Right, I'm going to have to do this quickly as I'm at work and have to actually do school related stuff very soon. I've been in a really bad mood this week and had a million and one things to sort out and do. Most of this revolves around magazine work because I figured out the other day that I need to do all my features up to the October issue before I go to Australia on August 11th. That's right ladies and gents, you read that right, my little jaunt to Aussie Land is back on thanks to some very generous parents on both sides of the planet! So it seems I will get to see my platypus after all. Hurrah!
As I said though, it means I have a million and one things to do before then and there's not a lot of time to do it in, but I'm one of those people that can work well under pressure. However, I guess it means that keeping you updated on my personal triumphs, pet hates and amazing world observations may have to take a back seat, or be presented to you in quick note form like this. It's definitely going to be a case of quantity over quality, but sometimes a lot of something can be good...like chocolate, or orgasms, but not coffee. A lot of coffee just leaves you feeling like a jittering idiot.
One last note before I sign off though and put my teaching assistant hat on for the day: I'd like it to be known that on Friday 24th June 2011, I conquered The Bastard Hill on my cycle into work. It was tough and I was hurting at the top of it, but I did it all the way up without stopping. I'm pretty sure my legs won't thank me for it tomorrow but reaching a goal at 7:30am on a Friday morning ain't bad going.
Till next time, have a fab weekend people!
RoseC -x-
Friday 24 June 2011
Thursday 16 June 2011
Singing in the rain
I sang my way home this evening. I don't often sing or hum out loud to myself (at least not that I notice), but on my way home from dinner with friends in London Bridge I found myself merrily walking down the street singing, but the songs that were popping into my head weren't ones I'd heard on the radio this morning, they were songs that I'd not heard or thought about for a very long time so I have know idea how or where I dug them out from in my memory.
It started off with a bit of metal in the form of Marilyn Manson's, The Nobodys and I've since put the Holywood album on for a spin this evening, which hasn't happened in a very long time. I should explain that I used to be a goth and if I had a photo to show you how funny I looked I would happily post it, but sadly they were all ritually burnt as soon as I grew out of it.
The tunes soon developed into Nirvana, Lithium - which I sang in it's entirety, out loud, getting quite enthusiastic on the "Yeahhh, Yeahhh, Yeahhh" bits - and then I somehow jumped into a full on 90s Brit Pop humming revival with Oasis, Talk Tonight and Half the World Away, before moving swiftly onto the Manic's and a Stereophonics medley of Mr Writer and Maybe Tomorrow because I couldn't remember all the lyrics to either of those songs so sort of just sang a bit of both.
I forgot how much I love the latter 'Phonics song purely because of the line "I've been the upper side of down, been the inside of out". Just think it's a really beautifully constructed lyric. I often pick my favourite songs purely because of one single line, for example Queens of the Stone Age's, Into the Fade, I love the line, "With nowhere to fall, Into the arms of someone". I just like how those particular lyrics stick.
Anyway, I digress. My musical mind went of on a tangent too and I ended up singing TLC No Scrubs. Still 90's, but not exactly the theme I was sticking to. I guess I can safely say my taste in music is eclectic! There's a reason though why my mind would wander to this song; when I was out on my second ever ski trip in Trois Vallees, French Alps, in year 9, another skiier crossed my path, sent me flying into the air and I sprained my knee. I had to be carried down in a blood wagon (massive fun) but then was taken to the local doctors, spoke hardly any French and was left lying in a room unable to move for over an hour in a foreign country not knowing what the fuck was going on. At 13 I was a bit, not scared, maybe more intimidated and worried?
Long and short of it was I sang TLC No Scrubs out loud, on repeat to calm myself down until one of my school teachers arrived. That song stuck maybe because it was in the charts at the time, but mostly because we were learning a dance routine to it at my local drama group so I'd heard it so many times I had it down word perfect.
My memory failed me somewhat today though and I could only remember the first verse and chorus. Clearly I'm getting rusty.
I love it though when songs you've not heard in years suddenly pop into your head again without rhyme or reason and the memories they jog, or not and you just have the satisfaction of going, "shit yeah that's an awesome tune and it's time to revive!" So on that note, here's a bit of 'Phonics Maybe Tomorrow (thought I'd spare you from Marilyn Manson this time!).
http://youtu.be/CaT86mk9gj8
It started off with a bit of metal in the form of Marilyn Manson's, The Nobodys and I've since put the Holywood album on for a spin this evening, which hasn't happened in a very long time. I should explain that I used to be a goth and if I had a photo to show you how funny I looked I would happily post it, but sadly they were all ritually burnt as soon as I grew out of it.
The tunes soon developed into Nirvana, Lithium - which I sang in it's entirety, out loud, getting quite enthusiastic on the "Yeahhh, Yeahhh, Yeahhh" bits - and then I somehow jumped into a full on 90s Brit Pop humming revival with Oasis, Talk Tonight and Half the World Away, before moving swiftly onto the Manic's and a Stereophonics medley of Mr Writer and Maybe Tomorrow because I couldn't remember all the lyrics to either of those songs so sort of just sang a bit of both.
I forgot how much I love the latter 'Phonics song purely because of the line "I've been the upper side of down, been the inside of out". Just think it's a really beautifully constructed lyric. I often pick my favourite songs purely because of one single line, for example Queens of the Stone Age's, Into the Fade, I love the line, "With nowhere to fall, Into the arms of someone". I just like how those particular lyrics stick.
Anyway, I digress. My musical mind went of on a tangent too and I ended up singing TLC No Scrubs. Still 90's, but not exactly the theme I was sticking to. I guess I can safely say my taste in music is eclectic! There's a reason though why my mind would wander to this song; when I was out on my second ever ski trip in Trois Vallees, French Alps, in year 9, another skiier crossed my path, sent me flying into the air and I sprained my knee. I had to be carried down in a blood wagon (massive fun) but then was taken to the local doctors, spoke hardly any French and was left lying in a room unable to move for over an hour in a foreign country not knowing what the fuck was going on. At 13 I was a bit, not scared, maybe more intimidated and worried?
Long and short of it was I sang TLC No Scrubs out loud, on repeat to calm myself down until one of my school teachers arrived. That song stuck maybe because it was in the charts at the time, but mostly because we were learning a dance routine to it at my local drama group so I'd heard it so many times I had it down word perfect.
My memory failed me somewhat today though and I could only remember the first verse and chorus. Clearly I'm getting rusty.
I love it though when songs you've not heard in years suddenly pop into your head again without rhyme or reason and the memories they jog, or not and you just have the satisfaction of going, "shit yeah that's an awesome tune and it's time to revive!" So on that note, here's a bit of 'Phonics Maybe Tomorrow (thought I'd spare you from Marilyn Manson this time!).
http://youtu.be/CaT86mk9gj8
Wednesday 15 June 2011
Through the plug hole
There's the smell of heavy rain in the air. I love that smell; it's a real stuffy smell where every natural scent seems to linger, whether it's fresh grass, the flowers, or the smell of the fountain as the wind blows the spray back. Granted it's not the easiest smell to describe because its the mingling of all these scents that make that wet, lovely, spring smell that rain is on the way and that everything will smell fresh again rather than hanging heavy in the air. That make sense?
Have to admit, it made my cycle home from work very pleasurable, but as I can smell rain it inevitably means that the wet stuff is on its way...apparently tomorrow which means I probably won't be riding in to work in the morning. Boo and hiss.
In other news, I'm currently working on my next lot of beauty articles for the magazine I'm freelancing for each month. I can reveal that it's called Deluxo and the website is now up and running, which you can see here http://www.dlxo.co.uk/ Yes, I'm afraid I'm shamelessly self-plugging in this blog, but that's because I'm excited to see the first issue. It'll be the first features I've had in print since Scarlet closed and even though I've written stuff since that in Harlot, it was never really the same having it online as it is in print.
I'm a complete traditionalist when it comes to magazines and wanting to pick up a mag from the news agents and physically flick through it. I guess that's why a lot of the journalist jobs I've since applied for have been for print magazines rather than online ventures. Part of me knows the reality though that everything is shifting online, obviously its a natural technological progression that the media has to keep up with and in many ways its fantastic for young/new freelance journalists like me because the scope, number and genre variety of online magazines is now so much wider that there are more opportunities for us to write and get more experience.
I'll never admit it more than this once, but I always thought that maybe I had missed a trick with Harlot magazine and not pushing it further or making more of it. It could have been great, it could have been the best, sexiest women's online magazine out there, but it just didn't have the backing, support or the right people working on it. For me it was tough because I was still learning on the job, I'd only been working as a journalist for a year and then was thrown into doing this on my own editorially. It was mad, but hindsight makes me think that it could have been fabulous and I wonder if I really missed an opportunity there?
*Sigh* Enough dwelling on that topic! The main thing is that I'm proper excited about seeing something I've 'penned' in print again. Happy days...and check out the site if you get time, oh and get on the Deluxo facebook page too.
END PLUG
RoseC -x-
Have to admit, it made my cycle home from work very pleasurable, but as I can smell rain it inevitably means that the wet stuff is on its way...apparently tomorrow which means I probably won't be riding in to work in the morning. Boo and hiss.
In other news, I'm currently working on my next lot of beauty articles for the magazine I'm freelancing for each month. I can reveal that it's called Deluxo and the website is now up and running, which you can see here http://www.dlxo.co.uk/ Yes, I'm afraid I'm shamelessly self-plugging in this blog, but that's because I'm excited to see the first issue. It'll be the first features I've had in print since Scarlet closed and even though I've written stuff since that in Harlot, it was never really the same having it online as it is in print.
I'm a complete traditionalist when it comes to magazines and wanting to pick up a mag from the news agents and physically flick through it. I guess that's why a lot of the journalist jobs I've since applied for have been for print magazines rather than online ventures. Part of me knows the reality though that everything is shifting online, obviously its a natural technological progression that the media has to keep up with and in many ways its fantastic for young/new freelance journalists like me because the scope, number and genre variety of online magazines is now so much wider that there are more opportunities for us to write and get more experience.
I'll never admit it more than this once, but I always thought that maybe I had missed a trick with Harlot magazine and not pushing it further or making more of it. It could have been great, it could have been the best, sexiest women's online magazine out there, but it just didn't have the backing, support or the right people working on it. For me it was tough because I was still learning on the job, I'd only been working as a journalist for a year and then was thrown into doing this on my own editorially. It was mad, but hindsight makes me think that it could have been fabulous and I wonder if I really missed an opportunity there?
*Sigh* Enough dwelling on that topic! The main thing is that I'm proper excited about seeing something I've 'penned' in print again. Happy days...and check out the site if you get time, oh and get on the Deluxo facebook page too.
END PLUG
RoseC -x-
Sunday 12 June 2011
The birthday that broke me
Last night I went to my mate's 30th Birthday Party. As a result today has been a bit of a struggle and being conscious is a real effort right now. Once again I over did it and had too much to drink last night and now I feel like I want to curl up into a little ball, rock myself to sleep and concentrate really hard on not being sick everywhere.
It all started to go down hill when we began knocking back the Jager Bombs while still sober. Everyone knows that Jager Bombs should only be consumed after you've already had a few, when sense and logic has gone out of the window which makes the idea of Jager Bombs acceptable. They're not designed to be consumed right at the beginning of the night when you know you've got a five hour drinking session ahead of you. Having said that it certainly warmed me up nicely and helped the two and a half bottles of red plonk and four tequila shots that followed go down quite easily.
So, it doesn't take a genius to work out that I was smashed. Confirmation that I was totally shitted came when I started talking to The Boy about getting married. Now, I don't know why I do it, but it seems that whenever I'm drunk with my boyfriend my thoughts always turn to marriage and I foolishly always talk at him about it and where we should get hitched and when. The first few occasions I did this I massively got the fear and felt like a complete plank. Fortunately The Boy doesn't freak out (anymore) at the topic and instead uses it as an indicator that it's probably time for me to go home. Well that and my inability to stand still and instead take up a swaying motion. Really though, if he feeds me tequila then he's gonna have to suffer the consequences.
I'm now sitting on my bed feeling completely brain dead and tired and ready to go to bed and ignore the fact that it's Monday tomorrow. Ideally I was going to have a nice quiet evening just sitting and convincing myself that I'm not going to be sick or die, but instead I've spent most of the evening chasing a mouse around my room.
Unfortunately my housemate discovered that there's a mouse in the house, then I discovered that it had scampered into my room. I'm not scared of mice and don't have much of a problem with them, but why oh why did it have to pick today to come into my room? Basically with me being in the state that I am the mouse easily out witted me and even though I cleared my room out I still wasn't able to catch the bugger. I even tried to reason with the little mouse, but he didn't seem to care and I'm assuming he's scurried off to some corner of my room that means I can't catch him. I've pretty much stopped caring anyway, the mouse can do whatever the fuck it likes today as I don't have the energy to deal with it. Also isn't it the law that if you catch a mouse you're not allowed to release it? You have to kill it because they're pests. I can safely say that I'm not in a mouse killing mood right now and am pretty sure that if I had to execute the little thing today it would definitely make me vom.
Urgh, right, now I've had a self-pitying moan about feeling so rubbish I think I'm gonna sign off and quietly sit for a bit and hope that no one wants to talk to me right now as conversing I think will hurt my brain. Hopefully this blog isn't as painful to read as it has been to write.
Goodbye -x-
It all started to go down hill when we began knocking back the Jager Bombs while still sober. Everyone knows that Jager Bombs should only be consumed after you've already had a few, when sense and logic has gone out of the window which makes the idea of Jager Bombs acceptable. They're not designed to be consumed right at the beginning of the night when you know you've got a five hour drinking session ahead of you. Having said that it certainly warmed me up nicely and helped the two and a half bottles of red plonk and four tequila shots that followed go down quite easily.
So, it doesn't take a genius to work out that I was smashed. Confirmation that I was totally shitted came when I started talking to The Boy about getting married. Now, I don't know why I do it, but it seems that whenever I'm drunk with my boyfriend my thoughts always turn to marriage and I foolishly always talk at him about it and where we should get hitched and when. The first few occasions I did this I massively got the fear and felt like a complete plank. Fortunately The Boy doesn't freak out (anymore) at the topic and instead uses it as an indicator that it's probably time for me to go home. Well that and my inability to stand still and instead take up a swaying motion. Really though, if he feeds me tequila then he's gonna have to suffer the consequences.
I'm now sitting on my bed feeling completely brain dead and tired and ready to go to bed and ignore the fact that it's Monday tomorrow. Ideally I was going to have a nice quiet evening just sitting and convincing myself that I'm not going to be sick or die, but instead I've spent most of the evening chasing a mouse around my room.
Unfortunately my housemate discovered that there's a mouse in the house, then I discovered that it had scampered into my room. I'm not scared of mice and don't have much of a problem with them, but why oh why did it have to pick today to come into my room? Basically with me being in the state that I am the mouse easily out witted me and even though I cleared my room out I still wasn't able to catch the bugger. I even tried to reason with the little mouse, but he didn't seem to care and I'm assuming he's scurried off to some corner of my room that means I can't catch him. I've pretty much stopped caring anyway, the mouse can do whatever the fuck it likes today as I don't have the energy to deal with it. Also isn't it the law that if you catch a mouse you're not allowed to release it? You have to kill it because they're pests. I can safely say that I'm not in a mouse killing mood right now and am pretty sure that if I had to execute the little thing today it would definitely make me vom.
Urgh, right, now I've had a self-pitying moan about feeling so rubbish I think I'm gonna sign off and quietly sit for a bit and hope that no one wants to talk to me right now as conversing I think will hurt my brain. Hopefully this blog isn't as painful to read as it has been to write.
Goodbye -x-
Thursday 9 June 2011
What I learnt today
Working in a school means that occasionally I learn a few things too - both academically and about myself - and today I thought I'd share with you a few things that I have learnt in the last eight or so hours. The lessons will be presented in chronological order of when I learnt them...
7:35 am: I can get a little bit further up the massive hill
As mentioned in a previous post I now cycle to and from work. This is to try and save money and to get fitter. On my journey into school I am faced with a really, really big hill. Usually I get off my bike at the bottom and walk all the way up. Today however, I pushed myself that little bit further a got a quarter of the way up before my lags gave in (poor legs). A quarter may not sound far, but trust me when I say it's a BIG hill. So lesson one of the day is that I can do it and one day I will reach the top of that bastard hill on my bike and it shall mock me no more!!
10:50 am: That I'm 'good' at my job
It was officially confirmed today that I am actually 'good' at my job. This was decided by the school's management and upper management (it's a large hierarchy at this school) who came to observe me in lessons last term. Hearing this gave me a warm glowing feeling that I've not felt from a job in a long time because, I thought, you had more chance of finding rocking horse shit than getting a pat on the back from my old employers.
Let me now put this 'good' into context for you non-teacher people: good is the second highest ranking there is after 'outstanding', then there's satisfactory and finally inadequate. I won't lie, I can't admit that I wasn't a bit disappointed that I wasn't 'outstanding', but that's only because I'm an over-confident, cocky fucker when really I should come to realise that I am, have been and probably always will be 'the nearly there girl'. By this I mean it doesn't matter if I work my tits off, I never seem to quite get the highest mark or grade or promotion. It's been like that ever since I did my GCSE's and I only got an A in English when I should have got an A*. When doing my degree I got a 2:1, but I easily worked as hard as someone who managed to get a first. (NB: I know this sounds quite selfish and up my own arse, because they're still very high grades and awesome, but what I'm trying to say is I set myself high standards, so I'm disappointed when I don't reach them.) In the employment arena I'm the one that gets called back for a second or third interview, but still never quite gets the job, which happened to me 3 or 4 times before I landed my teaching assistant job.
Now, now dear reader I'm not looking for sympathy, I've come to accept that's just how natures made me, there's nothing you or I can do about it, so I'll forever be the 'nearly there girl.' It's all cool, and so my second lesson of the day was learning that I am just 'good' and I'll settle for that.
11:10 am: I'm not bad at playing samba!
In terms of lessons I really like Thursdays, in particular the year 7 music lesson I get to support in. I only get to do it once a week and the kids I'm in with are really lovely. What's more awesome at the moment though is that the kids are doing samba at the moment, and when I say they're playing samba I'm not exaggerating. The teacher has literally transformed them into a proper samba band. With a few more weeks practise I reckon they could easily give some semi-pro bands a run for their money. We have whistles, dancing, huge fucking drums, the lot. It's tops and I get to join in! Third lesson - my rhythm isn't as bad as I thought it was.
12:10 pm: I can't jump very high
I've never claimed to be particularly athletic; when I was at school I didn't do particularly well and the times that I did it was by complete fluke. Like I said, nearly there. So today I was pressured by students and fellow TA's, into giving the high jump a go. I managed 1m, but unfortunately got knocked out of the competition at 1m 10cm. There we have it, that is the highest I can jump. Fact.
I feel this has been quite a self reflecting blog post which has been quite cathartic as I've been on a bit of a downer lately. That's all I've got to say really, so I guess the final lesson learnt today is...
7:14 pm: Bad blog endings
Think of better, more witty and exciting ways to end my blog posts in future.
RoseC -x-
7:35 am: I can get a little bit further up the massive hill
As mentioned in a previous post I now cycle to and from work. This is to try and save money and to get fitter. On my journey into school I am faced with a really, really big hill. Usually I get off my bike at the bottom and walk all the way up. Today however, I pushed myself that little bit further a got a quarter of the way up before my lags gave in (poor legs). A quarter may not sound far, but trust me when I say it's a BIG hill. So lesson one of the day is that I can do it and one day I will reach the top of that bastard hill on my bike and it shall mock me no more!!
10:50 am: That I'm 'good' at my job
It was officially confirmed today that I am actually 'good' at my job. This was decided by the school's management and upper management (it's a large hierarchy at this school) who came to observe me in lessons last term. Hearing this gave me a warm glowing feeling that I've not felt from a job in a long time because, I thought, you had more chance of finding rocking horse shit than getting a pat on the back from my old employers.
Let me now put this 'good' into context for you non-teacher people: good is the second highest ranking there is after 'outstanding', then there's satisfactory and finally inadequate. I won't lie, I can't admit that I wasn't a bit disappointed that I wasn't 'outstanding', but that's only because I'm an over-confident, cocky fucker when really I should come to realise that I am, have been and probably always will be 'the nearly there girl'. By this I mean it doesn't matter if I work my tits off, I never seem to quite get the highest mark or grade or promotion. It's been like that ever since I did my GCSE's and I only got an A in English when I should have got an A*. When doing my degree I got a 2:1, but I easily worked as hard as someone who managed to get a first. (NB: I know this sounds quite selfish and up my own arse, because they're still very high grades and awesome, but what I'm trying to say is I set myself high standards, so I'm disappointed when I don't reach them.) In the employment arena I'm the one that gets called back for a second or third interview, but still never quite gets the job, which happened to me 3 or 4 times before I landed my teaching assistant job.
Now, now dear reader I'm not looking for sympathy, I've come to accept that's just how natures made me, there's nothing you or I can do about it, so I'll forever be the 'nearly there girl.' It's all cool, and so my second lesson of the day was learning that I am just 'good' and I'll settle for that.
11:10 am: I'm not bad at playing samba!
In terms of lessons I really like Thursdays, in particular the year 7 music lesson I get to support in. I only get to do it once a week and the kids I'm in with are really lovely. What's more awesome at the moment though is that the kids are doing samba at the moment, and when I say they're playing samba I'm not exaggerating. The teacher has literally transformed them into a proper samba band. With a few more weeks practise I reckon they could easily give some semi-pro bands a run for their money. We have whistles, dancing, huge fucking drums, the lot. It's tops and I get to join in! Third lesson - my rhythm isn't as bad as I thought it was.
12:10 pm: I can't jump very high
I've never claimed to be particularly athletic; when I was at school I didn't do particularly well and the times that I did it was by complete fluke. Like I said, nearly there. So today I was pressured by students and fellow TA's, into giving the high jump a go. I managed 1m, but unfortunately got knocked out of the competition at 1m 10cm. There we have it, that is the highest I can jump. Fact.
I feel this has been quite a self reflecting blog post which has been quite cathartic as I've been on a bit of a downer lately. That's all I've got to say really, so I guess the final lesson learnt today is...
7:14 pm: Bad blog endings
Think of better, more witty and exciting ways to end my blog posts in future.
RoseC -x-
Tuesday 7 June 2011
Living Room Ramblings
Ok, so it's late, me and one house mate are still working on bits and bobs and we're both tired. The topic of conversation has digressed slightly.
The main question of the evening is: What's worse, a wobbly lasagna belly in a bin (to understand this you need to have seen Embarrassing Fat Bodies last night on Channel 4), or someone coming into the room with a smear of poo under their nose and what would you do?
This question seems to perfectly sum up the mental state of the house right now and has been brought on through a combination of sleep deprivation, work tedium, and complete lack of intelligent conversation that we've now hit this completely stupid level of conversation. Hysteria has very much set in.
Questions like this aren't too unusual in our house when we're all mooching around in the living room. Past rambling topics have included what would penis's sound like if they could talk? Who could do the best impression of a Jesus lizard? And The Big Bee Drill - how to evacuate the house if a very large bumble bee enters it.
So the question this evening mutated a couple of times, until we finally came out with the conclusion that two of the house mates would rather eat poo than a portion of cooked wobbly lasagna belly from a bin, and I wouldn't eat a four inch piece of shit for anything...not even for £100,000.
On that note I think it's time to tear my eyes away from the laptop screen and go to bed.
Night all!
RoseC -x-
The main question of the evening is: What's worse, a wobbly lasagna belly in a bin (to understand this you need to have seen Embarrassing Fat Bodies last night on Channel 4), or someone coming into the room with a smear of poo under their nose and what would you do?
This question seems to perfectly sum up the mental state of the house right now and has been brought on through a combination of sleep deprivation, work tedium, and complete lack of intelligent conversation that we've now hit this completely stupid level of conversation. Hysteria has very much set in.
Questions like this aren't too unusual in our house when we're all mooching around in the living room. Past rambling topics have included what would penis's sound like if they could talk? Who could do the best impression of a Jesus lizard? And The Big Bee Drill - how to evacuate the house if a very large bumble bee enters it.
So the question this evening mutated a couple of times, until we finally came out with the conclusion that two of the house mates would rather eat poo than a portion of cooked wobbly lasagna belly from a bin, and I wouldn't eat a four inch piece of shit for anything...not even for £100,000.
On that note I think it's time to tear my eyes away from the laptop screen and go to bed.
Night all!
RoseC -x-
Friday 3 June 2011
Killer Cucumbers et al
I've been on half-term all this week (cue jealously and hate-vibes) and it's given me a chance to really catch up with the news. My conclusion is that the world's gone mad, or maybe not mad, but sensationalism has definitely reached an all time high.
For example, the E coli "epidemic" that's supposed to have struck Europe. Bloody hell, sounds scary you may think, but hold yer horses people. Can we look at this properly for a moment? Only 18 people have actually died from this in Europe, which is of course tragic and terrible, but after doing a little bit of digging I've discovered that in developing countries 4,900 people die from it every day. Now that's a fucking statistic. That's an epidemic, and we can count ourselves lucky that we're not reaching numbers like that because we've got a decent hygiene system and we're able to throw away food that we think might be contaminated.
Lucky us, but like bird flu, swine flu and any other scaremongering diseases that have been carted our way and exaggerated by news channels, I think I'll only start to panic when those numbers start hitting multiple hundreds.
However, I do have a sickly housemate that I'm keeping my distance from... just in case. And you bloody know I scrubbed that cucumber I bought from Lidil damn hard before putting it in my sarnies! Not that I'm paranoid, but see what the news has gone and done?!
I'm sure that we're not going to be infected by killer cucumbers or toxic tomatoes thus triggering a Shaun of the Dead style break out of a new disease that reanimates our infected bodies....or are we? (And we're not using the 'Z' word)
Talking of dead bodies did anyone come across the news of the beheaded birds and the speared frog? If not, here it is http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-manchester-13626764 When I heard the news yesterday they hadn't caught the culprits, but good to see that they've brought someone to task over this now.
The first I heard of it was on 6 Music (my new love) and all I caught was, "blah, blah, dead birds....blah blah and a speared frog." Woah there pickle! A speared frog? Now that's not something I've heard on the news before. I've heard/read/seen the headlines of people impaling themselves on things they really shouldn't, and even sad cases of people attacking swans and birds, but I've gotta say, hearing about a speared frog was certainly an oddity, a first, and got my attention.
Long and short of it is what went on in that aviary was the animal kingdoms equivalent of a bad day in Baghdad - or Afghanistan, or Libya, or Syria. Take you're pick, there's so many places in turmoil at the moment, but you get the gist of what I'm trying to compare it to.
So they rolled off all the stats about the 18 birds that had their heads chopped off, the pond full or carp that were poisoned and that it's caused around £10k of damage...then right at the end of it was the news of the one frog that was "savagely speared". Like that frog, that one lonely little hopper, really was in the wrong place at wrong time - a civilian casualty if you will. I chuckled a little bit though, I didn't mean to, I'm not sick in the head, but when you hear a BBC news correspondent deliver the news that "there was one savagely speared frog" in the same serious, slightly saddened tone as she would if reporting the death of the Queen or something then you can't help but chuckle.
With stories like this out and about it's no wonder I want to be a journalist!
RoseC
-x-
For example, the E coli "epidemic" that's supposed to have struck Europe. Bloody hell, sounds scary you may think, but hold yer horses people. Can we look at this properly for a moment? Only 18 people have actually died from this in Europe, which is of course tragic and terrible, but after doing a little bit of digging I've discovered that in developing countries 4,900 people die from it every day. Now that's a fucking statistic. That's an epidemic, and we can count ourselves lucky that we're not reaching numbers like that because we've got a decent hygiene system and we're able to throw away food that we think might be contaminated.
Lucky us, but like bird flu, swine flu and any other scaremongering diseases that have been carted our way and exaggerated by news channels, I think I'll only start to panic when those numbers start hitting multiple hundreds.
However, I do have a sickly housemate that I'm keeping my distance from... just in case. And you bloody know I scrubbed that cucumber I bought from Lidil damn hard before putting it in my sarnies! Not that I'm paranoid, but see what the news has gone and done?!
I'm sure that we're not going to be infected by killer cucumbers or toxic tomatoes thus triggering a Shaun of the Dead style break out of a new disease that reanimates our infected bodies....or are we? (And we're not using the 'Z' word)
Talking of dead bodies did anyone come across the news of the beheaded birds and the speared frog? If not, here it is http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-manchester-13626764 When I heard the news yesterday they hadn't caught the culprits, but good to see that they've brought someone to task over this now.
The first I heard of it was on 6 Music (my new love) and all I caught was, "blah, blah, dead birds....blah blah and a speared frog." Woah there pickle! A speared frog? Now that's not something I've heard on the news before. I've heard/read/seen the headlines of people impaling themselves on things they really shouldn't, and even sad cases of people attacking swans and birds, but I've gotta say, hearing about a speared frog was certainly an oddity, a first, and got my attention.
Long and short of it is what went on in that aviary was the animal kingdoms equivalent of a bad day in Baghdad - or Afghanistan, or Libya, or Syria. Take you're pick, there's so many places in turmoil at the moment, but you get the gist of what I'm trying to compare it to.
So they rolled off all the stats about the 18 birds that had their heads chopped off, the pond full or carp that were poisoned and that it's caused around £10k of damage...then right at the end of it was the news of the one frog that was "savagely speared". Like that frog, that one lonely little hopper, really was in the wrong place at wrong time - a civilian casualty if you will. I chuckled a little bit though, I didn't mean to, I'm not sick in the head, but when you hear a BBC news correspondent deliver the news that "there was one savagely speared frog" in the same serious, slightly saddened tone as she would if reporting the death of the Queen or something then you can't help but chuckle.
With stories like this out and about it's no wonder I want to be a journalist!
RoseC
-x-
Wednesday 1 June 2011
A first for everything
God I'm feeling exhausted, but am also feeling disgustingly guilty that I've not checked in over the last few days. I've been having fun times though and have been embracing a few life firsts. As I'm trying to view this year as a string of new experiences here's what I've been up to...
Watching my first Grand Prix
I've never really been a massive racing fan, but last Sunday I had an overwhelming urge to watch the Monaco Grand Prix. I say 'overwhelming urge', I think if I'm honest it comes down to the fact that I was still in my PJs when it came on and it seemed an easy watch.
We flicked it on from the build up when the drivers and cars were just coming on to the grid. I think during this I found my favourite BBC sports commentator ever! Martin Brundle. Now, as a Grand Prix - or Grand Pricks as my mate's kid very innocently calls it - novice it was quite something to see him work the grid, trying to get as many interviews as he could with everyone from the drivers, to the pit teams and even to the head of the FIA (is that what the governing body's called?) and all the while everyone manically rushing around getting ready for the race. Must easily be one of the toughest journo jobs out there, but shit he was good at it.
Quick, to the point interviews with the three grid leaders - Vettal, Button and...ah shit I can't remember but think it may have been one of the Ferrari drivers. Then he tried to speak to Schumacher, but he blanked Brundle, who retorted with, "fine if he doesn't want to talk to me, then I don't want to talk to him." A few moments later he was trying to grab an interview with someone else, another driver I think, but there was a media circus around him. Brundle managed to get in to speak to the driver, then some other photographer was trying to drag the driver elsewhere, but Brundle the Brave grabbed him and shooed the photog off with a "excuse me what do you think you're doing? I'm from the BBC, I'm live and I'm interviewing him get lost," or something to that effect.
By this point he'd totally got my attention, but the best of the bunch was when someone was put in front of him, thinking he was working for one of the cars. Turns out he wasn't. We knew this when Brundle said "Oh I thought you were [insert name here]. Right well you're not, I don't know why you've been put in front of me, I've got no idea who you are." Classic. And it got worse when it turned out that the bloke had nothing to do with F1, he was just a fan and was in fact a small time music producer. Brundle the Brave managed to save it though. Good work!
After that most entertaining start there was then a race, which I watched all 78 laps of and actually found myself engrossed. I won't got into details of the race as it'll be all most as tedious as me trying to recount what went before it. If you watched it, then you'll know how it ended. Did you feel as cheated as I did? I have to say that it definitely wasn't one of the most thrilling climaxes I've had after a first time experience.
The Blues Kitchen
Feeling restless by Sunday on this bank hol weekend, The Boy dug out some info as to what was going on in the city. It was a toss up between going to see Taxi Driver at the Prince Charles cinema, or catching some live music at The Blues Kitchen in Camden. We opted for the latter as neither of us had been to a blues gig before and neither of us think we've seen nearly enough live music lately.
Not my normal cup o' tea, but I really enjoyed it. We only stayed for two bands and the place was pretty full up. Great way to spend a Sunday evening and after three pints of cider, two rum and cokes and a shot of tequila later we were pretty much ready to head to China Town for some grub.
My first feature
Besides being distracted by TV and music, I've also been working on my first two features for a brand spanking new mag. It's meant sending out hundreds of emails (not even exaggerating) and getting in touch with some lovely people in the media world I've not spoken to in nearly a year. All that said though the articles are taking shape. It's also my firmist (or most firm?) excuse for why I've been hushed up for the last few days. After writing, reading and writing some more emails, I couldn't quite bring myself to then put together a blog. I know, weak right? Brundle would never have that attitude I'm sure - but then he gets to sun it up in exotic locations. Quite a contrast to sitting on a half broken sofa in South London.
Ok, I think I'm properly officially brain dead now and my eyes are exhausted. Perhaps not the best time to write. I feel it's turned into a lot of drivel rather than accurately capture my excitement of having tried some new things out over the weekend. i promise though, when the events took place there was enthusiasm.
Tomorrow then the aim is to return with plenty of energy and gusto. Night.
RoseC
Watching my first Grand Prix
I've never really been a massive racing fan, but last Sunday I had an overwhelming urge to watch the Monaco Grand Prix. I say 'overwhelming urge', I think if I'm honest it comes down to the fact that I was still in my PJs when it came on and it seemed an easy watch.
We flicked it on from the build up when the drivers and cars were just coming on to the grid. I think during this I found my favourite BBC sports commentator ever! Martin Brundle. Now, as a Grand Prix - or Grand Pricks as my mate's kid very innocently calls it - novice it was quite something to see him work the grid, trying to get as many interviews as he could with everyone from the drivers, to the pit teams and even to the head of the FIA (is that what the governing body's called?) and all the while everyone manically rushing around getting ready for the race. Must easily be one of the toughest journo jobs out there, but shit he was good at it.
Quick, to the point interviews with the three grid leaders - Vettal, Button and...ah shit I can't remember but think it may have been one of the Ferrari drivers. Then he tried to speak to Schumacher, but he blanked Brundle, who retorted with, "fine if he doesn't want to talk to me, then I don't want to talk to him." A few moments later he was trying to grab an interview with someone else, another driver I think, but there was a media circus around him. Brundle managed to get in to speak to the driver, then some other photographer was trying to drag the driver elsewhere, but Brundle the Brave grabbed him and shooed the photog off with a "excuse me what do you think you're doing? I'm from the BBC, I'm live and I'm interviewing him get lost," or something to that effect.
By this point he'd totally got my attention, but the best of the bunch was when someone was put in front of him, thinking he was working for one of the cars. Turns out he wasn't. We knew this when Brundle said "Oh I thought you were [insert name here]. Right well you're not, I don't know why you've been put in front of me, I've got no idea who you are." Classic. And it got worse when it turned out that the bloke had nothing to do with F1, he was just a fan and was in fact a small time music producer. Brundle the Brave managed to save it though. Good work!
After that most entertaining start there was then a race, which I watched all 78 laps of and actually found myself engrossed. I won't got into details of the race as it'll be all most as tedious as me trying to recount what went before it. If you watched it, then you'll know how it ended. Did you feel as cheated as I did? I have to say that it definitely wasn't one of the most thrilling climaxes I've had after a first time experience.
The Blues Kitchen
Feeling restless by Sunday on this bank hol weekend, The Boy dug out some info as to what was going on in the city. It was a toss up between going to see Taxi Driver at the Prince Charles cinema, or catching some live music at The Blues Kitchen in Camden. We opted for the latter as neither of us had been to a blues gig before and neither of us think we've seen nearly enough live music lately.
Not my normal cup o' tea, but I really enjoyed it. We only stayed for two bands and the place was pretty full up. Great way to spend a Sunday evening and after three pints of cider, two rum and cokes and a shot of tequila later we were pretty much ready to head to China Town for some grub.
My first feature
Besides being distracted by TV and music, I've also been working on my first two features for a brand spanking new mag. It's meant sending out hundreds of emails (not even exaggerating) and getting in touch with some lovely people in the media world I've not spoken to in nearly a year. All that said though the articles are taking shape. It's also my firmist (or most firm?) excuse for why I've been hushed up for the last few days. After writing, reading and writing some more emails, I couldn't quite bring myself to then put together a blog. I know, weak right? Brundle would never have that attitude I'm sure - but then he gets to sun it up in exotic locations. Quite a contrast to sitting on a half broken sofa in South London.
Ok, I think I'm properly officially brain dead now and my eyes are exhausted. Perhaps not the best time to write. I feel it's turned into a lot of drivel rather than accurately capture my excitement of having tried some new things out over the weekend. i promise though, when the events took place there was enthusiasm.
Tomorrow then the aim is to return with plenty of energy and gusto. Night.
RoseC
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