Before I start, I've got a quick apology to make. Hindsight is a great thing, and on reflection my last entry was a little moany and groany. Reality is also a great thing, and that taught me that the family friend who came to stay us (I refuse to use the word 'guest' anymore) was actually really lovely; certainly not an outsider and totally unafraid of breaking any social faux pas or supposed 'rules' (she unashamedly grinned whilst pulling out lettuce leaves from the salad bowl with her bare hands on several occasions at dinner). I think what the whole experience taught me, quite frankly, is not to be so uptight about things (although you can't really blame me for being uptight up to this point, seeing as I have a mother who thinks it's a life-or-death situation if the hoovering isn't done at least once a week). But anyway, you're fully entitled to give me a slap on the wrists, and I for one promise not to be so negative from now on.
Moving on from this point, I'm going to write about something I really, really like today to kickstart my new-found attempt to spread the love and not the unecessary grumbling. That thing is radio.
My romance with radio began way back a whole 6 years ago, when I was in my early teens. Now, I'm not going to go into a long explanation of 'the way I was' in those days (I'll save that lovely story for another blog entry), but, in short (and I was extremely short) I was highly self-conscious, shy and just a little socially awkward. Anything that involved some level of communication or social interation (most people call it 'talking') unerved me slightly, mainly because I was so concerned of saying something that would deem me a complete loser for the rest of my school days (as you can see, my uptightedness is something that's deeply engrained in me). For this reason, there was no time of day I dreaded more than the 40-minute bus journey every school morning; an envrionment where, even if I wanted to, I couldn't escape a conversation. I sat by the same girl every day; she was the same age as me and very nice, but we had absolutely nothing in common and, subsequently, little to talk about. Everyday I played a game with myself to see how long I could manage to stretch out a conversation between us-usually constructed with comments on the weather or maths homework-but at best I could only ever manage to fill half the journey. For the rest of the time, we would just sit there in dumb, awkward silence-and I for one inwardly beat myself up for not having yet mastered the Art of Conversation. Ah, those were the days.
Anyway, the reason I'm telling you all this is because one day, we got a new bus driver. A bus driver who liked listening to the radio-so much, in fact, that he listened to it everyday, without fail.
The difference this made to my early morning bus trips was unbelievable. All of a sudden, I no longer needed to do all the talking and fill in the silences-somebody else, a Mr Chris Moyles in fact, was being payed to do that for me! Not only that, but he was very good at it; so good that he even managed to entertain my wandering, worried teenage mind. . And there was music too-something relatively interesting to talk about, if there was ever the need for conversation. Now I've always been a bit sceptical about cocky Chris being 'the saviour of Radio 1'- but he was certainly the saviour of my sanity during those long morning bus journeys.
Since then, my relationship with radio has blossomed. I got a little silver radio for Christmas that year, a shiny high-tech DAB the next...and next thing I know, I'm considering a career in radio and have completed a work experience placement at BBC Radio Wales. Blimey! That bus driver certainly has a lot to answer for...
But even though my relationship with this wonderful medium has evolved over the years, the reasons I listen to it are still pretty much the same. Radio fills up life's awkward silences-it doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing, who you're with or not with or what you're going through, it nobly stands by you with no questions asked. It's a loyal friend, changing to suit to your mood; light-hearted and funny when you need cheering up, serious and intellectual when your lazy brain needs a bit of a workout. Sometimes mistakes are made and you enjoy a little less than usual, but these are minor bumps in the road; part and parcel of any relationship worth having.
As you can tell by the sentimentality of the last paragraph, my teenage love-affair with radio has turned into a full-time, serious relationship. And anyone planning on having a proper romantic relationship with me in the future will need to make space for me and it. Because, super-corny as it sounds, I really can't live without radio.
Sunday, 11 September 2011
Friday, 2 September 2011
A cleaner's mentality & other tales of preparing for guests
We have a guest coming to stay this weekend. Oh, that dreaded term. 'Guests'.
It's a word dripping with impersonality, isn't it? Whenever I went to a friend's house to play as a child, and got referred to as a 'guest', I immediately felt like an outsider; trapped in a catergorized playpen all on my own. Whereas other household members were allowed to roam freely around the 'family' catergory, easily exchanging in-jokes and basking in familarity, I, being the lone guest, was the awkward one, constantly asking for directions to the nearest toilet and attempting to make a good impression. Not a lot of fun.
But as I've grown older and (apparently) wiser, I've come to notice that being the receiver of a guest is a bit of a social minefield, too. Especially a guest you don't know very well, as is the case this weekend. Being a member of a host family means remembering things that you usually forget whilst at home; table manners, social etiquette, no walking around in pyjamas or drinking tea without a coaster, thank you very much. The ringleader (mum, of course) gets very stressed and snappy; only speaking between gaps in the hoovering, and usually only then in abbreviated terms. Her current favourite at the moment is "FHB!", meaning Family Hold Back-in other words, "Stop eating all the food which I bought for the guest!" It's a phrase she seems particularly proud of, because as a type of code she can use it whenever she likes; even in the very presence of the guest themselves.
Anyway, it goes without saying that preparations for the guest's arrival have already begun, a good day before her planned arrival. Most of today has been spent cleaning toilets, making beds, picking flowers, baking cakes, brushing floors, dusting windowsills....I could go on but the list's rather dull. Everyone, even Dad, has been roped in to help and generally 'make an effort'; the highly important thing to do when guests are imminent. And I for one am exhausted already!
But the interesting thing I've noticed is-we're not actually doing all this for the guests. We're doing it for ourselves. Let's face it- is someone who barely knows your house going to notice if the carpets aren't completely clean? Is it likely that they'll criticise you if you haven't toilet-ducked the loo in the past 24 hours, or spent ages dusting a photo-frame that they'll hardly even glance at?
The answer's an emphatic no, of course. They'll never know. They'll never even think about it.
But we will. We'll know. Those crumbs on the carpet will leap out at us, those unclean windows will mock us, and we won't even be able to sit on the toilet. And so, we must clean.
I've got to admit, it's a lovely feeling when it's all done. Not only does the risk of an imminent feeling of guilt disappear, a sense of smug pride arises within. Because we've been a good enough person to 'make the effort' for an outsider. Sorry, I mean guest.
It's a word dripping with impersonality, isn't it? Whenever I went to a friend's house to play as a child, and got referred to as a 'guest', I immediately felt like an outsider; trapped in a catergorized playpen all on my own. Whereas other household members were allowed to roam freely around the 'family' catergory, easily exchanging in-jokes and basking in familarity, I, being the lone guest, was the awkward one, constantly asking for directions to the nearest toilet and attempting to make a good impression. Not a lot of fun.
But as I've grown older and (apparently) wiser, I've come to notice that being the receiver of a guest is a bit of a social minefield, too. Especially a guest you don't know very well, as is the case this weekend. Being a member of a host family means remembering things that you usually forget whilst at home; table manners, social etiquette, no walking around in pyjamas or drinking tea without a coaster, thank you very much. The ringleader (mum, of course) gets very stressed and snappy; only speaking between gaps in the hoovering, and usually only then in abbreviated terms. Her current favourite at the moment is "FHB!", meaning Family Hold Back-in other words, "Stop eating all the food which I bought for the guest!" It's a phrase she seems particularly proud of, because as a type of code she can use it whenever she likes; even in the very presence of the guest themselves.
Anyway, it goes without saying that preparations for the guest's arrival have already begun, a good day before her planned arrival. Most of today has been spent cleaning toilets, making beds, picking flowers, baking cakes, brushing floors, dusting windowsills....I could go on but the list's rather dull. Everyone, even Dad, has been roped in to help and generally 'make an effort'; the highly important thing to do when guests are imminent. And I for one am exhausted already!
But the interesting thing I've noticed is-we're not actually doing all this for the guests. We're doing it for ourselves. Let's face it- is someone who barely knows your house going to notice if the carpets aren't completely clean? Is it likely that they'll criticise you if you haven't toilet-ducked the loo in the past 24 hours, or spent ages dusting a photo-frame that they'll hardly even glance at?
The answer's an emphatic no, of course. They'll never know. They'll never even think about it.
But we will. We'll know. Those crumbs on the carpet will leap out at us, those unclean windows will mock us, and we won't even be able to sit on the toilet. And so, we must clean.
I've got to admit, it's a lovely feeling when it's all done. Not only does the risk of an imminent feeling of guilt disappear, a sense of smug pride arises within. Because we've been a good enough person to 'make the effort' for an outsider. Sorry, I mean guest.
Thursday, 1 September 2011
Beautiful, Beautiful Pembrokeshire....
Isn't it funny how first impressions are often completely wrong? I guess that's human nature kicking in again-only allowing us to notice the superficial without paying any attention to a truer, deeper meaning. We really are less intelligent than we like to think!
Anyway, the reason I mention this is because at first glance, I probably seem slightly aloof to the incredibly rural landscape which in which I live; I'm more of a theatre-goer than a horse-rider, I've never felt much of an affinty towards anoraks and can live without hours of fresh, rainy air consumed in desolated corners of the nearby coastline. In short, my character has all the attributes of an arty, comfort-loving city girl rather than an an active, nature-adoring type. For years, this is how I, as well as others, perceived myself. And yet recently, I have taken a second, deeper glance at myself and have realised that this place actually means an awful lot to me.
Take this very moment, for instance. I'm sitting on my bed, legs crossed, trying to write this best I can. Everytime I come to a natural pause in my writing, I look out of my window for some inspiration. Although I live in a rural village, it is not a particularly rural view-houses and roads hide the fields and coastline behind. However, on the horizon, I can see the edge of a green, leafy, clifftop; and this is the point to which my eyes are repeatedly attracted. Whilst looking out at this green expanse, I feel a calmness pervading all other emotions; there's a sort of tranquility and security which arises from its imposing form. Accompanied by today's blue sky, it is a comforting constant in an ever-changing world; a point largely untouched by the human hand. It is simple, yet beautiful; and although beautiful, still real.
This experience, albeit a small one, signifies how I, and I imagine many others, feel about nature, and particularly signfies how I feel about Pembrokeshire. I've grown up surrounded by the hordes of tourists which flock to this corner of the Welsh coast, and have observed the way they are almost hypnotized with pleasure when witnessing its beaches and mountains. However, I have never until now grasped exactly what it is that they're so pleased to see and feel. To them, foreigners to a natural landscape, these are not simply 'beaches and mountains'- but a sensual feast of colours, shapes, moods and symbols which are a far cry from the everyday sights and sounds of the city. For them, Pembrokeshire's natural landscape renews a sense of child-like wonder with them. Although this is something I now acknowledge, it is not a concept a person can fully acknowledge whilst living here. The whole landscape is too familiar.
But the question you're wondering (or I'm going to imagine you're wondering for the sake of this blog-entry's structure) is- why have you noticed all of this now? What is significant about this moment in time? Why the sudden rush to appreciate where you live, when you've taken it for granted for so long?
Well, unfortunately, it all comes back to another unfortunate downfall in human nature-that you never know what you've got until it's gone-or at least, until it's about to go!
In 23 days, I'll be heading to university, and Pembrokeshire will be left behind. And that's why I've suddenly found the capacity to appreciate this beautiful, gentle place where I've been lucky enough to grow up.
I listen to the radio a lot, and amidst the the meaningless prattle and the enjoyable yet often soulless music, a song's lyrics rang out to me:
"If it's meant to be, the universe is gonna throw it back to me...To get it back, all we need is to let it go".
So, I guess I've just got to let this place go, and put my relationship with it in the faithful hands of the universe. But if there's anything the universe throws back to me, I hope it's Pembrokeshire-again and again and again.
Anyway, the reason I mention this is because at first glance, I probably seem slightly aloof to the incredibly rural landscape which in which I live; I'm more of a theatre-goer than a horse-rider, I've never felt much of an affinty towards anoraks and can live without hours of fresh, rainy air consumed in desolated corners of the nearby coastline. In short, my character has all the attributes of an arty, comfort-loving city girl rather than an an active, nature-adoring type. For years, this is how I, as well as others, perceived myself. And yet recently, I have taken a second, deeper glance at myself and have realised that this place actually means an awful lot to me.
Take this very moment, for instance. I'm sitting on my bed, legs crossed, trying to write this best I can. Everytime I come to a natural pause in my writing, I look out of my window for some inspiration. Although I live in a rural village, it is not a particularly rural view-houses and roads hide the fields and coastline behind. However, on the horizon, I can see the edge of a green, leafy, clifftop; and this is the point to which my eyes are repeatedly attracted. Whilst looking out at this green expanse, I feel a calmness pervading all other emotions; there's a sort of tranquility and security which arises from its imposing form. Accompanied by today's blue sky, it is a comforting constant in an ever-changing world; a point largely untouched by the human hand. It is simple, yet beautiful; and although beautiful, still real.
This experience, albeit a small one, signifies how I, and I imagine many others, feel about nature, and particularly signfies how I feel about Pembrokeshire. I've grown up surrounded by the hordes of tourists which flock to this corner of the Welsh coast, and have observed the way they are almost hypnotized with pleasure when witnessing its beaches and mountains. However, I have never until now grasped exactly what it is that they're so pleased to see and feel. To them, foreigners to a natural landscape, these are not simply 'beaches and mountains'- but a sensual feast of colours, shapes, moods and symbols which are a far cry from the everyday sights and sounds of the city. For them, Pembrokeshire's natural landscape renews a sense of child-like wonder with them. Although this is something I now acknowledge, it is not a concept a person can fully acknowledge whilst living here. The whole landscape is too familiar.
But the question you're wondering (or I'm going to imagine you're wondering for the sake of this blog-entry's structure) is- why have you noticed all of this now? What is significant about this moment in time? Why the sudden rush to appreciate where you live, when you've taken it for granted for so long?
Well, unfortunately, it all comes back to another unfortunate downfall in human nature-that you never know what you've got until it's gone-or at least, until it's about to go!
In 23 days, I'll be heading to university, and Pembrokeshire will be left behind. And that's why I've suddenly found the capacity to appreciate this beautiful, gentle place where I've been lucky enough to grow up.
I listen to the radio a lot, and amidst the the meaningless prattle and the enjoyable yet often soulless music, a song's lyrics rang out to me:
"If it's meant to be, the universe is gonna throw it back to me...To get it back, all we need is to let it go".
So, I guess I've just got to let this place go, and put my relationship with it in the faithful hands of the universe. But if there's anything the universe throws back to me, I hope it's Pembrokeshire-again and again and again.
Tuesday, 30 August 2011
What I want this to be...
I've been meaning to start a blog for a very long time. I'm probably not the only one. 'Starting a blog' seems to be one of those things on everyone's generic to-do list-shoved somewhere near the bottom, in between organising your sock-drawer and buying new stationery. I don't know why it's taken me so long to get around to it; I like words, and should therefore view any opportunity to write as a source of pleasure. Perhaps, in the middle of this lazy, lingering summer holiday I'm having, it all seems too much like hard work. Or perhaps I haven't, until now, felt I've got anything worth saying. Or maybe it's just that I haven't been in the right mood or place to write, until this very moment in time. Maybe that makes this moment significant. Or it might mean nothing at all.
Either way, I'm procrastinating now without any sense of purpose, and have diverted from what I actually want to write about-which is not WHY I've started this blog, but WHAT I want it to be. I want to be looking ahead to the future, if you will, rather than over-analyzing my past, which is what I have been doing so far!
Firstly, I want this blog to be private. I'm not going to advertise it like I usually do with my social media, but keep it to myself. I'll share it when I want with who I want, if I want to. As a refuge to my private thoughts, it would seem foolish to brandish it around; that would simply make it an accident waiting to happen when it is misinterpreted by someone who I would rather didn't interpret it at all. I'm very happy though for people to come across it by accident; and whether they know me or not, I hope they enjoy it. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't writing to some type of audience-I'd have started a diary if I wanted real privacy, let's face it!
I also want this blog to have no form of guilt attached to it. As an 18-year-old rambler, unable to master the art of writing concisely, I will admit now that what I write here will never be literary genius, or probably even remotely well-written. If, through the practice of writing everyday, my style and technique start to improve, it'll be a nice bonus; but I would rather the content of my blog, rather than the wording of it, to be its premier attraction.
Following on from this point, I hope at least a little of what I say here will be inspiring, funny, heartfelt, honest. I hope the reader, whoever he/she may be, can at least steal a little glimpse of what it's like to me-even if only for a milisecond. And I hope they can relate to whatever that is. We're all human beings, after all.
Whether I live up to the above expectations, which I alone place on myself, remains to be seen. But it's definitely worth giving it a go.
So, I'll start properly tomorrow. I've popped it my next blog entry onto the generic to-do list, in between buying new shoes and e-mailing distant relatives. Looks like it's had a promotion already.
Either way, I'm procrastinating now without any sense of purpose, and have diverted from what I actually want to write about-which is not WHY I've started this blog, but WHAT I want it to be. I want to be looking ahead to the future, if you will, rather than over-analyzing my past, which is what I have been doing so far!
Firstly, I want this blog to be private. I'm not going to advertise it like I usually do with my social media, but keep it to myself. I'll share it when I want with who I want, if I want to. As a refuge to my private thoughts, it would seem foolish to brandish it around; that would simply make it an accident waiting to happen when it is misinterpreted by someone who I would rather didn't interpret it at all. I'm very happy though for people to come across it by accident; and whether they know me or not, I hope they enjoy it. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't writing to some type of audience-I'd have started a diary if I wanted real privacy, let's face it!
I also want this blog to have no form of guilt attached to it. As an 18-year-old rambler, unable to master the art of writing concisely, I will admit now that what I write here will never be literary genius, or probably even remotely well-written. If, through the practice of writing everyday, my style and technique start to improve, it'll be a nice bonus; but I would rather the content of my blog, rather than the wording of it, to be its premier attraction.
Following on from this point, I hope at least a little of what I say here will be inspiring, funny, heartfelt, honest. I hope the reader, whoever he/she may be, can at least steal a little glimpse of what it's like to me-even if only for a milisecond. And I hope they can relate to whatever that is. We're all human beings, after all.
Whether I live up to the above expectations, which I alone place on myself, remains to be seen. But it's definitely worth giving it a go.
So, I'll start properly tomorrow. I've popped it my next blog entry onto the generic to-do list, in between buying new shoes and e-mailing distant relatives. Looks like it's had a promotion already.
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