I think fate and relationships are a funny old business and this isn't helped when you are the biggest romantic south of Chester.
Anyway, I have a claim to fame to make and its not a very good one but its a trademark nonetheless. I can spot two people who are meant to be together and who are meant for each other.
I have a friend who is in the perfect situation for events to unfold and for a friendship to become a little bit more.
The two of them have attempted being an item before, but their squabbles and his inability to see what's in front of him is stopping said events from happening any further (this all sounds a tad familiar).
Its just hard when the facts are plain as flour and no amount of interaction from cupid is going to solve things.
Instead they will both have to settle for contentment, watching the other bring home alternate partners and watching their future slip away.
All it takes is an outsider to look at them when they talk, note how their eyes never wander from each other, their lack of personal space and the general comfort they show around each other.
And if that wasn't enough evidence their body language is crying out, the hand on the small of her back, the secret smiles when they think no one is looking and the longing looks between two people who know they should be together.
There's a saying that you can only do so much and then comes fate, but these two people need put aside fate for the time being, and take their blinkers off and see the reality of the situation.
I hope for their sake they do before its too late!
I believe there's more than one person out there for everyone, but relying on fate alone is asking for trouble.
And if in doubt remember the olde line: "Our love is like the wind, you cannot see it but you can feel it." A word of advice, stop feeling what you've already felt and start acting on what you see.
Friday, 14 January 2011
Tuesday, 11 January 2011
Housemate photos
It’s odd, this time last year our household we panicking about deadlines and trying to put together plans for after Uni, and out of the four of us only one has stuck to their plan.
I know I should no longer use the term ‘housemate’ because we no longer live together, but ‘ex-housemate’ just sounds like we all had a massive argument and one or two moved out. So ‘housemate’ will be the term and the term will be ‘housemate.’
Claire housemate number one, the fiery red-head who could put up an impressive fight and quite literally eat Tescos out of eggs, planned to move home and settle down with her boyfriend.
Becky housemate number two, the country bumpkin whose taste in bread and love for beaded men leaves little to the imagination, planned to spend another year with myself in some dilapidated graduate place.
Amy housemate number three, the slightly more country than the previous country pumpkin whose knowledge on private school boys and Jack Wills out did us all, planned to also spend another year with myself in some dilapidated graduate place (If it wasn’t for boyfriends doing what it does best!)
Ffi housemate number four, the Welshy elder of the group whose perfect cleaning regimes put the rest of us to shame, planned to take over the world.
As for me, apart from move in with the Boyfriend (Haha, my aching sides) the plan was to spend another year in Chester and begin life as a graduate.
So can you guess which one stuck to her original plan?
Would it help if I told you that the housemate in question is going to take Australia by storm in 2012? I didn’t think so.
Its not until you look at situations like this that you think ‘Blimey, when did my life get this regimented/ docile / so far off the track’ that it starts to scare you. I know life isn’t meant to be planned day-by-day but if it’s not planned at all then why bother?
This blog is starting to go off topic, so back to the housemates.
The whole reminiscing process started with a phone call from Becky and a sneaky peak at Facebook, which since having left Uni, has be worryingly untouched.
Anyway, I was going through my photos and a horrible truth hit home, 99% of these photos were of my housemate and myself totally inebriated (thank you Word thesaurus for that lovely contribution.) We looked like the biggest bunch of piss heads known to man and the photos weren’t even ones where we could pull of looking totally smashed, they were revolting. I think taking a camera out on a night of ‘slight intoxication’ is up there with the dangers of drunken texting. It should not be done!
The unfortunate thing is you CANNOT delete them. I use that word with two meanings, obviously you can delete them, but not only do you run the risk of being seen as exceptionally vain, it would also appear to the rest of the Facebook world that you have no life and that all your photos are worryingly ‘acceptable.’ (It is advisable to hate these people and they tend to be related to the people who have albums called ‘My modelling photos.’)
So there you have it, the reasons why your Facebook profile must display you as tax-avoiding alcoholic, who likes nothing better than to have her legs in the air reveal all the facial expressions of Yak with a standard creeper, two coconuts and an African swallow up its arse.
Maybe there is a reason I’m still single after all…
I know I should no longer use the term ‘housemate’ because we no longer live together, but ‘ex-housemate’ just sounds like we all had a massive argument and one or two moved out. So ‘housemate’ will be the term and the term will be ‘housemate.’
Claire housemate number one, the fiery red-head who could put up an impressive fight and quite literally eat Tescos out of eggs, planned to move home and settle down with her boyfriend.
Becky housemate number two, the country bumpkin whose taste in bread and love for beaded men leaves little to the imagination, planned to spend another year with myself in some dilapidated graduate place.
Amy housemate number three, the slightly more country than the previous country pumpkin whose knowledge on private school boys and Jack Wills out did us all, planned to also spend another year with myself in some dilapidated graduate place (If it wasn’t for boyfriends doing what it does best!)
Ffi housemate number four, the Welshy elder of the group whose perfect cleaning regimes put the rest of us to shame, planned to take over the world.
As for me, apart from move in with the Boyfriend (Haha, my aching sides) the plan was to spend another year in Chester and begin life as a graduate.
So can you guess which one stuck to her original plan?
Would it help if I told you that the housemate in question is going to take Australia by storm in 2012? I didn’t think so.
Its not until you look at situations like this that you think ‘Blimey, when did my life get this regimented/ docile / so far off the track’ that it starts to scare you. I know life isn’t meant to be planned day-by-day but if it’s not planned at all then why bother?
This blog is starting to go off topic, so back to the housemates.
The whole reminiscing process started with a phone call from Becky and a sneaky peak at Facebook, which since having left Uni, has be worryingly untouched.
Anyway, I was going through my photos and a horrible truth hit home, 99% of these photos were of my housemate and myself totally inebriated (thank you Word thesaurus for that lovely contribution.) We looked like the biggest bunch of piss heads known to man and the photos weren’t even ones where we could pull of looking totally smashed, they were revolting. I think taking a camera out on a night of ‘slight intoxication’ is up there with the dangers of drunken texting. It should not be done!
The unfortunate thing is you CANNOT delete them. I use that word with two meanings, obviously you can delete them, but not only do you run the risk of being seen as exceptionally vain, it would also appear to the rest of the Facebook world that you have no life and that all your photos are worryingly ‘acceptable.’ (It is advisable to hate these people and they tend to be related to the people who have albums called ‘My modelling photos.’)
So there you have it, the reasons why your Facebook profile must display you as tax-avoiding alcoholic, who likes nothing better than to have her legs in the air reveal all the facial expressions of Yak with a standard creeper, two coconuts and an African swallow up its arse.
Maybe there is a reason I’m still single after all…
Monday, 10 January 2011
Rainclouds and SLRs
There is something so beautiful about listening to the rain. It sounds daft, really daft, but the sound of it just makes me think I could be anywhere in the world and just listening to the sounds of nature. (That is meant in a slightly less-perverse way than it sounds.)
Sadly, I'm just lying on my bed and thinking.
There's also something so comforting about the rain whether your inside or outside under an umbrella, it just makes you want to cuddle up and instantly makes you relax. Perhaps its the catharsis of the day, who knows?
There's also also (not the deliberate repetition) something extremely romantic about it, but that may have more to do with black and white films than anything. I can't imagine kissing in the rain is really as nice as they portray it. On one hand my brain just conjures up an image of two wet salmon-mouthed children, much like those birthday cards you get in Paperchase. And on the other, the penultimate moment
a couple realise what they have is for real.
If I could have any career and had all the time in the world, then I'd devote my time to photographing couples in love. Admittedly that sounds worse than saying 'listening to the rain is beautiful', but being able to capture human emotion is such a rare thing and something people take for granted.
The photos would be black and white, colour is such a waste, and they would definitely not be 6X4 or 5X8. The size would be irrelevant, after all, it was the moment they were trying to capture not the money they were worth to Jessops.
All you need is a couple and then watch their eyes, and you'll have everything you need.
If you looked at this photo every time you argued, every time you questioned yourself or every time you spilled a tear instead of a smile, then the world may appear a bit brighter sometimes.
If you can't watch a sunrise together perhaps listen to the rain and think of that photograph.
A picture can say a thousand words, where as 'I miss kissing you' is only four.
Sadly, I'm just lying on my bed and thinking.
There's also something so comforting about the rain whether your inside or outside under an umbrella, it just makes you want to cuddle up and instantly makes you relax. Perhaps its the catharsis of the day, who knows?
There's also also (not the deliberate repetition) something extremely romantic about it, but that may have more to do with black and white films than anything. I can't imagine kissing in the rain is really as nice as they portray it. On one hand my brain just conjures up an image of two wet salmon-mouthed children, much like those birthday cards you get in Paperchase. And on the other, the penultimate moment
a couple realise what they have is for real.
If I could have any career and had all the time in the world, then I'd devote my time to photographing couples in love. Admittedly that sounds worse than saying 'listening to the rain is beautiful', but being able to capture human emotion is such a rare thing and something people take for granted.
The photos would be black and white, colour is such a waste, and they would definitely not be 6X4 or 5X8. The size would be irrelevant, after all, it was the moment they were trying to capture not the money they were worth to Jessops.
All you need is a couple and then watch their eyes, and you'll have everything you need.
If you looked at this photo every time you argued, every time you questioned yourself or every time you spilled a tear instead of a smile, then the world may appear a bit brighter sometimes.
If you can't watch a sunrise together perhaps listen to the rain and think of that photograph.
A picture can say a thousand words, where as 'I miss kissing you' is only four.
Wednesday, 5 January 2011
Return of the man.
It is no secret that men are the most confusing animals on the planet. One minute they call and the next there gone. Some put kisses on texts and the ones that love you don't. I learnt that trick a while back: "You know I love you, so why panic if I don't put a letter X end? Its just a letter?" Men can be so sentimental.
But I don't see why men can't do the world, in particular us females, a favour and work on a Yes and No system.
Its very simple, Yes means I like you and No means I'm sorry I'm gay.
Imagine the amount of extra time you would have in your life if you didn't have to think outside of Yes or No. You'd have no waiting for him to call back, no one night stands that could be 'more', no awkward conversations and no unexpected shocks.
You weren't to know he was married with kids, or that the glance he gave your brother was more than just 'I like your shirt...'
I think the main turning point in any girls life is when it becomes easier to order a Starbucks, than decide on your latest trouser conquest.
I'm sure us females are just as bad, but at least are signals are clear. If we're interested (in any and every sense of the word) you'll know!
Unlike you men we don't tip toe around the opposition and just 'see how things go.' Come on boys its 2011, grab the bulls by the horns before these animals get too tame.
But I don't see why men can't do the world, in particular us females, a favour and work on a Yes and No system.
Its very simple, Yes means I like you and No means I'm sorry I'm gay.
Imagine the amount of extra time you would have in your life if you didn't have to think outside of Yes or No. You'd have no waiting for him to call back, no one night stands that could be 'more', no awkward conversations and no unexpected shocks.
You weren't to know he was married with kids, or that the glance he gave your brother was more than just 'I like your shirt...'
I think the main turning point in any girls life is when it becomes easier to order a Starbucks, than decide on your latest trouser conquest.
I'm sure us females are just as bad, but at least are signals are clear. If we're interested (in any and every sense of the word) you'll know!
Unlike you men we don't tip toe around the opposition and just 'see how things go.' Come on boys its 2011, grab the bulls by the horns before these animals get too tame.
Tuesday, 4 January 2011
One small step.
Its weird how nerves can effect the body. Although your exterior appears calm and collective, your interior is a gigantic mess. I thought at 22 you're meant to have more control over your body, know how it works and how to work it.
However, in reality this is not the case.
My palms are sweaty, spots are taking their toll and although my hands are not peeling yet, ill give them a week or two.
This is because it has finally got to crunch time in the Coussens calendar, and for every ounce of excitement at what the future holds there is a bucket of nerves and worries about the 'what ifs' of 2011.
In the hope of buckling down and getting this long awaited 'result' I decided to empty my room of anything remotely distracting and came up with a strict schedule. Sadly this means my room now resembles a cross between a prison with a very large bed and a beloved uni room hours before moving out.
More worryingly the countdown is the number of days before I can take on London and become a feature writer and not the lack of days I have left to complete a 9000 word essay.
In hindsight it has made the journalism career a "definite" instead of a "I would like to settle down and if I have a career that's a bonus."
This also goes hand-in-hand with "I probably shouldn't be admitting this in writing" and "on my head be it if a future employer reads this!" But there is certainly no doubt that what knocks you down only makes you stronger.
If this set back hadn't have happened I would still be working my way up through Kew and not flexing my muscles with what I really love.
The scariest thing is it created this drive that I never knew existed, the push to go out into the real world and try my hand at creativity.
So here it is, resolution number one: get my first paid byline by September 2011 (at the latest!)
However, in reality this is not the case.
My palms are sweaty, spots are taking their toll and although my hands are not peeling yet, ill give them a week or two.
This is because it has finally got to crunch time in the Coussens calendar, and for every ounce of excitement at what the future holds there is a bucket of nerves and worries about the 'what ifs' of 2011.
In the hope of buckling down and getting this long awaited 'result' I decided to empty my room of anything remotely distracting and came up with a strict schedule. Sadly this means my room now resembles a cross between a prison with a very large bed and a beloved uni room hours before moving out.
More worryingly the countdown is the number of days before I can take on London and become a feature writer and not the lack of days I have left to complete a 9000 word essay.
In hindsight it has made the journalism career a "definite" instead of a "I would like to settle down and if I have a career that's a bonus."
This also goes hand-in-hand with "I probably shouldn't be admitting this in writing" and "on my head be it if a future employer reads this!" But there is certainly no doubt that what knocks you down only makes you stronger.
If this set back hadn't have happened I would still be working my way up through Kew and not flexing my muscles with what I really love.
The scariest thing is it created this drive that I never knew existed, the push to go out into the real world and try my hand at creativity.
So here it is, resolution number one: get my first paid byline by September 2011 (at the latest!)
Friday, 31 December 2010
The book of quite a few faces.
Facebook is one of those things that can trigger a lot of emotion, thoughts and memories, and all thanks to a website and a few brain-boxes.
It wasn't until September (when it dawned uni had finished) that it gradually became more and more trivial. If that's the correct word?
While at uni Facebook was one of the main sources of news, contacts and Saturday night entertainment. But back home it really just appears to be a giant invasion of privacy.
Its hard to write an opinion piece on something I found very hard to live without at the beginning of the year, but I really think there is an element of childishness about it.
There's constantly irrelevant information displayed and what do you do with this knowledge? The answer is nothing.
I remember reading an article on it a few years ago where the writer said, you know you're in trouble when you start calling your friends by their full names, including their middle names. And this is true. You end up knowing more than is good for you.
Last year I dated a guy who was renown for being a ladies man and every other Facebook photo was of him and different girls. They was no evidence to suggest these girls weren't just friends, but as I flicked through his photos I became more and more paranoid.
It is because of things like this that make Facebook (in my eyes) too intrusive. Everyone has a past, but why splash it to the world, especially if its a past that you're not proud of.
So Facebook gives you the ability to check up on your ex's, laugh at their weight gain, hideous new partners and disastrous dress sense, but at what expense? All that does is keeps you in the past by reminding you of what was.
Why not live for the future, for the present and for the now!
Facebook should be used to store photos and videos and nothing else. Get out there, meet up with your friends, take new photos, make new videos and live for the moment.
There's too little spontaneity in the world as it is and staring at screen want solve any problems (or help your degree or A Levels!)
But above all life is too short. You only have one shot at this the way you want and don't relay your life to the sentence 'What's on your mind?' Stop thinking about it and do it.
It wasn't until September (when it dawned uni had finished) that it gradually became more and more trivial. If that's the correct word?
While at uni Facebook was one of the main sources of news, contacts and Saturday night entertainment. But back home it really just appears to be a giant invasion of privacy.
Its hard to write an opinion piece on something I found very hard to live without at the beginning of the year, but I really think there is an element of childishness about it.
There's constantly irrelevant information displayed and what do you do with this knowledge? The answer is nothing.
I remember reading an article on it a few years ago where the writer said, you know you're in trouble when you start calling your friends by their full names, including their middle names. And this is true. You end up knowing more than is good for you.
Last year I dated a guy who was renown for being a ladies man and every other Facebook photo was of him and different girls. They was no evidence to suggest these girls weren't just friends, but as I flicked through his photos I became more and more paranoid.
It is because of things like this that make Facebook (in my eyes) too intrusive. Everyone has a past, but why splash it to the world, especially if its a past that you're not proud of.
So Facebook gives you the ability to check up on your ex's, laugh at their weight gain, hideous new partners and disastrous dress sense, but at what expense? All that does is keeps you in the past by reminding you of what was.
Why not live for the future, for the present and for the now!
Facebook should be used to store photos and videos and nothing else. Get out there, meet up with your friends, take new photos, make new videos and live for the moment.
There's too little spontaneity in the world as it is and staring at screen want solve any problems (or help your degree or A Levels!)
But above all life is too short. You only have one shot at this the way you want and don't relay your life to the sentence 'What's on your mind?' Stop thinking about it and do it.
Wednesday, 29 December 2010
Bad bad Laura Ashley.
I have always wondered why people move back home after finishing uni. Apart from finances, it always seemed odd that people would spend three/ four years growing up and becoming independent, and then essentially give it all up by moving back home once uni had finished.
I guess I saw it as kind of a failure. If you went to university in hope of becoming an adult (as well as gaining a degree) and then ended up back at home what did you gain?
Its kind of ironic that after being so determined NOT to move home after uni that I ended up back in Guildford.
So their is always food on the table, hot water in the pipes and the rent is very affordable, but it does on occasion leave me feeling like a child.
The main downside is the freedom that went hand-in-hand with university life is at its most non existent.
Unfortunately this isn't helped by my (sometimes very annoying) obsession with pretty things i.e household objects. As a result there is a rapidly expanding collection of kitchenware for a kitchen I don't yet own. Along with throws and cushions for sofas I have not yet purchased and my latest addition, table mats and coasters. (They're red with white spots, 100% adorable, couldn't say no really!)
It has got to the point where I will have to move out in order to stop buying household goods! My Mother even made the point I have to stop buying soft furnishings or her house will have massive gaps when I do eventually leave. That's how bad this is starting to get.
On a positive note it does mean I can move in with a man who has one suitcase of clothes to his name and we'll bet set for life. Laura Ashley doorstops and all.
I guess I saw it as kind of a failure. If you went to university in hope of becoming an adult (as well as gaining a degree) and then ended up back at home what did you gain?
Its kind of ironic that after being so determined NOT to move home after uni that I ended up back in Guildford.
So their is always food on the table, hot water in the pipes and the rent is very affordable, but it does on occasion leave me feeling like a child.
The main downside is the freedom that went hand-in-hand with university life is at its most non existent.
Unfortunately this isn't helped by my (sometimes very annoying) obsession with pretty things i.e household objects. As a result there is a rapidly expanding collection of kitchenware for a kitchen I don't yet own. Along with throws and cushions for sofas I have not yet purchased and my latest addition, table mats and coasters. (They're red with white spots, 100% adorable, couldn't say no really!)
It has got to the point where I will have to move out in order to stop buying household goods! My Mother even made the point I have to stop buying soft furnishings or her house will have massive gaps when I do eventually leave. That's how bad this is starting to get.
On a positive note it does mean I can move in with a man who has one suitcase of clothes to his name and we'll bet set for life. Laura Ashley doorstops and all.
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