carried by the ebb and flow of familiarity

Thinking the aimless wandering is who I am, what I need, what you need

That I'm finding myself,

When really, I'm getting even more lost

When really, I just need to stand.

Wednesday, 2 March 2011

Two Significant Discoveries

Today, I made two significant discoveries.

1. Sometimes I really, really hate shopping. In fact most of the time. But I don't realize until I'm there.

I was talking to myself, almost delirious with frustration and pain on Oxford Street today. Looking around the forest of clothes, I realized I liked and wanted to wear nothing around me. It was all awful. And if on the off-chance it wasn't, it either was at second glance, or was only just ambling towards sort-of-okay. So it struck me. I don't actually like shopping. Sure, the nice clothes when they are actually found and it's satisfying, but the process is soul-numbing and peppered with tourist's elbows especially in Central London. The thing is, I get excited about going shopping, like I think it will be different from almost every single time I have developed a black mood whilst trudging out of American Apparel. It didn't even start well. I was taking some dungarees ( I know, shut up, they're cool) back to a shop in Camden, as they had not fit. Now I HATE changing rooms. I just generally can't be arsed, especially in the winter months, to peel off the layers, so I didn't try them on when I purchased them, and when I did, they stayed put before my bum. So here I was, taking them back, asking for an exchange, blah. I still really want dungarees ( I know, shut up, they're cool) so I get all available dungarees off the rail, and muster enough courage to try them on. Long story short, they did not fit. None of them. All 5. And they weren't even close. Anguish, fire and a blanket of despondence all entered my life together, holding hands. Another long story short, the shop didn't do refunds. So I traipsed around all the awful clothes contemplating how awful they were, mumbling to myself how awful they were, my face betraying how awful they were in the hope something would take my fancy. I settled for a massive recycled denim bag ( which was actually pretty nice, can't lie ) And an AWFUL ring, just to get it up to £30. I'm looking at the ring now. It wasn't worth a tenner. It's crap :(

And it carried on that way for a while through Topshop, Zara, Mango and Bershka along with a multitude of Vintage Shops, my persona getting stormier, the day getting colder, and my spirit getting droopier. I was thirsty too that didn't help, so I went to Starbucks which I thought was above Next, but was actually above New Look, adding to my urge to start the tears. I began to wonder as my mind idle floated over the state of my afternoon how I has still managed to spend around £100. I hastily tried to pry my mind away and stop the imminent onslaught of further agony. And here Discover Two occured.

2. All of the above doesn't matter, well it does a bit, but not in the Grand Scheme Of Things.

As I was standing, impatiently waiting for my Mango and Passion Fruit Smoothie, heart weighty, eyelids weighty, I happened upon a Comments Book. You know, where people write their thoughts about how truly amazing the Latte and the service they just had were. Turned first page. Blank. Turned second page. Oh, Blank. Turned again, anticipating blank- but, ho! No! And this is what it read, paraphrased because I can't remember word for word.

'Hi! Thank you so much for the coffee here! We have just been evacuated from Cairo, where we weren't able to get stuff like this recently!'

And that was it. Boom. And I felt a little bit like a dick.


(I am going to change my shopping strategy though)

Thursday, 10 February 2011

Oyster Card

I have oyster-card neurosis. For those of you non-Londoners who may jump to the logical conclusion that I have problems related to a card that acquires points when you purchase shelled sea-food, your conclusion is incorrect. The Oyster Card is a nifty piece of plastic that allows you to travel around the capital and its outskirts at a lower rate and with the clever pro that you can simply top it up pay-as-you-go or buy season tickets. I have a student one, gets me a third off season tickets. Happy days. But back to my problem. A problem shared is a problem halved.

I always think I will lose it, like it has a mind of its own and will surreptiously creep away from me as I glance over the Evening Standard, so I take many measures to make sure it can never be lost. I am so very, very paranoid about it that sometimes, I hold the card tightly in my hand, glancing down at it every few minutes just to check it hasn’t morphed into my student ID or another card of some variety. If it is in my pockets I frantically re-assess its whereabouts from time to time along my journey, and when finally get my fingers round it, mind and body in nervous turmoil, all my fears disappear and the world is bright and okay again. I feel a pang of sheer distilled fear when I am nearing my stop on the tube, if the card is not in the first place I look I assume I could have lost it and start a near cavity search. And so sometimes I keep it in my glove (which I like, because when going through barriers or getting on a bus, it makes me feel like I have the Force), that way my hand can always feel the hard, reassuring smoothness of the plastic and I don’t have to have a heart attack every time I move.

So some soul answer this. Why have I, of all people, lost it for the third time this year? Why, as the heavy weight of realization quickly settled in my stomach and the rain smiled as it ruined my suede shoes did it not just appear after my rigorous system of checking my person, so I could be free of the awful sick feeling that had arrived. Why me? After my nerves are already tied in all kinds of knots, why does the world have to hit me hard of the nose with the one thing I spend hours trying to prevent?

Sods Law, Sods Law.

I’ll get over it. I guess I have to be more careful…

Saturday, 5 February 2011

I have another Blog

As of today, I have another Blog.

It's like a creative outlet I guess, whereas this is just an outlook on the world I inhabit. Well, actually so is tearsoverspiltmilk. I should have thought about what I was going to type before I typed this, really.

So, um, tearsoverspiltmilk is also an outlook on the world and all the spheres that word encompasses, just in a different sense to courageattheteaparty...More poemsy, artsy, prosey? Just go look if you want, there's a post up already.


Thursday, 20 January 2011

Like a G6

I'm going to post this on the Facebook later. I think that when one feels like a G6 it is worthy for the blog also though. Even if the G-like feeling was momentary and not everlasting.

Monday, 17 January 2011

Hand Cream.

Today, it was statistically the most depressing day of the year and the weather lived up to that. I should have gone to the library, but didn't. And lost my oyster for 3 hours. I had to go to work because I couldn't get cover, when I could have been at the theatre, salsa dancing or at the Barbican Cinema. The tube was severely delayed on all three lines I had the choice of using. So I was late for the shift I did't want to be at anyway. Sad times meant a sad face. Then I used this cream that said on the tube that it 'smelled life a fragrant flower garden after it has rained'. It actually did. All the nasties of my day got cancelled out. It really is the small things.

Tuesday, 11 January 2011

Happy Belated New Year

I'm not making/I didn't make a New Year's resolution. Why do that when you can make a New Day resolution? I literally just though of that while hoping something would come to me for this Blog.

A lot easier to stick by, so you feel better about yourself if you do last the day without that fag or not eating a whole page of chocolate digestives. Exciting too, you can set a new challenge for yourself every day. And by the end of there year you won't have one big fat fail of a failed resolution and the concealed dread of making another big fat fail, you'll have 365 successes under your belt (or the best part of 365) and ready to add more small goals to your tally.

I am actually busting with pride at this very good idea, I can't lie.

Tomorrow, my New Day's Resolution is going to leave on time. Maybe the next day it should be exercising modesty haha. What's yours?

Go get 'em tigers.