9 to 5...

Daily Prompt: In honour of Labour Day in North America, tell us what's the one job you could never imagine yourself doing?

Although I don't celebrate Labour Day this prompt inspired me as deciding on a career has always been difficult for me. I'm a creative person by nature, I love music, art, drama, books and I'd always envisaged a career in one of those fields. However, recently I've discovered a love of working with children and combining my two loves of drama and children together would be perfect for me.
My nightmare job would simply be doing something that involved working in an office, monotony, doing the same thing, day in, day out and with no creativity or inspiration. My greatest fear is working as some kind of office manager, or office anything really, unless that office is covered in art and involves writing and a freedom to use a bit of artistic license.

End Of An Era

Daily Prompt: As a kid, were you happy or anxious about going back to school? Now that you’re older, how has your attitude toward the end of the summer evolved?
In a few weeks time I will be something I never thought I would be: a student. I will be part of Glyndwr University, learning all there is to know about Education.
When I was younger, although I longed for the summer holidays by the time September came around I was looking forward to using the new stationary I had bought, a diary, folders, pens, notebooks.
As much as I liked having the time off I would also be incredibly... bored. There were only so many books to read, films to watch, things to do. I was never really an outdoorsy kid, so for me playing in the square was never really an option.
By September the 1st I was ready to learn, get stuck back into my subjects and see my friends again, back to some kind of routine.
When I finished my A-Levels I wanted a break from education. I was fed up of coursework and exams and wanted to go out, get a job, live life.
After volunteering at school I realised that working with kids was what I was supposed to do with my life and took the steps to go back to university and qualify to be a teacher. I think it's quite ironic that considering I planned to never return to education, now I will be in education for the rest of my life.
Like when I was at school, or maybe more so, I'm counting down the days until my course starts. I'm a mixture of apprehension and excitement. I'm looking forward to structure and routine but also nervous to meet new people, the people I'm going to spend the next three years with. I also have a bedroom full of new stationary that I'm eager to use, so nothing new there then. 

Tomorrow's World

Years ago, scientists predicted that by 2014 we would have robots doing all our household chores for us. They would keep our houses clean, cook for us and generally be a welcome companion. According to Back to the Future 2 next year we're to have Jaws 19, self tying shoes and hover-boards.
Today's Daily Prompt asks me what I would get a robot to do for me. Unfortunately for you, I'm quite boring in my response. I would have my robot do the hoovering, walk the dogs and do the dreaded washing up, all of the things I hate doing. Laundry I would happily do myself as I find folding quite therapeutic. When my parents went away I discovered that life is busy enough without housework!
As for other responsibilities I would quite happily continue to do my own homework, stage managing and volunteer work. I do all of those because I want to.

The Long Run

(Today's Daily Post asks us to call inspiration from the first line of the last song we listened to. I couldn't remember what that was so I hit shuffle on my phone...)

I used to hurry a lot, I used to worry a lot, I used to stay out til the break of day.

Music is such an important part of life. It can bring back a memory in a flash, it can make you smile, make you dance, make you want to sing your heart out.
For me, The Eagles, and this song remind me of a time when I attempted to write a novel based on their hits. I listened to their Greatest Hits album on repeat, despite it being released long before I was born, and I would create characters out of the lyrics, see the stories unfold, see the car speeding past as 'the lights are turning red', envision the 'girl, my lord, in a flat-bed Ford.'
In my bed, the characters sung their songs and all their stories weaved together. It was epic, very complicated and involved several mind maps and lots of scribbling.
Unfortunately it never really got under way, although I still keep the notebook full of ideas and every time I hear a song by the fantastic band I see my characters. This particular line was sung by a teenage werewolf called Tam who had fallen in love with a very married witch.
As for me, I still hurry quite a bit, I worry a hell of a lot, and I've never stayed out til the break of day.

Digging A Tunnel To China

Today's Daily Post asked a question which I knew the answer to immediately. It's an answer I've known ever since 2011.
You have the ability to build a magical tunnel from your home to anywhere in the world. I imagine most people would answer with some far flung exotic place they've always wanted to visit. For me, it's very different, it's my home town.
Friends and family are very important to me and seeing as a fair few of them still leave in East Sussex I would build a magical tunnel to the South, branching off towards Seaford, Barcombe, Bexhill and with a stop in London.
It's hard for my family to travel all this way with various commitments, and unfortunately my Dad isn't well enough to travel at all. For me, it takes five hours to get there, and that's providing there are no delays or any adverse weather. To be able to pop through the tunnel to have dinner with my Nan, visit my Dad would be just wonderful.
Although I don't dislike the journey, travelling to Sussex is such an ordeal. It takes a whole day's worth of travelling, so what starts off as a five day holiday quickly becomes three. The public transport where my Nan lives is absolutely appalling, so once I'm at her house I can't really get anywhere else.
Then there's the luggage, if I'm staying a week I need a wheeled suitcase and taking that on the underground is certainly not fun.
I've realised this is becoming a moan about public transport so I'm going to cut it short. A tunnel to Sussex would just be a dream come true. Or teleportation, I'm not particularly fussy.

Dear Sir or Madam, Will You Read My Book?

Lately, I haven't been particularly inspired by the Daily Prompt suggestions, but today's actually got my brain working.
Ever since I can remember I've wanted to be an author. When I was a kid I wrote stories about squirrels, now I write about murder, mayhem and sex. I love writing, I love disappearing off into a mysterious world, sometimes fantasy, with characters that you love and hate and love to hate. I enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing, but for me to get a book published would simply be a dream come true.
Today's prompt asks us to choose whether we would like to be revered and studied by a select few in about half a century, or whether we would like to be a popular paperback author, enjoyed by millions.
It didn't take me long to figure this one out. I want my work to be enjoyed by millions. The great thing about reading a book is that it's different for everyone. A character description can be interpreted in so many different ways. The locations mean different things to different people. For me, I love reading Peter James because his books are set in and around my home town, so I can picture where his characters are. For those that have never been to Brighton they can let their imaginations run riot.
I would love for people to read my novel and ask me questions about what or who inspired me. I'd love for readers to be taken away from their struggles in life to a little pocket of my own imagination. Reading is for everyone and should be enjoyed by everyone, which is why I love what World Book Night is doing by encouraging those that do not read.
Also, I do not believe books should be studied. Despite my love of English at school, I hated English Lit. Reading a book and then analysing why a character did something, or why the author decided it would be raining. As an author, my answer would just be 'because it is', but tearing apart and analysing something I would normally enjoy is not my idea of fun.
When I visit Booka, my favourite bookshop in town, I love looking at their displays. There's a large round table just inside the front door and if one day I could walk in and see my book on that table, I would be over the moon.

Handy Andy

New day, new prompt. Today, The Daily Post questions my love of handmade items, when nearly everything is available to buy ready made why do we bother buying handmade stuff? Because handmade equals heart.
My favourite little shop in Oswestry is Booka, because it's unique, different and because it sells gorgeous handmade cakes. Yes, it may be a little rough around the edges but it tastes delicious and comes with service with a smile.
I love giving handmade gifts too. I'm not sure if taking photographs counts (because it does involve button pressing), but for my friend's birthday I gave her one of my popular Scrabble Art pieces. Scrabble Art is where I put together a person's name and their qualities or family members and take a picture. I suppose I am still making the gift as I sit there with my Scrabble box counting letters and hunting to find the elusive Q. I also gave her a box of home-made brownies.
My step-dad bakes the most wonderful bread and my Mum spends hours in the garden growing our own fruit and vegetables. We also have our own chickens so have a steady supply of eggs. Although not all of these are handmade, they all have a sense of doing something for our ourselves rather than buying ready made.
Following this tradition I also really enjoy writing my hand. Although I love having this blog and keeping it up to date, when I first have a spark of creative energy I get out a pen (or even a pencil) and some paper and feel the words flowing through my fingertips.
What I'd really like to do is have a go at making my own clothes. I have a bucket list and on that is 'to make my own dress'. To be able to take a basic design and a fabric I like and make something that I can wear and enjoy would be brilliant.
Handmade and home-made is definitely for the win and I would always pick it over something inscribed with 'Made in China'.

The Rain In Spain

It'll be a beautiful day, she had said. You won't need an umbrella, or a coat. So when I felt the first drops of rain on the back of my neck I cursed my mother for her tireless optimism.
But this was just a shower, nothing more, it would pass in a few minutes. We were in Spain, not Wales! But the rain only became heavier, soaking through my thin shirt.
It was no longer an option to stay outside, so without even looking up I pushed open the door nearest to me.
A brass bell above the door sounded loudly. The door swung shut behind me and all noise vanished. It was like the shop had been enveloped in cotton wool.
When my eyes adjusted to the dim fluorescent lighting I realised I was in some kind of antique shop. A thick layer of dust coated every artefact on the shelves. The bell hadn't brought anybody to the cluttered desk so I thought I'd just take a look around while I waited for the rain to pass.
The shop didn't appear to specialise in anything. There was a mishmash of clocks, wooden boxes, vases, statues. The whole right wall was covered in books of different shapes, sizes and conditions, while the left displayed some beautiful paintings and artwork.
I could feel the raindrops drip down my back and into my underwear. In this heat, at least I would dry quickly.
I walked down a narrow aisle until I reached the end where there was an enormous chest. Even me, at six foot could have curled up in there and closed the lid. It was full of junk mainly, bits of twisted metal that no longer resembled anything. But something caught my eye, something brass.
I gripped the handle tightly and pulled. With a great wrench it was released and I realised what I had in my hand was a lamp. It was covered in inscriptions and fine detail in a language I didn't recognise. It certainly wasn't Spanish. It immediately reminded me of Aladdin, a magic lamp. Maybe I would discover a genie and get to make three wishes I thought with childish glee. I even gave it a cursory rub before laughing at myself and dropping it back into the chest.
I made my way back to the window and peered out through the grime. It was still pouring down. Do I brave the weather or hang about a bit longer? I didn't get to make my decision, as the owner of the shop emerged through a plan wooden door behind the counter.
"Buen dia," he said, wish an open smile.
The man must have been in his seventies. He had no hair on his head but a white moustache and wore round spectacles on a bulbous nose. He dressed fairly plainly in a white shirt and waistcoat and the skin on his arms seem to hang off him.
"Hola," I said, hesitantly.
Thankfully, he picked up on my lack of language skills. "I see you are not from these parts."
What gave it away, my pale skin and fair hair? Or the camera swinging from my neck?
"No, I'm on holiday with my family," I said, moving towards the counter.
"Then welcome my dear," he said, clasping my hand.
As he took my hand I felt a jolt of electricity. It was like a burst of static from his hand to mine. Considering his wrists and fingers were gnarled with arthritis he had a surprisingly strong grip.
"Something seems to be troubling you," he said. I tried to remove my hand but he would not let me. After only a moment I stopped worrying about that, I felt myself relax. It felt like I had known this old man for years.
"Money. This holiday is practically free because of our relatives but my Mum and I barely have two cents to rub together," I said, like pouring my heart out to him was perfectly natural.
"Anything else?"
"My Dad is sick. It's terminal and I don't know what I'm going to do when he's gone." I blinked back tears from my eyes and tried to keep it together.
"What else is there?" he said, soothingly, using his thumb to stroke the back of my hand.
"I think my little brother is taking drugs, and I'm scared for him."
That last statement came out in a 'whoosh'. I'd never shared that with anybody, not even my mother.
The old man let go of my hand and all of a sudden all the noise came rushing back, car horns in the street, the sound of rain on the roof, the ticking of the clocks. I felt light headed and thirsty all at once.
"Are you alright my dear?" asked the shop owner, concern in his eyes.
"I just think I need to sit down," I said, plonking myself in a conveniently placed wooden throne.
"You take as long as you need," he said, "I'll get you something to drink." He tottered off back through the wooden door.
He must have been gone for about fifteen minutes when I gave up waiting. The rain had stopped and I felt generally healthier than I had before. I decided to wait no longer and continue on back to the villa.
When I let myself in through the front door my mother rushed at me, almost knocking me over.
"You'll never believe it!" she cried. Her face was wet with tears but there was a broad grin on her lips.
"What?" I asked, searching for some kind of clue.
"The doctors called. Your father's scan is clear. It's gone, all the cancer is gone." We spent about ten minutes jumping up and down and hugging in delight.
"There's another thing, your brother came to me today. He's been taking drugs but he feels awful about it and wants to get some help so we need to support him. Okay?"
"Of course, of course," I said, feeling slightly peculiar about what was going on.
"Now come inside," she said, whisking me in to enjoy a glass of lemonade.
Two of my 'wishes' had been granted. No, it couldn't be. This was just coincidence nothing more. Genies do not exist and they do not live at the back of antique shops in Spain.
The evening came upon us and I was flicking through the channels trying to find something that wasn't a Spanish soap opera and I happened upon the Euromillions. Something made me pause and something told me to look in my bag. It took me all of two seconds to discover the scrunched up Euromillions ticket that I had never bought and I watched in horror and delight as each number that came up was printed on my piece of paper. This couldn't be happening this wasn't possible. Cue more jumping up and down with my Mum.
The next day I decided to go back to the little antique shop to tell him all that had happened. But as I got closer I discovered it wasn't there. In it's place was a tired old Laundromat. I pressed my nose up against the glass to see if I had made a mistake, but the shape of the room was similar. Some of the clutter had found it's way there too. At the back I could just make out an old man sitting behind a counter, grasping another girl's hand as he had mine. I wished I could talk to her, share my experiences but part of me knew that was not an option. Make them count, I thought. Make them count.

(This was brought to you by a Daily Prompt. For the details, click here.)

Act Your Age, Not Your Shoe Size!

Age is just a number.

This is one of the most common sayings of all time, and today's Daily Prompt asks what I believe when it comes to age. For the full details, click here.
I am twenty-two. When I think about that, nothing really comes to mind. You're supposed to become an adult at twenty-one but according to my family I'll never be one. Until I have children of my own I will always be the baby of the family. Older people look back in fondness at certain years but there isn't one year that sticks out for me. I didn't really enjoying being a teenager, and turning twenty-one wasn't particularly exciting. I've always felt older than I am. As the only child I grew up quickly to involved in conversations and I've always been given my fair share of responsibility. By the time I was a teenager I acted like an adult, now that I'm in my early twenties I feel like I'm nearer thirty.
During secondary school I was always the 'mum' of the group. I was responsible, careful, kept an eye on my friends. I didn't get drunk, I never wanted to, I always felt like I should look out for them.
Now I'm older and my main friendship group is mums in their thirties I'm the baby of the group. But I feel like they accept me for being a bit more mature, for not acting like twenty-two years. As one of them said 'she is wide beyond her ears', don't you love auto-correct!
But I still have friends my age, that I get on perfectly well with. Having said that, my two closest friends are quite grown up. One has a full time job, rising career, independent with a brain for business. The other just graduated from university in London and plans to start working there in September. Neither of them go out clubbing every weekend and come home plastered.
I also have friends younger than me, in their late teenage years. I love spending time with them, they keep me up to date (because I'm so hip and cool!) and we have a great time together, even if they don't always get cultural references.
My oldest friend is in their eighties. And by friend I don't mean acquaintance, I mean someone that I genuinely care about and talk to about my problems and vice versa. So in terms of friends, age is meaningless. My eighty year old friend might not get my Harry Potter joke, but my repertoire stretches far and wide I'm sure I can find something that we have in common.
As for dating, I was once told by a colleague that a member of her family had been disowned because she chose to date someone nine years older than her. Frankly, I was appalled! (About the disowning, not the age gap.) I find myself attracted to people almost double my age, and I believe I have the maturity to be in a relationship with someone of that age. I've also considered dating younger (as long as it's legal!) because it really doesn't matter as long as you have a connection. If it was me in her situation my partner would be thirty-one. That seems like the perfect age to me, mature enough to deal with responsibilities and not be down the pub every night, but still young enough to start a family with.
As for my age it's still something I'm not sure about. I don't look my age, and when people discover that I'm 'only twenty-two', they say I'm a baby. Whenever I worry about what I'm going to do with my life they say 'don't worry, you have plenty of time', even though it really doesn't feel that way. I've worked out that by the time I'm a qualified teacher I will be twenty-six. When I say it like that it doesn't seem old, but four years ago I was eighteen, and that seems like a lifetime ago. So I'm attempting to ignore my age, and not compare myself to what other twenty-two year-olds have achieved. But I still celebrate as much as I can with my loved ones every April. 

In The Summertime, When The Weather Is Fine...

Another day of writer's block and another daily prompt brought to you buy The Daily Post. Click here for the details of today's prompt.
Music plays such an important part of my life. I rarely listen to silence, I like something in the background, whether it's Mumford and Sons, classic rock, 70's disco or swing. I've even taken to listening to classical music recently when I'm working so not to get distracted and start singing along.
There are certain songs that remind me of different people and different events. Barry White instantly reminds me of my Dad. The first time I heard him sing in the car it was to one of his songs. Equally, anything cheesy and disco brings back recollections of dodgy Dad dancing at a family event.
The whole Grease soundtrack reminds me of my childhood, re-enacting the scenes and the songs with friends was one of my favourite past times. Westlife's Flying Without Wings also brings back fond memories of performing with my fellow ten-year-olds.
My Mum introduced me to Bruce Springsteen, eighties rock and The Eagles. Many a time we've sat playing cards head banging and singing along to Whitesnake and REO Speedwagon.
In my later teenage years I have distinct memories of my whole year group singing along to Don't Stop Believin', which thanks to Glee has been one of the biggest hits of my generation. On the last day of term Use Somebody was also belted out by 200 eighteen-year-olds. However, the fact that I just had to look up the name of the song, shows what a lasting impact it made.
As for the song of this summer that I'll remember when I'm forty-two, well really I'm stumped. Pharell Williams' catchy pop tune Happy seems to be constantly playing in every advert, used for every sport celebration and on the radio every five times. It's got to the stage where I'm actually getting sick of it. The only other 'recent' song is Let It Go from Disney's Frozen. That seems to be following me around despite the film being released before Christmas.
If you look through my Spotify playlist everything on there will have been released years ago, or it'll be from a musical, or it'll have no words at all, or it'll be an acoustic version of a well known song.
If I had to narrow it down to just one song I would plump for The Coffee Song by Not Completely Blonde, a local band that made my perfect summer's day. A couple of weeks back I took my choir kids on a backstage tour of The Theatre Severn. The day was rounded off by the lovely members of Not Completely Blonde doing an acoustic set for us and a party. The day that initially I hadn't been looking forward to was just brilliant, I couldn't have asked for anything better. And now, as I'm typing this, the chorus of The Coffee Song is working it's way into my brain. Enjoy!

Full Disclosure

I feel that my creative writing has come to a stand still lately so I thought I'd have a go at a Daily Prompt. See here for the full details of today's.

So someone gives you a device which allows you to hear other people's thoughts. You can hear everything they are thinking, good and bad. The catch? It can never be turned off.

A few years back I would said 'hell yeah, hand me that chip!' I would have enjoyed listening in, discovering secrets, being my general nosey self. I love people watching, I love observing their body language, seeing people interact. Getting inside their brain would have been the icing on the cake! 

However, now, I'm more aware of privacy, more aware of not wanting to share every bit of information with the outside world. With the increase of social media, it seems like everybody posts pictures of every meal they eat, every time their mood shifts they change their status on Facebook, they have a new idea and Twitter is updated. In this day and age, is a mind reading chip even required when our lives are plastered all over the internet for everyone to see?

I have taken care to only show parts of my life and my world that I want others to see. I'm quite proud of my photography skills so images appear quite frequently. I'm quite happy to post my opinions on books, TV programmes and movies and I like to promote local events that I'm involved in. But my relationship status is hidden. I don't post very frequently at all about what I'm doing. I like to keep an air of mystery.

I also think being able to hear the thoughts of others would be claustrophobic. Imagine going out to a public event, somewhere where there is a lot of people. You would literally be bombarded. 

Also, I think friendships and relationships are protected by not knowing every thought and niggle. I love my friends and family to bits, they mean the world to me. But they are not perfect people, nobody is. Some days, I may be irritated by them, or not agree with something and I'm sure the same applies for them. But do I want to hear 'her bum looks big in that'? Or 'I wish she'd stop moaning'! No, definitely not. I have confidence issues as it is! 

So my mad scientist friend, you can keep your chip, I have learnt that the best thing to do is keep my nose out of other people's business!

We Could Be Heroes

As you get older your definition for the word hero changes. When you're young, your hero wears a cape and a mask, saves the day, kills the bad guy, gets the girl. Then the world opens ups, you're introduced to real people who have accomplished incredible things, people that you connect to, that you relate to, not just because they're the latest craze or the thing everyone is talking about.
When I was a child my main hero was Ariel from Disney's The Little Mermaid. So much so that I wanted to be a mermaid when I grew up. I know, before you point out, it's a physical impossibility.  I think part of me longed to be part of something, like Ariel, but I'm sure most of me just wanted long red hair and to be able to go swimming all day. Now I realise that it was youthful wonder and dreaming.
My other heroes from my childhood were mostly pop stars. I loved the Spice Girls, Steps and S Club 7. I collected albums, put up posters and took every opportunity to dress up. I had a short pink sequined dress (a la Baby Spice), and an all white outfit based on Steps' One For Sorrow video. My friends and I would practice dance routines. Every generation has their heroes and it was no different for me. I recently relived my youth and attended a Steps reunion concert and although I had a great time (I remembered all the words and the dance routines), I am now aware of it's cheesiness. At the end of the day, it's manufactured pop.
My musical heroes now are bands like Mumford & Sons, and older artists like David Bowie and The Eagles. Now I admire artists that write and perform their own songs and play instruments. For me, Mumford & Sons was a breath of fresh air, something new, something I'd never heard before. Their lyrics resonate with me and I can spot one of their songs a mile off. I was influenced by my parents' tastes, like The Eagles and motown music. Then I discovered David Bowie, who I adored for his uniqueness and individuality.
I have heroes now in all fields. I'm a lover of fashion, designers, film, theatre, actors, directors, books, writers, photographers... I admire Stephen King for his ability to write heart warming characters and put them in extraordinary situations. I love Tyra Banks trying to change the fashion world. I love Benedict Cumberbatch and his cheekbones.
When I talk to the kids in choir about their heroes the same people pop up time and time again. They love One Direction, which I'm sure they will grow out of in time. They also like Taylor Swift. This is one hero I am happy to support. She writes her own songs, plays a musical instrument,  but she's still too commercial for my own tastes. I try to introduce the kids to different music and the other day we watched the music video for Bowie's Heroes. Several of the children said: 'He looks like a girl!' To which I replied: 'Yes, that's the point.'

This post was inspired by... http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/10/daily-prompt-hero/

The Fear Factor

You are born with a fear of two things, falling and fire. Fear of other things develop along the way.
Everyone is scared of something. I have this discussion with the kids at school all the time. What are they afraid of? Being seven year old boys, they often say: 'I'm not scared of anything!' I wish I had their brassiness.
When it comes to creepy crawlies I'm utterly rubbish, especially spiders and daddy-long legs. Spiders freak me out, the way they walk with their eight, thin legs. I once had an awful experience where a spider fell off a towel into the bathroom sink. At the time the towel was wrapped around my head. Daddy-long legs are just as bad, in fact they're worse, because they can fly. In the dark they fly into your face and into your hair. In the past I have known to move out of the comfort of my own bed to avoid one.
However, to protect others I have been known to face my fears. At volunteering a few years ago a bee flew into the room. Although I'm not afraid of bees, seeing him scared turned me into the 'protector'. The same goes for spiders and daddy-long legs. When faced with someone who's more afraid than I am I can overcome my own.

Strike A Pose

I love fashion. I love putting together an outfit, right down to the underwear and accessories. I love clothes that are the cutting edge, that are different, that make you stand out from the crowd. I love models, their androgynous looks, the thing that makes them unique and different. And even if it makes me a snob, I love buying designer items. I love designers themselves that aren't afraid to be a little different, even if the clothes they make aren't so practical. I love America's Next Top Model, Tyra Banks and the word 'smise' (smile with your eyes). For years I bought Vogue and read it cover to cover, studying each image and advertisement. Even if the fashion world rejects my size and shape (a six foot, size 22). Don't get me wrong I'm not under the illusion that I could be a model, I don't want to be. I love taking the pictures.

My friend Sian

Last summer my friend was interested in going in to modelling and I offered to take some pictures for her. The pictures turned out great, but at the end she wanted me to be into some pictures. I hated it, she didn't understand that for me, the picture taking was the best bit. I love putting the outfit together, picking the location, putting the outfit together to create the final product, create something fantastic, special and eye catching.
However, this post isn't just about fashion, it's also about style, my personal style. Despite the fact that I don't enjoy my picture being taken I still like getting dressed up and putting the outfit together. Over the years my style adapts and changes. I look at the fashion world and the current trends. Last year's A/W ranges featured a lot of Fair Isle thanks to Danish crime drama The Killing and it's lead Sara Lund. A trend which I embraced with arms wide open.
However, there are some items that are timeless and go with all of my clothes, even my fancy 'posh' stuff. I own six pairs of Converse All Stars in different colours: black, red, blue, yellow, purple and tan (although the last pair I've never never worn). Team a pair of them with a skater skirt (normally black) and a slogan or band t-shirt and that's an outfit sorted. If it's cold I add a pair of leggings to this ensemble. But they're also interchangeable with a dress, shorts or a pair of jeans.
That leads on nicely to my next fashion choice. I love the 50's style of a cinched in waist. Almost all of my skirts and dresses pull in at the waist to focus on the smallest part of my torso. I love the glamour and femininity of the flouncy dresses and skirts. The fact they fall to below the knee makes them flattering too, as long as they don't fall mid-calf. The glasses I wear are also 50's style.
I love most retro clothing (although I tend to veer away from 60's fashion as it simply does not suit my body shape). I own a pair of flares (although not embroidered like the ones on the right), a chunky Hutch-style cardigan and aviator sunglasses. I love shoulder pads and I even own a jumpsuit. Some of the residents at the care home have some fantastic items of clothing, paisley patterns and peplum jackets. I consider it retro, for them they've owned it since the first time it was in fashion.
One of the recent fashion trends which has been resurrected from the 90's (sadly, a fashion trend that I can remember) is grunge. Although I love the girlishness of the 50's, it's not always practical. I wear a uniform to work but volunteering in a school and stage managing means I have to wear flat shoes and clothes that dirt doesn't show up on for most of the time. The tattooed and pierced part of me adores grunge. I love tartan (but that's because I love Scotland) and anything with studs and spikes on is a winner for me. I love the washed out denim look too, and have seriously considered investing in some dungarees or a dungaree style dress.
Overall I think it's fair to say my style depends on my mood, and how girly I want to be. If I'm going out for a meal with girl friends I'll grab my red poppy dress that accentuates my waist and if we're not going somewhere too posh, pair it with red converse. If I'm going to school I'll wear my red Doc Martens with a tartan shift dress and leggings and if I'm stage managing I'll wear a t-shirt and a black skater skirt with a pair of Converse of my choice.
I'm so glad that the fashion world is changing and companies on the High Street and on-line are providing clothes in bigger sizes and 'tall' ranges, so that leggings don't stop just below my knee! New Look and ASOS provide the latest fashions and styles, and I always like to stay on top of them. Although I'm not an idiot, I'll only wear what suits me. I'm glad I skipped the neon faux-fur trend. Somehow I don't think luminous green ski boots are my thing!

This post was influenced by... http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/08/daily-prompt-style-2/

Richard Of York Gave Battle In Vain

The mind is a funny thing. It can remember song lyrics from your childhood, but don't ask it to recall what you had for lunch yesterday.
To remember the important, and not so important, things in life we invented mnemonics. The title of this post is a way of remembering the colours of the rainbow. Richard Of York Gave Battle In Vain, Red Orange Yellow Green Blue Indigo Violet. It's not exactly an essential part of life, but one day when you're asked what the fifth colour of the rainbow is it will come in handy. There is also My Very Easy Method Just Speeds Up Naming Planets, Mercury Venus Earth Mars Jupiter Saturn Uranus Neptune Pluto. Although these days, it will just stop at Naming.
When I was at school my friend Cat told me a brilliant way to remember how to spell necessary. She said 'when you go out you need a coat (c) and a pair of socks (ss)'.
Anyway, I feel like this post is rambling on a bit. My challenge was to use the colours, either by picture or word and I have written them and shown you the colours, so that'll do!

This post was brought to you by brainwaves, inspired by... http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/07/daily-prompt-colors/

Ode To Tina Turner

Thinking can sometimes be dangerous. Today's prompt asked me where and when I do my best thinking. But what does best mean? Thinking most clearly, the best ideas, the most thinking...?
I am under no illusion that I am definitely a night owl. I'm dead to the world until about seven, then I suddenly perk up, can't stop talking and my brain seems to overflow with ideas and thoughts. It is not unknown for me to stay up until the early hours of the morning working on a new story, or even jotting down notes. Then, when I attempt sleep it doesn't come at all, my brain is still churning from the activity. Sometimes, to get myself to sleep I tell myself the next part of the story. In the morning, I can sit and stare at a blank page for ages, willing for inspiration to come and it never does. But night is also when the demons come out. I worry about things, over analyse conversations and actions I've taken throughout the day. Or I worry about what's to come. I used to keep a diary to offload these thoughts. Maybe it's a practise I should start again.
Another good time for thinking, for me, is on public transport. On the bus I used to read, but now I find I think, staring out of the window. Again, I'm working on characters, or the opening of a new chapter, or I play out scenarios in my head. To be honest, whenever I am on my own it doesn't take much for me to get lost inside of my own thoughts. And as I said before, sometimes this is dangerous.
All I've learnt from this post, is that I simply think too much. So although I know Simply The Best time for me to think, and be constructive, I need to spend less time in my head, and more time in the real world. Although it's much less fun.

This post was inspired by... http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/06/daily-prompt-best/

Love and Other Monks

The small boys came early to the hanging.

What a brilliant first line. When I found out that the prompt for the 5th of January was to pick your favourite book, take the first sentence and make it the first sentence of your post I knew exactly which book to pick. It was sitting in arms reach from my position in bed and although it's my favourite book I couldn't remember what the first line was. I remember how much I loved it, how much I relished every word, how I couldn't wait until bedtime to read it, how I hated certain characters with such venom. When I opened the book and read the first line all I wanted to do was carry on reading.

The Pillars Of The Earth is epic. That's probably the only way to describe it. It spans half a century and is filled with rich, interesting characters. We follow Tom Builder and his family as they arrive at Kingsbridge, desperate for work in order to survive. His story is intertwined with the Royals of the 12th Century, an orphaned girl Aliena and her brother Richard, Bishop Waleran and the monks of Kingsbridge and the horrific Hamleighs. And while all of this is happening, a cathedral is being erected. I've never read a book that is this grand, that is on this scale, that covers so many events and so much time and yet you still feel close to the characters, still feel like you know them, like they are a part of you.
I'm not normally a fan of historic fiction, it's not something I ordinarily go for, but I love the history. Ken Follett has obviously done his research because every detail is described, and he translates it so beautifully it's etched into my mind. If I closed my eyes now I can still see Jack Jackson's red hair and his beautiful sculptures, I can still see fire rage through Kingsbridge and I read it over two years ago.

In this post I was supposed to talk about the first sentence, and draw from there. But I figured a post about how much I adore the book, rather than the prescence of small children at executions would be much better to write, if not as interesting.
To read my review of The Pillars Of The Earth click here.

New Girl

At the moment, all of the Daily Prompts seem to be about 'new', new things, new years resolutions and to be honest it's getting quite old! Nevertheless, I have actually tried a lot of new things lately and only one person has to ask before I start to rabbit on about all of them.
For ages I have wanted a tattoo. I spoke to friends and family about it and all had different opinions and different reasoning. My Mum thinks they look dirty, my Nan on the other hand was (surprisingly) supportive. I think she's living her youth through me, although she does own a leather jacket.
When it came to getting a tattoo there was one thing I was unmoving on. It had to mean something. I love reading, writing, all things wordy and I wanted a quote, some initials or an extract as my first quote. It also had to be something my opinion wouldn't change about. I didn't want to get ink and then regret it later. So I decided on my parents initials. My Dad is Kevin John Wadey, my Mum Karen Jean Wadey. Getting the tattoo itself was also spur of the moment. I was trying to find a time when my Mum and I were both free so she could be with me. Stuart (the lovely man in Fineliners in Oswestry), said: 'What about this afternoon?'
Growing up I was always quite 'mumsy', mature beyond my years, and the word sensible would pop up often when describing me. So getting a tattoo is something that was definitely outside of my comfort zone and despite my promise to Helen to not become addicted, I already have three more designs in the pipe works!

This post was inspired by... http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/04/daily-prompt-new-2/

Honesty Is Such A Lonely Word

I have had this debate with an old friend more times than I can count. What is the best policy? To be truthful, keep everything out in the open? Or are you a fan of 'what they don't know won't hurt them'?
I must admit, until recently I always believed honesty was best. Secrets are bad, truth is good. But I had never been in a situation where it really mattered. People and feelings are never as black and white as that.
I think in a relationship, you have to be honest, if you want that relationship to last. No relationship can exist without trust and trust and honesty go hand in hand. But that doesn't mean you have to tell them everything. There's a level of relevance. If you've got a bad case of wind, it doesn't need to be shared, but if you're having an affair with the boss, then that's pretty relevant.
I'm also of the view that if rebuilding a relationship is the aim, honesty is the key. If one person in the relationship has cheated and they decide to come clean then they should come clean with all of it. My friend used to say 'the truth will always come out in the end' and unfortunately she is right. If your partner finds out you have been keeping things, even the smallest detail, then they will suspect more lies and bigger secrets.
However, on a completely different note, if there is nothing to be gained by the honesty than someone's feelings getting hurt, then it is a selfish act. A way of clearing one's conscience. Although sometimes it is necessary to establish if a relationship is worth keeping. If I had been honest with a friend years ago, then I might have realised how much she wasn't a friend.
So to summarise, honesty may leave you lonely. It is best to take every situation as it comes.

This post was inspired by... http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/03/daily-prompt-truth/

The Last Resolution

I never normally make New Years resolutions, not now anyway. I used to make them, then would never stick to them and it would be a pointless exercise. I'd also be disappointed and there would probably be some self-beating for a bit too.

Now every New Year I make a promise to myself instead, two things. To be better and to be happy.

By being 'better', I don't mean in terms of competition. I don't want to beat anybody else (although it's nice to get recognition amongst your peers), I mean to get better as a person. To be polite, to be kinder, to not be selfish, to become more well-rounded, if you like. I try not to regret nowadays as it's easy to become lost in the past and forget about the future, but I'm a big believer in improvement. Everybody is constantly changing, whether it's personality, beliefs, the way we look. Events happen throughout your life that change the way you perceive things, meeting people and sharing new experiences all changes you. So long as those changes are for the better, I'm happy.

And that leads nicely on to my next aim: happiness. Happiness is always a tricky thing, it means different things to different people and sometimes you spend so much time looking for it you didn't realise you had it in the first place. Sometimes you think you are happy, when really you're just stalling the inevitable unhappiness that is just around the corner. These last few months for me have probably been some of the unhappiest times I have ever had, so striving for happiness in 2014 is even more important for me. My problem is working out what makes me happy and compromising so that I can be happy. For example, being a Care Assistant is not my dream job. There's nothing wrong with it, I enjoy it, but I don't see myself doing it forever. However, the 12 hour shifts enable me to volunteer at the primary school and run the choir, two things I absolutely love doing and would hate to give up at the moment. I only go to work 10 times in a month as I work long days, but not very often, so it leaves more days free for the theatre and for meeting with friends. 

I am always my happiest when surrounded by people, normally a small group, the friends and family I love. Over the course of 2013 I realised I was spending time with people that actually made me miserable. Letting them go was hard to do, but ultimately it'll make me happier. 

So no, no New Years resolutions for me, just a continuing improvement and a continuing discovery of what it's like to grow up and face the real world.