A Sad Goodbye...

Just a small nod in the direction of (Lee) Alexander McQueen. Though I have no links to the fashion world whatsoever, I'm a great follower of his rebellious, innovative work and admire his rags to riches story very much. What an inspiration to all the misfits and the eccentric youth of today that the son of an east London cab driver could rocket skywards and become one of the most respected designers in today's British fashion scene. His suicide has left enormous ripples across the world. What a sad, sad loss to the fashion industry and to England as a whole. 
x

Saint Who?

I pose some questions to you dear reader... 


When was the last time you called it 'Saint' Valentine's day? Who was Saint Valentine and does he/she mind that their saintliness has been quietly dropped from this international holiday's title?


With February 14th looming, I'm starting to sicken of bright red hearts and cuddly toys in shop windows. There are signs and billboards everywhere, subtly brainwashing London's busy shoppers into believing that love isn't real unless it is accompanied by a stuffed bear with the words "hug me" written on its pudgy belly. Where did this madness come from?
Call me a miserable, old curmudgeon, but I think Saint Valentine's Day is close to vomit inducing. I sat in a cafe yesterday evening watching men (You know the type- the tracksuit bottomed, sovereign ringed man who's idea of romance is allowing his wife to accompany him to the pub to watch the football) pouring in and out of Clinton Cards with armfuls of pink junk and mass produced cards stuffed with cliched declarations of love... It was enough to put me right off my skinny decaf latte.
Is this what love is about? Surely love should be shown on every day of the year and not just when the card companies vow it is time to do so? 
Being someone who loves a good excuse for a spot of research, I did so and discovered some very interesting facts. Ready? Good!
Apparently, the link between matters of the heart and February dates back to a pagan festival of fertility. To celebrate this special occasion, a carefully chosen animal was slaughtered and then all the young women of the village would strip naked and run around whilst the men of the village would chase them and slap their bare bottoms with the sacrificed animal's entails. This, obviously, made the young women more fertile and cemented February as one of the more amorous months of the calender. 
A second interesting little nugget was the execution of Father Valentine on the 14th of February somewhere between the 14 and 1600's (the dates differ quite substantially from source to source). According to some rather unreliable records, Valentine was put to death for performing secret weddings in a time when marriage was outlawed by the king in order to keep his army's minds on the mission and off the ladies. Right before they cut the poor bugger's head off, it is said that Father Valentine slipped a note to his lover (again she varies from his wife, the King's sister and even the executioner's daughter) that was signed "From your Valentine", thus the first Valentine was sent...


Lovely. Brilliant. So...!?!?!?


There were many Saint Valentines, though none have anything more than a tenuous link to February 14th. There's a pagan bottom slapping ritual, a dead priest, and somehow they all morphed into a commercial, extremely unromantic holiday about romance.
I call each and every person who believes in a spot of real romance to stand up and say "NO". No to the mass produced cards. No to the cuddly toys. No to the vile, eighties cliche of red roses.
Stand up you final few and say "I shall treat my loved one no differently on this day because I love them EVERYDAY!!!!!"


Phew... I got quite riled then... I think I need a sit down and a cup of tea...
x

Birthday Blog...

It is 11.45 pm on a snowy January day and I have exactly 15 minutes to write a birthday blog before it isn't...
As the first blog of 2010 I had hoped to write something profound or exciting, but sadly I have nothing much to say.
Today is my birthday... 27 today... bluuuurrrggghhh!
I have achieved all my some goals... I am a highly successful writer struggling writer. I am world famous and adored by all that know me have just spent the past christmas playing Marius in Les Miserable Peter pan in Canterbury's annual pantomime. I have a body that would make adonis jealous need to go to the gym a great deal more often and I have paid off my overdraft and put down a mortgage for a house am living in the cosy confines of my fat, fat overdraft.
But...
Things are good! Really good! 2010... Here we go!
x

Farewell 2009...

2009 brought more than its fair share of craziness. In one small year my life has changed considerably more than in any other and I'm secretly glad to be saying goodbye to it. 2010 is all about stability and grounding myself... I've decided.


Thinking back to where I was a year ago, my stomach turns over and my heart starts to race with frustration and nervousness. 
I was living with a boyfriend who didn't love me and saw me simply as something that stood in the way of his college friends. I was so filled with the feeling of being trapped and of wasted time that I was having panic attacks daily. I hadn't completed a single story or piece of writing owing to the fact that my creativity had dried up as a result of my near depression. I was working a dead end job and I was gaining weight at an alarming speed. Sweet Jesus it was a mess!!! 
I'm forced to admit that my lovely friend Francesca was right. From very early on she repeatedly told me to "run for the hills" and "get the hell out of there"... I resisted for as long as I could but it was to no avail... FRANCESCA... YOU WERE RIGHT AND I WAS WRONG... There, I've said it!!!


In early May a job came along that would have an undeniable effect on me. "Naked Boy Singing" was an all male, nude review show that quite literally liberated me from my terrible situation. It forced me to reassess my situation and kick things back into gear. I went down to the slimmest I have ever been in preparation for the public nudity. I moved out of the house I shared with my arid boyfriend and moved into a wonderful flat with a dear friend Ellis and his partner. I rekindled my creativity and wrote my first article that was published on the Guardian blog, finished my first children's book and signed to a great literary agent.
Whilst performing in "Naked Boys" I met a brilliant composer who has become a very important part of my life. He is warm and compassionate and all things good and healthy and inspiring. He has made me very happy.
I am clearing my debts, catching up on correspondence with old friends, finishing projects, working hard, reading lots, eating well, being as creative as time allows and working solidly as a performer. 
Needless to say, things are remarkably better than they were a year ago.


I have enjoyed 2009 though, with a heavy heart, I'm awfully glad to wave goodbye to it...


So here goes...  2009, you were very stressful! May 2010 be far more stable and wholesome.
Ta-ta 2009... I'll never forget you
x

A Spirit Of Mischief...

Sir James Matthew Barrie is a bit of a hero of mine. A huge hero in fact.

Though he died forty six years before I was born, my life has been directly affected by his work of absolute genious, "Peter Pan".

The story of Peter Pan inspired me as a child. It filled me with curiosity and hunger for adventure. Though I'm not supposed to, I'll let you in on a secret. For the first decade of my life, my birthday wish whilst blowing out my candles was "I WISH I COULD FLY". I desperately wanted it. It took a further fourteen years to come true however...

My adult life has been equally effected by Mister Barrie's work. There's the same tingle of excitement it always gave me as a child, his beautiful use of the English language and the inspiration he has given me as a writer and then, of course, there's the fact that I've played Peter Pan more than any other role on my resume. 
I love playing the part. I'm currently playing my fifth Pan and it still doesn't get boring. There is a brilliant moment that always comes when you're dangling in your flying harness over the audience. When the lighting is just right, you catch sight of a small child's face in the crowd and you can see by the amazement spread across their face that they truly believe Peter is flying before their eyes. It gives me great pleasure to know that those children are experiencing that same spark of adventure that I did when I was a little boy.

I would have loved to meet James Barrie and ask him a million questions. Though the book is a work of happiness, youth and joy, it is pregnant with a deep sadness. There are so many points from Barrie's own life that made it into the book.
The sad demise of his mother after his brother David's death and her one comfort being that he would remain a child forever.  Barrie's attempt to dress as his brother David and stop growing up so that she could have her favourite son back. The death of five year old Margaret Henley who referred to Barrie as her "Fwendy" and the use of the word as the leading lady's name. Barrie's unusual and possibly unhealthy love for the Llewelyn Davies boys and their "Boy Castaways" adventures that inspired the lost boys, Wendy's brother's John and Michael and possibly even Peter. 
Was Neverland simply a place that Barrie invented to house all the sadness in his life and turn it into something beautiful? I guess we'll never know for sure...
I'm very grateful for Peter Pan and all the way's the 'little boy who would not grow up' has shaped my life. As a young writer at the beginning of my career, I can only hope to one day write something that comes even remotely close to Barrie's piece. As a performer I am very aware that I am slowly getting older and one day will be too old to play the role of Peter... Though I'm wishing for a few more yet.
And finally, as someone that stands for keeping one's inner child alive and healthy, I'm fixing my eyes on the second star to the right and I very much believe in fairies.
x

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