Gig review: Mew, Shepherds Bush Empire, 10/11/09

So then. I’ll review the gigs separately this time, first up: Mew.

‘Twas quite strange returning to the place I saw them last, three years, nine months and one day later. Strange because that gap is exactly a day younger than my relationship, and bloody hell, time flies. This was the third time I had been to Shepherds Bush Empire, but we still managed to go the wrong way after exiting the tube station. D’oh.

There was only one support band this time – fellow Danes Choir of Young Believers. We missed the beginning of their set but still managed to shuffle our way to about 3 rows from the front, on the left (of course!) behind a young couple who really needed to get a room. And hey, I didn’t practically break my ankle this time on that stupid ninja step! Anyway, CoYB seem pretty easy on the ears. I didn’t think they were very memorable at the time, but I loved the aqua guitar and the singer’s impressive face-fuzz. The next day I acquainted myself with their album and it’s really nice indie-pop, with a varying number/combo of band members but always the beardy guy, who has a cool multicultural name (Jannis Noya Makrigiannis). Ryan thinks his voice is similar to the singer of My Morning Jacket; I can definitely see that. Laid-back stuff, haunting and indeed choral at times.

And so to the main act.

Mew entered one by one to the sounds of an unfamiliar yet very Mewish intro, which once they had all taken position morphed seamlessly into ‘Reprise’. This threw me a bit, it being the final track on the album, but Mew do like to surprise, and I suppose it works equally well as a curtains-up as a roll-the-credits. The lighting was smoky and bright, as you can tell from the picture, which meant even my crummy camera could take a few dramatic-looking snaps. Unfortunately, the draconian security guards confiscated Ryan’s mega cam that would’ve taken some great photos.

I was thrilled when they launched into ‘Hawaii’ next, it being one of my favourites from No More Stories… . It sounded every bit as awesome live as on the album, singer Jonas Bjerre hitting all the high notes perfectly; and halfway through, the first of the new weirdy animations kicked in, with some dancing/running skellington deer, antlers and everything. But of course. I love how the videos are on and off, as you completely forget about them, then boom! There’s a tiger with swirly Catherine-wheel eyes. Anyway, Mew started as they meant to go on, delving then into a bunch of …Glass Handed Kites material – perhaps their best-known songs? I had forgotten just how danceable and funky ‘Special’ really is, especially with the extended intro. It segued straight into ‘The Zookeeper’s Boy’, and to be honest I don’t think you could seamlessly split those two up. That whole album flows one into the other, but those two especially – though I’d have put ‘Apocalypso’ first and done all three in a row, personally. Still, that one was to come very shortly as well.

Terrible quality, but here are the dancing deer. Sleep well!

First, they took it back even further with ‘Am I Wry? No’ and ‘156′ – hurrah! The former is the first Mew song I ever did hear, back in July 2002, and it’s probably still my favourite (sentimental value?). The latter is sinister and cool and sounded notably different from usual, whereas most of their music is recreated exactly the same as on record. I may be getting the order slightly wrong here, but I’m pretty sure we got ‘Saviours of Jazz Ballet’ and ‘Apocalypso’ after that.

At that point, I was starting to question whether we were even going to hear any more of the newer tracks. Don’t get me wrong; I love their older material, probably a little more than the latest, and I had hoped for a good mix, but I had heard all those oldies last time and I was itching to see something for the first time. I believe it was at this point that we got a really bizarre interlude type thing, where Jonas went and stood before a screen with an image of a talking teddy bear. This was new to me! After that though, they buckled down to some more of the No More Stories songs, and it was a joy to behold.

I would say Mew seemed more confident as performers than last time. (Mind you, they’ve had plenty of time to practise; the best part of four years!) The in-between-song chat is still pretty minimal (but then it’s the same for most bands I’ve seen, and the Decemberists more than compensated for that the following week) – in fact they apologised for being shy – but it seemed more of a show this time around. More strutting, more enticing the audience to clap along, the weird teddy thing, and best of all guitarist Bo Madsen donning a peculiar mask to match a character in the video accompaniment to ‘Sometimes Life Isn’t Easy’, and doing a silly dance. (Now you see why I added the ‘WTF?’ category to this entry.)  Speaking of which, I was so pleased they played that one, my favourite of the new Mew. I sang along loudly and bopped about. Oh, and I somehow hadn’t realised that Dr. Nick Watts, of effervescent seahorse fame, was in fact Mew’s new keyboardist! All five members gave it their all; I hadn’t been expecting so many backing vocals.

And the sound was LOUD! Perhaps it’s because we were right next to the speakers (why do we always seem to be next to the speakers?), but my ears were ringing afterwards and Ryan was impressed with the constant wall of sound. Mew definitely sound ‘big’. It’s always odd to hear a band raise the roof live then go home and their music sounds so much tamer on CD/mp3 player/computer. (Never more so than when I watched MBV do ‘You Made Me Realise’ live next to a terrifying towering speaker stack at 130db, but that’s another story for another day.)

Again tis but a blur, but I kind of like how he's all in the dark with a big 'y?' in the corner. Y indeed? Also: Hi, Doctor Nick!

If memory serves, we got ‘Beach’, ‘Repeaterbeater’, ‘Introducing Palace Players’, the second Intermezzo (?), ‘Silas the Magic Car’ and of the back catalogue,  ‘White Lips Kissed’ (eee) and ‘Snow Brigade’. A mixture, then, but to be honest I wish there had been one or two more newer tracks. Overall the balance was slightly heavier on the pre-No More Stories, and I’d have loved to hear ‘Tricks of the Trade’ or ‘Vaccine’ live, and danced along. Srsly, you’d think they’d want to play more of the ones they haven’t done ten zill times before, but never mind, I can’t complain when they all sound so damn good.

Encore-wise, we got ‘Comforting Sounds’. Only one, because it’s so very long. Do they ever not finish with this song? There is something comforting about it. All eleven minutes of it. A slightly less scary but still odd video played it out, and I swayed along. And then they were gone … I’m sure three or four years later, they’ll be back, and so will I – probably at the same venue. It’s like a little ritual. See you next time, Mew.

(I won’t mention the farce that was queuing up to get our coats from the cloakroom afterwards and getting moved around and around so we resembled a game of Snake… Whoops!)

It’s the end of the world as we know it!

At least, it was for my dream-self. Goodness me but I had some vivid ones last night … technically this morning. I can’t remember it in order, just snippets. I was watching my chum Johnny get on a bus with some friends at 5am on the main road near my house, but it was just getting light (though a very cloudy damp morning). We exchanged texts and he asked if I’d seen some configuration in the sky. I was suddenly at home (though at first in Bath and then back here) and looked out of my window. I could see a fuzzy white bit in the corner but however I moved, it moved too so I couldn’t see it properly. Finally I saw that although it had got light, there was a full moon that had only just started to rise. (Full moons rise at sundown, for those who don’t know.) This set off alarm bells, and then over above the school whose grounds back onto my garden, I saw strange lights in the sky. At first I thought I was watching a shooting star but it moved very slowly, and once it had gone down in an arc, it started to curve back around, and there was another. At some point a plane crashed to the ground in the same direction, just behind the school. I knew something was very wrong.

Other things: I was in a strange kitchen and the only food in the cupboard was three nearly-empty packets of cornflakes, but instead of being in a box, the cornflakes cockerel picture etc were printed semi-transparently on the plastic bag.  My aunt (a teacher) was there and mentioned how people had been panic-buying and there was no food left. I was somehow close enough to the school to see into it and there were people inside grabbing handfuls of pencils and whatever they could find. Someone drove their car through the window/wall and I could see flames from behind where the plane had gone down; the whole building was in disrepair. My aunt commented that they’d already taken all the teabags in the staff room. I went to a shop with Ryan and somehow the action shifted to Bath again. As we exited the shop due to some danger, I was aware of, one by one, my old housemates behind me or walking/running nearby. Although it was scary, I found something quite amusing and called out to them that when we’d first met, I bet none of us thought that a few years later we’d be passing each other on the street trying to escape the end of the world. Indeed! We passed a petrol station that had lights on indicating how many of its pumps were vacant/in use, and it was chock full of people filling up their cars so they too could flee, but I’m not really sure where they thought they would go. Another world?

What I find interesting about my apocalyptic dreams, when I have them (quite rarely), is that they’re not the standard nuclear-bomb-hitting type. Usually there’s some natural, celestial disaster such as the sun ‘falling to earth’, rising on the wrong side, the moon thing … everything being out of whack and heralding the beginning of the end. I’m still not clear on what exactly what was going on in this one. Were those moving lights meteors or planets going crazy? Planes losing control or dropping bombs? UFOs coming to attack? Who knows. There were elements of all those possibilities. I was scared, but fascinated at the same time. It was a bit all-over-the-place, this vague threat, and nobody seemed to know how to respond. I think that although I didn’t realise I was in a dream, I felt detached enough to observe it that way because of how surreal it was. I woke up with a huge jolt at some point though (maybe when a plane hit the ground or something exploded?) and thought I’d been killed, so that wasn’t very nice.

Anyway! I’ve been a bit remiss in my journal-writing duties, for which I apologise. What have I been doing? Spending two weeks with fuzzface, playing with sparklers, doing ladies’ things. I went to apply for a Christmas job at La Senza but I was too late, and felt quite dejected. I tried on a few pretty things to cheer myself up, among these a pair of cheap basic dark blue jeans (they actually FIT! It’s such a novelty not having to wear a belt!) and a pretty shiny purple party frock, and Ryan was lovely enough to purchase said frock as he rather enjoyed seeing me twirl around in it. Exemplary boyfriend behaviour! I also bought a hair dye – ‘Natural Ultra Light Champagne Blonde’ or something, as I thought it looked like a lighter version of my natural colour and I wanted a bit of a change. As it turns out, I should really have gone for something ash-blonde instead, because it went a bit strawberry-blonde on top. Hairdressers always tell me I have loads of red pigment in my hair (despite it not being red), and I’ve only ever used bleach to highlight bits at home before rather than a lighter dye so I’ve never had the problem. Doh! I have purchased a purple shampoo called ‘Touch of Silver’ to try and sort out the brightness and if no luck, will try and lighten it again soon. It doesn’t look bad, just not quite what I envisioned. The dress is gorgeous, though I need: a) a decent, supportive strapless bra that goes up to my size (32G, on recent re-fitting) if such a thing indeed exists and b) a party to wear it to! I dunno if it’s because it’s nearly winter or what, but I really feel like glamming up.

Something shiny above my head, I guess

Come to think of it, I need a nice black shrug or something too, and some really sparkly silver glittery eyeshadow (that won’t go everywhere when I try to apply it with my not-too-steady hand). Also silver jewellery that goes with anything. A whole new wardrobe full of nice clothes that fit well would be good, but even if I could afford it, there aren’t many garments that fit perfectly. I decided on a gorgeous coat I wished for as a Christmas present from my parents, but by the time I went with Mum to buy it, they had every size left but my own, and nowhere they phoned had any left that’d fit either Plus, Miss Selfridge things seem to come up small and of course I have giant boobs so things that button up almost never fit in my usual size. I love the coat though, so I ended up getting the 16. It’s not too bad a fit, because of the above factors and allowing for room for big jumpers underneath, but I’m just sick of having clothes that don’t fit properly. I’m not thin, but I think things that fit to my figure still look more flattering than something that hangs off and makes me look more bulky. The coat is okay on the chest, but could be tighter round the waist, but moving the buttons would change the shape of the coat (it sort of comes down to a point in the middle). Also, it’s a bit demoralising having to buy something in a size I used to wear when now I can fit into most 12s if they’re not something that has no stretch or buttons up over the top half. Especially when I want to get a bit lighter still, and the coat is pricey – I want it to last.

I actually looked up the measurements for standard clothes sizes the other day. Not that it means much, because of sizes varying so much shop to shop and even within the same place, and the vanity sizing shenanigans, but still. It made me laugh (out loud, even!) because by their reckonings, my bust, waist and hips would be three different sizes. Great! They seem to think women are all the same basic body shape – comparatively wide hips, smallish waist and not-particularly-big boobs; whereas I’m very apple-shaped, pretty much the antithesis of those proportions. But anyway, that’s a rant for another day.

What else have I been up to? Going to gigs! Two of them, in fact, within the last two weeks. Mew on the 10th and the Decemberists on the 19th. I probably mentioned them before. I shall be writing reviews of these soon, but I can’t quite get the energy tonight. Suffice it to say both were brilliant, but I think the Decemberists have the edge, on account of being one of the most entertaining and likeable bands I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. Mew were louder, though, and there was some silliness there also. I’m quite sad I have no more booked concerts to look forward to at present, but I hope to change that soon enough.

On that note, I need to retire to bed as I am fuzzy and sleepy. I shall return.

Album review: The xx – ‘xx’

I hope I don’t seem painfully trendy reviewing this album; they are apparently the ‘band most likely to’ of recent times, although they completely slipped under my radar till a month or so ago when I read their name in a review of a different band’s record, and decided to check ‘em out. Very glad I am too – the XX are much better.

This is one of those debut albums that comes so fully-realised you can’t really believe it’s the band’s first effort, let alone that they’re all only 20 years old. It’s also quite difficult to categorise, which is always a good sign. Categories are lame. I’ve read that they’re fans of (among other things) R&B and garage, for example, but rather than making music that sounds like either of those genres (of which I’m a big fan of neither), they take elements from them (funky beats; languorous, soulful vocals) and mix them with crystal-clear, resounding guitars with an ’80s tinge to form a sort of poppy but edgy ‘urban indie’ sound, if you will. And it WORKS.

The music is quite minimalist; there are a lot of empty spaces. I’m always an admirer of restraint in music, or any art form. As a Ramblor™ myself, I aspire to that same ability of leaving things unsaid, implying, leaving them wanting more. Sure, I also love layered music and a wall of sound, but sometimes holding back is just as important. The xx understand this. It’s an intriguing cross between simplicity and depth.

They don’t sound like anybody else in particular, more an interesting mixture of seemingly disparate components, but I can’t ignore that certain parts of their music put me in mind of Interpol, one of my favourite bands (and one I was pretty obsessed with this time five years ago and for a good while after) – specifically their own debut album. It’s mainly the guitars – sparse, glacial, echoing beautifully in all that space, making your skin tingle – but there’s also the stark, monochrome album cover (just missing the red!), the fact the records were released 2 days short of exactly 7 years apart and they’ve something of the same atmosphere, obviously one which appeals to me a great deal. It is the perfect time of year to listen to xx; the clocks have just gone back and this is music for dark, chilly winter nights, preferably wandering around the city or town, most likely alone. (The song titles give it away, really:  ‘Night Time’, ‘Basic Space’, ‘Stars’.) It’s spooky and gorgeous.

It’s also sexy. I would venture to say that the other main place for this album is in the bedroom, but I’ll have to come back to you on that one for confirmation after I’ve next seen my boyfriend. I wish my voice was lovely and husky like that of the female singer, Romy Madley Croft. Another thing I love about this band is that there are two singers, guy and girl. I wish there were more bands like that. Boy-girl vocals are a personal favourite of mine, whether they bounce off each other, harmonise, duet or whatever. (One of the reasons I love the also-sexy, though completely-different-sounding My Bloody Valentine.) It adds a chemistry, an intimacy, which is almost at odds with the feeling of isolation you get from the stripped-down, reverby music, yet somehow fits perfectly. In my opinion, the youth and obvious broad-minded musical taste of the xx lends this album a refreshing lack of pretension, whilst simultaneously seeming mature beyond its creators’ years. See what I mean? There’s a whole lot of contrast going on behind this black-and-white CD cover.

‘xx’ has kicked off my compulsive nature and I cannot stop listening to this album. I love love love it. To steal a lyric from the seductive Infinity, ‘I can’t give it up.’ This could be bad – I don’t want to wear it out! I can tell it will be soundtracking my winter wanders, in my headphones, or whilst I lie in bed (alone, you perverts, though the alternative works too) – there is something very calm and chilled about it, but not boring in the least. Although if I have one criticism, it is that I reckon they could probably have got a bit more variation in between the eleven songs. They have a clear ’signature sound’, and it’s a fantastic one, but it’s taken me a while to distinguish some of the songs by name. There are none I dislike, but there are some that sound kind of similar (the poppier, more upbeat tracks). My favourites seem to be the more distinctive ones. I honestly think that’s my only complaint though.

(Unless the curse of the brilliant debut album gets them. I’m not going to get ahead of myself, but I always feel sorry for those bands who manage to bring out a near-perfect CD first time round, because where do you go from there? I think that’s another link to Interpol (soz, xx, for hijacking your review) – they’re never going to get anywhere near Turn On the Bright Lights again. You have forever to make your first album and there aren’t usually expectations unless the hype machine catches on to you, so if it’s good but not great, you get labelled ‘one to watch’ and when you improve on that for your second or third records, you get even more praise. If you’re great to start with, you’d best have some fresh ideas whilst not completely changing the sound that attracted people to you. Tricky. I hope these guys manage it because I’d love to hear more from them.)

Let’s get specific. You need to hear some of these tracks, so have some links. Fantasy is by far the spookiest, most echoey … I might even be a bit afraid to have this in my earphones whilst walking down that alley at night. One of the best though; also sounds like nothing else on the album. It’s ambient, almost formless, not poppy at all. Another favourite of mine is Shelter. Something about the title and the voice/sound remind me of Massive Attack’s ‘Protection’ but I think the subject matter is completely different. This one is much more sexy and tense. I also have to give a shout out to the Intro. The perfect opener, it grabs you straight away and sets the scene with a guitar hook that will not leave your head once it’s got in. Considering it’s instrumental (except for some ‘aaahhh’s) and not exactly a song, it’s definitely one I want to hear over and over but, at the same time, am eager to hear what’s next. (I see yet more parallels to TOTBL in that, but I’ll spare you them; this is getting ridiculous.)

But, as I said, there’s not a duff track (although if pushed, I’d say ‘Heart Skipped a Beat’ is my least favourite as it doesn’t grab me or stick in my head as much as the rest) – each has something to like. You don’t get many albums like that. Give it a whirl; I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Another thing about their mixture of sounds is that I think they will appeal to a range of people who enjoy different styles of music. Much of the stuff I like is a bit weird for most of my friends’ tastes, but I can imagine playing this to them and getting some approval. Perhaps. We’ll see.

(The astrologer in me also thinks it’s quite amusing that just as we move into Scorpio-time (sun-sign-wise), I’m writing a review with words such as ‘dark’, ‘compulsive’, ’sexy’, ‘restraint’, ‘chemistry’. It all falls into place.)

Rantage, part the second

The second thing I would like to rave about today is another newsbite from this week – namely, the Ralph Lauren model of the magazine cover publicised by Photoshop Disasters, and her subsequent sacking for ‘being too fat’.

Eek

Once again, I don’t even need to say anything about this. (I will anyway.) What’s wrong with the picture is clear for anyone to see.  And yet you can bet that the powers that be won’t do anything to change things for the better. Isn’t that the way it always goes? Nobody in the position to change the status quo will take responsibility for this sort of crap. If they ever do, it’s because they’ve pretty much been forced into a corner and/or face legal action, not because they actually give a shit or have any decency in them.

This is a 23-year-old woman who, at 5′8″ tall, weighs 120lbs. (That’s 8.5 stone, if you’re a Brit like me.) BMI may not always be the most accurate indicator, but on a none-too-muscular young lady, a body mass index of just over 18 is barely on the ‘healthy’ side of underweight (anything below 18 is considered dangerously skinny; 20-25 is the recommended ‘healthy’ area). I’ve no idea of her eating and exercise habits; this could be her natural shape and size. I can’t comment on her personal health, and it’s not her I’m here to judge. Unfortunately this sort of BMI is pretty standard for a model, but what sort of human could possibly think, “Nah, she still looks too much like a woman, like a real live person with enough energy to breathe and move and stuff. Let’s distort her to impossible proportions and try to convince the world that this looks good!” I know some people are stupid, but c’mon.

It’s pretty laughable really – was anyone going to be fooled? Doubtful. But that’s not really the point. Why do it in the first place? What is it meant to achieve? “Buy our clothes! You won’t be able to fit into them, but maybe you can dress your dolls up or something.” Even if this were an original drawing, it would be freaky. It’s a seven-year-old boy’s body wearing a stuffed bra, with a twenty-something woman’s face superimposed on top. Nothing weird there, right?

I feel a bit boring for always seeming to draw parallels to organised religion when I get annoyed with something – it isn’t intentional! – but for someone to be that scarily thin is impossible. If they did manage it, they’d be at death’s door and look terrifyingly haggard. So why even photoshop and publish it? Because you need reminding that no matter how hard you try, you will never be good enough. You should photoshop yourself to within an inch of your life and feel guilty for how rubbish you really are for being real. Nobody wants that. How can I not think of crazy religious nuts? It’s the same principle: people with no grip on reality, who steadfastly refuse to even listen to reason, who don’t understand ‘morality’ unless it’s literally laid out in their Good Book of choice. Who go through life with imaginary idols and unattainable ideals, telling themselves how inferior they are in comparison and denying themselves the things that make them human. Again, taking responsibility is an unknown concept. God’s will, and all that.

To expand further on that responsibility thing, an excellent article on this issue from Jezebel.com features some comments from the editor of Cosmopolitan, who was asked her opinion on this issue.

It really starts with the sample clothes, because they’ve down-sized, they’re now like a size 2 or 4 … To some degree, it relates to the Kate Moss era. Before then, supermodels like Cindy Crawford and Christy Brinkley, they were really curvy. But they got skinnier and skinnier, and the clothes got smaller, and so it creates this cycle where you have to fit in the clothes to get the job, and then the models get smaller and that’s who we have to use in fashion stories.

- Kate White

As the Jezebel article rightly highlighted, this just says everything people already know without acknowledging the problem or offering a solution. ‘That’s who we HAVE to use!’ Um, why? You’re the editor. It’s your magazine. Use whoever the fuck you want. If you actually care, do something about it. If not, don’t bother pretending. ‘The clothes got smaller’ … they just shrunk and there was nothing we could do about it! It’s not as if these clothes will be sold in anything larger than a 4 or anything – we have to showcase the smallest size! OK, the editor of a magazine may not have sway over the clothes themselves, fair enough. But s/he sure as hell isn’t going to protest against using models with potential eating disorders if it means s/he might not get as much money.

It’s worth getting a sense of perpsective here. We’re not talking about fat. We’re not even talking about so-called ‘plus size models’ (who are still mostly smaller than your average citizen). We’re talking about someone already very skinny and underweight being told that isn’t good enough, that she is ‘too fat’. Someone over this standard is described as ‘a heavier celebrity’. Heavier than … ?

People like me can see this for the bullshit it is, sure; I credit most people with some intelligence. But there are always going to be impressionable 13-year-olds (or people of any age with an existing eating disorder or fragile mental state) seeing these images and feeling horrible about themselves. And there is obviously a big audience for these magazines, even if we complain, because people still buy subscriptions! There may be some getting outraged now this very obvious ’shop has made the news, but they can’t seriously pretend they didn’t know this sort of thing went on. It’s like the trashy cheap celeb-based mags – people continue buying them, even though they’re rubbish. And if they keep buying, the mags will keep on doing what they do. Ho hum.

I do, to some extent, think these girls shouldn’t become models in the first place – or their parents shouldn’t let them/encourage them. The idea of a ‘talent scout’ singling out a 14-year-old and telling her he could make her a star as long as she lost 10 inches off her hips is one of the creepiest things I can imagine. I pretty much despise the idea of models. 99% of the time you may as well just hang the clothes on a mannequin or off a hanger. If all you want is a pole on which to showcase the clothing you’ve designed, why not? I hate how in America (from lots of things I have read or seen) you don’t seem to just be able to tell someone they look pretty, you instead say “You could be a model!” I would never say that because it wouldn’t be a compliment coming from me. It’d be akin to saying “You look generically attractive and symmetrical and are built like a beanpole – why not become dead inside?” I don’t personally think many supposed supermodels look very pretty, body or face, and fewer still look healthy.

I want to make it clear I am not having a pop at anyone who is naturally tall and skinny. Good on you, if you are. I’m not saying that makes someone unattractive! What I am against is the idea that there is one physical ideal and all should strive for it. Especially when that ideal is essentially to resemble an undernourished pre-pubescent – something that most women couldn’t hope to achieve. Why, instead, are there not models of all shapes and sizes, to display the different clothes styles that flatter each figure? Apple-shaped, pear-shaped, hourglass-shaped (lucky bitches), ‘banana-shaped’; tall, average height, short; skinny, plump, medium-sized, etc? You’d have a lot of better-dressed people, too, if that were to happen. (And they’d be wearing correctly-fitted bras too, in my world.) It’s funny in a way that racism, for example, is always a delicate issue, and the modelling industry accepts models of all colours from all over the world, but so many people, of all races, still have trouble accepting the variety of shapes and sizes of women. (Possibly, too, of men – but that isn’t the focus of today’s journal rant.)

I came across a similar article on Jezebel from the editors of a different magazine, who had photoshopped a picture of a singer whom I gather is on the chubby side at the moment until she resembled a completely different person, using the excuse that it was more important to ‘inspire readers to be their personal best’ than to represent reality. One of the editors described how she herself had recently run a marathon but despite being pleased that her body was capable of such things, she was unhappy with how big her hips looked in the photos that were taken of her just afterwards, so she requested that they be digitally slimmed down before published.

Again, can I get a WTF? This woman doesn’t have to project her own insecurities on to everyone else. Of course, we’d like to look our best (whatever that means to us). We’ve all sucked in our tummies when someone gets a camera out, or used the ’spot healer’ tool on Photoshop. Editing out a few zits and getting your best side (the left for me, in case anybody didn’t know) isn’t exactly on the same level of changing the entire body shape, size and face of a person that isn’t even you. If you want to fiddle around on the computer in curiosity to see what you might look like a bit slimmer or curvier, by all means do so in your own time, but don’t publish it and pass it off as the standard you think everyone should live up to. The very fact you have to digitally play around with something suggests it isn’t a way you’ll be able to look naturally. What is the point in living in this bubble? If someone is chubby, assuming they even want to lose weight, they will do so anyway. They’re not going to think “it’s okay, I can just touch up every photo instead, it doesn’t matter what the real me looks like.” They just want the world to know that sometimes, you put on weight, even if you’re famous, and it isn’t the end of the world. They’re not saying everyone should go out and stuff their faces so they look the same. I would be pretty pissed off if someone so grossly misrepresented me, making it clear how much was wrong with how I really looked .

From this article:

Then we allow the postproduction process to happen, where we mark up the photograph to correct any awkward wrinkles in the blouse, flyaway hair and other things that might detract from the beauty of the shot. This is art, creativity and collaboration.

- Lucy Danziger, editor-in-chief of ‘Self’ magazine

*headdesk* Does anybody actually see complete technical flawlessness as beautiful and ideal? I assumed everyone noticed the beauty in the details, the ‘awkward’ wrinkles or a strand of hair being out of place, the idiosyncracies that make you real and unique. These are the little things you’re going to remember in the future. I hardly see smoothing over them as ‘creativity’. I think it’s about as far from thinking outside the box as you can get. If you’re going to go about expecting glossy perfection in life – just like those sex scenes in Hollywood movies where one’s first time is always beautifully romantic and both partners are incredibly satisfied, at the same time – you are going to be bitterly disappointed, and/or messed up. It’s no surprise so many people are depressed, or just utterly lost, these days. And yet People Just Don’t Learn.

I think I won’t go on any further about this. I’ve already rambled more than I meant to. It links to the other thing I was going to talk about, though. For anyone who doesn’t know, I have been in the process of losing weight for the last 15 months or so, since contracting glandular fever. It was nice and happening fairly swiftly for the first six months, but the closer I get to being – ahem – ‘my personal best’, the slower it’s coming off. Plus since Ryan has been back from sea and I spend most weekends with him, I’ve got slacker and given myself more ‘days off’. I’m not super-strict on myself; I wanted this to be a gradual thing so I could actually change my lifestyle, not just go on a temporary diet. I hate fad diets with the fiery passion of a thousand burning suns. I just try to stick to 1,500 calories per day, most days, which is the final figure after taking off the couple of hundred I burn with my 3-mile brisk walks and occasional aerobics. I’m a lifelong vegetarian, and I make sure I get at least my 5-a-day of fruit/salad/veg. (My lunch is always based around veg or salad.) I hardly ever put salt on anything any more. I eat a low-GI breakfast to start my metabolism off. I think I’m pretty healthy now. But I am getting a little fed up of still being wobbly round the edges and of course, the lighter you get, the less effective the exercise is unless you increase it accordingly.

So I think I need to shake up my routine a little, maybe get with some toning exercises to fix my loose tummy. This week I’ve been jogging most days (not today – I ache!), jogging mixed in to my walks. At first I was shocked at how easy I found it – not that I can run for that long at a time, but I felt light while I was doing it. But doing it every day seems to be a bit much; I’ve been achey and found it hard to get up. I’d like to keep it up semi-regularly, but I need to invest in a good sports bra (ouch – big boobs are a definite drawback when trying to exercise) and make sure I warm up beforehand. I’m enjoying bouncing along to energetic music (M83 and Friendly Fires are good) although sometimes I get the urge to dance down the road rather than run. I bought a pair of cheap’n'chavvy trackie bottoms from Primark and I think the evening will be a good time to jog (less people will see me, among other things). I tried before breakfast, but I don’t really have the energy, and I get a stitch.

I asked some people on a fitness forum on t’interwebs if they had any suggestions for an apple-shaped lady (for I am one, sadly) to get a curvier waist/get rid of the wobble from there, but they all say ’spot-reduction’ isn’t doable and you just have to generally lose weight. Bah. They did offer a few helpful suggestions though for exercises, things I can do for free at home as I can’t afford gym membership at present (and don’t really want to go anyway), so I am going to make a note of all those and try out some new stuff. I think it’s as much about getting bored with the same old same old, as anything. Squats, pushups (UGH), back exercises to balance ab ones, and some cardio. Yoga for stretching core muscles. I don’t think I’m going to change my food habits except giving in to temptation less, and I’d like to try making more new things – using tofu, for example. And maybe porridge instead of muesli sometimes. My target is by my birthday (nearly six months ahead) to be all happy with my bod. And preferably not to be in-between clothes sizes. That’s annoying. Then, I guess, I will have to get my breasts measured again! I don’t think I’m the same size any more.

That’s quite enough. Jeez, no posts for weeks then suddenly these … like buses, eh? But not ones that say ‘Sorry, I’m not in service!’ If I were a bus, I wouldn’t stoop so low. At least I got to writing about some trending issues this time, even if I did add personal blah on the end. Soz for the lack of pictures to break it all up.

Have a good weekend, folks and folkesses.

Rantage, part the first

Perhaps several rants and raves, here. I dunno, maybe I’ll split them up into separate posts.

Firstly, following the tweets of Stephen Fry and Charlie Brooker, I’ve been raging about that dickhead from the Daily Fail and her ugly homophobic article regarding Stephen Gately. How people like that sleep at night, I’ll never know. You’ve probably heard all about it already, but if not, to sum it up, here’s this quote:

Another real sadness about Gately’s death is that it strikes another blow to the happy-ever-after myth of civil partnerships.

Gay activists are always calling for tolerance and understanding about same-sex relationships, arguing that they are just the same as heterosexual marriages. Not everyone, they say, is like George Michael.

Of course, in many cases this may be true. Yet the recent death of Kevin McGee, the former husband of Little Britain star Matt Lucas, and now the dubious events of Gately’s last night raise troubling questions about what happened.

It is important that the truth comes out about the exact circumstances of his strange and lonely death.

You see, gay people are capable of dying, just like straight people! I know – shocker, eh? But the fact that two of ‘them’ died, within a week or two of each other, provides irrefutable evidence. Isn’t it troubling to think they’re just like you or I? Or perhaps it’s the gay disease that got them? Let’s ignore the coroner’s verdict of accidental death and make sure the REAL truth comes out!

I don’t think I need to say anything further on the matter. The ignorance and misdirected hatred speak for themselves. I don’t know why she doesn’t say it outright – the passage above makes little sense. Strange, of course, but how was it ‘lonely’ to die in one’s sleep whilst on holiday with one’s long-term lover? What has George Michael got to do with anything? What does sexuality have to do with a pulmonary oedema?

All right, I did just say more on the matter. I wasn’t going to feed the trolls, but damn. This poor man (and yes, 12-year-old Catbob is heartbroken) has only been dead for a few days, his loved ones are trying to wrap their heads round it; what sort of person thinks ‘ah, a tenuous excuse to bash homosexuality!’ WTF? Is this the UK branch of ‘God Hates Fags‘? Mr Brooker has said it all better than I, here.

And look what I found whilst searching for the one of those links. Hahahahahaha!

In a completely unrelated rant, I just had to turn down an invitation to go bowling and have dinner somewhere with my friend, because I am so poor. That sucks. I can live without the dinner, because I’m trying to really knuckle down with my diet/exercise (more on that in a bit, folks!) and eating out is a temptation that’s luckily too expensive to give in to. But bowling would’ve been fun. I was up for that, but my chum wanted a good night out as she’s been having a tough time lately – understandable. She’ll find someone with more money to have fun with tonight; I’ll see her tomorrow instead.

I did, however, get to see another friend on Tuesday for the first time in too long, which was a nice catch-up. She’s also mega-busy (both friends are recently qualified teachers) and her boyfriend sounds to be having a tough time, like so many people I know at the moment. We ate jacket potatoes, talked, I gave her belated birthday presents and she gave me my belated Christmas presents (I still have hers!) – a big luxurious copy of ‘A Christmas Carol’ as illustrated by Quentin Blake! I didn’t know he’d done that, but it’s awesome. And also a weather house – y’know those old-fashioned weather forecast things where the lady comes out of the house if it will be sunny, and the man if it will be rainy? Laurs always finds funky presents. I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to afford anyone’s presents this year. I’m a bit of a humbug anyway when it comes to Chrimbo. I’ll get my lottery ticket in a minute though, just in case. *sigh*

HA! I also follow shitmydadsays on Twitter, and the post of a few minutes ago made me chuckle:

“I like the dog. If he can’t eat it, or fuck it, he pisses on it. I can get behind that.”

Although the last sentence could be misconstrued. *shudder*

Rightiho, the other stuff is vaguely related, so can go in its own entry very shortly. I need to up my post count anyway. Cheerio.

Swish-Swish! go the leaves.

Hello!

I promise I will write a proper considered entry soon, about some Interesting Topic or other, but here is something to tide you over for now.  Today is the first proper day of Autumn (despite the title of two entries back). As I wrote then, I love this time of year. I love Spring as well, for the same reasons. There’s just an energy in the air, a feeling of movement and so much potential. It’s not like Winter or Summer, where it’s either cold all the time or hot all the time. It’s unpredictable and varied. My birthday is in April. Last year it snowed a couple of inches on that day; the year before was brilliantly sunny and took place during the hottest April on record. (OK, so it’s usually some sort of cloudy/sunny/rainy hybrid; that isn’t the point.)

You can really feel the nights getting shorter or longer (of course there’s also the clocks going back or forward). In March, I always start to feel so much more positive and happy because although I like winter, I have always had enough of it by then. In September, I get that fuzzy feeling in my tummy, the same as when you’re going on holiday or even falling in love/lust. It’s nostalgic, cosy, and just much more aesthetically pleasing. Sunsets get more vivid, leaves turn into a warm mixture of colours rather than all being green, there’s crispness in the air. Sooner or later you’ll be able to see your breath, smell bonfire smoke everywhere, wrap up in your coat and scarf. I think I would go out on a limb and say it’s the most romantic season.

Saying that, the past two Autumns I have felt very down, because Ryan has been away on a boat for his sailor-training the same time each year. Even in 2006, he left in November. I don’t have many good memories from the last couple of September/Octobers and I’m very happy to be able to share them with him this year, and really enjoy my favourite time again.  I stayed at his house last week, and even though it wasn’t technically Autumn yet and was very warm, I kept waffling on about it. I noticed how every time we wandered round his village, I would see the trees changing colour, berries on the ground, the hazy light over the field, the sun moving across the sky more quickly. Those things put a big silly smile on my face. Small pleasures, eh?

Autumn has always been my favourite season, even when I was a child. Which is why today I present to you a poem by the nine-year-old (I think) Catbob, creatively titled ‘An Autumn Walk’. A pretty clichéd exercise for creative writing, really, but there you have it. My teacher’s comments were, “What a lot you have to say for yourself, Catherine. Some of your lines are not particularly rhythmic.” Firstly, duh. Secondly, it was the first time I’d attempted non-rhyming poetry, and even now when I see that verse without any punctuation, to me it just looks like it’s strung on random lines. So I tried to do the same. With bonus (incomplete) illustrations!

Hello!

Goodbye!

OK, so I *did* start to ramble on about the emo trees. Redundant much? I was probably losing interest by then. I quite like the idea of the clouds staying where they are and gradually fading, though. As if turning to stone. I have no idea why I felt compelled to open and close it with those merry greetings, though. And I think I ran out of time to draw picture number 2, rather than that symbolising Autumn had gone …

(Sorry it’s hard to read; blogs offer narrow strips of space and I wanted to get the drawings in as well as the poem, as they’re probably better.)

That’s enough of my climate-based ramblings for today.

On another note, I would like to wish the dashing Lord Likely and his creator Mr Fanton a very happy and sexy birthday indeed. I trust much debauchery will take place tonight, and I hope they will be able to recall some of it tomorrow! Have a tip-top time, fellas, and thanks for the many laughs you have provided me with this year.

Album review: Mew – ‘No More Stories…’

… or, to give it its full title, No More Stories/Are Told Today/I’m Sorry, They Washed Away//No More Stories/The World is Grey/I’m Tired/Let’s Wash Away. And I thought I was Ramblor™. FYI, those words comprise the entire lyrics of one of the songs, Hawaii Dream, but with some echoing and set to quiet piano.

Freakish cover art. Quelle surprise!

As I’ve stated on here previously, I was looking forward very much to this album, as it’s been 3 years and 11 months since they last put out a full-length record – this one was originally meant to be out in spring (actually, I’ve got a feeling it was last autumn first?), then it kept getting put back, which peeved me. Also, their last CD, …And the Glass-Handed Kites, coincides with a time of my life to which I have a lot of memories attached – having recently graduated, having a job, getting some money for once, dyeing my hair deep red, and a little later, falling in love. I wonder what I’ll come to associate with this one.

A month or two ago, I heard the first two new Mew songs in ages. They put Introducing Palace Players on their completely overhauled myspace profile. My first thoughts were ‘this is very Mew’. And ‘this sounds somehow very 80s’, but that applies to many Mew tracks. There’s something funky about it, and it has the typical Mew odd-time-signature-changes. No great departure, but a good song. They also gave away a free download of Repeaterbeater, which is probably one of my favourites. It’s a short song, very catchy and energetic. I kept replaying it – perhaps that’s what they were aiming at with the title? One of those tracks that pretty much get straight into things, don’t outstay their welcome, and leave you wanting more.

And so more I came to hear, once the album was released. I think I have listened to it enough times now to give a decent opinion. I have listened to certain songs far too many times, in fact. As with most relatively new albums though, I suppose my mind will be subject to a bit of fluctuation for a while.

I like it very much. Mew are a quality band, and just like all the best records, this one has been growing on me incessantly. I love that about layered music. However, I’d quite like to get what I see as the least favourable thing about No More Stories out of my system first. I don’t think it flows as well as their previous albums. There are a couple of ‘Intermezzo’ tracks, short instrumental interludes. I know these are most likely slotted in to bridge the gap between changes of tone in the songs, but personally I find them a bit unnecessary. Intermezzo 1, especially, is only 29 seconds long and some of that is silence. Intermezzo 2 is a little longer and prettier. There were a couple of these, little adjoining or introductory or instrumental  songs as opposed to fully formed ‘main’ tracks, on Glass Handed Kites, but it absolutely worked there as the whole thing was one continuous piece of music, every song blending into the next. Those sort of concepty albums are the ones that you’ll want to listen to from start to finish, rather than selecting odd tracks, more than you would other CDs. They feel complete, cohesive. I have clear favourites and ones-to-skip in No More Stories. It’s not a big issue; like I say, the Intermezzo ones (and Hawaii Dream) are only short, and with 14 songs altogether, there is still plenty to enjoy. It just detracts slightly from the overall effect, for me, because they seem awkwardly placed like a cut-’n'-paste job. They could have chopped these and made it a tighter, shorter album like Frengers was, I reckon.

I haven’t really been listening to the final track, Reprise, much either – perhaps because it’s got echoes of Silas the Magic Car (!), which is probably my least favourite of the ‘proper songs’. The latter is pleasant but very simple and fairly repetitive, almost childlike, as its name suggests, and it doesn’t grab me like the others. The former is nice and soothing (and works well as a ‘roll the credits’ closing theme to wind down, I s’pose), but the second-to-last song, Sometimes Life Isn’t Easy, is my absolute favourite and anything following that isn’t going to come close. This is the song that I have listened to 22 times on the computer alone (plus several more on my mp3 player) in the two weeks or so since I’ve had the album. I just can’t get it out of my head. I’m afraid of the moment I start to lose interest – I hate that about being addicted to a song. Curiously, it has the feel of a longer, more epic track, because it twists and turns a few times before it gets into the main tune/tempo, and then there’s a lovely softer spooky ending (similar to that of Louise Louisa on the last album). Catbob loves songs that do that, changing as they go to keep you interested and not just following a formula.

Indeed, though, the longest track here is Cartoons and Macramé Wounds, clocking in at 7:21 . This is a lovely sweeping ballad with harmonies, subdued pretty piano/keyboard solos, then back to crashing layers of sound. Very nice. My second- (or joint-) favourite, and the first to have leapt out at me, is Hawaii. Oooh, it’s nice. It starts off with, as you might expect, a jolly, tropical-sounding beat and sort-of chanting, in a lower-than-usual-pitched voice. Then comes the ‘verse’, then some more awesome tribal beats with xylophone (I assume) and something resembling exotic wildlife, and then – WHOOSH! You’re straight into fuzzy uplifting ‘ooooh’ territory. Yay! I just love this song. It makes me smile.

Elsewhere, Vaccine and Tricks of the Trade are darker, more urgent-sounding and eminently danceable. Tricks of the Trade is especially funky, not so ‘rock’. I love the variety of tone between tracks, perhaps one thing that I couldn’t say so much for Glass Handed Kites (with the possible exception of the final two songs which could stand alone), but definitely applied to Frengers. It’s always a good sign when bands are capable of turning their hands to different styles and don’t write themselves into a rut. I’m also really glad they don’t appear to be running out of inspiration any time soon.

Beach is, according to a preview on spin.com, ‘the most straightforward song Mew have ever recorded’, and I’m inclined to agree – it’s one of them, at least. This is another 80s-tinged tune that sounds optimistic and summery. Y’know, the song titles on this album are very apt. As ever, I don’t really know what they’re talking about (Mew aren’t one of the bands I listen to for their sharp lyrics, although I do appreciate their dreamlike imagery) but I don’t really want to – you know how when you get a new song under your skin, it stays there repeating incessantly, but the moment you learn the words, it loses some of its magic? That’s how I feel about Mew. I’d rather not demystify them.

Finally, ending on the first song (what a rebel, huh?), apparently New Terrain becomes a new song called Nervous when you play it backwards. I’d love to test this out and listen for myself, but I don’t know how one plays a song backwards, or I just don’t have the software. Grr. Anyway, I think I read that this song, or parts of it, were actually recorded the other way and played backwards. It does sound kind of distorted, which I think is pretty cool.

So that’s No More Stories. I think this was well worth the wait and, at the risk of repeating myself, I’m so excited to see them play these songs in London in a couple of months, as well as preferably some old favourites, with the odd animations and everything. Squee! If you like strange, somewhat challenging but still relatively poppy music, give Mew a go. As I say, there’s a real mixture of songs here, so you’re bound to like at least some of them. Or your money back. Unless you downloaded it, in which case you’re none the worse-off and can’t complain. So there.

Autumnal Authorings

Hello! I’ve been a bit negligent here, haven’t I? Apologies. So, what have I been doing with myself? Well, I’ve been spending a lot of time recently with my man, as he has had time off and it’s rare we get to be together for extended periods. We’ve mostly been chilling out enjoying each other’s company, taking some fun photos (mainly on his part, as he is the better photographer with the better camera) and playing a lot of Scrabble (winning mainly on my part).

I’ve also been buying presents for friends of mine whose birthdays all seem to fall within a month of each other. With my non-existent money. Other things on which I have been using this imaginary moolah include tickets for two upcoming gigs, both in November: first Mew on the 10th, then Decemberists on the 19th. I’m very excited about both. Mew, because they’re one of my favourite bands and I’m acquainting myself with their first album for nearly four years, No More Stories… which I shall be posting my opinions of shortly. The reason they’ve taken so long, I think, is because they spend ages making accompanying films for their music to project at their shows, then they tour for ages and ages. This is cool, even though I’m impatient. I wonder what weirdo video images they’ve come up with this time; some of the visuals for the …And The Glass-Handed Kites tour were really freaky. I am seeing them at Shepherd’s Bush Empire, which is the same venue where I saw them last time round, in February 2006, so it’ll feel like something of a déjà vu experience, I expect. That time was actually the day after the first time I went out with Ryan, so I had all kinds of emotions, and then I tripped going down a step I didn’t see in the dark, and sprained my ankle. It probably won’t be so eventful this time. But we’ll see. I wonder who might be the support act/s. The two from 2006 never made it big, or even medium-sized. All I can remember about them is that there was a Swedish (?) band who looked quite cuddly and made nice but not exciting music (I think their name began with P), and a band from Birmingham who had cabinets and lampshades on the stage. And then Mew played almost everything from their recent album (only leaving out my lesser favourite tracks) and some older ones too. Hooray! I’ll try to get to the front this time instead of 3 rows back, as I’ve been at the front for the last four gigs I’ve been to and I won’t accept any less, damnit!

The Decemberists should be amazing too, not least because it’s pretty much a double-set: one for The Hazards of Love in its entirety, and then some selected older Decemberists tracks. No ’special guests’, just them. One of my first tweets upon signing up to Twitter in March was something along the lines of ‘Listening to a rock opera courtesy of the Decemberists. Madness. I want to see it performed on stage’. And now I will be doing so! Hurrah! I hope they dress up, especially the forest queen. It will be so over the top and fun. And doom. I am going with Ryan, but my sister and her friend are also attending on the same day, so I expect we’ll meet up. I have never been to the Coronet venue before, so that’ll be interesting. Never seen the Decemberists either. New experiences all round.

I found out today that Julian Plenti is playing at the Scala in December, but I think I’ll give that a miss and just wait till Interpol return, whenever that is. I’m pleased that I will have managed to get to so many (for me) gigs this year though. I was just saying to Ryan after we saw M83 or Why? that most gigs I had been to took place in February or June/July and I couldn’t think of any Autumn ones. (I later recalled Belle and Sebastian/Franz Ferdinand in December 2003, but December feels like winter.) So I’m glad these two popped up, even though I cannae afford them. Of course I will write reviews of both in my dearest blog.

Andrea returned from India last week too, and is now readying herself for becoming a real life teacher, as is Laurs. I’m due to see both some time (with birthday gifts) but I don’t know when for either, yet. The weather has been lovely and mostly sun with a chill in the air – I love it when the seasons begin to turn! Cosy and pretty. Early September feels like a time of new starts, and I’d like to start something, apart from a job which of course I’d also appreciate. What, though? Jennie suggested a book (as well as a fire and a fight), as in writing, which I’d really like to do, but WHAT? Grr. Must think. I thought maybe I could make an effort to write something in here every day of the month, however small, instead and as practice, but there’ll be some days when I’m not in (probably not too many, it’s true), and now it’s past midnight it’s the second anyway. D’oh! I definitely intend to write more often, though. I’ll browse around for topic inspiration, and just waffle. Why not, eh?

I’ve also been enjoying trying on coats in the shops, for some reason. Mainly Primark as nowhere else seems to really have warm coats in there yet. There are loads of checquered shirts everywhere too, including big loose ones that look like overalls you’d wear to do painting in, or things grungey bands would wear circa 1993. Kinda like ‘em though. I’d really like the money to be able to revamp my wardrobe. I think I’m getting to that awkward inbetween-sizes stage again, though when I measure myself with tape measure, I seem to be pretty much the same as I have been for the last few months, so that’s bizarre. Maybe clothes are all getting bigger. I’d like some scarves too (not woolly ones, pretty ones). Yes.

Well, I’m going to go to bed now. This has been a big ole ramble but I’ll write more on specific subjects at a sooner rather than later date. Goodnight all!

Grrrr

So Virgin broke the internet in my area code yesterday afternoon and only just got it fixed at 1pm on the dot. I hate this modern reliance on technology! I was so bored and frustrated without being able to look anything up. I did lots of reading and lying in the garden yesterday anyway getting lightly toasted, which was nice, but last night and this morning, pah. Must wean myself off the webosphere. Our TV’s digibox was busted too, not that I watch anything on Wednesdays or much at all really. It’s just the PRINCIPLE of it, y’know? I wanted to catch up with webby stuff after being away for a week. But as it turned out, there wasn’t really anything to catch up on. Nothing important happened. No emails, one new blog view, blah. It’s like when you forget to bring your mobile phone somewhere one day and start panicking thinking you’re going to have missed loads of texts or calls, or you’ll have an emergency and need to usea phone, or something. Then you get home and you have no new messages, you loser. Grr. TECHNOLOGY.

I was going to write something in here last night too. I might do that later but now I’m late for going on my walk and luncheoning. 4.5 miles and lentils are calling. Bye for now.

Quirks and Oddities

I’m quite a strange lady, and have had some peculiar habits and interests over the years. Many of these are OCD-ish at least in origin, and some are just plain O (I’m one who gets very taken with things to an obsessive degree if I’m into them). You might even call them :-O.

For example, my main ‘thing’ is that I always have to be on the left. It just doesn’t feel right otherwise. I have early memories of always sitting on the left in the back of the car when I was a child, whilst my sister sat on the right, though whether it began here or this was a result of an existing condition, I know not. Perhaps I was on the left-hand side of my mother’s womb, before or after I turned upside down and decided to come out early and arse-first. What a fidget. Probably the only time I’ve ever been early for anything, too (three weeks, don’t you know!) – impatient even as an unborn babby. But I digress. I still make sure I sit/stand/walk on the left wherever possible, and I’m always on the left hand side of the bed when I share it.

This lefty theme continues. I write with my right hand; I’m not very good with my left, the writing tends to come out backwards if I try. But I notice that I always use my left hand to eat with (crisps out of the bag, etc), put shampoo etc on with, I text with my left thumb (the right index finger helps if I’m a hurry) and I look through a camera lens with my left eye (not that this is an issue any more, my digital camera doesn’t even HAVE a viewfinder, damn it). I only realised this when at a PGL holiday as a teenager, doing rifle-shooting, when I wondered why I wasn’t hitting the target (right-handed people were positioned to close their left eye). Hmm. The left hand side of my face is better-looking than the right side – I have a nice little dimple, whilst the right side of my mouth doesn’t appear to turn up. Thus I’m always on the left in photos too, if I have anything to do with it. Also, my left side is bigger than its right equivalent (I’m very asymmetrical) – my boob and foot, anyway. Politically I lean to the left. I haven’t learnt to drive yet, and I’m not sure whether I’ll be crap at it because the driver’s seat is on the right, or not so bad because you drive on the left side of the road over here.

I have lucky numbers, too (9, 13 and 21 mainly; odd numbers>even). I remember having a routine of kissing my mum goodnight when I was little that involved 9 kisses in a pattern. I always go up the stairs left foot first so I end up on my left foot (I hate staircases with more than the usual 13 steps, this messes it up!) usually 2 at a time, on the odd stairs. I don’t even think about it, it just comes naturally. I can actually tell if I’m on the wrong foot without looking, I lose my balance and everything. I do sometimes count footsteps when walking, but usually I’m miles away thinking about other things or just absorbed in my music (my Creative Zen is my trusty travelling companion). Anyway, out of this grew perhaps my strangest preoccupation: streetlights.

When I was about ten, I used to always look out of my window before going to bed (in those days my bed wasn’t under the window like it is now, and was high up). I got into the habit of counting all the orange glowing dots from streetlights in the distance. Soon enough I counted every night to make sure they were all there, and note if any were missing (in summer when trees and bushes grew and obscured them, for example). This was a long time ago, but I’m pretty sure there were 21 usually. Looking out today, I can see about three. I know it’s summer, but what’s up with that?

This led to interest in the lamp posts themselves. I still do like playing around with forms of lighting – candles, fairy lights, unusual lamps, moonlight, sunlight (with prisms), mood-lights – it’s all about the atmosphere and what’s pleasing to the eye. It was similar with streetlights – the various shapes and styles, metal, concrete, different sort of lamp, some had pretty ornate detail. They all had, or helped give the place they were in, character. I favoured the old fashioned looking ones. There’s something cosy about an old-school lantern, especially when it’s just lit up on an autumn or winter’s evening. I noticed these with the same sort of attention to detail that I noticed and memorised the names on street signs. My mum said I should have been a town planner. Sounds OK by me. Oddly enough, I’ve been told that when I was a toddler on walks (or in the buggy) with my family, I used to try and read the letters and words on road signs as they were level with my line of vision (I was an early reader and writer, about 3). And also, when a slightly older child, on car journeys or walks I would point out ‘naughty streetlights’ if they were on during the daytime. So who knows how deep-roooted these interests run? Maybe I was a lamp-lighter in a past life. That sounds awfully romantic.

Idly browsing the internet one day, I wondered if anybody else might share this odd fascination I used to have. Oh yes – check out the most trainspotterish site ever that has lists of types of lamp/bulb used over the years, a collection of streetlight-related news snippets and reports of damaged lamp-posts with ‘what I think happened’ analyses. Pfft! Amateur. Did this webmaster, at the age of eleven, when home sick from school, devise ‘The Streetlight News’ with the letters in that heading consisting entirely of little drawings of streetlamps? And lamp-related puzzles? I think not. Well, I’d be freaked out if he did. I was young and foolish, I have an excuse. Shame on him.

I’m not sure why I’m publishing my bizarre preoccupations on the webosphere. No doubt scaring peeps away from this place forever. Well, no false advertising to be found here. But I am really interested to know if other people have these crazy habits or notions, and if so, what they are. If you are one of the few that stumble across this page, why not tell me something weird about yourself. It’s these ridiculous details that make us individuals, and that sort of thing fascinates me.