Lady

I lost my groove and I need to get it back! That said - where to start? Uninspired and disappointed by the cache of unimpressive role models out there and I mean those who are living of course. We can only look backwards to a time where women were ‘getting their groove reinstated’ and showing that being a lady doesn’t mean being weak, pining for a man or camping out in the kitchen. It was more, it was substance and it was in your face. Ladies were worshiped and men were warned because they knew they were dealing with fire.


We have behind us our Monroe, Onassis, Hepburn, Loren and Diana and before us stand Lohan, Beckham, Campbell, Simpson, and Aniston – did I mention I was uninspired? It just seems that in place of style, substance, intelligence, captivating beauty and selflessness I find myself bombarded constantly by “women” (and I use this word lightly because we wouldn’t want to be placed in the same group as these females) who don’t realise that tantrums should stop at the age of five, a woman who resembles a jarrold’s mannequin doll than a human being and women doing desperate things to hold on to their men and I ask myself where did we go wrong?


I fear that there is no alternative because even when we fool ourselves into believing there are inspiring women, the Hollywood and ‘rock and roll’ lifestyle whisk them away for a quick remodelling and we are left with half a woman. Thus those who previously hailed the flag of ‘down-to-earthism’ quickly squeeze it back into their Louis Vuitton handbag. The Media continues to perpetuate these images of shiny size zeros blondes and brunettes with their self-loving, tantrum throwing, live fast die young Girl Scout motto that throws dignity out the window, exiles selflessness and bring in a new era of mannequin ignorant dolls that are trapped in a nightmare between Barbie and the stepford wives. Ah the god ol’ days.


We have films that promote the idea that we are nothing without our ‘man’ as the movie ‘He’s just not that into you’ tactlessly portrayed. I was sort of pleased to see that ‘the Women’ didn’t really go down that line of reasoning. Yer ok, she was a mess for the first half of the film and simply wanted to chop off his grand jewels as would any woman who just found out that her man had been dabbling in other merchandisers. But she resisted. She took the path that most women fail to grab in both hands, reinvented herself, got her own business and most importantly she got her groove back! You go girl. Now if only others would so kindly follow suit.


After all this bad news I decided to go on a hunt for some real ladies, women with more than just a cell between their ears, those making waves and breaking them. If she wasn’t the first to come to mind, well she should have been. There is a reason Michelle Obama’s secret service code name is ‘Renaissance’, may she bring the cultural revolution that we’ve all been waiting for. Here is a woman, who no doubt raises eyebrows and bring outs every woman little green friend. She is an incredible talented lawyer, first lady, mother and currently a style icon according to Vogue (because we know what they say is gold...). I mean seriously how many women can pull off bright pink flawlessly? I rest my case. She carries herself with dignity and oozes self confidence with every stride (that her shoes are just glad to be part of actions). When you see a woman who you just want to be, hands down, you know she’s doing something right. She’s ticked all my boxes, watch out Jackie O, looks like the crown is up for grabs.


My second nominee for awesomeness would have to be Ellen Page. She’s not your average type of lady I’d admit and she even calls herself a tom boy but this muse of mine thankfully has not yet been tarnished by the Lohans and Hiltons of the world as she had chosen to be tucked away safely in Halifax. Our pro-choice feminist enjoy a tad bit of basketball, snowboarding and I hear she’s more Aladdin than Sleeping beauty; High Five sister! She has never really followed the conventional rules of what a woman should be and you can see that from the roles she picks when acting. I have always been impressed by her choices which are usually never the same – from super mutant heroine to psychological thrillers to tortured teen in a basement (yes, I rose an eyebrow too). You can’t help but watch her. She has shown her dislike for such ‘stereotypical roles for teenage girls’ calling them ‘too sexist’. Someone pinch me I think I’m in love. Can she do no wrong? what’s that you say? Her middle name’s Philpotts? Well we’ll be having none of that!


Now I know they are other women out there such as our dear own Kate Winslet, Meryl Streep and least we forget new comer Duffy. So a toast to the Winslets, Obamas and Ellens, I raise my hat to you for giving us hope that there are still avant garde females defining what it means to be a true lady.

Fear not.

When I first met fear, it was under the hands of my father, the voice of my uncle, and the loss of a friend. She needed no introduction because right then, there was a mutual understanding of who was in control. I let her stay.

She - the shadow of self doubt and deprecation - walked with me, nagging, nagging, nagging like an old lady weathered by time and made bitter by life; my very own Debbie downer with all the trimmings. The sad stories of betrayal retold like a broken record and premises that seem to make sense but lacked logic when spoken aloud. Every day she spoke them and each time I gave in despite rationality. It’s like what they say, you spend enough time with a crazy person and their insane rambling turn to rational thoughts.

I discovered in time that all she did was try to suffocate me when no one was looking. She knew they were right, she knew they would show me. Once she was done, I was left to surface again, breathing deeply and thankful that I had survived that sickly feeling. I came out of her bunker of ‘protection’ glad that she had helped me passed the storm which I have never seen; not once. It weighed on me that I could not get rid of this ‘friend of mine’ whose visit was more frequent and certainly unwanted. It got to a point where I started to believe that I needed her, that her intentions were good. After all you’ve got to be cruel to be kind right? There were my days and she – my companion.

She packed her bags one day and made it clear she was unhappy with my decision. “You’ll fail” she said, “You never were any good at it. I’ve been the one holding your hands”. She walked away trimmings and all and I packed mine for Spain. She comes back now and again – we talk over coffee, she plays the same tune and I listen but logic is never defeated because I know her now. More and more I feel the fear and when I walk on, she throws a tantrum - things get broken – I keep walking. I guess that’s when courage moved in.

As courage unpacked she smiled saying "Fear not. We’re going to have fun you and I".

Top of The Pops

So, I decided to return to the scene of the crime, where Aretha Franklin's Respect was disrespected on the dance floor of a particular Spanish club. The floor this time was thankfully empty, instead the bodies were crushed against the counter taking advantage of the not so "happy hour".

Yes, that's right, if you had been there earlier you would have been able to indulge in two pint size plastic cups of calimucho (otherwise known as bad wine and coca cola); for a generous sum of five euros. Also available as misappropriately named "minis", were two pint size cups of beer for a similar price. This misnomer was by no means a bad thing, if getting yourself perpetually 'hammered' was your goal. However this particular night, that goal was made even more difficult when they ran out of those so called 'mini' cups that would have properly secured my happy hour for hours...

As the clock struck twelve and the fairytale of cheap drinks came to an end, i prayed that the dj would not take advantage of my sober state and severly depress me as he had so effortless done before. I stood there. Flashed back to my first time in Top of the Pops. I remember being disappointed by the choice of tracks and also the Dj. It was a bipolar mix of indie music; an attempt to be bohemian but failing miserably. Highs and Lows where they didn't belong like singers who should never try acting.

After all this you can imagine that i was not jumping at the chance to return but i did so anyway. Everyone deserves a second chance right? After all it was a friend's birthday, couldn't say no now could i?
Empty it might have been but it did not remain so for long. The people streamed in, the music got good and i found my lips moving along to the kaiser chief, old school classic and dear i say material girl by our dear madonna. Ok, so he wasn't perfect, he tripped up a little bit when he decided playing a slow trotting beetle songs (which would put any warm blooded creature to sleep) would bring him stardom. He quickly redeemed himself with Jet's "Are you gonna be my girl". Keeping playing like that Dj and i just might ;)

You Got me...

My blessing, that allowed me to see the best there was in you and to know that i would give all that I could to your cause, has now become my curse. A quality so sought out in the heart of man, that of generosity, of kindness, unconditional love, understanding, empathy and the likes is to be disliked by the one who gives it so willingly. You will find as I have that to hold these traits when once it used to be a blessing is nothing but a burden. In these arms, people find a way to be selfish and steal affection where they can and leave those arms empty of appreciation. These arms still hang, waiting for you to take me in and hold me. They wait to be taken and to hear the words that i am your friend and you got me...

Instead i find that altruism is not a gift to the individual who possesses it but to those who choose to take what in most cases is offered out of love; but each time to return less and less. My generation it seems, believe the whole world should revolve around them, that includes looking out for number one. The mentality remains that if you were dumb enough to give that part of yourself, and then, to suffer the rejection that you should not complain.

What i ask is this my friend, my girl...What am i to you? A rock or your pillow?
If i were to fall to my knees, would you stand and look down at me kneeling here in your shadow or would your knees bleed like mine because you are beside me? I ask you, if you've got me or if you'd let me fall?

Things fall Apart

Sitting here and watching the neon shooting stars fall from the side of a shopping centre. I remember that christmas is creeping ever closer and it is time like these that we make those long trips homewards bound. Towards our roots, towards our fathers and our mothers. To hug our brothers and sisters. To sit on barely used dining tables, specially polished and adorned for this so called reason to be with family. To laugh and drink and make merry and forget the other 364 days of the year that we will never talk and the other 364 days of the year where the phatom of silent walks beside us with it's haunting touch to remind us of where we stand; to remind us that things are still the same.

Those neon stars and music notes that reminds us of christmas movies and happy endings could barely repair those things that have fallen apart. I think of fights, i think of a broken hearted woman who struggles to hold what is left together of love. They tell you it is to last forever. They say it is worth the pain. Our dreams might take us away for a short time and perhaps when we wake, we are deceived so briefly that the nightmare was left in that other world but things still fall apart. We are all here around this table holding on the lines between us, that has frayed so much that in time it will fade and it will let us all go...far far away to a place of no return.

What ever happened to the happy endings that films are made of?

Music is Poetry

I'm not your substitute ever

Gone and closed the curtain
ready or not, here i come
this is the last time that i will say these words
come on honey, take a trip with me
slow down, lie down, remember it's just you and me

He spends his nights in california
tonight we drink to youth and holding fast the truth.
My tea's gone cold, i'm wondering why I got out of bed at all,
wrote a letter to my father
do you know where your heart is?

Something always brings me back to you
Take me now baby here as i am
you don't have to be beautiful to turn me on
it's time when i want something more, someone more like me.
hand in hand we descend to the graveyard

Hurray for the child that makes it through
see the sun kiss parts of the moon.
What am i to you, tell me darling true?
so sweet so beautiful, every daylight queen on her throne...
i don't know why i was so afraid all the time

The Other Side

I saw the side, you know,
the one you hid so carefully under the dead leaves of autumn.
The leaves that changed as the air turned cold and
your expression shifted.
Then. So suddenly they were blown away exposing
the dusty ugly truth that you were not one but two...

The light i was attracted to was actually a dull glow
a shadow of kindness departed from it's real form
wandering lost, offering itself only, not for what it would give
but... what it could receive in return.

As weather changes, so too do you and mislead
today your friend, tomorrow a bad seed
planted to grow a maze between us in which
I am constant but yet constantly confused as to why I am where you are?
Why your face so pink and dear could make my heart sink in fear.

It is half you five, half of which i receive
Each time worth less as you lose your sparkle and begin to see who you really are.