Christmas time: mistletoe and wine?

The day is finally up and it's reached that time again, and when I say that time I mean the point where even the advertisers have abandoned all notion of a merry Xmas and are instead trying to flog you their leather look dining set that's been ignored by customers all year for the 'amazing price of nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine' 

The fickle nature of the advertising business should be enough to remind the enthusiastic public that year after year buy into the giving and receiving festivities that it is just things that they're pulling out their hair and losing limbs over in the last minute supermarket dashes. 

The thought of Xmas, pre turkey is an all very jolly one. You must watch the cooking shows and the Christmas specials of shows like This Morning and all seems as the day can only go to plan. English society and jovial upper class parties, however, are not the usual Xmas and there is some room for catastrophe. Yet you remain hopeful in the notion that all will go to plan and the grandparents will gleefully receive their box of milk tray an purple v-neck jumper/tin of Bassetts liquorice and john Lewis voucher/ Amaryllis and theatre tickets to Jersey boys ensemble, and be happy. You squint your eyes hoping the turkey WILL fit in the oven and NOT be dry as it has in previous years, most notably in 1991 when you had 12 to feed and an uncooked turkey at 5 in the afternoon. You hope the youngest siblings will not sneakily drink the sherry behind the sofa and you hope the dog will not mistake the authentic synthetic plastic tree for woodland and raise a leg, unleashing a tidal wave of canine territory marking upon the newly fitted cappuccino coloured carpet. 

Whilst you're fantasising about how you may roast a pork lion like Tom Kerridge, present your icing sugar laden delicious home made buns to your guests and dress your tree like Kirstie Allsop does, you observe your children playing in a calm and most surprising manner as they discus their wish list to Santa; notes accompanied by pictures cut out from the Argos catalogue functioning as visual aids in case of emergency, and your hubby whom you do so love on Xmas day pours you a festive tipple of baileys over ice and mouths the words to 'baby it's cold outside' in an entirely charming, and not one bit slimey fashion. 

However, the reality of Xmas sneaks up on us all like catholic pregnancy or the shits. No one has ever gifted the right things and all too often we hand out the 'emergency three for two' soaps from Boots we bought back in October, which entirely defeats the object of gifts at all but Xmas seems to bring out a sense of neurosis and who to buy for dread in all the best people, and it can only be remedied by a cheap beauty product from a high street chain. 

Grand parents are very rarely overwhelmingly grateful and over joyed by their gifts. The milk tray is ever so well thought out as so to not interfere with the productivity of their dentures and although the jumper is a large and borderline insulting upon initial opening, post Xmas excessive eating and general greed it fits snug and suddenly a sense of 'bloody good present that' sets in. The liquorice, to some degree is a small gesture to oneself. Despite being a firm favourite of your grandparents the confectionary itself resembles your soul at this late stage in the season, black and bitter. Although the comedy becomes very apparent as you watch grandpa chew... And chew... And continue to chew... And further chew... And chew some more... Chew... Chew... And as we reach 2016 he continues to chew... You understand where this is going, yes? 

All the gifts are lifted to eye height and given a vague nod of approval then put to one side which is quite disheartening for the buyer and often leaves an air of ungratefulness although fainting and crying with excitement would probably be considered an over reaction so it is difficult to find a happy medium. 

Dinner prep becomes more like the Royale Family each year and as you discover your turkey won't fit in the oven, or take three millenniums to cook, you seriously consider the pros and cons of microwaving the majestic creature. A Xmas dinner of turkey is characterised by it's dry texture and accompaniment of week boiled veg and out of date condiments, which will ring all too true if you're a member of my family. Pudding is often a disappointment, fruit and booze like sherry and brandy, especially in a desert, are something we try to avoid all year round and eat in the name of tradition over Xmas willingly...baffling behaviour really. 

Hubby is probably not charmingly pouring you a baileys over ice... He's probably working out the cheapest drink to mark the occasion which often leaves you holding an 80s throw back over frothy snowball and trying to look happy about it. The children's conversation you're listening in to will start off as a delight but inevitably it all ends in disaster when your child tells her friend or sibling of a present they want, but have not once asked for in the run up to Xmas... Again, my family will be giggling now as they think 'Wendy dress' 

At the Xmas meal, as you're all sat around the table at different heights in dining chairs new and old, deck chairs from weekends in Blackpool in the summer of 1974, patio furniture and your grandmas old machine chair that spins in every plausible direction defying science on so many levels, you tuck into your meal giving each other the same banter as the year before. Again my family will be thinking of my mothers obsession with finding out if she likes crab sticks every year. Then as people try to help the day unfolds. And funnily enough so does the sanity. Too much horrendously cheap wine is consumed and one too many jokes are made about whomever chose the bottle of Chardonnay that is sat in the centre of the table and everyone is avoiding; clearly someone wasn't informed about the ABC of wine (anything but Chardonnay), party hats are worn, unless the crackers are cheap and they are too small to fit on our family of large heads, the Queens speech is talked through- because nobody actually listens to it in the entire country, do they? And nothing is as Jamie Oliver Said it would be. The tree by this point is lop sided and 99% Of decorations have jumped ship and spread themselves across the floor and all notion of a festive cabin that was the initial thought behind decoration has absolutely gone to shit. All that's left for the day is horrendous television and too much booze. Watching various soap characters die or have their affairs outed with a Morrisons home brand Irish cream and a toblerone, followed by Love Actually is how you end your 25th December, providing you're doing it right of course. 

Upon reflection, you've made jokes at each other's expense all day with a vague undercurrent of resentment and tried to, in some cases, suppress disappointment because you haven't received your Lego Star Wars storm trooper key ring. You've eaten too much and drunk too much and not one thing you've overly indulged in has been something you consider to be your favourite. Tv has been an exceptional let down and the company has been compulsory. And despite it being utterly amazing to give presents and see a smile stretch across and otherwise miserable loved ones face, the entire day is an celebration of pure greed. Which you've whole heartedly basked in all day. Merry fucking Christmas. 

P.s do not fear... I got my storm trooper key ring *thumbs up* 

Trouble't'mill

In response to Katie Hopkins the Sun Column...

Here she goes again, Katie Hopkins charging forth with nothing but bile to spit at passers by, this time in the face of Nigella Lawson. It is no surprise that the only publication willing to publish her, frankly poisonous opinion is the moral sewer that is the Sun.  As if her reputation is not already on the rocks, she continues to offend further pockets of the population, now thoroughly alienating Nigella fans with her upper-middle class, borderline pretentious observations on how one should live ones life. I felt compelled to defend Nigella Lawson because, first of all she's ace! And also because Katie Hopkins needs to be reminded at every opportunity that British journalism should be about facts with an entertaining twist, not a constant need to ridicule and attack other people. 

This time there is no Holly or Philip to gag her as she goes too far, and quite undoubtedly she lunged over the Line with her insulting column documenting Nigella's 'fall from graces'. Hopkins undeniably chose her moment wisely, climbing on to her broom and launching her attach just as Nigella's admission and apology went out To the world; clearly an attempt to overshadow and belittle her as Hopkins needs the fleeting spotlight to save her rapidly deteriorating career. 

Nigella is apparently 'in the gutter' ...oh the irony. The column seems only to have been written to attempt personal digs about Nigella's bust size and 'seductive glances' which should be no concen to Hopkins and are definitely no relevance to any recent news issue. In typical style she loses sight of any real point she may have initially wanted to make and stoops to petty insults based on jealously and a need to be outrageously unkind in order to appear controversial. Perhaps she should instead focus on the journalism rather than unfriendliness. 

Hopkins likes to think her standards hold so much more integrity than Nigella's, who allegedly smokes cannabis in the company of her children, yet she will openly declare support for calling children, who ever's they may be, fat or ugly or whatever else. She stated on national television various opinions on how she stereotypes and interacts with people based on weight, class, tattoos, hair colour, name and much more which essentially bulldozers the work of all anti bullying campaigns in the last 50 years. But she would NEVER stoop as low as Nigella who's dabble with drugs is the cardinal sin... Sarcasm very much intended. 

Her Saatchi's had 'a lot in his plate' comment can be almost entirely disregarded. In fact I bid you all erase it from your memory immediately. He may have had a bad week where he had to buy Tracey Emin a pack of wine guns to calm her down after a calamitous disaster of getting some of her finger painting on his cream loafers, but I hardly think this compares to a lifetime of loss that Nigella has been living with for some time. Imagine your husband, sister and mother all pass away in a space of sixteen years and tell me you wouldn't consider a release, a confidence boost, a relaxant... For some it's paintball, other's it's a joint. The point is you try these things and find out then you eventually feel stable enough to continue without them. She is by no means a full scale addict, although if she was the public should treat it as any other illness and NOT sling mud at her for what is a medical condition. Thankfully she is neither partying into the small hours in a coke induced haze. Not is she shooting up in the toilets of TV show The Taste, and her excessive appetite is down to greed not the munchies. Give the girl a break. I don't really think Saatchi's hypothetical tiff with Emin or even latest bit of tottie Trinny Woodall can be identically scaled by the tragedy in Nigella Lawson's life. By no means am I blaming her decision to take drugs occasionally on her past but I am saying it's understandable, we don't know, and more importantly it is none of our business. She's admitted it, she's explained it, which is actually more than I think she should have done, an she's apologised. As long as she is happy and healthy I, as a fan, am very happy to move on. So shall we? 

Also the newspapers that have reported the drug issue, wrote Columns relating it to the photographs taken earlier in the year where Saatchi was seen with his hands on his ex wife, from the angle of being allowed to rag her about a bit because she's a raging addict smack head, which is an attitude all too often reflected in society. I'm sure none of this was intentional, no press baron, not even Rupert Murdoch would acutely condone  violence to women but the views expressed in society still side with the power figure in most situations, usually the male. This is blatantly apparent in recent statistics where rape prosecutions stand at an all time high, yet still unacceptable 63% and domestic violence convictions at 74%. The society dynamics kind of came across in this one story where a powerful woman like Nigella Lawson was still essentially attacked by the press because she has a little black mark against her name and it is therefore seen as acceptable for what was seen in the photographs to occur. 

Hopkins seems to be this beacon of feminist propaganda, all powerful woman, working mother, successful tv personality and yet she's all too quick to pull down other women, other feminist ideals such as Nigella. She makes personal digs about her physique and furthermore claims Nigella goes out of her way to make other women feel inadequate, which although would be the easiest method of advertising, is not the case at all. You can watch any interview and see that Nigella is quite obviously a cook because it's what she's passionate about, it's just incidental that she can make money out of it. It's also painfully apparent that Nigella is not at all a domestic goddess and it is all very ironic. The entire thing is fun, family orientated and fascinating to the outside world who see this posh bird bake then stuff her face. It has very little to do with making women feel inadequate with their existence and being able to rectify this with Nigella's latest book. It's honest. And Hopkins seems to miss this honesty and fun factor, maybe because she's jealous or lacking in confidence, which is sad to see in someone that could potentially be a very nice, articulate lady. 

Hopkins may well be enjoying Nigella's fall from grace as it means her husband no longer lusts after her which I'm sure Nigella is gutted about as it was the primary goal she set out to achieve *rolls eyes* yet Hopkins seems to have fallen further and further into the inferno herself recently with an 80,000 signature strong petition to remove her from out screens for the foreseeable. Nigella's little tumble isn't looking all that tragic now is it... 

Sadness is not poetic and depression is not beautiful: Glamorising heartbreak

Who decides what books to put on School reading lists? You're essentially giving a selection of angst ridden teens these outdated classic novels, usually with a romantic sub plot, if it's not the main focus, and telling them it's a beautiful story. 

Teenagers don't need any additional reasons to be in bad relationships, and glamourising the worst by calling them 'epic' love stories is not what we need either. 

Romeo and Juliet is a toxic relationship that ends in teen suicide. Wuthering Heights is incestuous and describes several signs of domestic abuse within a relationship. Jane Eyre belittles woman's place within any relationship and a multiple of other show rape as a display of affection. 

I'm just curious as to who it is that thinks this is a good idea. Whilst teachers glamourise the 'true' love and 'unrequited' love plots of these novels, what the angst charged teens are hearing reinforced is the notion that no true love ends in happiness and if you really want someone to believe you love them you must be miserable without them, for no true love has a happy ending. 

These novels are possibly responsible for the extremely low self worth often found in teens, the accelerated statistics on teen depression or the catalyst to the numerous abusive teen relationships that seems to have risen from nowhere. Being taught this and consequently labouring under the impression that it is good to feel like shit because then society will put a huge tick on the validity of what you have felt for another person, mate that's just wrong. 

There has never been a truer statement than "we accept the love we think we deserve" and what we think we deserve is drilled into us by Victorian Novels and Shakespearean plays that end in tragedy.

What teenagers should be analysing is something empowering and true. Something like Sex and the city; 'I will not be the first one to speak. And if he never calls me again I will always think of him fondly, as an asshole.'

These characters, unlike the whiney Cathy's and Juliet's, are very aware of what is not love. They could teach everyone a thing or two. But above all they manage to remain firm believers in romance and thorough believers in love, true, overwhelming, stupid love...that ends in a happy ever after. 

Great love stories aren't only those because they end in tragedy. And just because you can move on and smile again it doesn't mean you never loved anyone. It means you loved yourself enough to call it a day On the misery and search for the real thing. And that's what these classic novels fail to teach, leaving teens increasingly confused and often more miserable. 

It's time we injected a little Carrie into our Curriculum; 'somewhere out there is another little freak who will love us and kiss our three heads and make it all better.'

Ayup.
Usually I blog about something but today I think I'm just gonna bite the bullet and post a poem. It's hard for me to post a poem because they're usually really personal but this one is written as Marilyn Monroe, or more importantly actually it's written as Norma Jean Baker and it's to JFK.

Have fun.

Marilyn to JFK

Do I still reek of Valium and compromise to you, or have the Paras and Aspirin taken effect?
Oh I’m sure that I’m larger than the average size temptation, yet these symptoms seem to be a dormant threat.
And in Hollywood taking cocktails of barbiturates and speed seemed to become my favourite party trick, and we'd sneak away, and I’d hope you'd confess you love that day, but my life remains a cell for the lonely and sick. 
Bourbon, Gin, and Vodka and whatever was on offer, bought me around from my love-induced coma, and whilst I’m lay on the floor, dreaming of how it was before, I began to cry and I could not make it end.

And in a moment of madness, I’ll call you up to find some kindness and you'd not answer, you're busy with your friends. 
And that's great and that's fine and whilst you're being wined and dined, I'm lay here dying, and thinking of how I love you.
I've written song, poetry and rhyme hoping you'd rescue me from these dark times, and whilst you're out there breaking hearts I'm being tortured by my mind.
And you can't see past the terror, but if you came to me, and held me and maybe even loved me, I think we'd find our happy ever after.

Ellie Wood. 

Thanks for reading guys *thumbs up* 

The truth about your holibobs.

I wrote the following blog whilst sat on a night flight home from cyprus on 29th August.

Enjoy.

I'm sat here, on a plane, and I'm having a little think to myself about the position I seem to have paid to put myself In.

Riddle me this if you will. 

The supposed highlight of our annually disappointing and increasingly short British summer is to pay £4000 to lock ourselves In a tin of compressed air for hours on end to arrive In a country, usually borderline on bankruptcy, where we'll moan about being 'sticky' for the duration and confirm that we do in fact hate our families with every fibre of our beings. 

As we arrive at the airport bright eyed and bushy tailed dragging along with us multiple cases that have been packed, weighed, unpacked, re-packed identically, weighed again (now displaying a heavier weight), unpacked and re-packed, and a family of similarly hopeful holiday makers we, being British and loving nothing more, we join a queue. 9/10 times this queue is the one you need to be In because Dad, In his fatherly wisdom and with his majestic leadership qualities checks the tickets several times and matches this with the departures board...oh how intelligent of him.

"Follow me family!" he cries as he waddles off In his statement holiday outfit. Whereas your teenage brother thinks 'Oooo a holiday, time to break out the snap-back' and your mother grabs the noisiest flip flops available and matches this to an oversized maxi dress, because let's face it she is not as tall as Kate Moss and frankly a mini dress is a maxi on her, instead your father has grabbed his holiday shoes. Depending on the variables at play In your dads personality his shoes can range from a blue suede addidas samba to a Jesus sandal, which  may I add should be burned publicly. Either way the main function of your fathers footwear is to push you to a break down with the constant squeaking. If your father has chosen to wear crocs for this occasion it serves the same function but may I just say I am so so sorry for what you have to go through. 

As if this reflective paragraph isn't enough to articulate my point I'll state it plain. The first leg of your holiday, 'departures lounge', is designed to put you on edge ready for the flight from Hell. 

As you check In your cases and move through security, getting fondled on your way through the metal detectors because of the wire In your bra or a stray 2p piece that's gotten lodged In your Jean pocket, you're remembering the pain of last years holiday. Oh if only you'd remembered this sooner. Next you're marched around the departures lounge searching for your mums perfect 'holiday perfume' despite her only ever wearing the same one, and some magazines or a book because a holiday really isn't a holiday if you haven't read some Ill-written trash. Then you finally get to board the plane, and what an experience that promises to be. 

You climb through the door after the final blow of English air that's trickled through a small opening In the boarding tube. Awaiting you is an overly smiley orange face wrapped and tied neatly In a scarf that looks like its colour scheme has been designed by a 11 year old on Word Art. she's VERY happy to see you and during the flight smiles at you as if you've formed a bond for life...you haven't. She's just spotted your dad's expensive watch and wants you to spend some top dollar on the plane. She's manipulative, don't trust her, no-ones that happy. I once went on a flight where the entirety of the staff were Scottish...and broad Scottish at that. This flight was rather hostile. Requesting a drink became confrontational and they pushed the trolley down the isle at pace so's to smack the funny bone of all those who like to spread out on an aeroplane. It was by no means a comfortable flight but I did respect them for being true to themselves...and their stereotypes. 

You sit yourself down, get comfortable and actually say to yourself "this isn't too bad actually"... Then they lock the doors and you realise what you gotten yourself into. There's a southern family In the row behind you with a baby Tarquin and a 5 year old called Oscar. They're earth parents so when you smell what you think is a fart every now and again, it actually transpires that they've released one of their processed vegetable treats because Oscar is 'oh so hungry'. Like many others on the aircraft, I'm aware that Oscar is hungry because he's not stopped telling us since we boarded and he's been kicking my chair In an attempt to force his mothers hand so that she'll feed him one of these delicacies. Tarquin however has the loudest cry In the world and hasn't stopped since we took off. Noones really sure what his issue is as he's been breast fed, changed ad winded all on the seat behind me. Aside from this being actually rather impressive being as we are all encased In our own individual 60cm by 60cm space, it's been noisy and smelly and I've had font row seats. Luckily for the children their parents don't believe In smacking as a parenting method. Unlucky for the children however, I believe I'n smacking as a general life principle and I'm teetering on the edge. 

As if this isn't enough, an hour In, the plane In which you are sat, has become a Petri dish of English dog breath and Tarquin's shit, and the alarmingly happy stewardess has rubbed her breasts In your face far too many times for it to be an accident. This would be all very delightful If the breasts In question weren't slightly moist from a days flying, glittery from he gypsy inspired body spray and attached to the ugliest face In the world. Stewardesses, I find, are an unusual specimen. They come with a trolly dolly, beautiful stereotype but always actually look like the ugly kid from school that made the best of what she had. A honey monster In lipstick or play dough with fake eye lashes. Poor girls. Or dudes. Occasionally there's a dude that comes aboard like Louis Spence, pirouetting and the like up and down the isles.

You arrive and suddenly remember why you love England so. You're sticky. The hot air hits you like a tramps breath. And now you have to retrieve your luggage from the carousel of doom. Surprisingly, although us English are excellent at queuing, put us In an oval shape and were fucked at turn taking. Every family thinks they've been clever by attaching red wire tape to the handle or a 'scooby' that your now 20 year old daughter went through a faze of making when she was 11, but you've ALL had this brain wave. Otohh. Trouble't'mill. Kids run up and down hoping to assist by grabbing their cases themselves but the case itself is twice their body weight and this is not at all helpful. The rage becomes to much and you find yourselves hoping the children get trapped dragged onto the carousel never to be seen again. It's okay, we've all done it. 

This is all before your holiday has even begun. It is during the next week that you, an Englishman, learn to love that pain In the arse Health and Safety exec, because there is not one thing okay about a Cypriot on a moped In flip flops and a Jack Daniels vest top. It is here where you learn to love the air con at work that you usually moan about. It is here where you learn to love salad and water. We Brits, despite what we say, are not built for heat you see. Day one we give it 'woo toasty' but day two onwards is a race home so we can put on our hoodies and watch it piss it down. 

You want a tan because your mates at home have been ripping the piss our of your 'Ginger skin' so you lie there sweating like a blind lesbian In a fishmongers waiting to be brown, screaming to random passers by 'am I tanned yet?!'... You don't mean to scream this at strangers, just you have mistaken them for your parents as your vision is impaired from the beads of sweat that have been acting as eye drops for the last hour. 

You retire to your room to shower, In which you realise 'shit I'm burnt'. The glowing red from your nose and singular tit is quite a sight. And yes I say singular tit because the odds of an even tan on holiday for a Brit Is virtually unheard of. Later In the week you find yourself crying In front of the air con because the only places that seem to have caught any colour are the nose and tit In question and your knees. Yes. Knees. I know, who burns their knees? Me apparently.

The week actually flies by because you convince yourself you're having a good time. However if you look closely the family time is usually spent over an alcoholic beverage, necessary to make the company bearable, or over a game of cards... Yeah babe, gambling is a past time that really brings a family together. Then you realise all the Laughs have come from jokes where you're putting down another member of the family, present or not, you're all targets guys... 

To summarise you've eaten too much, spent too much, lived In discomfort, failed to reach your target of 'look like Mila kunis', hated your family and not drunk nearly enough to numb the pain of the thought that you've looked forward to this for an entire year... 

In all seriousness, I'm on the way back from a family holiday as I'm writing this. I mean absolutely everything I've said. I'm having seven shades of shit kicked out of me from behind which frankly is embarrassing as she's Half my age. My brother is sat beside me...he's finally stopped fidgetting although it took two minor rows and and a chicken sandwich to settle him... Pffft teenagers. Although he's currently sat with his hood up and he's not moved for a while, really ought to Check he's alive and hasn't given up... believe me were on the cusp. 3:33am

Nighflight with an hour and a half to go as well as a Drive back from Birmingham leaves an awful sense of 'LEAVE ME. I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE' to even the mentally-strongest of people. My mum is In the isle seat. She's been on and off asleep the entire flight. She could have done the full 5 hours but she's worried about snoring. If I were her though I'd be more concerned about the dribble. Just saying. Dads on the row to the side of us giving us sad eyes because he's bored and trying to avoid making friends with the chunky lady at the side of him holding a crucifix far too tightly. The kind of tight that would scare an atheist. 

Despite meaning absolutely everything I've said I've actually enjoyed my week away. Mostly because I haven't paid for a thing. Same time next year? 

Little bit of a rant...I'm going to go for it anyway.

At the risk of offending a large percentage of the population... I understand having children is very exciting and absolutely something to be proud of but we don't live in Nazi Germany and 'full time mummy' is not an occupation. Frankly the idea that you deserve some societal kudos because you have fantastic swimmers or an exceptionally fertile womb baffles me. As does the notion that you deserve benefits for your wondrous fertility. So, for the sake of argument, how about you take off your 'DAD' ring that you so excitedly purchased from the Argos catalogue and go out and find a job so you can pay for the trail of babies your impressive sexual prowess produces... That is of course if you're not busy walking your staffy? 

And yes that is absolutely aimed at the underclass who so obviously seem to feel society owes them a living for repopulating the earth for us. Thank you, but considering your child's (stereotypically) unstable family background, it's overall prospects aren't looking so hot. But please do forgive me for my lack of enthusiasm in thanking you for reinforcing the existing dependency culture we have in modern Britain.

Not about race. All about a soldier. R.I.P

I will have my say. And I will not have my say restricted to 144 characters or the small paragraph that Facebook allows. And those of you with any sense will read this and concur in a similar fashion.

May I begin by saying I do not wish to engage in any racial debate. I don't believe it should be about that at all nor do I side either way. My views are complex and my views alone so don't read too much into them. Also I do not agree with the teachings or actions of extremist Islam and so in the following paragraphs where it may read a bit defensive of This or punishing of British ignorance please observe that I am a Christian and absolutely proud of the Britishness I inherited. Again I do not agree with this becoming a racial debate or even a political debate and I post this in the hope that people will remember the life lost today above all political agendas. Thank you.

The attack in London today is the latest example of terrorism hitting Britain in its fullest and most shocking form. A man, a soldier who represents British security, is randomly and brutally hacked to death in broad daylight and full view of passers by.

My first and most pressing issue is the charade of citizen journalism that has invaded social networking sites where it seems anyone and everyone are today's politicians, is exactly that, a charade. Why is it that with hindsight everyone is so eager to defend either side of this when the simple fact is that during the attack not one person, it seems, attempted to approach these murderers. The sense of British altruism seems to have died with the sense of British liberty we once boasted. This is what I am first and foremost shocked by.

Secondly, why did it take our wonderful and heroic police force 20 minutes to arrive on scene. Well the armed response team anyway... Was it that they were perhaps too busy camping outside a BBC veterans house waiting to arrest them in that sham of an investigation. No the police did arrive within minutes, and WAITED AT THE END OF THE STREET. I admit yes, maybe twas all very sudden, but the police force are trained and paid to approach threats like these men. Not to reason, no, there is no reasoning with extremists, but to show strength and solidarity to the public and in the face of danger and they waited at the end of the street. They were not drawing off the street, they were not diverting traffic, after all the other end of the street was still open as there was still hundreds of people in the area. It seems to me this is a simple example of poor response time and cowardice.

Next, and most passionately I hate that this has become a racial debate. The simple fact is that a man has been attacked at random and brutally murdered and it seems this poor boys life is going to be forgotten amongst the rage of a racial debate. Which frankly I will not stand for.

The men at hand were extremists and not at all representative of an entire religion. Those that are arguing so are narrow minded and racially prejudiced. Similarly those that are arguing against racism in this debate so passionately are beginning to sound like politically correct hippies the way they defend these people and seemingly defend their actions.

Africa and Muslim countries experience this kind of violence on a daily basis and we, Britain have fought wars to defend against this for thousands of years. Wars that combatted oppression and tyranny, greed and violence. Which is why we live in the country we do now. We are not without some areas for improvement but generally we see a better world than a lot of Muslims. This act of violence is a retaliation to what these countries see all to often and sometimes by British hands. The freedom Britain continuously defends and the predjudice , racial, sexist, homophobic, disabled, whatever, that Britain fights against in theory, is not exemplified in today's society and within this situation fails spectacularly.

The backlash to this is uproar from mindless racist zombies that are going to use this as a 'they take our jobs, disrespect out culture and kill for fun' point of view and political decisions are going to be made based upon this. Britain will become an embodiment of racial predjudice, the kind that it has so long fought against. Based on a singular spontaneous event.
I'm saying this event should not be enough to make Britain a hypocrite.

I defend no Muslim extremist actions and I hate these men for the fear and sadness they bring upon a nation and a family. What they did was unspeakable. Britain is supposed to be a country where this brutality does not thrive and they've tainted this image. I hate that religion is able to do such a thing, cause such a rift and make circumstances forever unable to control.

I am incredibly proud to be British. Overwhelmingly so. Britain has come together through social networking, and although In a sense of gossip and with the many many opinions, they have created a sense of solidarity that only Britain can create. That war time spirit that defines our Nation runs deep and comes out in times of grief. It presents itself over and over and I am proud to be a part of it, despite the ignorance of some and the mouthy-ness of many.

But the long and short of this issue... Racial debate aside... Is that today a young man died. My thoughts and prayers are with his family NOT the terrorists who claim 'an eye for an eye' and hope for martyrdom. He is the only person within this horrendous news story that deserves any kind of contemplation.

Stop your racial debates. Stop your defending of Islam and shaming of British ignorance and hypocritical attitude. Stop even the understanding of what occurs in Muslim societies all over the world. Stop your British pride. Stop your politics. Stop your bickering. Stop everything that doesn't include sending a supportive thought or prayer to the family of the poor boy involved in this. Give me my way and let May 22nd be about nothing but him.

R.I.P

This is not a blog.

I write poetry, as you may or my not know. And instead of posting another blog I thought I'd post a poem.

I'm coming up to finishing my first year at UNI and everyone always said I'd 'find' myself at university. Thing is I think that's wrong. I don't think you find yourself at all,I actually think you become more lost. I think instead you learn that you're just a mass of contradictions and one huge oxymoron, but you learn that that's okay...and so I wrote this:

Lost but Living. By Ellie Wood.

Full time pessimist and part time comedian. Full time anxiety issues and free lance smiler. Working commuter and right to unhappiness activist. Binge drinker and comfort eater. Love yourself campaigner and emotional cutter. Tortured poet and broken artist. Wild teen brain in a soaps and cuppa body. Carpe diem baby with an overwhelming fear of consequences. Future terrified and past escapist. In need of a schedule for my spontaneous actions. Financial struggler with an affluent backdrop. Let society define me. Loneliest oxymoron that ever was.

Tis a bit heavy I suppose but you don't make history by sitting on the fence do you kids. Peace.

Social networks, what's your function?

With the increasing amounts of social networking sites available to the tiny human brain and the massive ego that comes with it, i ask What should social networking sites really be used for?
If your answer to this is 'social networking' then go home because this train of thought is going to be far too intelligent for you.

So you're on Facebook to converse with friends. This is all very well but there's always one twat around that needs to remember his place and frankly I'm that other twat that wants to put him there.
There's always going to be conflict as not everyone thinks the same. If we all thought the same we'd be like 1930s Russia (or the Labour Party), and as long as you avoid outrageous points of view you can manage to voice an opinion and be relatively safe right? WRONG. We have on our hands an epidemic of 'keyboard warriors', one doesn't like to stereotype but these are usually one of the following; spotty faced teens, SnapBack wearers (usually one and the same), the underclass (Jeremy Kyle-ites), people with limited teeth, people with 11 toes, (Jeremy Kyle-ites), teenage mums, stay at home parents, business execs, dickheads (usually one and the same) ...yanno actually, it can be just about anyone. What you find when it comes to social networks, everyone wants to be everyone else's friend. Even when they think they're a wanker. Noone ever blocks anyone else and noone ever agrees with anyone else so one rather finds themself in a tiz. As a mini conclusion, Facebook has the best intentions but human nature steps in to lower all standards. Sorry Zuckerberg, (like that guy doesn't LOVE the drama and stupidity of human kind).

The latest love of tge masses; Twitter, why are you even a thing? It's like a Facebook for the vocabulary challenged. Limiting how much we can say? Don't you dare attempt to limit my opinion. Hash tagging? Who da heyll is dis guy? 'Oh Ellie it's applicable to a topic that is trending, ya?' no mate, I don't see 'happy girl' trending, I see you with your head tilted to one side and doing some poor pouting, giving your best 'pretend not to hate myself' face. I see no trend in this insincerity. That's what I despise about twitter. It is the equivalent in society to the friendship groups that call each other babe and hug upon a greeting and a farewell. Facebook is the real friend. The 'ayup shit bag *pinches a crisp*' its honest about the 'bite back' it offers and encourages it like the true bastard it is, twitter is the false friend, the liar, the 'oh darling *hug* I love your increasingly tight, moose knuckle inducing leggings. They must, I mean they must be Topshop latest ya. Can't chat, must dash, ciao *hug*'
I get its place in news and pr and advertising. I get it if your marketting a product or boosting your image but as far as 'social networking' goes its insincere, and its 'passing comment' qualities make it dangerous. With it being a small mass of words you may think you go directly to cyber space but say the wrong thing, say something as far away from trending as possible and you'll be remembered for all the wrong reasons.

Pictures? Tumblr is one of my favourite sites on the Internet, its honest in its entirety and its visual based. It's a marvel. With the exception of the over dominance of the following; self harm, unhappy lesbians, porn, screamo bands and increasingly one direction, who, I never really thought were cool enough for tumblr. And When I say cool I mean dark. Tis very unusual. As tumblr is marketted at the sincere, once again, we have the increasing emergence of Instagram which I hate with every fibre of my being. It is to tumblr what I feel twitter is to Facebook. It's yet another great idea having its integrity compromised and then made mainstream. I'm not saying mainstream is bad I'm saying mainstream is bad when it overly simplifies what is already a perfect concept just so the meatheads and the cotton candy brains of the world can share pictures of their arse. Pinterest is yet another variation. Need I go on really? They're all pretty much the same concept just with varying degrees of popularity.

I could go on... Mavensay for the photographers and musicians among us but with a slightly too high brow key system, one could get lost within its homepage whilst not really connecting with anything other than the ground when you pass out from anxiety after being unable to navigate away from the dashboard for 3 days...

Linked in for the business elites and desperate university graduates... GIVE ME A JOB it cries as you type 'graduated from Sheffield hallam university 2014 with a first in BA Public relations, interested in political communications and have no skeletons in closet whatsoever, here follow this link to my twitter and Facebook and see how I never leave the house, am a virgin and have been t-total since 1964' and click 'connect'.

There's more. And as I'm told frequently by my lecturers 'there's just so many emerging day by day...I mean whatever next?!' What next? Well i'd say either technological world domination, worldwide revolution and the fall of capitalism, or a big fuck of fight Cos bitches can't calm their tits on Facebook and an eventual government control on social networking as well as the media. Just a thought like...

'I'd rather be famous than righteous or holy'

‘I’d rather be famous than righteous or holy, any day’ : The Smiths- Frankly Mr Shankly

A rather apt quotation for popular culture I’d say...

Popular culture is responsible for why I can’t be a poet and make a living from it. I would love nothing more to travel Europe in large dresses, staring out of windows, drinking wine and writing about how suicidal I am over the ‘one’. But the rise of Industrialized Britain and consequently Popular culture angered the elites so much so that they applied to art an abstract rhythmic pattern to dilute its accessibility so it would maintain some intellectual value. They saw it worked because no one could understand what the fuck these guys were painting and so they applied this to literature as well. Intertwined within each piece of lyrical excellence was a reference or allusion to another piece of work and so it seems you need to have read every elitist Cultural tradition writer and thoroughly understand every Greek myth and speak fluent Latin and be voiced in all matters of church doctrine, know all the ins and outs of every elitist love triangle and basically know Vagina Wolfe’s medical history to be able to understand the first paragraph of the writings of the then, lowest intellectual abilities. It is this that means the beauty of poetry was maintained over a short period but lost to most and although this was done so to keep its merit, it now means that its place in society has become overly protected and consequently almost eradicated.

I could very well blame the elites but what respectable Tory would ever do such a thing? So instead I blame the Plebeians and troglodytes for harnessing popular culture to a degree that it pushed the mistress of authentic culture, poetry, into the deepest darkest recesses of libraries and instead filled the spaces of these once fabulous writers, with Harry Potter and The Gruffalo. 

Words can't hurt...right?

Language.

I once wrote a poem about language...

Words. By Ellie Wood.

Words: that for which we cannot apologise, rectify or retrieve- a cut so deep.

That which we use to connect, excuse and comfort.

The sharpest tool, the best bandage to east pain and the smoothest of charmers.

The Queen of enigmas and prince of procrastination. King of ambiguity and princess of allure.

The best, worst and often only tool at your disposal.

Words: The genius, wizard, poet, politician, fighter- the average human being.

Attacked, defended and eased,

Infuriated or enlightened.

The champion of champions.

Words: Knowledge, conversation, hope, faith, pledge, truth, lies and trust.

To you, words, I swear, you are forever my indispensible and most faithful friend, assistant and companion.

Words.

As my poem points out, language has many uses and many effects. So how can so many people make throw-away comments not realising the lasting effects or how they make people feel?

I began to think about this as an important issue last week when I began looking at language as an important factor in changing attitudes and values in society, with reference to sex and gender, so I may use this as an example later on. But as a general principle it got me thinking about the power language has and how people seem to harness it in order to project views and opinions, and either diminish or exacerbate prejudice.

Hitler, for example, ultimate symbol of evil but worshipped by so many... how was what he said socially acceptable? He was obviously a wordsmith. Listening to his speeches you can hear his passion but more importantly he’s manipulative. He uses inclusive language for the public; they feel like they have a voice. He praises Germany beyond words it’s emotional and it was more than likely beautiful to hear for a country that had been undergoing such hardship. When he speaks about the ‘Jew problem’ it’s difficult still to fathom how anyone could just accept this but he slipped it in between radically heroic statements about saving Germany which is sneaky and manipulative. The hatred is repugnant to read but he speaks in such a way that’s descriptive and almost poetic with how he describes Jews as a disease, it’s not sane by any means but it shows what power language has if he could take such a ridiculous concept and weave hatred through it and then not even be scared to say these things out loud and THEN people accepted it and continued to love him. A lot is dependent on language. If Hitler isn’t the perfect example of how someone can manipulate a public and breed hatred using language, then there can be no other example.

In addition, it’s interesting to see now, in light of the recent ‘gay marriage’ debate, how attitudes can change.  It seems this is the great civil rights movement of our time. We had the Suffragettes in the late 19^th, early 20^th century, and the black civil rights movement through the 50s and 60s. These movements saw Emelline Pankhurst and Dr Martin Luther King go down in history for their great work and even greater sacrifices. I’m curious to see who may rise from this movement as a figure head. Ellen DeGeneres will forever be the ultimate ambassador of gay marriage, not only because she is gay and married but because she so proves how the sanctity of this institution is so sacred and meaningful when there’s Brittany Spears and Kim Kardashian running around and being married for a matter of days.

What I actually wanted to explore is the thought process in life and in everyday speech with reference to prejudices. One is fine to ‘sit on the fence’ but we were given two terms, linguistic determinism, meaning language shapes our thoughts, and linguistic universalism, meaning our thoughts shapes our language.

On the one hand I whole heartily agree that Linguistic universalism is the term of sense... if one is homophobic in attitudes and values then one shall use narrow and more than likely offensive language to convey this, right?

But is this right? Upon reflection, I don’t think it is. I think when we really look into this our attitudes and values are shaped by our language. We are naturally constrained or freed by language. We use it for so many purposes it cannot be a second thought... even our thought process is done in a language of some kind. So my conclusion on this point is that we, and the language we think in, determine our attitudes to most things. For example, the French have a so much wider vocabulary and often multiple terms for one thing. The abundance of synonyms in this language means that they can give a degree to the thing that they are talking about or rate its importance, intensity etc... It makes it much more expressive, and consequently portrays a stance or opinion, ultimately being interpreted in a tone and concluded as your specific value. Words are obviously our greatest communicator and language is obviously not a secondary thought...it’s a medium.

So when applied to the sex and gender subject, I find that the understanding of a topic and consequently the being ‘okay’ or ‘not okay’ with it, is dependent on language. In today’s society understanding of something different is imperative for the majority of people, although shouldn’t be necessary, and so the language has to be very politically correct and pragmatic and straight forward to avoid any confusion. Confusion leads to questions and stereotypes which lead to prejudice. All of which occurs in the mind but words are responsible for. Leaving the issue unclear and unstable subjects it to ridicule or hate and that’s when we attain inequalities for people that are different.

Ultimately language can cloud or clarify a situation and can therefore be awarded ultimate importance when wanting to persuade, manipulate or change attitudes. 

Margaret Thatcher: Hated for being great. Great for being hated.

I am frequently asked why I think Margaret Thatcher is the best prime minster when so many hate her so passionately. I always answer with a swift sentence about her strong characteristics that reverted England to the strongest stance, i think, since winning World War Two.

But in actuality she was one of the best Prime minsters this country has ever seen, and according to statistics, rather more popular than one might think. So many Tories are known for being the more effective prime ministers in history, but this goes over looked as we are currently on a campaign of hatred for increased university fees, benefit cuts and unemployment. And so many news outlets focus on the negative, when if they took the time to do some research they’d find the following.

Margaret Thatcher is the seventh longest serving Prime minister, serving three terms from 1979-1990.  Only one other of those 7 served in the 20^th century, and of those, 5 were of the Tory or Conservative Party. Winston Churchill, war hero and legend, also a Tory, is the longest serving MP, with 63 years under his belt.

Thatcherism became a strand of Conservatism, focused on economics and free market ideology, how many other Prime ministers left behind an ideology as their legacy? Her time in office saw her enter and leave behind a benefiting economy as net migration increased. It also saw her help to end the Cold War and increase friendly relations with USA, the biggest superpower at the time. In addition she re asserted English power and authority, in a some-what Imperialistic manner, in the Falkland’s and unite Europe. In a time of recession, although unemployment inevitably rose to record highs, she reduced inflation to the highest degrees and there’s direct positive correlation between the state of the economy and her time in office.

Moreover, she flew the flag for Feminism and for a ‘work hard and you shall achieve’ audience, so rare in the Conservative Party. From Grantham, she attended and graduated from Oxford, which she attended on her own merit, and from there changed the world as we know it. Feminists are often heard criticizing Thatcher for a lack of solidarity, failure to help other women and for not acknowledging her debt to feminism, but is it not the greatest thing to see a person of the ‘wrong’ gender and the ‘wrong’ class break the boundaries of middle class, middle aged, white men, politics and to then become the face of that. I also think she did right by not bowing her head to the movement of feminism as this would have subjected her to even more criticisms within her own party. Being a product of feminism is fine until you become a leader because you have to be seen to have gotten there by merit, not political correctness.

 Children of the 80's may have grown up hating her but the fact is after years of growing up to hate men, women were also allowed to be hated. I’m not saying that’s a great thing, I’m saying that’s equal. And that’s what feminism wants right? In the most degrees anyway, equality?

I’ve been taught that there’s no such thing as bad publicity, and Thatcher was horrendously hated for the controversial politics she pursued with such vigor  Her name was everywhere. And there is no such thing as bad publicity... so by being hated, did this do more for Feminism, are we to thank Baroness Thatcher for bearing the brunt of hatred just so a woman would be visible in a position of power? Think on this.

Politics aside...I want to note her passion. Not once have I ever heard a prime minister speak even remotely in the same tone and with such conviction. Ed Milliband struggles to sound like he even knows what he’s saying. He struggles to enunciate or stand with confidence. David Cameron sounds like he’s scared and is daren’t stray from his written speech. And Nick Clegg is just grateful for being around. Margaret Thatcher could argue in an empty room. She made people love or hate her. She was heroic, strong, and powerful. She spoke well, was neither scared nor confused and she above all showed she deserved to be there. Her speeches, like those of Churchill and Harold Macmillan echo through time and are quoted on a regular basis. 

She, like a rare selection of others, said things that shaped the world today and forever more. And yes many prime ministers make changes, shape history and are popular, Tony Blair for example. But Margaret Thatcher had not only the love of the people, but the anger and hatred, and there is no weapon so powerful for the winds of change than that of a furious public. Think of the greatest revolutions, of popular culture, of film even. She did, in my eyes, and a few others, many great things... but it is the controversy that makes her the greatest prime mister that ever was and will be...until my turn obviously. 

Briton sentenced to death in Bali

Briton sentenced to death penalty in Bali? Are we being serious?

A country with a human rights record to rival Stalin’s Russia, if you don’t believe me read this; http://www.nasty-bali.org/

Men in Bali can force women into marriage, commit marital rape, beat her to within an inch of her life regularly and then finally kill her, and go without any prison sentence, but a woman who traffics drugs is given the death sentence?

I understand she was caught trafficking £1.6 million worth of Cocaine and by no means do I advocate taking or dealing drugs, but a life sentence for that is completely repugnant considering how lightly the punishment is for crimes that completely infringe on basic human rights.

The police rarely pursue offences to get a full case but in the case of a WHITE, ENGLISH WOMAN they were more than happy to spring into action at rapid pace and push for a conviction, a little out of the ordinary given recent claims about the frankly lazy criminal justice system.

The police are well known in Bali for running the Brothels where children as young as 11 are ‘rented’ and where the law says children as young as 7 can begin smoking highly addictive cigarettes, outlawed in Europe for being too strong with drug like effects. Yet the police can be portrayed as the ‘do-gooders’ by arresting this woman for offences that, it appears they match or out do in severity.

The system, and frankly entire country is twisted and unfair, and this woman should be sent to her HOME COUNTRY to be sentenced because it is quite clear that Bali are not capable or in the moral position to give her a trial that fairly reflects her crime. 

As asked to be commented on by Aspo : Saville on the Tweenies? Surely not?

Correct. Man of the hour, or not as the case may be, Jimmy Saville was aired on a TV programme on Sunday morning. And not any programme, a kids’ TV programme. Oh how that man would be smiling in his grave as we speak, as he is obviously still managing to reach his favourite kind of audience, all thanks to his good old friend, the ignorant and elitist BBC, perverter of the course of justice.

Somehow our ‘peoples broadcaster’ seems to sink lower and lower in recent months as reporters uncovered secrets, lies and poor management decisions but as the investigation into the savagery of Jimmy Saville reaches new peaks with conclusions of more than 400 instances of child abuse, the BBC have a little bit of a muck up, by airing the nightmare of children and parents alike, on a kids’ TV programme.

The Tweenies played host to Max dressed as Saville in an episode made in 2001, when he was still a dirty old perv, but when we the public weren’t aware of his filthy little pass times.

Although I find it difficult to argue how people ‘didn’t know’ Saville was a raging pervert with a nose like the child catcher, hair designed by a blind wigmaker and all the dirty gold jewellery one can buy from Argos. Not to mention the tracksuit that would place him comfortably on Ingoldmells market. How on earth did this man’s evil go unnoticed when all the many roles of paedophiles from The Bill to Coronation Street, were based on him?! But that’s a story for a different day.

In the episode, Max, dressed as Saville, is said to be on the set of Top of the Pops using his catchphrases and presenting the other Tweenies characters whom I can only assume are going to take on the rolls of pop stars, e.g. Garry Glitter. In my opinion, given what else we know Saville got up to on the set of Top of the Pops, the viewers were very lucky that Max merely dressed as him.

The BBC have been said to have had eleventy-milliion complaints, although Ofcom claim it’s only had like three...BBC when will you learn, lies and exaggerations never present you in a good light?

Cheers. 

Greetings earthlings.

Alright.

so i'm going to try and commit to a blog. its more of a 'see if i can keep it up' exercise than anything else and i'm not really sure what to blog about so if you guys have any questions or topics you might want to talk about them drop me a line. I have a lot of opinions, likes, dislikes and i like to drip satire into my rants and comments so if you're looking for a well illustrated point with a witty undertone to really piss someone off, i'm more than likely your go to girl. 

So, just to get conversation started i'll tell you some things that i like. 

I like The Smiths, tattoos, excessive bracelets, Corona, poetry, lord byron, oscar wilde, john green novels, the conservative party, the monarchy, margaret thatcher, feminist history, imperialism, english, sociology, my bed, baggy jeans, hats, hoodies, drawing, VW campers, Banksy, Mariyn Monroe, 1950s and 60s style, MAC makeup, Apple, space, the union jack, aquariums, zoos, wild animals, teddy bears, paul weller, polo tshirts, boxing, martial arts, swimmng, rugby, football, disney, chess, mexican food, travelling, new york, city skylines, snow, red skies, sitting outside at a pub, leather jackets, converse, the colour green, the Scream franchise, Colin Farrell, musicals and so much more. 

Catch you later.