Category: Observations

Now that the heatwave has officially ended, something that I decided quite firmly while stood shivering under a marquee at the weekend and rain lashing down either side, I felt it appropriate to write about the summer that we have had.

For once in certainly my life and I am sure many of my readers too (unless you’re old enough to remember summer of 1976 as people keep telling me) the summer weather in England during 2018 has been beautiful.

The sun has constantly been shining, no rain in sight and you have been able to count on shorts and a t-shirt or a pretty summer dress to last you throughout the day rather than having to change to accommodate the four seasons in 24 hours that we usually experience.

Even when the school holidays began back at the end of July the weather didn’t change to the wetness that usually comes. No, the sunshine and heat remained and people were known to be going abroad to cool down not to find some heat and get a tan.

This wouldn’t be a Brit writing a blog post about the glorious summer that we’ve had without bringing in the negatives so that is what I am about to do. Aside from the serious danger that it has caused to wildlife and communities with an uncountable amount of field fires on farms and in woodlands, a major downer has been, in my opinion, how the Brits themselves have coped.

We can’t ever just be happy can we, always having to moan particularly about the weather. You had the ‘I’m too hot’ folk, the ‘I hate the sun’ people and the ‘I hate to moan, but…’ brigade wherever you went.

Some would say ‘it’s alright if you don’t have to do anything’ until they didn’t have to do anything and then that would be awful too. Even the drinkers among us were complaining because supermarkets had run out of lemonade for Pimms and tonic for the G & T’s – total and utter disaster.

Dogs were getting bored missing out on walk after walk because it was cruel to take them out in the heat. Towns were full of murmuring complaints about the temperature and outside the entrance to beer gardens was where these moans escalated due to the fact that there were never any seats.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all negative and I have spoken to people who have loved the weather too and those who couldn’t get to the beach quick enough. But then the beach fiasco had a bad picture painted from the media with the mess that some were left in with litter filling the entire expanse.

I personally have loved every minute of the weather that we have had an I have been working in it the entire time. Though we do have air conditioning so whether that counts or not I can’t say.

Of course I agree that the fires are horrific, the threat on nature has been awful and the state of Southend beach that I saw pictured was in no way excusable.

However, I can’t get enough of having a summer wardrobe and using it in our home country, every night being the perfect weather for an ice cold alcoholic beverage and BBQ’s on repeat.

Bring on next year I say, it’s a long old winter.

Not that long ago I decided to take on a little challenge for myself and write a novel. I had already undertaken some research around another project which gave me an insight into the publishing industry and all that is involved. The responses I received from this, I guess, gave me some courage. However, what gave me the initial idea and inspiration to begin happened while sat on an open top bus in Dublin.

I sat there half taking in the interesting commentary about the city from a hilarious Irish driver, half taking in my surroundings and it was in this moment when my creativity began to flow. I thought up the perfect beginning to a novel and from that moment on I decided to write.

Thinking about this has made me realise how powerful a commute can be. It’s time spent doing nothing but travelling. Of course you can fill this empty space by listening to some music, reading a book or chatting to strangers but when you’re on a train, a bus or even in your own car life seems to slow right down and allows you time to think.

Twentieth Century life is extremely busy and gets exceedingly more so with new inventions and trends to keep up with. We rarely stop to truly take in surrounds, to finish thoughts, to think about friends we’ve not seen in a while or to come up with a story line for a book.

I often think this is why I enjoy laying on my bed and listening to music so much, maybe a podcast, or sticking my nose in a book. All of these activities force you to stop in this mad world and even if your mind is preoccupied with the lyrics or words so you don’t dedicate it to important thoughts then at least you’re truly relaxing.

I find public transport has this effect yet it’s one of the more hidden examples. Most of us actively know that we’re relaxing while reading or listening to the radio, but when on public transport your sometimes forget, merely taking that twenty minute journey for granted.

In terms of creativity twenty minutes can produce a lot of ideas, make you think about the different directions you could take with your work, perhaps even produce the beginning of a novel or the potential start of a new career.

I realise not everybody has the urge to write or be creative but still time on public transport can be powerful. It still gives you time in which you slow down, it allows you to think and it lets you consider tasks that you have to complete and gives you space to organise your chaotic mind.

Next time you’re on a train, a plane, a bus, a boat or in your car, notice what your mind is doing and feel the creative juices flow. Feel that relaxation that is so often overlooked when travelling from A to B.

I thought up this week’s blog topic when sitting at a friends house one sunny Sunday a few weeks back. There I was, wine in hand, music playing, adorable dogs running about my feet and in total bliss.

One friend was watching the sport inside to keep cool, the other was busying about the house. A little later we were both reading separately. And later we were all chatting about whatever topics came into our heads, nothing in particular.

Granted I am very close to the friends in question but it made me think how different it is socialising as an adult compared to as children. Not once did we ask each other ‘what shall we do now?’ Not once was there that awkward waiting time thinking up some exciting venture so that your house is remembered as the fun one and everybody fights to be invited round. Quite frankly, I consider all houses with an amount of fridge space dedicated to alcoholic beverages the place to be these days.

As a child I was very sociable and showed signs of my adult organisation traits by sorting my social life well in advance. I’d have friends round all the time and with our garden being designed for kids and our parents being lenient as ever, our house was just that, the fun house. We had a trampoline, Wendy house, paddling pool and a huge chest full of toys and games so coming up with ideas of things to do was never difficult.

I recall many times as a child when round someone’s house a series of long winded silences when asked what you’d like to do. I am referring to fairly young children here, I was drunk by thirteen, but still. You’d spend an hour or so deciding and by the time your Mum came to collect you you’d only just started the chosen activity so didn’t want to leave. This is when hide and seek came into play and you’d hide from the parents thinking seriously that they’d never ever find you. Sadly, they always did.

Adult socialising on the other hand is extremely different. It takes a text saying ‘pub?’ or a suggestion of an after work gin and tonic round a friends and everybody is game. You don’t even have to chat that much because you enjoy the sweet wine seeping into your veins. Even friends that may not have seen each other for years will reunite over a beer or two. It’s just how it is and I’m not complaining in any way, merely just noting the difference.

Even sober socialising as an adult doesn’t take much invention. You go to a friends, catch up over a cuppa or something ice cold and then leave. Perhaps watch a bit of tele, re-locate to the garden or even head out for a walk but you don’t ever do much.

I realise that much of this difference is to do with the little energy we have to socialise as we get older. No longer are we hyper children who are never warn out because the hardest task of the day is tying our own shoelaces or picking which colour cup to have our juice in. Instead we become warn out slaves to the rat race who only want to chill on our time off and chilling with good company is the perfect way to get together.

Especially in the recent scorching weather I am quite happy that I am no longer a child wanting to play man hunt or badminton in the garden in my free time. I’m happy to be an adult, seeking pub gardens and good company to laugh with.

Ultimately what I am trying to express through my long winded observations is that socialising as a child takes thought and organisation, imagination too, whereas socialising as an adult takes a few bottles of wine, chilled.

Whoever your talking to, however typically English they are probably saying ‘oh it’s too hot’ or ‘we need some rain’, the recent weather in the UK has been beautiful.

Everyone has been in good spirits, Ice cream sales have gone through the roof and the beaches have been mobbed. Or, more accurately, my social media news feed has been mobbed with pictures of friends enjoying the beach while I slave away to the rat race (naww).

I did however escape for a night the other week and got myself to my happy place by the sea. I’ve written about the sea before and how looking out into the ocean gives you that feeling of just how small you are in this big world. It brings home the idea that all of your worries are so tiny compared to how large the world is, how many other people are in it and how if we added all of our problems up and compared them to one individual those struggles would vanish.

In fact while at the beach once I read a sign. It said ‘by the sea all of your worries wash away’ which is so true. Just hearing the crashing of the waves and nothing else relaxes you beyond measure and releases any trapped anger or guilt or sadness out onto the horizon. The sound of the ocean removes all the tension within you so much that you can physically feel it leaving your body, well I certainly can.

When I am by the sea I always make sure I take a snapshot video of the waves so that I can listen to them whenever I feel trapped inland. Often our lives take over and we get so worked up inside without realising then when we hit the coast all is released and we can start again. Only this week I found myself listening back to these videos and it really helped.

Living in the countryside I have access to open spaces daily and often go walking which is great for my soul but somehow the addition of the sea in this scenario adds that special extra.

I find everything is easier by the sea. Granted there’s usually no need to rush because I’m on a break away from work and business but everything is so chilled. I wake up at ease. Enjoy one or two cups of tea in blissful silence. I have time to read my magazines which I subscribe to monthly but hardly ever get chance to sit down and go through. I even have time to have a shower without rushing to get my hair dry before work.

I find that my writing improves by the sea. My ideas flow more easily and the content that I write, of which increases vastly, is also of a higher standard than when I’m cramming it in in my break from work.

I feel cleaner by the sea. My face feels refreshed as soon as the sea air hits it and my hair always dries with a wave that only occurs when by the sea.

I feel happy by the sea, with all the worries I ever have washing away along with tension inside me. I cannot be sad by the sea. I love being by the sea.

We are very lucky to be living on an island where the sea is only ever a few hours drive away so never take this for granted. So many benefits can be found in time by the sea. Love it. Appreciate is. Soak it all in whenever you find yourself by the sea.

I thought it appropriate during a significant week in the world of football to write a post about something which I used to love but now doesn’t do much for me at all.

Over the past few weeks the 1966 England kits have come out of the loft, ‘Waistcoat Wednesday’ became a thing, The Sun newspaper has come up with some cracking headlines and Baddiel, Skinner & The Lightning Seeds have been played on repeat.

Pubs have been filled with atmospheres which have been missing for years, everybody has been smiling and the glorious weather has added to the hype.

People have been having parties revolved around the match leaving only fifteen minute slots in which to eat. Marriages have been reunited and bonds have been broken when wives wanted to watch the new series of The Affair but hubby and son have stuck the TV on BBC1.

The roars of celebration have come from living rooms up and down the country, cries of commiseration too, but one thing that remains through all of this mayhem is togetherness and that’s the thing that I love.

I used to adore playing football. In fact, from the age of about eleven until sixteen when my team folded I dedicated a lot of my life to the game and was pretty good at it. I never fell in love with watching it and still fail to understand how people can sit and watch every minute week on week. However, I can understand the hype that comes with the world cup.

The patriarchy, the pride to be British and the togetherness is the thing that I love the most. We are a nation of moaning misery a lot of the time and the upbeat spirit that has surrounded the world cup has been refreshing to see. This doesn’t disregard the fact that I’m more than happy to do my own thing and only enter the room when I hear cheers from the company that I am with, but I do feel a sense of pride when this happens.

Though soaking up the final rays of sunshine and my delicious corn on the cob came first on Wednesday evening (not to mention that I feel I may have jinxed the match with Croatia’s first goal coming as soon as I turned over) I did watch it.

As sad as it is that we didn’t make the final, the good vibes that it created within the country having got so far is good enough for me. Vibes so good that they led three girls who wouldn’t usually care for a game of football (one of which is Irish) to watch and cheer and swiftly escape before the men got home.

Inspiration for another post idea came to me the other day when I noticed how much I explain myself. Not only do I constantly justify big life choices, I also find the need to reason with myself daily over the tiniest of things. The most bizarre aspect to all of this when I take time to think about it is that I haven’t a clue who I am explaining myself to.

I am the worst for worrying about anything and everything and I wish I didn’t give a damn at all but sometimes my mind takes itself off to places I don’t even know. Being young and still not entirely settled on a career, with a house and a long term relationship, which I wouldn’t want right now can I just add, I find people continuously asking what I’m doing next. Rather than giving a simple answer that they probably won’t remember anyway, I always find it necessary to give full explanations as to why I have chosen to do what I do.

In these larger scenarios of reasoning with whoever, and when I look back in reflection, I know exactly what I should do. Firstly I should sift through who actually cares and who is just making small talk. Day to day the majority of people are merely speaking for the sake of being polite and don’t care for a full explanation so that makes life somewhat easier. They usually won’t listen to your spiel anyway.

Secondly I need to ask myself if I am happy in the choices I make. If the answer is yes then so be it, who needs an explanation? Besides those who do care don’t ever need to know why.

This kind of explaining I can totally understand as frustrating as I find myself when performing the blurb. The whole time that I am speaking I am usually asking myself why I feel the need to explain and then regret it when I do as I begin to question my firm choices. The type of explaining that I don’t get is with the smaller totally insignificant things in life.

I feel I have to justify a lot of my decisions and I realise that there are many others in this camp. Why I went to the pub last night and had that extra shot of gin. Why I went to a friends house and couldn’t go to anther friends simultaneously. Why I have to explain exactly the reason for my being unable to attend social events. Why I feel the way that I feel. Why I got somebody a present when it was a simple ‘just because’. Why I spent more money than I should on clothes. Why why why.

Too often are people being judged so too often do people find the need to explain themselves. Why they waited to have children until their late thirties or chose to have them at twenty three. Perhaps they didn’t want kids at all and no explaining is required in either scenario.

Maybe they got their first tattoo at fifty four all bold on their back and visible for everybody to see. Maybe they wear shorts so short that their bum shows or a skirt so long that it becomes a trip hazard to their own feet.

They might have pink hair, a lowered car or a house full of clutter. They could spend too much time socialising so they don’t get enough sleep. They could exercise too much or not enough. Smoke and drink or not at all.

A solution to all of this would be simply in the words of John Lennon to let it be. Let everyone do what they wish, live how they wish, dress as they wish, be drunk and obnoxious as they wish then nice as pie the following day. We can get annoyed at people’s actions. We can get high almighty if we think they have made wrong decisions or need to be living a different way. In reality though it’s none of our business within reason, doesn’t affect us much and we’ll have a lot less stress if we focus more on ourselves to be happy enough so no clarification is required.

*I realise I have just spent half an hour explaining my explaining but hey, we can’t get it right all of the time*

Some people live for the weekend, some live for the next holiday, some live for their daily ice cold beer but sometimes, if I am honest, I live for a simple lazy Sunday.

Working flat out all week as many of us do there’s nothing like that feeling you experience waking up on a Sunday morning and having time to do things. You have time to have a shower without constantly fighting the clock and eventually leaving the house with damp hair, a scenario that’s on repeat all week.

You have time do things purely for leisure such as reading another chapter of your book or listening to some music. Nothing that contributes to your financial situation nor the cleanliness of the house but things that help you to relax and things that Sundays provide the time to do.

As I sat to begin this blog post earlier in the week during my break I was trying to juggle the tasks that I needed to complete and thought just where does the time go? Week on week I feel it’s getting faster and Friday nights in the pub garden come around quicker than ever. It’s something that we say each year but it’s the end of June already and only yesterday felt like New Year’s Day. It’s something which is quite scary but something which cannot be changed.

This is why I am currently sat in my sunny garden, laptop open and working but I am sat with my feet in a bowl of warm soapy water, soaking them while I work. We forget to pamper ourselves and never find the time to do so, so I thought that during the working week I’ll mix pamper and work wherever I can.

Yesterday I changed my working scenery and plonked myself and my laptop outside in my friends peaceful garden. I attempted to mix work with The Affair, a series that I am currently addicted to but soon realised I had to separate the two as my addiction didn’t allow for my concentration to be shared. Nevertheless, I felt totally relaxed while I worked in my break so it was like mixing pamper and work again.

My mum recalled to me on Sunday how she couldn’t possibly finish the day having only finished her book and that is all. I replied that it was totally acceptable and sometimes we forget how to fully relax.

Some days if all you may have done is read a book then you should be grateful to have relaxed. If the ironing doesn’t get completed, the wash load never gets put on and the weekly food shop is not attempted then so be it. Some days we need to take a break and indulge in the doing of sod all.

There’s something about a Sunday afternoon that allows this to happen. There’s no point going shopping because shops shut at 4. Emails can wait and work can be discussed on Monday. Everywhere becomes calm and the majority of people aren’t working which creates a perfect scenario to go to friends BBQs or chill in your own garden with your book.

The thing to remember here is never to feel guilty because ultimately, in my opinion, that’s what Sunday’s were made for.

And he said: ‘All the good things you do in the world for other people are rewarded. Perhaps you don’t recognise the rewards because they don’t come in material benefits, it might be a good feeling or the experience of just having a day when everything is going your way.’

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I turn to these words often and they are the final words in a book that my Grandad wrote before he died. I feel so much truth in these lines because so often do we do things for others, reach the point of despair when we feel that nothing is being done for us in return and get highly stressed out in the process. However, if you think of your kindness and generosity being rewarded with a good day, a spot of sunshine or a constant nice feeling then your efforts seem more worthwhile and you don’t necessarily have to hear that you’re appreciated.

My granddad’s writing and my leaning on his words for advice and comfort made me think about the power that the written word has. It’s used to sell things, to explain and inform, to declare feelings and emotions – the list is endless.

Words are so important, they can linger throughout your life. How often do you hear people recalling somebody’s words in relation to that moment? ‘My Dad always says,’ or ‘Nan used to say’. They are important to us all.

We read books to be entertained and certain words stick with us. I often find myself taking a picture of a selection of words within a book during a relaxed reading session so that I remember them in the future. The other day my friend showed me some lovely words in a book she was reading about how a smile is the most attractive thing you can wear. By her pointing that out to me, I knew she finds something special about capturing words too.

Words are full of emotion. They can make you cry, they can make you laugh, they can make you smile and they can make you angry. Some people find therapy in writing things down in a daily diary or explosive episodes to organise what seems a mess while stuck in your mind. I’m currently sat at my desk writing for peace and sanity which is one of the most powerful things I find about writing.

Words can change moods in an instant. A text worded in a certain way can make your day or ruin it. An email can change your world. A letter can be kept forever and looked upon occasionally, filling your heart up with warmth when you read it.

In fact, it’s extraordinary how powerful a page of black and white can be and as a writer I am continually amazed at the strength that it has. I find that I write best when I’m highly emotional or feel strongly about something which I realise sounds obvious but hear me out.

On hearing the sad news of my Grandad’s passing the first thing I did was write the speech I wanted to speak at his funeral. I mean at the time this wasn’t necessarily what it was going to be used for but through the process of writing I wrote something that I now love to read and something that didn’t require a series of drafts and edits because it was from deep within my heart.

I write blog posts about various things but the ones that seem to resonate most with my readers are those that I wrote out of an extreme emotion. The ones about university, the beauty of travel and not rushing through life have not only had the highest hits but they are the ones I read back and am most proud of.

What I am trying to say is that words need sentiment to be written and words need sentiment to be read. Next time you’re reading something try to take in every single word. I live my life through writing and am constantly thinking up the next topic to write about next. In every day scenarios I often think ‘how could I write this’ and laugh when my brain goes straight to a list of book titles. On top of the practise of writing though, I make absolute sure that I take time to read others words which are just as if not more important than my own. It’s a good job I’ve chosen writing for a living.

All in all, never underestimate the importance of the written word, it can help you in so many ways and you never know when you might need some simple words to lift you up.

On Sunday myself and a group of girls who I work with took part in Cancer Research’s Race For Life. I had just sponsored a friend of mine who was running for some members of her family when we decided to get a group together and have a go ourselves.

It doesn’t take many conversations before you realise the amount of people that are affected every day by this awful disease, so we thought what better way to raise money for this cause.

We did know working in the hub of a very giving village with generous surroundings that we could raise a large sum which was the main priority, admitting that 5K was a manageable distance. However, we didn’t quite understand how charitable our family, friends and customers would be.

We had opened a Just Giving page about a month before the event and had a solid sum raised on there of about three hundred pounds. We then put a bucket in the shop during the week leading up to the event and began counting on Saturday while closing up the shop.

Upon opening the bucket I was truly gobsmacked with the amount of paper money I saw piled up and twenty pound notes at that. ‘There really are some good people in this world’, I thought to myself while reaching a total of £345 in notes alone. A thought that I need to remember when dealing with the more stressful aspects of daily life!

Next came the coins which amazed me further with most of them being shiny gold one and two pounds. The total in the bucket was £430.71 and our running total is £855.71. Truly amazing. Now for the race itself.

Having done no practice aside from training our livers to cope with another bottle of wine when celebrating after, we headed off. We had printed t-shirts from a gentleman who initially wanted to charge a small fortune but once we’d established that it was a charity event and put our foot down, we haggled and we won. Smugly we loaded into the cars and off we went to Nowton Park to run, jog or walk for life.

The build up, though dragging as with all of these types of events, was lovely. All organisers made a huge effort to boost our spirits and create a brilliant atmosphere for the event.

The sadness came when the commentator asked a girl who was stood in front of me to place her hand in the air. I read her sign on her back which said ‘thank you for my treatment’. A tear trickled down my face and she was sobbing.

Another lady stood up on stage in front of the 1,600 participants and declared her love for her sister, a fighter who was battling cancer and running the race that day too. These stories really brought home why we were all there, how real cancer is and how much it is affecting people around us daily. Whether a loved one has been diagnosed or you’re battling it yourself, it affects us all at some point.

While walking around the course and gossiping to my friend, catching up with the others and running breathlessly past them pretending we’d ran the entire way, I thought the whole time. I thought how amazing each and every one of those participants were to do that extra bit and go out of their way to raise cash. I thought how amazing the age range was from tiny tots singing The Greatest Showman soundtrack throughout to elderly ladies making an effort. I thought how brave those were who were battling cancer as they raced, yet they still got out and fought some more.

It’s times like these when not only do you think about the obvious. About cancer, about loved ones and about helping. But it’s times like this that you think how much good is in our world when sometimes all we feel we can see is the stressful, the annoying, the bad.

I love the NHS. I really do and I would never complain about the fantastic job that all the staff continuously perform daily. I think it’s a wonderful service that everybody in the UK should be extremely proud of. This appreciation for such a beautiful British asset has made me discover that I find hospitals rather leveling places.

I’m grounded in the sense that you see doctors and high level nurses working alongside cleaners in harmony. The institution brings the notion of death to the surface, yet the atmosphere remains surprisingly upbeat in among a sea of very ill people. Hospitals make you think a lot and the other day I honed in on the variety conversations that you hear on a ward.

No visitor to a hospital ward wants to be there. No matter how great I think the NHS are, hospitals aren’t the friendliest or most welcome of places so any time spent in one is usually not out of choice. People are either visiting someone who’s incredibly sick making the whole event very sad, or their relative or friend has been waiting upon an operation or discharge for ages so the entire visit becomes a little tedious.

I’ve spent quite a lot of my free time in a hospital ward recently and it came to my attention how varied the conversations are. I livened my visits up by listening in on these and realising how interesting it can be when you take a load of people from all areas within society and place them on the same cardio ward. Catagorising them for their condition rather than wealth, interests or political views.

It becomes very obvious early on when you realise how forced some of the conversations can be. You have a select amount of time allocated to visiting in most circumstances and a lot of people will be coming most days so the conversation starters can become scarce. Also, people are trying hard to fill the amount of the time with conversation, no silences. Yes, you rarely see visitors and patients sitting in silence and just enjoying one anthers company as you’d find in normal social scenarios.

Unlike if you’d invited them round for a cuppa for example, where there would be peaceful silences, may a bit of watching TV or listening to the radio and a natural flow of conversation. Not in hospital, the art of conversation becomes clinical like the surroundings you are in. A lot of um’s and ah’s between visitors and patients when figuring where to take the chat next. Perhaps pretending not to be extremely worried about the medical verdict or seeming as though the hospital is the only place that the visitor needs to be that day. That they don’t have millions of tasks on their mind that need to be completed before the day is out. It’s totally unnatural.

The other thing I noticed was the variety of conversations which instantly made me realise how different the people on the ward are. You’ve got one man discussing America and gun crime, whether Trump is OK and world politics. Another man expressing his appreciation of the NHS and all their staff. Another crying because he’s obviously been told some devastating news, whether it’s to do with his health or not. While the man on bed 2 is raving about his grand national winnings and bed 4 declaring his love for cottage pie.

Aside from making the staff’s shifts a little more exciting, overhearing this diversity of discussion within such a small space made me think about quite a large concept. That no matter where we come from, we’ll all leave this world in exactly the same way. Sometimes forgetting our status and place in society, putting religious and political values to one side along with other things that define us and simply being human, can remind us that there’s not a lot of difference between us.