The Featherless Bird.

The time will come
When my feathers will fall,
I am scared for this day
When i stand and can no longer see,
It haunts me as i grow
For each day i’m awake i count my feathers
- One by one -
And i’m bullied for my worry,
I’m bullied for my concern -
That one day,
I’ll wake to find
A featherless body
When i will no longer be a bird.

I Lost Your Face

I lost your face last night
I hope you will forgive me
I lost it somewhere i can’t remember
I think it was dark
I think you were cold
You handed me your face
To keep it warm
And i placed it in my bag
Along with my scarf
And I remember we watched the stars together
You took my hand and we sipped on coke
Then it was midnight, and you went home
I woke in the morning, checked my bag
And I’m sorry to say i can’t find your face
I think i searched my whole room
I think i even tried playing your favourite tune.

Only A Man.

Got dressed up but you never came,
They say you’re just playing a cruel game
I could wait by the window one more day,
In hope you’d maybe come my way
I know it probably wasn’t meant to be love,
- But I thought it might and i hoped it would-

Tonight was the night i realised
A man and a mouse aren’t to be,
Dreams i held so close to me,
My heart is broke - i could spit and choke,
I wrote you prose and letters so,
With your name inscribed and hearts drawn below,

But times are times,
Love is love,
We’re just walking a different path
And I think i’ve done all that i can,
For i’m no mouse, i am only a man.

The Man and The Mouse

It was a love story of sorts, but without the happy ending.
She had a bright smile, some would say enchanting.
She was complicated, many would say difficult, but she loved a boy.
People often jeered that she was incapable of such feelings.
She was after all, only a mouse.

She’d wait every morning at 8.30 precisely, for the moment when Arthur would step out of his front door and head down the garden path.
Arthur was tall, and somewhat handsome. But it didn’t really matter whether he was handsome or not, Matilda still watched him with adoration.
She was small in stature, and wasn’t the most beautiful mouse in the neighbourhood, but she had charm, and a dash of wit.
Male mice had come and gone, with none really sticking around long enough to truly appreciate the wonders of Matilda’s personality. It didn’t really matter – she’d set her sights on Arthur since the day he’d moved into number 48 – boxes adorning the front step, a battered old car parked neatly at the rear of the drive.
Matilda, though only a mouse, had a burning desire to let dear Arthur know that he was the one she’d marry.
And so this begins the story of the man and the mouse...

Earthy Matters

Bitter remedies
Passed from ear to ear
Bumped into by god’s guiding hand
Lift me and hear me you cry
Silence drowns the sorrow
Love me like your baby
Hold the earth in its purity
Call on the sacrifice of next door’s flowers
My petunias aren’t looking so well

Morning sunrise
Paints another demise
But it’s tonight’s foreign clouds that rain on December’s earthy prize
Remember the sunlight when the storm takes your lives
It only takes a hurricane to batten down your pride

If only we could live alongside
Hand in hand
We wouldn’t destroy the beauty you breed
It’s all greed and lack of humanity
Battle fields that scream for harmony
A love of two nations supported by your protective branch
And I’m sorry, Mr Willow,
For ever tugging on your arm
I hoped you’d laugh with us this way
But I’m told it’s the stars that are shy
(and I can see why)-
When all of the world is tainted by
Misforgivings, jealous demeanours
And we ruin you
So, I’d like to say –
My washing machine is now set
30 degrees cold

So, humble loving
I honour you
The earth is our joy
The foundations of the air I breathe
Sorry for being not so grateful
When all we do is eat and thrive on greed
And all that you want to say
Is written in the clouds today.

To pass me on the pavement.

I'm sorry, i write in advance, if you are ever to pass me on the pavement.
It doesnt matter whether it's early in the morning or late at night.
I will not look at you,
and if i do,
it'll be from a distance.
A distance so far that you'll never know whether i acknowledged you or not.
I may look at the ground when you approach,
but in fear of looking shy and self conscious, i will instead look elsewhere.
Sometimes i'll glance up the next street,
other times i may look to the sky
maybe i'll look straight ahead,
as if you were never even there.
I may wear an expression,
I may appear totally emotionless
but i'll give you a wide birth,
I won't cramp your style, or force you onto the road
I'll be a kind pedestrian,
sometimes i may flicker a faint smile,
but my friend, i won't direct this at you,
i will not look you in the eye.
and if you smile at me,
i'll look confused,
but once you've passed,
i'll smile too.

Didn't Even Stop To Watch The Clock.

Seeing red,
Cotton thread
Frayed and disarrayed
Stars as they swim, float and collide
Humble kisses as we laugh a lot
The love is strong whilst apples rot
And I’m dancing,
Dancing non-stop
Through the midnight hour
Didn’t even look to watch the clock
Time ticks on when you’re
Bouncing your life away
Dancing your life away
And you’re the only one
That can save me from falling grace.
Time ticks on when you’re
Drinking your life away
Blowing your life away
Didn’t even stop to watch the clock.

Bournemouth Overheard..

Man: ''What do you want to eat?''

Lady One: ''Ooo, chips for me! Chips, chips, chips - look at their chips!'' (pointing to poster advertising chips)

Lady Two: ''Oh no, not those chips, they look anaemic''.

-----Can chips be anaemic??-----

Nothing.

It was a grey wednesday morning. The clouds were dull, the wind was still.
She walked to the corner of town where she always met him. Today seemed different - she had something to say. This was slightly unusual, their meetings were often silent. He would drink apple juice, and she'd have a tea -usually a peppermint tea. Their eyes would meet across the table, a smile would be shared, then one of them would break the gaze and look away. The girl felt her cheeks turn a light shade of pink. She'd met the boy once a week since the beginning of october last year. She knew him well, but not well enough to know what he thought. She'd sit and look into his eyes - trying to read every line and every crease, and what she'd see was nothing. It disturbed her no end; it consumed her mind - it invaded her everyday thoughts.
''Tell me'' she started, ''what do i mean to you?''.
The boy shrugged and adjusted his seat.
''You mean nothing'' he declared, emotionlessly.
And with that, he took a sip from his glass, buckled his shoes, and walked out the door.

The Psychology Of Hens.

On Saturday we added 3 hens to our family. These were bought from a local man who has a collection of around 1,100 hens in his back field. A nice little earner considering each hen provides in excess of 300 eggs a year, and he sells these to major supermarkets and organic farmshops. The hens are hybrids - a mixture of the best egg-laying breeds on the market -Rhode Island Red and Light Sussex. We have kept hens free-range in our back garden since 2000, and since the demise of our much loved patron hen, Hattie, felt we needed to build our hen family up again. So along come the arrival of Poppy, Amber and Etta. They settle in very quickly, and they appear to be getting along rather well.

24 hours later and they are feeding at the trough. Poppy and Etta are contently pecking away, and on becoming aware of this, Amber tries to get in on the action herself. She is gentle and not forceful. However, in noticing Amber's quest for food, Poppy makes a sharp pecking gesture towards her, in which Amber backs away in response. A few minutes later, Etta leaves the trough and drinks some water, hoping then to return to resume her meal. No such luck. On approach, Poppy again gestures at Etta in a domineering and controlling manner. Etta backs away. Amber and Etta watch from behind as Poppy happily pecks away at the dinner provided for all three. It seems that the pecking order has been established; we have a dominant hen.

When All Of the World Is Unaware (Salted Air)

From inside we’re all the same
Hunted down by the world’s bureaucracies
We’re lame,
Lame and maybe totally insane,
So i’m grateful for singing whilst this all goes on
Silent melodies ringing over greedy realities
Cups of tea to sink young one’s dreams
It’s never ok to walk away
When all of the world is flying before noon
And the midnight hour is haunted still
We will blissfully talk, yet be humbly unaware,
Of the dying truth behind salted air.

To Ponder on the Existence of a Smile.

It rises and falls in much the same way. Sometimes instant, sometimes slow and quick to form. The smile doesn’t always align in symmetry; in fact the most natural can be somewhat lopsided. I haven’t looked in a mirror when I’ve smiled a natural smile – I’d become conscious of it, the shape would change. It’s a glimmer in the eye that makes a smile real. A twinkle, and the wrinkling of the lines by the eye. It’s the formation of a perfect story – a beginning, a middle and an end. The best smile winks at me in joy, a flash of the pearly whites, combined with a depth in the eye that tells me you’re pleased to be sharing that moment with me. A smile can make a friendship. A smile can secure someone’s love. But a fake smile, or a forced smile, can break all bonds and knock all walls.

The Amsterdam Journals - Part Three

There were 4 German guys at breakfast this morning, probably between the ages of 19 and 22. What astonished me was the amount they all ate. 5 slices of toast, 2 eggs and copious amounts of bacon...EACH! Then there's me - a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice. Rather petite in comparison huh?!

So today we trotted off to Auntie Tini's - i say trotted, but actually it was tram, followed by train, followed by bus. I can honestly say i'm very experienced in the Dutch public transport system now - and my, it's far better than ours. Arrived at Tini's block of flats - all looks the same as i remembered and she greeted us at the door. On arrival we had a little almond cake and a cup of tea. This was followed by another few cups of tea, and some more Dutch delicacies. After this, we went for a long walk behind the town of Bussum and into the woods. Very warm and sunny today - rather nice. Returned to Tini's - drank another cup of tea (must have been a whole pot by now, surely) and chatted about the Dutch family, whilst being given several heirlooms. I was given a very expensive looking bracelet, dating back to the 18th Century or something, and one of Auntie Tini's favourite pieces of artwork, given to her by a friend in Mexico - "Folk Art". Something i'll treasure for years, i'm sure. My mother was given some shoes she couldnt fit her feet into, and a rather hideous sleeveless blue raincoat. Enough said!

After this the three of us caught the bus into Laren and went to the 'Pannekoken' house which i have been to several times before on my travels to Holland and remember fondly. I think we came here with Jan and Papa at some point, so i spent a lot of time reminising over my much loved Grandfather. We sat at a nice table, had some freshly squeezed orange juice (because Auntie Tini insists on eating/drinking fruit before each meal) and had an interesting collection of pancakes. Tini had bacon, apple and raisin. I had bacon, tomato and cheese, and my mum had half the tuna population on hers, accompanied by a few onions and mushrooms. Weird. Despite feeling incredibly full, Tini was adamant we should have pudding, so we shared an 'Oud Laren' - ice cream with hazelnuts and coffee liqeur. I made the mistake of thinking the liqeur might have been fudge sauce...it gives quite a kick! After feeling rather perky we got back on the bus, said farewell and 'Tot Zeins' to Tini and carried on to the station. Turned on my phone to find a text from Adam saying 'Bonjour Madame!' Haha..bless :)

Arrived back in Amsterdam where it had begun to rain, pounded the streets battling our way through piles of tourists (and following behind a very fat American boy with his pile of chips) back to the hotel. Threw myself up the stairs, and onto my bed. I then went in the shower, which for some unknown reason seemed far more powerful than yesterday -so much so, that i actually had fears of drowning whilst being pinned against the wall by this torrential waterfall. Managed to survive and came out looking like a drowned rat, lay on my bed resting my stomach yet contemplating what to consume at tomorrow's breakfast...

Farewell and Goed Nacht!
Love to you all x

Maybe...

Maybe i can't make a cup of tea without asking a question.

Secret Unsaid

A hidden feeling,
Our silent charm
A secret possession,
Our tightening balm.

Something true,
Yet left unsaid,
We watch it bloom,
The love is fed

And maybe time will be over
Before we’ve said -
Our hidden feeling
Our secret unsaid.

In Search Of Me

To find you was a dream I never thought I’d find
A dream that only comes true in my sleep,
When the blinds are drawn, the night sky consuming me
Unshaken by the fantasies I play
Silently sleeping, Head upon my pillow,
And you’re dancing through my dream,
Smiling hopelessly,
In hope I’d one day make you reality
Take you to the sea,
Watch the boats at dusk, Happy as we could be
So I live my dream hand in hand with thee
And I’m hopelessly happy
That I found me.

The Farmer's Son.

He watched the gun
As it shot the farmers son
Hid the bullet in grass and hay
Wiped the gun with the wool of miss may
Walked from the barn
In sweet disarray
Justice will come to him
One day.

To The Depths of Insanity...

I sometimes wonder if i'm insane.
My head drives me mad.
Creating things that don't exist -
Playing games and over-reacting.
I can't deny that it hurts
But when i realise i was actually worrying about nothing,
that it was all just in my head....
I realise that i am,
Quite simply,
Insane.

Today's Philosophy

Today's philosophy, as overheard being discussed by two women in Starbucks cafe :

''Don't take for granted what you already have"

The Amsterdam Journals - Part Two

Well i slept fairly pleasantly, and woke fairly early - 8.15! Had a delightful breakfast at the hotel - a whole range of bread, toast, cereals, bacon, cheese and even my beloved chocolate sprinkles (was brought up on these!) So after this feast we walked all the way into Dam Square, where we went to Madame Tussards and rather insanely some guy insisted i had my picture taken with Barack Obama's waxwork. I awkwardly stood next to 'him', flashed a rather forced smile and hurried myself into the museum before i was asked to stand next to any other lifeless beings. Thinking about it, a museum full of waxworks of famous people is a slightly odd concept..

After wondering around there for an hour or so (and my mother insisting on spending 8 Euro's on the picture of me and Obama) we ate an apple on the steps of a famous monument, went to a huge department store (where i bought Bjorn Borg's knickers and a Riceboy Sleeps album) and then went to the Olde Kerk - an 'old church'. After this we needed re-fuelling so stopped off at the David and Golliath cafe (where i have been many times on my travels to Holland) and shared a sugary pancake and paid collosal amounts for a bottle of water. We then walked back along the streets to the hotel, partaking in plenty of window shopping, and i had a shower.

After feeling rejuvinated, we walked into the nightlife centre and found a very authentic Indonesian restaurant. So authentic we were sat on small cushions on the floor, and there was barely any light...but this added to the cosy, quaint atmosphere of the place, and was rather romantic i found myself thinking. I had a special curry, and beautiful rice. Once the meal was finished we decided we'd go on an evening canal cruise - which took us straight through the red light district. I have never felt so uncomfortable in my life! Certainly an interesting experience though, nevertheless. The canal cruise went on for a total of 90 minutes, and within these 90 minutes i decided that Amsterdam at night-time was possibly one of the most romantic sights i'd seen. So after the cruise, headed back to the hotel, wrote a postcard to Molly, cleaned my teeth and did some squats. I am now lying on my bed, with a quilt that almost suffocates me. Tomorrow we're off to see Auntie Tini - that's if i survive the many modes of public transport it takes to get there! x

2am Fear.

2am on the clock. It's dark out, but the moon is bright.
The house is still and silent, only the creek of my feet on the floorboards disrupt the calm of the night. I creep to the bathroom and fill my glass. I contemplate whether to turn on the light - a swift but loud click cementes my decision. I stare at my face in the mirror - a blurry version of myself stares right back. My hair is swept across my face. The whites of my eyes plagued by faint red lines. I nod. 'Over-tired' i whisper under my breath. I cautiously tiptoe back into my room, place the glass on the side and seat myself on the edge of my bed. I pick up my diary and hunt for my pen. I begin to write. But i stop. Fear takes hold. I havent checked for spiders. So i place my diary back down, rest the pen on top, heave myself up from my lying position and scout the room for 8 legged-creatures. Rest assured, there are none in sight. I relax, regain my position on the bed, and resume my writing.

The Amsterdam Journals - Part One

Day One.

I'm going to keep a journal of my time in Amsterdam, much the same as the one i did when i was a mere 9 years old, on a previous visit to the city. It feels like home here. Well, not exactly home, but it certainly feels like a place i belong - my heritage. I haven't been here for 4 years, and my gosh, i'm seeing it from a whole different perspective. Everyone is so different..unique..confident to be who they are, and that's a comfort to me. So, within 10 minutes of being here i've already said 'Thank You' instead of 'Dank U', seen a guy weeing on a street corner, had a near miss with a tram, smelt a whiff of marijuana and exposed my bra to half the population of the city (not on purpose you understand...malfunctioning clothes..). But, the hotel (chosen by myself) is lovely - in a quiet street but near to the canals, restaurants, museums and cafes. Tonight we went to the main 'hub' of the nightlife and found ourselves a quaint little Italian restaurant. We sat outside like true Europeans, and were played to by a local accordian player. After our meal we wondered along the little streets, careful not to get knocked over by trams, cars and cyclists. It seems that zebra crossings are ignored by everyone but the pedestrians. There are some interesting people walking around, and i'm sure i saw two famous dutch musicians. Either that or they just liked to wear eccentric clothes, and pose for photos with random strangers.

I'm now back in the hotel, checking out my bed, and the dutch must be very tall people because this cover swamps me. Nevertheless, it's beautifully comfortable, and i'm now contemplating whether i should risk sending a text. I fear it may get lost somewhere in the European phone transmitters, but i'll give it a shot anyhow..

Big Knitted Jumper

I would like a big knitted jumper.
A huge one would do.
Something I can lose myself in.
Something that distorts the shape of my body -
Makes my legs look really small,
And my height very short.
I don’t mind a bit of colour
I even like large pockets
Pockets where I can hide scribbled notes,
Little poems and a pack of polo’s,
I would like a big knitted jumper,
Something to keep me warm at night
Something smaller than a dressing gown
But less restricting than a hoodie
I would like a big knitted jumper
But nothing too loud and garish -
A jumper I could sit with on the sofa -
The company of a good book and a cup of cocoa.

A Bird In The Window

I'm casually sat here, reading over notes on social policy..lone parents..child mortality, and i'm disturbed by the shadow of a bird heading straight for me. The window breaks it's flight, and it falls to the roof of our porch. I clamber up on the desk, to peer down at the little bird, hanging upside down, watching it's feathery chest rise and fall. His wings are open full spread, still upside down, and after 3 minutes, i'm beginning to wonder if he's about to die.. My father (the resident Ornithologist) informs me it's a Nut-Hatch, and the poor little bird is in a state of shock. Apparently, this type of species often engage themselves in peculiar positions if they feel they are under attack. Maybe this is why he is still hanging upside down, head facing the ground. He's lost a few feathers, but after 10 minutes, he brushes himself off, and continues his journey.

Personality Profile - based on Myers Briggs Typologies

Isn't It Strange. Thoughts in Head.

Ever been aching to express something that you just can’t show?
Ever wanted to open your heart to a world that you fear?

It’s a numb feeling in the back of your mind and you’re fighting it
Holding it, deceiving it, sometimes even playing it.
It’s when your mind goes and plays tricks – creates things that just don’t exist – so you can believe, and then panic, that you’re seeing something you don’t want to see, that you shouldn’t see.

And when you close your eyes it’s a perfect picture – vivid and vibrant – until you become aware of what’s staring at you right there. Open your eyes and ignore it.

Walk a couple of miles, and feel so much. Write down on paper how you feel tonight – blog it, facebook it, even scribble it in your diary. Blue ink, perfect font.

Isn’t it strange how it’s so hard to say everything you perhaps should say. Everything on your mind, that you hide and say it’s ok, I’ll say it another day.

Hearts buckle under mounting pressure. These are the days you wake to find that everything that has seemed so perfect comes crashing down.
And you want to ask – where did it all go wrong?
Should you have spoken when all was silent? Should you have kept quiet and not opened your scars to the world? An unpleasant truth that haunts you and tracks you down – in your sleep.

And I can write everywhere how I feel. I could write it on the back of this page, I could write it on a receipt in my purse. I could write it on the walls, I could write it with magnets on the fridge. But I can’t say this face to face.

Being Nine.

If you could say that I’m not alone
I’d fight the bullet, I’d throw the gun
Times and times and further in between
The sand in my shoes,
The sun on my skin
Look and deplete,
I don’t want you to see
The darkness it brings me
When all else is free.
So many times behind closed doors
I hide the truth, that everyone ignores
The little girls who cry at night,
Scared by what tomorrow may bring –
I was nine, he was ten,
Misunderstood, afraid of his face
Of everyone who didn’t understand
I grew up to be someone grand
I could breathe, and I could win
And only defeated by my own skin
I wish I could stand and see his face –
Look in his eyes, stand from grace,
And in the heart of my strength – I look away – I stand tall.
But it’s behind closed doors, when little girls,
So young and soft,
Break and fight,
Lose and win,
A battle within their own skin

Oodnadatta

Anyone know what oodnadatta means?!
It comes up on my predictive text all the time when i go to type 'ooo'. I'm curious! Maybe i'll search it. Maybe it's something rude, in which case, i apologise to anyone that can read it.

Anyway. Gosh my head is banging tonight. A dull headache...I've had a busy week this past week - and my muscles ache to prove it! I'm looking for some artwork and a small bookshelf/cabinet for my new house. I decided Ikea would be the place for it. Unfortuanately i didnt find what i was looking for, but i did consume a rather nice Swedish tart. But seriously...that place is a maze. I read in the local newspaper the other day that someone got stuck in the Southampton branch for nearly 2 hours as she couldnt find the exit...and i can see why!! I was in there for a good hour and a half, and by the time i surface to the fresh air and light again i'm exhausted and ready to be pushed along in my own trolley. It's a killer i tell you.

There's so many things i could write here and talk about, but yet, it's not quite as private and as personal as i'd need for me to do that. Apart from my 4 much loved followers (oh, make that 3, one of them is me!) there's an unseen audience to my blog..somewhere..and i don't know if i yet feel comfortable opening my deepest desires, thoughts, needs to the world! Not that my thoughts are at all interesting... It's like my diary (i've kept one for 9 years) and although i do write a lot of personal things in there, i still sort of 'filter' it in a way..just in case it's ever read. So, i guess what i'm trying to say is that although people can get a pretty good idea of who i am through my writing etc, i think a lot comes from one to one interaction. I could speak for ages about this actually. Maybe another night.

You know, there was a beautiful sunset this evening. Havent had one here for a few weeks. I'm a hopeless romantic arent i? Yup. How nice. Is that enough blogging for tonight? I think so. I begin to waffle..

x

Knobbly Knees

- A Summer's Day with Adam x

A Poem for Tonight.

Coffee Beans
Bright Blue Jeans
Hollow Wish
Scented Kiss
Half-full Glass
Time too Fast
Depth of Dream
Too Extreme
Glass of Wine
Singing Rhyme

x

New Poem - UNLOCK.

My latest poem - UNLOCK.

Insist on being - the key to my heart
I’ll let you unlock me
I’m a closed book with an open cover
Let you in,
Let you see beyond the skin
If you insist,
Of being the only one
Then I’ll let you in
If you promise me,
- Promise me
Confide with me
That you can love,
And I’m your drug
I’ll let you unlock me
Breathe me
Feel me and need me
If you could be
Someone to see
I’d open free
I’d let you have me
Hold my hand and kiss my skin
It’s the blood from roses
I might let you in.

Beach. Beach. Beach.

I had a lovely day down at the beach today. I do think the British are slightly odd though... 'woah! there's some sun, let's all flock down to the seaside, lie there for HOURS on our specially purchased beach towels and then go home looking like lobsters..' I was sat there, looking around at everyone - families, couples, groups of friends - and thinking, how typically British it all seemed. We ate fish and chips, we threw a beach ball, we tutted at people who threw their balls too close to our sand sculpture, we dipped our toes in the water, we smothered ourselves in factor 20 sun protection cream...and we still came home with a nice rosy glow.

It's the british summer. And it was good. x

4 Hours Sleep and a Theme Park.

So, i have concluded that going to a theme park when you've had less than 4 hours sleep, and a very sensitive stomach probably isnt the best idea. I noticed it first of all on the car journey..but blamed it on pre-theme park nerves and anticipation. Oh how wrong i was!! My flatmates bounced out of the car, whooping and cheering in excitement when we arrived at the park gates. I think to myself 'ok...maybe some food will help my stomach'. So i eat a mini chocolate bar. I feel momentarily better. 5 minutes down the line, and i feel on death's door again. Despite this, we head towards SAW - a rollercoaster with a vertical...yes, VERTICAL drop and going at goodness knows how many miles per hour! I strap myself in, the ride begins, and we're away. My stomach has better things to concentrate on for these few minutes, the most important being my survival. So i get off the ride, feeling a little bashed and rather windswept, and decide that yes, we shall go on Stealth.

So whilst we were queueing for an hour and a half i decide i'm not all that great at queueing, but in true British spirit i stand there for the sake of it. And as i'm doing so, a wave of illness/sick feeling/blurry head/dazed sensation hits me at full force. I suddenly feel incredibly ill, and i think everyone in the queue has noticed that at this stage i am now holding on to the railings for support, and my usually cheery smile has vanished without trace. So, ok, i decide that going on Stealth probably isnt the best idea for my health. I decide to wait in the queue until my friends have got up there, then make a quick exit - a far easier option than turning around and walking back through crowds and crowds of people. I wait. I feel rubbish. I wait some more, and then, low and behold, the ride experiences 'technical difficulties'. My heart sinks. Not because i want to be on this ride, but because i friggin' can't get out of the queue! Oh just my luck. So eventually, a further half an hour later, we make the top, and i can escape. (This involves struggling forward, speaking to an attendant, who has to unlock a special gate and let me out down a 'forbidden passage'). Exciting stuff. Sadly, the day for me was rather a struggle. And i couldnt even take part in the hot, sugary doughnuts! So, here i am, £25 down, completely shattered, with a bruise on the side of my head.

But what i will say is i do not regret having such little sleep. Sometimes, sleep comes second in my priorities, and last night was one of those nights. But what i will advise, is please, don't go to a theme park the following day :) x

A Source Of Inspiration

There's a story i really love by Haruki Murakami, called 'On Seeing The 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning'. Here's a snippet from the story, if you get a chance, search it in google, and give it a read. It's beautiful.

'One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert'.

x

I need a polo, and i can see this blog is going to turn into an obsession.

Oh, i knew i'd get hooked on this. Already i feel like i should fill it up with everything in my head. I really need to tell myself to go to bed. But i get stuck on a wave length, and i'll be on it for hours. I'm feeling like this blog is the best thing since sliced bread at the moment. I say that, but do i have any followers?! Haha. It's quite an odd concept if you think about it - writing into technology to capture a moment in time, a thought or feeling. I guess in many ways it is a way to document your life. Online diary? How many diaries do i need?!

When You Are Happy

A poem i scribbled down the other night. I'm not quite sure of where it was heading, or the particular meaning behind it, but it came to my mind and i wrote it down :

When you're happy
I'm soft and warm,
And when you're lonely
I'm stone cold hollow
So when you're happy,
Smile and take my hand,
Lonely sorrow, come and kiss my crown,
When you're happy
I'd wish to be that girl,
And when you're lonely,
I want to fill your frown,
Oh hollow baby,
Tell me it all feels the same,
When you're happy
The heart is full and beating,
Hold me tightly i'd cry and say,
I want to be his girl.

It's About Time...

I've been meaning to set up a blog for months now, and finally i've managed to get round to it, at midnight on a late monday night! I don't know why i choose to begin these things so late at night. I should be contemplating sleep, but night time seems to be when i'm most creative. I do love to write, i'm never far from a notebook and pen. Random jottings here and there - captured snippets of conversations, a line from a song, a thought that's just popped into my mind, the story behind my eyes. I'll share some of this with you...