Am I wrong?

I have just received through my inbox news of large wildfires in Southern California and the subsequent evacuation of peoples from the surrounding areas.

My question is this: is it wrong that my immediate thought on reading this news was:

'It's good this has happened to America. The more natural disasters that happen to them, the more the current administration is likely the change its environmental policies/lack of them'

I suppose the real issue is how far can the American people be blamed for the actions or omissions of its administration and be fairly punished for them. Especially this is pertinent in light of the fact that Bush did not legally accede to the presidency. I was going to say that I don't feel the need to apologise for Tony Blair's policy decisions but I suppose that's not true. I do often defend myself when speaking to foreigner about the war in Iraq or the war on terror and am at pains to ensure that I am not understood to be pro-war in any sense and clearly distance myself from the attitude of the government.

I think this reveals more, however, that I understand that often citizens are wrongly allied with their leaders choices and policies by on-looking states and I am thus aware of the need to combat this presumption. Perhaps a better question would be whether I feel responsible for Tony Blair's decision and simply, I don't. I didn't vote for the man and I have taken pro-active measures to voice my objections.Secondly, if I accept that perhaps my response was prejudicial and unfair, can it be defended anyway? Is it preferable, ignoring any sense of retributive justice, for environmental disasters to hit America as opposed to any other nation state? Certainly, it has the economy to withstand the hit more than any other country and certainly its leaders do need a lesson in planetary humility. And whether or not the American people support US environmental policy, each individual US citizen consumes more than any other state-citizen, whether that be food, fuel or materials. Surely it is fair that a modestly impacting nation such as say, Uganda or the Netherlands, is only modestly impacted by environmental disaster whereas a excessively impacting nation, such as the U.S or China, bear the majority of such disasters.

This seems as basic and logical a premise of justice as even a child could grasp. It's the basis on which every modern legal system is based. The more serious the impact of the offence on society/the individual, the higher the punitive response.

Woe is me?

Today I am blighted with despair and ennui.

In an attempt to lift the ennui, I will attempt to dramatically and metaphorically convey said despair…..

I am a pebble pressed down by the carriage of life.
I am a helpless ant drowning in a sea of troubles.
I am splodge of soot upon the world's blackened brow.
I am Atlas struggling beneath the burden of the globe.

Truly…..this is not a auspicious start to the week.

I felt happy at about 1.53pm when I saw one of my colleagues wearing a yellow tie. And then there was the moment when I realised BOTH options on the canteen menu were vegetarian. Fool's hope! Our canteen food is shite, whatever the dish.

So that's it really, that has been my happiness quota for the day.

Maybe pondering on my forthcoming Death will cheer me up……..

Poets, poetry and a poem

I've been reading quite a few books of poetry recently and am attending several poetry events over the next week or so (organised as part of the Manchester Literature festival) One of the poets I am going to hear is my long-time favourite - Carol Ann Duffy. I was first introduced to her in sixth form A-level class with 'Standing Female Nude', she has been my undisputed poetry heroine ever since.

Sadly, she will not be reading selection from her love poems collections - which are by far the works of her that I enjoy the most. (Love, passion and death are the subjects that in all poets I enjoy the most in fact). Instead Ms Duffy will be reading from her children's collections, including her latest book, The Hat. I haven't read any of her children's work, so despite being disappointed not to hear some old favourites, I will at least get the joy of hearing some new stuff from the lady herself. I've re-produced below my favourite poem from her book 'Rapture' which collection deals with love - from its conception to its death.

You - Carole Ann Duffy

Univited, the thought of you stayed too late in my head,
so I went to bed, dreaming you hard, hard, woke with your name,
like tears, soft, salt, on my lips, the sound of bright syllables
like a charm, like a spell.

Falling in love
is glamorous hell; the crouched, parched heart
like a tiger ready to kill; a flame's fierce licks under the skin.
Into my life, larger than life, beautiful, you strolled in.

I hid in my ordinary days, in the long grass of routine,
in my camouflage rooms. You sprawled in my gaze,
staring back from anyone's face, form the shape of a cloud,
from the pining, earth-struck moon which gapes at me

as I open the bedroom door. The curtains stir. There you are
on the bed, like a gift, like a touchable dream.

The Evil Peacock

I am scared of peacocks.

I was reminded of this fact when I saw a heron on the side of the motorway today.

Herons share with peacocks the characteristics that I think forms the basis of my peacock fear - the beady eyes and tiny head in comparison body size. It is wrong. And the little head of the peacock with the black beady eyes flits around in an unpredictable, angular manner. And as if one pair of beady eyes isn't enough, it can open its tail and stare at you with ten more pairs of black eyes.

It looks like it is thinking sly thoughts too. It looks like a crafty, evil bird with its pea-head and tiny brain. I don't like it at all at all.

Look at it....




How scared would you be if you woke up to find that peering down at you one night???

Oh evil, unnatural bird, begone with you.

Oh what to do???

Am in a quandary.

I have for some time had the most ardent desire to go and visit the Mountain Gorillas in the Virunga Mountains. I was doing some research today for a presentation on Dian Fossey I am doing (don't ask why - it's rather geeky and I don't want to destroy the 'cool' persona I have drawn around myself over these many years) and my attention was drawn to a topic that Dian spent many years debating with her peers.

Fossey was a campaigner for (and arguably the promulgator of) 'active conservationism'. Active conservationism espouses directly participatory methodologies such as, anti-poaching patrols, boundary enforcement and the active preservation of natural habitat. This theory posits itself against 'theorectical conservationism' which seeks to protect wildlife through the promotion of tourism and promotes a more spectatorial role from the conservationist with respect to the wildlife and their habitat. (Yes. I made up 'spectatorial' in case you are wondering but it should exist as I can't find a nicer sounding synoynym for 'passive/hands off' ...... inert? phlegmatic? Don't like either)

Given that Fossey is my absolute heroine and I know of no-one who understood more what was needed to rescue these animals from present-extinction, I am loathe, to say the least, the pursue the very kind of activity that she was so vehemently opposed to.

A quick look at the fatality figures for the gorilla population quickly supports Dian's argument that not only is gorilla-tourism morally dubious (are animals there for the entertainment of mankind?) but actively harms the gorillas themselves. In 2005, eight gorillas died from tourist contracted diseases (e.g. measles)

I would be horrified to think that my love of these animals actually harmed them and brought about the very opposite circumstance that I was ultimately seeking to acheive through my visit(I was intending on making links with a view to establishing a small gorilla charity in the UK).

Thus today (or rather, now, as I write this) I have come to the terribly sad conclusion that I should forego my trip to trek them in the Virungas and accept that I should never see these creatures I am so passionate about in their natural habitat.

The best thing I and to promote their welfare is to leave them well alone and support them through other means available.

Bollocks!

The 'D' word

Ok. So tonight, in order to cheer myself up after a night at work until TEN O'CLOCK I would like to talk about the 'D' word.....

DEATH

I normally rein in my proclivity for discussing this subject with all but my oldest and closest friends who kindly 'indulge' me as I am aware from years of experience that as soon as I open up the 'D'iscussion, most people explode with 'Oh God, Natalie. Stop being so bloody morbid... JESUS!'... or something along those lines anyway. Because speaking of death is apparently morbid. Most people I have come across think seem to think so anyway and immediately because of this 'morbidity' close the shutters on any conversation on the topic.

I find this frustrating, a wee bit bizarre and strangely amusing. It seems so incongruous. We all all going to die. We are all "marching towards" at all points in our life. Life is a progresion towards death. There is very few things so certain in life as death. Or change that. There is NOTHING so certain in life as death.

If this thing or state of being, if you can call it that, is something that so profoundly touches all of us - why don't we discuss it. It's at minimum the one fact we can all agree on and own a common interest in.

I understand the fear factor, Christ. I'm petrified of It. Samuel Beckett encapsulated my personal fear of the reality of death to a tea...

``Instead of zero it may be some ghastly hallucination, such as the square root of minus one.''

But that's just me :)

With all fears, at least, so the shrinks would have us believe, the only way to deny it of its power is to face it. If we all discussed It more freely and with the truthfulness that you can't deny It, It could seem less... well... petrifying.

I think, the closer you get to death, the more willing you seem to be to talk about it. You hear old people lamenting their death and discussing their wills etc. with sense of almost glee sometimes. I wonder if it's a relief at finally being able to approach the subject. Maybe this reveals that what people are really doing is living in a state of denial for the majority of their years. Denying that they are going to die and it's only as you get older that the reality of it simply can't be avoided or you begin to embrace the freedom that acknowledging It can bring. I must say, I do think there are huge benefits to be had from reminding oneself that you are going to die on a quite regualar basis. Sincerely! It reminds me to be happy and joyous and to become aware of my existence. You can only appreciate life if you are conscious of your own existence within it.

It's all too easy to trudge through town on a grey rain day, bemoaning the dull sky and the cold and wetness. Next time you are doing this, try remembering that one day you won't be around to experience the cold and the rain. You remember that right now, you are alive! Then the rain becomes something to enjoy. So what if the sky is grey, it's the "o'er hanging firmament" that is our constant companion through life. In these moods I actually put my umbrella DOWN, slow my walk, HOPE the maximum amount of rain hits my face and delight in the wetter I get. If I arrive piss-wet through back at the office, I'm pretty chuffed. I aim for the biggest puddles I can find and jump in them. It's so liberating and infantile and FUN and this kind of random, uninititiated joy from the mundane can so simply be brought about by mulling on the frailty of our being and the short span we have alive.

(As a general rule actually, I find people far to averse to rain. It was in India that I discovered the only way to respond to rain is to revel in a down pour. In Indian monsoon season, you can't escape from the rain no matter what you do or how many umbrellas you carry - it comes UP as well as down.... the only option was to greet it and get about your business alongside it. It's far more relaxing to uncover yourself, hold your head up into it and have foolish fun than bury your head in the pavement, shrug your shoulders and hurry scowled-faced back to the office. You can be sure you'll arrive in the office with a laugh on your lips.)

A considered appraisal on 'Why baths are SHIT'

I have, of course, the greatest respect for Sylvia Plath. Anyone obsessed with death, alienation and self-destruction has to earn my vote. BUT I have to say - Sylvia, you got in completely wrong in believing,

“There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.”

On the contrary, there are few things in my mind that are not worsened by taking a bath.

It all started when I moved into my current abode.
Until then, like the rest of my kin, I was a confirmed shower girl. For me, the second best part of staying in a hotel is the mammoth jet-stream power showers I get to play in.

It was thus with great remorse that I took my first shower in my first home-owned property to discover I had a system built in the seventies and never subsequently updated. The large showerhead that had caught my eye upon viewing the property belied the meek trickle of water it produced.

As I have already expressed within this blog, mornings are not the best part of my day; I have also expressed the daily trauma of temperature change occurring when decamping from my bed. A trauma for a sleepy, cold, naked body that can only be exacerbated by a urinating showerhead. In the very first day under that shower head, I made my decision.

The shower is out, the bath must come in.

And so it was.... my daily cleansing routine became thus:

Morning wake up call. Stumble out of bed. Put on warm clothing. Stomp to bathroom. Stick head over bath. Wash hair with pissy showerhead.
WORK.
Finish work. Arrive home. Do random stuff. Get in bath. hate bath. Fume in bath. Get increasingly irate in bath. Get out of bath seething. Stomp downstairs.

So why the anger?

Well, for me a simple bath is simply a half hour of hot boredom. For those who think a bath is meditative, I pose this scenario as the pure, 'asthetic' bath experience:

You sit in it. It's hot. The steam rises. It makes you sweat. You have nothing to do. You look at a wall. You wait. Your skin starts wrinkling. You wait. You stare at the wall. You notice the grouting needs redoing. You wait some more. You stare at another wall. You stare at the ceiling. You sigh. You count to one hundred. You get out.

This is the 'pure' bath experience and I can't stand it. It bores the shit out of me quite frankly.

And so, to alleviate my boredom, I transform the bathroom each night into a ghetto of activity. I spend a full thrity minutes preparing the battleground.

First: Large glass of wine (must be very cold to counteract the heat of the water)
Second: Book. For obvious reasons - diversion.
Third: Thesaurus. Often the thesaurus is the book choice itself, I only ever read a thesaurus in the bath for some reason, but in any event, it is required in case I come across a word in a book I don't know.
Fourth: Candles. These are optional. The option is - do I feel arsed locating and lighting them.
Fifth. Music. Again - a diversion and mood enhancer. Again, the music is optional depending on if I can be arsed setting up the extension lead.
Fifth: Blackberry.Facebook I mostly check this every ten minutes in between pages.
Sixth: Phone.

So, the bath is full, the accoutrements in place. I get in. I jump out immediately and swear.

I've never yet figured out if it's just me or if everyone finds that the part of their anatomy most sensitive to heat is the leg below the knee. This is certainly the case for me for whilst the rest of my body can happily accept a warm bath, whenever I step in it, my legs go bright red and I feel my skin begin to melt away.

It is a problem. I obviously can't dive in. I can't suspend myself from the ceiling so all parts of the body barr the highly-strung lower legs don't get wounded. I have no choice but to grit my teeth and literally SCREAM as my legs enter the water and wait until they calm the hell down and accustom to the temperature. As I say, my back is fine, my arse is fine, my arms, head, stomach and every other part of my body is A-OK with the water. It's just the lowe legs. WHY????? I just DON'T get it.

So. A couple of minutes pass. I realise it's too hot. I'm sweating, I hate sweating, it's unseemly. I empty some of the bath and refill it with cold.
I realise I'm now too cold.
I add hot. The hot creeps from one side of the bath so my bum is cold and my feet are being scorched again.
I add cold. I add hot.

This farce goes on for about a good five minutes until I give up....usually on the side of too cold.

Accepting the temperature will provide me no joy, I turn to my trusty book.But hang on,I have got my hands wet, I need to turn the page. I can't as this will defile a page.

Inevitably, the only prop I do not have is a towel. So now I have to reluctantly get out of the bath, dripping water everywhere as I go in search of a towel.

I find one. I traipse back to the bath. I get back in, dry hands and turn page.

I get ready to relax. Do I relax lying down or relax sat up? I never know whether to sit in sitting position with book in front or lie back with book above face. Latter is more relaxing but wets hair, former keeps hair dry but not relaxing.

I swop between both, uncertain, curtailing my 'relaxation' to five minutes spurts. Somehow my hand gets wet again and I need to turn the page. Bring back the towel.

And so it goes on.

Twenty five minutes later I stand, light-headed from the heat and slop onto the floor. I face a good ten minutes of putting things back in their place and allowing my skin to return to it's happt temperature before seeking the solace of a cool bed to lie on whilst I try to recover my zen.

Numbers 3 - 11 of 357 of things that annoy me.

Unlike previously, this collection has no central theme.They are, however, backed by some hardcore opinion-giving so that's OK. As always, please share with me details of what pisses you off and I will adjudicate on the merits or no of your justification.

Even numbers.

Why? Odd isn't it. (Sorry, couln't resist. Cheesy I know.) To me they seem a little too goody goody and a bit smug with it. The number 2 especially gets my goat.

White ford escorts

They're so tacky though aren't they? Snobbish? Most certainly. Am trying unsuccessfully to purge snobbery from my veins at the moment but am finding it trying.

The trees and shubbery planted by the council along motorways and dual carriageways

Sorry, but they are piss poor excuses for arboriage. What kind of environmental heritage are we leaving here. It's the natural equivalent of the 70s architectural legacy to towns and cities. Has the council ever heard of oak? Mountain ash? Sycamore? Christ almighty. I am almost tempted to go chuck some bloody decent seeds around myself.

Big watches

They are simply unecessary and it's presumably meant to be impressive. Especially if you're a bloke. It's a bit predictably phallic in it's intention isn't it? Come on now.....let's have a bit of restrained taste.

People who warble and harmonise when singing along to a song.

This one applies to females only. It makes me cringe with embarrassment and sometimes. If the girl is especially putting in Maria Carey-like warbles, my head
actually spins with embarrassment. Literally, I get head spin. Please stop it. Save my balance. Sing like a normal person for god's sake.

Religious people

It's the self-certainty here that offends.

Pot, kettle, black? Do I give a...? Nothing wrong with a touch of inconsistency every now again....

Ready washed and shredded bags of iceberg lettuce

Especially if it's from Marks and Spencers. You are just compounding utter laziness with complete disregard for monetary value.

People who eat Ryvita and claim they like it

It's just bare-faced lying is all it is. Who are you trying to kidd?

Ellipsis....as promised

So….. I said I'd discuss my use of the ellipsis, didn't I?


Hmmm. Hardly a topic that sparks a natural array of issues to consider. I can see I am beginning to regret my rash suggestion already.I did state that awarding unwarranted attention to issues is part of this blog's mandate, didn't I? Shame. Anyway, lets see where it takes us.


Well, I suppose I will start with the obvious… let us settle, firstly, what would be the plural of this quaint little word…. makes sense.


Ellipsises, ellipsi, ellipsum?


If in doubt (which I am) refer to the noble www.dictionary.com; fantastic web resource which I recommend heartily….a wikipedia for language.


"Ellipses", apparently.


Makes sense. Doesn't accord with basic grammar rules for formation of plurals though, which would dictate the simple addition of an -es to the noun thus creating 'Ellipsises'. Who ever said grammar was meant to be inflexible however?


Secondly… is my use of the ellipsis indeed appropriate?


Consultation with Oracle again.


Usage: Printing marks to indicate an omission or suppression of letters or words.


Christ. believe me, I would much rather be discussing Derren Brown at this point who is currently backgrounding in my living room. However, I committed therefore I must. I'm sure you'd probably be reading about that too though. Let’s take a break…..


Robbie Williams is today's guest appearance. About to be made a pin cushion if the intro man is to be believed.


Now hanging Jesus-like on the top of a scaffold (why here I don't know, dramatic tension?)


Robbie…..have never seen the huge attraction myself. I must be out of sync with his TV-projected pheromones I guess. From what I can gather it's the 'bad boy' element combined with the 'little boy lost' aura he exudes that forms the basis of his attraction. Appeals to the nurturing element in women I suppose… and the secret romantic vanity that women all wish to realise that their affections and love can save a storm-tossed man from drowning. The saviour complex.


Or maybe that's just me?


Damn you Charlotte Bronte. Damn you and your beautifully drawn Jane and Mr Rochester.


Intermission over. Back to the serious consideration of the life and death issue that is the ellipsis.


I suspect my personal usage is more of a dramatic pause interrupting two connected ideas or statements then a suppression of words. I suspect actually that most current usage falls into this category. Evidence? None to hand and I can't be bothered finding it just to convince you I am right but I am right so just accept it and move on.


Lastly, do I overuse it?



You, readers, are the ultimate judge of that question and I invite your opinions on the idea. This in an opinion-sharing forum after all is said and done.Though I get the last word. Remember that. Only I have full administration rights…...and so it should be.

Ignorance and irony

So....... the blog's been off for a while.

An expanse of thoughtless silence for near four full moons.

I'd call it a writer's block were I a writer. As a lay-narrator I have no such grandiose and tortured excuse however. I simply ran out of things to say...... I ran out of anything worth saying.

Yes, I will say that again, you are right to doubt your very ears. Yes, you may never hear its like again.

I, Natalie B******a, RAN OUT OF ANYTHING TO SAY.

It knocked me.

I don't mind admitting it.....

it shook me to my very core. I stood shivering and naked in a confused void and uttered not a sound. Silence challenged me. Nothingness caused self-examination more profoundly than any cram-filled conversation could.

Why the confusion, I hear you ask?

In answer: Fundamental to my self-perception has been the belief that 1. I could fill the blackest hole in space with continuous opine, and 2. I would opine whether necessary, welcome, wanted or not.

What could be the future for natalieuninterrupted if this was not so? A rename? Occasionalnatalie? Nataliepunctuatedbyperiodsofmuteness? Thequiescenceofnatalie? (Actually, that's bloody good, isn't it? Admit it. Mental note for the future, let us all use 'quiescence' more).

This was a blog with communication as its central tenant. Where life's littlest details could, and positively should, be freely and intensely mooted, dissected and bestowed unnecessary, maybe even unwarranted, attention. Where to then if a gamut of minutae and circumstance elicited not even a murmur in response? Where a change in leadership went unchallenged. A new President inaugurated without comment. A teen idol group reunification unexamined. A thousand fags and a hundred bottles of wine inhaled and consumed without a single exhortation. The explosion of bloody Facebook for god's sake????

Truly, people, you can see clearly that this called for some contemplation and conclusion. And there, just as I embarked upon my quest for an answer, there it came.....the nub. There, ladies and gentleman, was the rub.

In my search for an answer had I fallen upon the irony that has so far famously elluded the well-meaning young Alanis?

In looking for an answer I discovered that I cannot answer all questions. Yes, even I. Sometimes, and let us have a preparatory deep intake of breath here..... ignorance is wisest. Inaction the best course to take. Yes. I appreciate this may appear blasphemous to all who know me, and yes, it does sit uncomfortably within my soul. I took many a glass of water to drink down this unpalatable truth. But I am convinced now.... finally and humbly, that sometimes it's OK to have nothing to say. You don't always have to have a solution. Dare it even, an opinion!!!

And so, it is in this new spirit of mis-apprehension that I will recommence my blog.

I will undergo and experience and expect nothing in return. I will proudly and freely announce to be non-committal and ignorant in opinion to all the world. And what I truly hope, is that it is in this new spirit of freedom and ignorance, we will all find the answers we seek.

And that, Miss Morisette, would be just a little bit ironic.

NEXT EXCITING TIME ON NATALIEINTERRUPTED: Is Natalie's use of the ellipsis excessive. Discuss.