Autumn...

The leaves are changing...
Summer's on the wing and autumn is well and truly on its way. 
It's cold yet sunny and people are out in their jumpers and scarves and coats. I am a child of the winter. I'd be quite content if summer never reared it's sweaty head again and we lived in a permanent cycle of autumn/winter/autumn/winter.
Roll on snow and a million cups of tea...
I think the White Witch had the right idea...
Just a thought.
x

Love Thy Neighbour... Unless They're Different...

Vanessa Feltz...
Whoda thunk it? But... 'Tis true... This blog is inspired by none other than Vanny herself!
I woke in bed, to the alarm-clock radio boomings of Vanessa...
She was arguing the religious right for sikh students to carry a kirpan (a small symbolic knife) to school after a boy of 14 was suspended and expelled from a school in Barnet for trying to enter the building with one on his person.
This threw up a great many religious and moral dilemmas for me...
I'm greatly interested in the ongoing and seemingly never-ending debate of what is acceptable in the name of religion.
The story of the kirpan interested me no end...
It is widely known, that a kirpan is nothing more than a symbol of faith to the Sikh religion. It is no more than 5" long and completely blunt as it purely represents the protection of the weak. It is no more a weapon than a pen or a ruler or a sharp tongue.
I'm stunned by the double standard that is still exercised in England... Especially considering that England is amongst the most liberal countries in the world.
For instance: Why is it okay for a Muslim child to wear a burkha when hoodies are banned from most inner London schools because children should show their faces?
Why are symbolic kirpans a reason for expulsion when the crucifix, a symbol of great violence and suffering, is still accepted?
Why is homosexuality still a taboo subject to teach when the alternative is intolerance, hatred and discrimination from a religion that promotes Jesus' teachings of love and non-judgement?
Why are school assemblies still a predominantly christian/catholic practice in London, when over 50% of London schools are made up of Hindu, Jewish, Muslim, Sikh, Buddhist, Bahai and jain children.
Why are young mother's frowned upon by the same people that insist contraception is a sin?
Why are Christian children taught that god is all loving, yet a small group are forced to stand by the roadside with signs saying "God hates this, that and the other"?
Why is paganism seen as mere folly by religions that can no-more prove their validity over another?
Why does it seem that everything to do with religion is bound in some kind of ignorance or half acceptance or cultural editing? Like nothing is absolutely clear or open or honest???
Recently, a senator in Tennessee, when arguing against foreign languages being taught in English speaking schools, said: "If English was good enough for Jesus, it's good enough for me."
I may sound like a dirty, sinful, heretic non-believer... But why does it seem that the only people able to give themselves wholeheartedly to a religion are the mildly uneducated, behind, backward, socially unsophisticated, ignorant ones? Hmmmmm!?


I'm a firm believer in the unconditional "Love Thy Neighbour!"... That's unconditional... as in un-con-di-tion-al... as in no exceptions... what a futuristic way to think!!
Just a thought
x 

The Old, Yellow Bag...

I have a bag...
An old, yellow bag that I stole from an ex boyfriend of mine. It is just a bag...
It's big and it holds a great deal and it's always heavy and it's very yellow and I love it... I love it a lot...
I realised tonight, whilst traveling home on the train, that my old, yellow bag has witnessed a great deal of my adult life. It has travelled around the country, up and down and overseas with me. It has seen me sad and happy and working and unemployed and single and dating and clubbing and drunk and sober and working my ass off and idling my day away.
It originally belonged to my ex-boyfriend Newley, who wholeheartedly encouraged me to have it and use it. He kept it on top of a cupboard and pushed it onto me so that it would have a purpose once more. 
If I'm totally honest, I didn't like the old, yellow bag when I first saw it. I thought it was obnoxious and bright and over the top. I sneered at it when I was first offered it and made fun of my friend Lee, who desperately wanted it.
BUT...
I gave in and used it out of sheer necessity. Quickly packing it full of scripts and gym kits and bottles of water for my daily routine.
That seems like a very long time ago...
My old, yellow bag has toured around the country on many performing jobs, it has seen my relationship with Newley disintegrate. It travelled with me to France and to Manchester, home to Meopham and my new home in south London and travelled with me, day in- day out, to the west-end show I performed in over the summer. 
It has been with me on first dates, and second and third and fourth. It has watched relationships die and new ones grow. It has viewed many an art gallery at my side and watched many shows from between my feet. It sat by my bed as I finished my first book and stressed and pondered over the editing. It has carried home a great deal of food shopping from the local sainsbury's and strained at the weight of my laptop being hauled from coffee shop to coffee shop.
It came with me to my first literary festival in Cheltenham and was present at my first acting job for the Donmar Warehouse.
Overall, my old, yellow bag has been a dear friend to me...
This is purely a nod in its direction... Oh the stories it could tell...
x

Romance...

Romance…

If I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that ‘romance’ can be one hell of a dangerous thing at times.

Once again, I find myself thrust against the gates of romance and asking myself what it is I want, expect or need from that niggling but brilliant, seven letter word.

I’m an old fashioned kind of guy I guess. In a time when “love at first sight” is a foolish notion that has no place outside of a Disney movie, I can’t help but wish it might be true. Don’t get me wrong… I can be a cynical git at times and roll my eyes as far as they will roll at people’s tales of instant love and romance and belonging. But wouldn’t it be nice?!!! I think so… Cue three fairies to argue over whether my dress should be pink or blue...

I am a fiercely independent person. I enjoy my own company. I trust no-one more than me… But, despite certain cases of cheating and lying and general no-good-nik-ness from past lovers, I’d love to be romanced. Maybe even be the romancer. I guess, for the first time in a very long time, I'd love to be the proud half of a damn good pair...

After a long, long romance free time in my life… I feel it might just be time to jump back on that unpredictable, old mule, grab it by the mane and see where it takes me…

Just a thought…

That’s all

x