Somewhere Only We Know - Review
There's a saying that true friends leave a mark on your heart and stay with you forever. I believe the same can be said of great characters and a good book. With this latest offering, Lawless' presents a unique twist to the conventional romance novel, and enables her protagonists, Alex and Nadia, to leave an indelible mark.
From the moment Nadia's and Alex's lives collide, I was captured by them and couldn't put the book down. By the end, I felt I was a part of this group of friends and their London. (I want to go with Nadia and Alex to a night at Bodeans!)
Although the central story is about boy meets girl, there's so much more to Somewhere Only We Know. Once again, Lawless has written a believable love story that isn't just about the two central characters falling for each other; it is also about their friends and the challenges they have - because when you fall in love, everyone else's drama is still going down. It is this, that, for me, makes her latest book so relatable and enjoyable.
I loved being part of the emotion and adventure - discovering London through the eyes of Alex and Nadia, and ticking off points on Nadia's Bucket List; all the while experiencing the same moments of trepidation and anxiousness for Nadia's impending deportation appeal. Lawless did an expert job of letting her characters get on with life and love, leaving you to forget the problems of the future until something bought it crashing back into the fore.
With summer fast approaching, this is a great holiday read to pop on your Kindle or e-reader and enjoy by the poolside. Go get it today!
Rating: 5/5
You can order it on Amazon now!
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
The Trials of an Expat Voter #GE2015
In a few short hours, millions of people in the United Kingdom will be taking to the polls to (hopefully) decide who will be in charge of their country for the next five years. Except for perhaps some of the most astute political analysts, no one really knows what to expect tomorrow. Will Cameron be out? Will Clegg collapse? Will Ed form a coalition with Russell Brand?
But while various pundits will be focussed on voter turnouts and the overall result, thousands of eligible voters won't be putting that all important X where it matters at all. Not because they don't want to. Not because they forgot to turn up. And not even because they're disenfranchised, don't care and think their voice won't count.
No, on May 7th potentially thousands will be left without the chance or choice to make their voice heard simply because they're expats. Citizens of the United Kingdom, with UK passports, but not currently residing in the UK. And it's that which will cost them their democratic voice come polling day. But not for the reasons you might think.
Computer Says No
The UK Government barraged me with endless targeted Facebook ads during the months of March and April 2015 with the cheery promise that it takes less than 5 minutes to register to vote. It actually took me almost SIX MONTHS of correspondence, phone calls and three separate attempts to register online before my name was successfully added to the electoral register. The cause of this problem? Apparently "I don't know where I was last registered to vote" was not a valid option on the online registration, especially when trying to procure a postal vote as an expat.
The simple truth was, due to having been a student for a rather large chunk of the last decade and having moved house every 9 months or so during that time, I couldn't actually remember where I had last been listed on the electoral register. Add the fact that my parents, who kindly provide me with a fixed UK address and a bed to stay in when I pop back, moved house last year and subsequently moved constituency. Together, these problems somewhat hindered my application. Eventually, with mere weeks until the last possible chance to register, my only option was a sudden "return" to the UK from being abroad before promptly "leaving" once again and applying for a postal vote registered to the address my parents now call home.
But I wasn't alone in my struggle. British expats experience an array of challenges to be able to claim what is legally still their right up to 15 years of living outside of the UK. Some simply can't register because they were never registered when they lived in the UK. Now I understand that if a person in their 40s suddenly decides that, despite never voting when living in the UK, they now want to do so, it could create a bit of an ethical dilemma. But what about the young 19 year old who wants to exercise his right to vote but whose family left the UK when he was 15 and thus he had not been on the electoral register before he left? Is he simply not allowed to vote? The chances are he can't vote in the country he lives in either and so we create another disenfranchised youth who now may never vote.
Oh Where Is My Ballot Paper?
If you think that once registered all your problems as an expat attempting to vote in a General Election at home are over, think again. Once you've jumped the registration hurdle, you fall straight into the mercy of the postal service.
In the last seven days my Facebook newsfeed has been inundated with posts from British friends and acquaintances who, for various reasons, find themselves currently living outside of UK shores. Being, mostly, young, active, politically aware types, they were actually organised. They've registered their desire to vote and secured their postal vote application. It's at this point they hit a problem. A problem I call "Oh Where Is My Ballot Paper?".
Due to the rule of not sending out postal ballots until 20 days before the Election and the fact that they have to be returned by 10pm on polling day, friends in various locations around the globe didn't receive their postal ballots until the chance to post it back to the UK in time had long since passed. Several friends in the States reportedly didn't receive their ballots until the possibility of returning it in time was long gone. But it's not limited to those facing a long haul flight to return home. Another acquaintance, this time in the Czech Republic, is still to receive her postal ballot. In fact, her outburst on social media to this affect a few short days ago bought forward several others, also living in Europe, also without their ballots.
Surely, when we're considering something as important as the voting right of citizens, creating such a tight turnaround is placing rather too much faith in the world's postal services? I mean I have friends who still haven't received Christmas gifts I posted months ago.* And don't even get me started on the wondering whether my postal vote will actually arrive back in the UK in time.
*that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.
Polling Day
So now, as Polling Day dawns, anyone who knows even the tiniest bit about British Politics right now, knows that 2015 is going to be close.
But one thing's for sure, thousands of expats will anxiously watch the results, frustrated, angry or just despondent that, despite their best efforts, this time their voice won't be heard. And the money the UK Government/electoral office spent on targeted Facebook ads to encourage British Expats to register was, it would seem, a little bit redundant.
But while various pundits will be focussed on voter turnouts and the overall result, thousands of eligible voters won't be putting that all important X where it matters at all. Not because they don't want to. Not because they forgot to turn up. And not even because they're disenfranchised, don't care and think their voice won't count.
No, on May 7th potentially thousands will be left without the chance or choice to make their voice heard simply because they're expats. Citizens of the United Kingdom, with UK passports, but not currently residing in the UK. And it's that which will cost them their democratic voice come polling day. But not for the reasons you might think.
The UK Government barraged me with endless targeted Facebook ads during the months of March and April 2015 with the cheery promise that it takes less than 5 minutes to register to vote. It actually took me almost SIX MONTHS of correspondence, phone calls and three separate attempts to register online before my name was successfully added to the electoral register. The cause of this problem? Apparently "I don't know where I was last registered to vote" was not a valid option on the online registration, especially when trying to procure a postal vote as an expat.
The simple truth was, due to having been a student for a rather large chunk of the last decade and having moved house every 9 months or so during that time, I couldn't actually remember where I had last been listed on the electoral register. Add the fact that my parents, who kindly provide me with a fixed UK address and a bed to stay in when I pop back, moved house last year and subsequently moved constituency. Together, these problems somewhat hindered my application. Eventually, with mere weeks until the last possible chance to register, my only option was a sudden "return" to the UK from being abroad before promptly "leaving" once again and applying for a postal vote registered to the address my parents now call home.
But I wasn't alone in my struggle. British expats experience an array of challenges to be able to claim what is legally still their right up to 15 years of living outside of the UK. Some simply can't register because they were never registered when they lived in the UK. Now I understand that if a person in their 40s suddenly decides that, despite never voting when living in the UK, they now want to do so, it could create a bit of an ethical dilemma. But what about the young 19 year old who wants to exercise his right to vote but whose family left the UK when he was 15 and thus he had not been on the electoral register before he left? Is he simply not allowed to vote? The chances are he can't vote in the country he lives in either and so we create another disenfranchised youth who now may never vote.
Oh Where Is My Ballot Paper?
If you think that once registered all your problems as an expat attempting to vote in a General Election at home are over, think again. Once you've jumped the registration hurdle, you fall straight into the mercy of the postal service.
Due to the rule of not sending out postal ballots until 20 days before the Election and the fact that they have to be returned by 10pm on polling day, friends in various locations around the globe didn't receive their postal ballots until the chance to post it back to the UK in time had long since passed. Several friends in the States reportedly didn't receive their ballots until the possibility of returning it in time was long gone. But it's not limited to those facing a long haul flight to return home. Another acquaintance, this time in the Czech Republic, is still to receive her postal ballot. In fact, her outburst on social media to this affect a few short days ago bought forward several others, also living in Europe, also without their ballots.
Surely, when we're considering something as important as the voting right of citizens, creating such a tight turnaround is placing rather too much faith in the world's postal services? I mean I have friends who still haven't received Christmas gifts I posted months ago.* And don't even get me started on the wondering whether my postal vote will actually arrive back in the UK in time.
*that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.
Polling Day
So now, as Polling Day dawns, anyone who knows even the tiniest bit about British Politics right now, knows that 2015 is going to be close.
But one thing's for sure, thousands of expats will anxiously watch the results, frustrated, angry or just despondent that, despite their best efforts, this time their voice won't be heard. And the money the UK Government/electoral office spent on targeted Facebook ads to encourage British Expats to register was, it would seem, a little bit redundant.
Friday, March 20, 2015
Nobody wants to see your sex trophy before breakfast (Reposted)
A couple of months ago, in between late nights at the office and learning German, I wrote a guest piece for my friend and fabulous author (yes, I'm biased), Erin Lawless. It's about parents who post every nanosecond of their newborn's life on social media. It was/is, perhaps, a little controversial, but I quite enjoyed it all the same and so I'm posting it here as well.
I hope you enjoy it!
You can view the original post here: No one wants to see your sex trophy before breakfast or read it below.
“Would you all please stop! I don’t care anymore.”
I recently muttered these exact words at my phone one morning while absent-mindedly scrolling through Instagram instead of getting up.
You see, it appears that whenever I open Instagram, check Facebook, pull up Twitter or even get round to pinning something on my (admittedly neglected) Pinterest, there’s inevitably a baby picture staring back at me. If it’s not a baby picture it’s a “Week 34!” or a “This one doesn’t want to come out” pregnancy shot.
Alright, I get it. You’re pregnant / newly with-child / hanging out with your adorable newborn. And that’s cute. Once or twice. But there’s a limit to how many “Look at my amazing partner/husband/wife/baby and our cute new family” I can take (especially before breakfast).
Here’s one where it’s hiding from the ultrasound. #growingahuman
Isn’t he/she/it so cute?! #adorbs #lookslikedaddy
4am feed time. #tired #butshescute #mumlife
Isn’t he/she/it so cute?! #adorbs #lookslikedaddy
4am feed time. #tired #butshescute #mumlife
ENOUGH. I do not want to see swollen ankles or large bellies. I am bored of babies in onesies sprawled across a bed. And I’ve seen enough ultrasounds to be able to tell you that, it’s ok, you’re not going to have an alien.
But before you write me off as a callous, cold-hearted, childless bitch; hear me out.
I’m in my late 20s. I actively use social media. I have a wealth of friends and family with newborn kids (and judging by the number of pregnancy announcement Instagrams; it’s about to boom). My friends are having babies and that IS exciting. Some of my closest friends, ones I’ve known for over a decade, are making little copies of themselves. We’ve navigated first dates, first kisses, break ups, fan girl obsessions, proposals and weddings together. It’s only natural our lives have reached the point where we’re now being responsible for another life; be it human or cat.
And yes, announcing on social media is a quick and fast way to communicate the news of “Hey guys, we made an us!” (Alternatively: “We’ve been having lots of sex!!”) to as many people as possible with as little effort as possible. It’s especially useful when the people you want to inform are scattered around the globe. But – and here’s where I get up on my soapbox – I do not need you to document EVERY SECOND of your pregnancy. Believe it or not, once you’ve seen one pregnant woman, you’ve pretty much seen them all. They don’t vary wildly in form. It may surprise you, but I don’t particularly want to see your enlarged stomach. I don’t need to watch a time lapse of your body swelling up. And I really don’t want to see a labour shot(!).
It doesn’t end there either. Once baby has screamed their way into the world, my social media feed is plagued with shots, taken from multiple angles, in an array of microfashion, and filtered with Valencia. I don’t know how to tell you this but, I’m not especially bothered about seeing the 157th picture of your baby trying to smile (/fart).
I don’t want to banish infants from Instagram or free Facebook of baby farting faces (they can actually be quite hilarious). My simple plea is just that there’s a few less babies staring back at me when I log in. Your child is adorable but I don’t need to witness its every nanosecond. Just a small update now and then is fine. Especially if it’s funny – like they try to say “banana” and it comes out as a swear word, or you just happened to film them doing the most fantastic accidental forward roll into the cat while they tried to stand. I welcome those posts with open arms. (Mostly because they will keep me entertained during long and tedious days at work.) But please, stop clogging my newsfeed with your sex trophy.
If you really must broadcast every tiny development of your newborn (perhaps you have family/friends abroad who want to keep up with progress), consider creating a private Instagram account you share only with those who you know want to see every detail of your baby’s life or creating a Facebook list that you share only baby updates with. Spare the rest of us (ok, only the lonely, single, bitter ones of us) from having to trawl through numerous “Just too cute” and endless “Look at this beautiful bundle” moments. After all, I don’t fill your newsfeed with sunsets, cocktails, cats and epic holiday photos do I? Oh… Right.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
50 Shades of No Way
Unless you've been stranded somewhere devoid of internet and social contact for some time, you're probably aware that this Saturday is Valentine's Day. And you probably also know that it marks the release of a highly controversial "love story" - 50 Shades of Grey.
More like 50 Shades of No Way.
Admittedly, I've not read the books. But then, I've never had a desire to pick up something that I have been advised is, essentially, badly written erotica. When E L James' paperback trilogy first hit bookshelves it was billed as "mummy porn". Despite this, it was still possible to find it on store shelves not too far from kids' magazines and young adult fiction. Before long it had become a worldwide phenomenon and then someone had the "brilliant" idea to turn it into a film. (As we seem to do with any wonderfully successful book appealing to women/young adults: cf Twilight, The Hunger Games, Divergent, Gone Girl).
I chose not to read the books and, unsurprisingly, I will be choosing not to see the film too. I'm not here to tell you why you shouldn't see it but I am here to tell you that this is not the love story it is being billed to be. And I don't understand why anyone would think it's a great romantic Valentine's Day treat.
It seems strange to me that, in a world currently fighting for gender equality, bridging the pay gap and getting outraged that women can still be labelled as "asking for a rape attack", we're signing up to watch a movie, which, just from my reading of reviews and watching one trailer, glamourises sexual abuse. Double standards much?
This is not ok.
Seriously.
Not. Ok.
It astounds me that things like the wonderful #HeforShe campaign is juxtaposed with the ludicrous advertising for 50 Shades of Grey. This movie is not about sexual or gender liberation, it's about sexual exploitation. It's not about love, it's about power (and patriarchal power at that). And in a time where we are so obsessed with fighting for equality and giving people (women) a voice, how on earth did this piece of explicit exploitation creep past our checks and balances? If this Mr Grey character was an impoverished man, scraping together pennies here and there, I can't help but feel there would be an entirely different story. Not just in the novel and film, but also in the media.
And yet, the media would have us believe that women everywhere are eagerly awaiting Saturday's release. Amongst my peers, at least, opinion is (mildly) divided. However, most appear to lean on the side of "not interested". Whether that's because they don't agree with it or just don't think a movie could live up to a book (I've seen a few clips and it makes Twilight look like a brilliantly acted franchise) I couldn't say. What I can tell you though is, personally, I'd rather watch grey paint drying than watch 50 Shades of Grey this weekend. Or, in fact, ever.
Seriously.
Not. Ok.
It astounds me that things like the wonderful #HeforShe campaign is juxtaposed with the ludicrous advertising for 50 Shades of Grey. This movie is not about sexual or gender liberation, it's about sexual exploitation. It's not about love, it's about power (and patriarchal power at that). And in a time where we are so obsessed with fighting for equality and giving people (women) a voice, how on earth did this piece of explicit exploitation creep past our checks and balances? If this Mr Grey character was an impoverished man, scraping together pennies here and there, I can't help but feel there would be an entirely different story. Not just in the novel and film, but also in the media.
And yet, the media would have us believe that women everywhere are eagerly awaiting Saturday's release. Amongst my peers, at least, opinion is (mildly) divided. However, most appear to lean on the side of "not interested". Whether that's because they don't agree with it or just don't think a movie could live up to a book (I've seen a few clips and it makes Twilight look like a brilliantly acted franchise) I couldn't say. What I can tell you though is, personally, I'd rather watch grey paint drying than watch 50 Shades of Grey this weekend. Or, in fact, ever.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Proceed with Caution: Your Facebook Newsfeed indicates you are entering "Real Adulthood".
I have somewhat been neglecting my own blog of late. It is time to jump back in and put fingers to keyboard once again!
[I promise I haven't been slacking! A little while ago I wrote a guest post for Erin Lawless, (if you're into books, writing or historical figures take a read of Erin's blog) and I've been writing online content for other organisations. While it's (usually) fun, it does slightly zap the desire to come home and write in my own blog after a long day. And moving on...]
Is it me or is EVERYONE getting married/having babies/moving in with their long-term partners?! Over the last five years or so it seems that all my Facebook newsfeed has been filled with is engagement/wedding announcements, hospital scans - and later photos - of babies and cliche photos of friends sat on the floor with takeaway and wine surrounded by boxes celebrating their successful first step on to the elusive property ladder. (I thought there was a recession?)
By comparison, my own appearances in friends newsfeeds consist mostly (I assume) of pictures I've liked (often content I was responsible for creating at work so it doesn't really count), videos, dreams and wishes for job contracts and holidays and the odd tale about life in a foreign country building a church. Plus the most appalling photos that I've had the misfortune to be tagged in. While my friends lives seem to be progressing quite nicely and as expected for a *deepbreath* still-clinging-on-to-mid-twentysomething, my life seems not so far removed (and simultaneously worlds apart) from the life I lived as a 22-year-old student in England. My life is hurtling towards 30 with complete disregard of the fact I'm missing vital components of being a REAL PROPER ADULT (which, I assume is what I become in a couple of years time when I hit the big three-oh).
What's bought this on? Mostly the fact that one of my oldest, bestest friends has just announced, via Facebook, the impending arrival of pitter patter feet later this year and the (unrelated) fact that I am going to be an aunty in a matter of weeks.
I know every generation goes through that moment of sudden realisation that, contrary to their belief, they are not so much "getting" as are "actually" old. I'd like to throw it out there that coming of age is not turning 18 or 21. Coming of age is really when you realise you and your friends have responsibilities that, until recently, were the domain of "proper adults", an area that was once only occupied by your parents.
However, this moment of revelation is happening somewhat differently for my generation than it did for the generation before us. My generation, which seems to be somewhere inbetween Generation Y and the Millennial Generation, are playing out their life events through social media in a big way (and the Millennial Generation are doing this on an even larger scale). Facebook has a lot to answer to for making me feel older than my 27 years.
There's the obligatory "OMG!! WE'RE ENGAGED!!!! OMG!!" status updates (ok yes, when they're from people that I didn't even know were dating someone perhaps that is a sign I need to cull my Facebook of people I clearly never speak to) which make me question whether I should be looking for the love of my life rather than bumbling along merrily. The engagement announcement is often swiftly followed by the endless wedding planning updates (to a wedding I'm probably not invited to because actually we haven't spoken to each other since that night in the Union bar where we met and discovered a mutual love of, heck I don't even remember now).
Then I have friends who are parents. They update, tweet and blog about everyday life with their kids. It's kinda cute and I guess it's the modern day equivalent to the Baby Books our parents kept (well actually, mine didn't keep a book for any of us). But honestly, it's been about 5 years since my newsfeed started to get clogged with baby tales and frankly I'm a little bored of them all now. (No offence, I've just seen enough baby photos this year to last me into 2015.)
But here's the thing - what if I wasn't on Facebook/Twitter etc, would I even know half of these people are engaged/married/pregnant/living with children? Would I even care? Surely the ones that mattered I'd be in regular contact with and would know at least the expected trajectory of their lives. And I would hope that if I was in England and was really as close as I think I am to some of the friends I've stayed in contact with, I'd get a text or a call or even a letter/email informing me of the news before the whole world is told on Facebook. (NB to friends reading this, 1. if you have ever informed everyone of your big announcement via social media this isn't actually a stab at you, I promise and 2. please don't judge me if I do a similar thing at some point. I know social media is an easy way to contact a lot of people in one go and disseminate your news while trying to avoid the awkwardness created by people who think they are the last to be told these things.)
While social media has been great for me to keep in touch with good friends (especially since I upped and left my home country), it has also kept me in the lives of those with whom I am not so close. And I think it is this that has given increased emphasis on what my life at 27 (almost 28) years of age should look like and how it should measure up. I should, according to the people Facebook shares in my newsfeed, actually be in a career by now, earning a packet, paying off my student loan, married or with a long term partner or at least dating someone, thinking about children, travelling the world etc.
Theses are all things, if I go by social media updates, that, as a person in my mid-to-late-20s, I should be doing. Only for some time, about the only one of those I was actually doing was experiencing foreign climes. Now I can probably just about tick off 'in a career'. The rest, not really happening.
But while my newsfeed is regularly full of this wedding or that baby or this family yes, that is the fuel for this rant, it is also filled with other news from other friends who are still single, still unbabied or still trying to figure out what they want to do with life. So actually I'm not alone and, no, not EVERYONE is doing responsible grown up things yet, even if they probably should be.
The question is, 20 years from now when my friends' children are growing up, getting married and having babies of their own, will their parents - my friends - be instagramming Jessica as she walks down the aisle, tagging their children's friends in a million photographs or tweeting about the absolutely brilliant Father of the Bride speech they just gave? Is it just that we are a generation obsessed with documenting everything online?
[I promise I haven't been slacking! A little while ago I wrote a guest post for Erin Lawless, (if you're into books, writing or historical figures take a read of Erin's blog) and I've been writing online content for other organisations. While it's (usually) fun, it does slightly zap the desire to come home and write in my own blog after a long day. And moving on...]
Is it me or is EVERYONE getting married/having babies/moving in with their long-term partners?! Over the last five years or so it seems that all my Facebook newsfeed has been filled with is engagement/wedding announcements, hospital scans - and later photos - of babies and cliche photos of friends sat on the floor with takeaway and wine surrounded by boxes celebrating their successful first step on to the elusive property ladder. (I thought there was a recession?)
By comparison, my own appearances in friends newsfeeds consist mostly (I assume) of pictures I've liked (often content I was responsible for creating at work so it doesn't really count), videos, dreams and wishes for job contracts and holidays and the odd tale about life in a foreign country building a church. Plus the most appalling photos that I've had the misfortune to be tagged in. While my friends lives seem to be progressing quite nicely and as expected for a *deepbreath* still-clinging-on-to-mid-twentysomething, my life seems not so far removed (and simultaneously worlds apart) from the life I lived as a 22-year-old student in England. My life is hurtling towards 30 with complete disregard of the fact I'm missing vital components of being a REAL PROPER ADULT (which, I assume is what I become in a couple of years time when I hit the big three-oh).
What's bought this on? Mostly the fact that one of my oldest, bestest friends has just announced, via Facebook, the impending arrival of pitter patter feet later this year and the (unrelated) fact that I am going to be an aunty in a matter of weeks.
I know every generation goes through that moment of sudden realisation that, contrary to their belief, they are not so much "getting" as are "actually" old. I'd like to throw it out there that coming of age is not turning 18 or 21. Coming of age is really when you realise you and your friends have responsibilities that, until recently, were the domain of "proper adults", an area that was once only occupied by your parents.
However, this moment of revelation is happening somewhat differently for my generation than it did for the generation before us. My generation, which seems to be somewhere inbetween Generation Y and the Millennial Generation, are playing out their life events through social media in a big way (and the Millennial Generation are doing this on an even larger scale). Facebook has a lot to answer to for making me feel older than my 27 years.
There's the obligatory "OMG!! WE'RE ENGAGED!!!! OMG!!" status updates (ok yes, when they're from people that I didn't even know were dating someone perhaps that is a sign I need to cull my Facebook of people I clearly never speak to) which make me question whether I should be looking for the love of my life rather than bumbling along merrily. The engagement announcement is often swiftly followed by the endless wedding planning updates (to a wedding I'm probably not invited to because actually we haven't spoken to each other since that night in the Union bar where we met and discovered a mutual love of, heck I don't even remember now).
Then I have friends who are parents. They update, tweet and blog about everyday life with their kids. It's kinda cute and I guess it's the modern day equivalent to the Baby Books our parents kept (well actually, mine didn't keep a book for any of us). But honestly, it's been about 5 years since my newsfeed started to get clogged with baby tales and frankly I'm a little bored of them all now. (No offence, I've just seen enough baby photos this year to last me into 2015.)
But here's the thing - what if I wasn't on Facebook/Twitter etc, would I even know half of these people are engaged/married/pregnant/living with children? Would I even care? Surely the ones that mattered I'd be in regular contact with and would know at least the expected trajectory of their lives. And I would hope that if I was in England and was really as close as I think I am to some of the friends I've stayed in contact with, I'd get a text or a call or even a letter/email informing me of the news before the whole world is told on Facebook. (NB to friends reading this, 1. if you have ever informed everyone of your big announcement via social media this isn't actually a stab at you, I promise and 2. please don't judge me if I do a similar thing at some point. I know social media is an easy way to contact a lot of people in one go and disseminate your news while trying to avoid the awkwardness created by people who think they are the last to be told these things.)
While social media has been great for me to keep in touch with good friends (especially since I upped and left my home country), it has also kept me in the lives of those with whom I am not so close. And I think it is this that has given increased emphasis on what my life at 27 (almost 28) years of age should look like and how it should measure up. I should, according to the people Facebook shares in my newsfeed, actually be in a career by now, earning a packet, paying off my student loan, married or with a long term partner or at least dating someone, thinking about children, travelling the world etc.
Theses are all things, if I go by social media updates, that, as a person in my mid-to-late-20s, I should be doing. Only for some time, about the only one of those I was actually doing was experiencing foreign climes. Now I can probably just about tick off 'in a career'. The rest, not really happening.
But while my newsfeed is regularly full of this wedding or that baby or this family yes, that is the fuel for this rant, it is also filled with other news from other friends who are still single, still unbabied or still trying to figure out what they want to do with life. So actually I'm not alone and, no, not EVERYONE is doing responsible grown up things yet, even if they probably should be.
The question is, 20 years from now when my friends' children are growing up, getting married and having babies of their own, will their parents - my friends - be instagramming Jessica as she walks down the aisle, tagging their children's friends in a million photographs or tweeting about the absolutely brilliant Father of the Bride speech they just gave? Is it just that we are a generation obsessed with documenting everything online?
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
A German New Year
With the first day of 2013 in its final hour (at least it is if you live on CET) it seems like the perfect time to share my experiences of my very first German New Year.
After gathering at a flat in Frankfurt for drinks and nibbles, myself and four friends chose to brave the city centre and head out to the River Main. An uncharacteristically warm (by December standards anyway) winter's night we took the short bus ride into the centre to see what it is that the Germans do to welcome the new year.
There are few words to describe the atmosphere we experienced as made our tentative way along the riverside. It was one of merriment, awe and high jinx as you might expect on December 31st. It was also one of adrenaline, bangs, whooshes and slight fear.
Apparently, a German New Year's Eve involves explosions and alcohol. Lots of them.
You see, the German law on fireworks and their use in public appear to be somewhat different to that of the UK. While London Borough Council will have, no doubt, meticulously spent months planning the capital's traditional Thames firework display, in Frankfurt firework displays are left to the general public to co-ordinate.
If you turn up to the banks of the River Main at around 11pm on New Year's Eve, or Silvester as the Germans call it, you will be greeted by many a reveler, armed with copious amounts of alcohol and a good handful or five of fireworks.
As we were cheerily dispatched by the bus driver nowhere near a bus stop, we stepped into the throng. Right next to a taxi parked up at the edge of a cordon, blasting out dance tunes. We walked further down the water's edge and it was at this point we discovered why people had warned us against venturing to the Main on Silvester.
At every step we found ourselves dodging people, discarded bottles and, slightly more worryingly, fireworks.
And this is the thing about New Year's Eve in Frankfurt. There are fireworks everywhere. And the majority of them are in the hands of the inebriated. British heath and safety execs would be having a field day (and the Fire Service would be horrified!) as multiple fireworks are set off far too close to gathered crowds.
This all results in a strange mix up of excitement, celebration and fear as fireworks go off all around you. As you stand there (seeking protection from the nearest tree - because if you're near a tree, you're safer right?) you find yourself trying to figure out where to look - not just because of the spectacular display of fireworks going off at random all over the place, but also because one of those fireworks could be heading straight for you.
All in all though, it was a great night, unlike any other I've ever experienced either in the UK or Germany. And while I'll steer clear of bringing my own fireworks next year (just too much room for error and injury) I still think I'll venture to the Main to see in 2014. Happy New Year!
After gathering at a flat in Frankfurt for drinks and nibbles, myself and four friends chose to brave the city centre and head out to the River Main. An uncharacteristically warm (by December standards anyway) winter's night we took the short bus ride into the centre to see what it is that the Germans do to welcome the new year.
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| Fireworks on the riverside. Frankfurt am Main. |
Apparently, a German New Year's Eve involves explosions and alcohol. Lots of them.
You see, the German law on fireworks and their use in public appear to be somewhat different to that of the UK. While London Borough Council will have, no doubt, meticulously spent months planning the capital's traditional Thames firework display, in Frankfurt firework displays are left to the general public to co-ordinate.
If you turn up to the banks of the River Main at around 11pm on New Year's Eve, or Silvester as the Germans call it, you will be greeted by many a reveler, armed with copious amounts of alcohol and a good handful or five of fireworks.
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| Midnight celebrations. |
At every step we found ourselves dodging people, discarded bottles and, slightly more worryingly, fireworks.
 |
This all results in a strange mix up of excitement, celebration and fear as fireworks go off all around you. As you stand there (seeking protection from the nearest tree - because if you're near a tree, you're safer right?) you find yourself trying to figure out where to look - not just because of the spectacular display of fireworks going off at random all over the place, but also because one of those fireworks could be heading straight for you.
All in all though, it was a great night, unlike any other I've ever experienced either in the UK or Germany. And while I'll steer clear of bringing my own fireworks next year (just too much room for error and injury) I still think I'll venture to the Main to see in 2014. Happy New Year!
Friday, September 7, 2012
Music Review: Sam Isaac - When The Lights Went Out
About four years ago, in a dingy pub-cum-gig-venue in Norwich, England (called, if I remember correctly, The Queen Charlotte, located about five minutes from my then front door with a splendid line of Iced Strawberry Daiquiris at £3 per giant-sized pitcher), I saw Sam Isaac for the first time. Squished in between the bar and a sea of punters, mostly students, Sam stood in the dimly lit venue with just a microphone and his acoustic and played his heart out. I was hooked.
I'm not entirely sure how I came to know about Sam Isaac. I think it was a result of many hours listening to the delightful Welsh tones of Radio 1's Huw Stephens on his Introducing... slot. Whatever the story, sitting in The Queen Charlotte, no doubt supping a sugary ice-cold beverage, I found myself tunelessly singing away to a beautiful song that was washing over the crowd. Much to the amusement of my friend Annette. (Or possibly her distress...) Yet I had no idea what it was, or who it was standing mere feet in front of me. (We didn't even realise there was a gig on at the pub to start with). I later came to know that the song was called Sideways (which I thoroughly recommend you get a copy of somehow) and the ginger man with a guitar was called Sam.
Think Ed Sheeran meets Ben Howard via Noah and the Whale and you'll get an idea of what this UK-based singer-songwriter sounds like. But Sam was around long before Ben and Ed and probably Noah really made an impact on the British music scene. Somehow though, the music loving public haven't appeared to be as taken with Sam as with these other singer-songwriters.
Recorded at home, over the course of a year, When The Lights Went Out is a welcome return from Mr Isaac. It's a chilled, beautiful little album, perfect for relaxing in the last of the summer days or for running through parks covered in crisp autumn leaves or for a indie film soundtrack (most suited to films in the vein of Garden State, Once, etc).
It might not be an album to fervently write home about, it might not dramatically change your life, but it will certainly brighten your day as it rotates round to play on your iPod. Well, I like it anyway.
I'm not entirely sure how I came to know about Sam Isaac. I think it was a result of many hours listening to the delightful Welsh tones of Radio 1's Huw Stephens on his Introducing... slot. Whatever the story, sitting in The Queen Charlotte, no doubt supping a sugary ice-cold beverage, I found myself tunelessly singing away to a beautiful song that was washing over the crowd. Much to the amusement of my friend Annette. (Or possibly her distress...) Yet I had no idea what it was, or who it was standing mere feet in front of me. (We didn't even realise there was a gig on at the pub to start with). I later came to know that the song was called Sideways (which I thoroughly recommend you get a copy of somehow) and the ginger man with a guitar was called Sam.
Think Ed Sheeran meets Ben Howard via Noah and the Whale and you'll get an idea of what this UK-based singer-songwriter sounds like. But Sam was around long before Ben and Ed and probably Noah really made an impact on the British music scene. Somehow though, the music loving public haven't appeared to be as taken with Sam as with these other singer-songwriters.
Recorded at home, over the course of a year, When The Lights Went Out is a welcome return from Mr Isaac. It's a chilled, beautiful little album, perfect for relaxing in the last of the summer days or for running through parks covered in crisp autumn leaves or for a indie film soundtrack (most suited to films in the vein of Garden State, Once, etc).
It might not be an album to fervently write home about, it might not dramatically change your life, but it will certainly brighten your day as it rotates round to play on your iPod. Well, I like it anyway.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Life in Germany: All patriotic
This isn't to say that I wasn't patriotic before I left the UK. It just seems to have come through all the stronger now I'm no longer a permanent resident of the motherland. And, although I have always been a champion of the Royal Family, now, they are the iconic symbol readily available for me wherever I am in need of a Great British fix. If we were ever to loose our monarchy I would be distraught. Yes, I know they cost us money. Yes, I know they are archaic. Yes, I know they don't really carry much political clout, but to do away with our Royalty is to remove one of the few synonyms of Britishness.
Sure, there are events in British history that some people would rather forget; things that even make me balk at the idea of being associated with Great Britain. (The way we treated the people of the countries we took to be part of our Empire for example.) But I'm 99% sure that there are things in any country's history that the people of that nation would rather were buried and forgotten. Some of these events are more recent than others.
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| The iconic "Broom Army" photo tweeted after 2011's riots as people took to the streets to clean up. |
Certainly for me, living in another country has served to make me feel even more staunchly patriotic than I was in the UK. Although I hope never to the extent that I will refuse to learn and adapt and accept that other nation's culture and language. Perhaps it is strange that it has taken uprooting myself and living in a foreign clime to realise how British I really am, but then again, perhaps what I needed to fully identify my sense of being a Briton was to emerge myself in a culture vastly different to what I knew and was familiar with.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Life in Germany: A visit to the British Consulate
It's been an eventful few weeks of life in Germany since my last post, involving broken elbows (not mine), lost passports (thankfully also not mine) and seeing some beautiful German countryside as my train zooms through it.
Let me explain how we came to need an emergency passport in the first place. A few days prior to our unscheduled trip to Dusseldorf my friend, Charlie, lost her bag, presumed stolen, in Frankfurt's Hauptbahnhof. The Frankfurt British Consulate office informed her she could get an emergency passport to travel home on. However, only the Dusseldorf office would be able to issue one.
Last Wednesday I accompanied a friend visiting from the UK to the British Consulate in Dusseldorf in order to secure an emergency passport for her return home.
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| Beautiful German countryside on our way to Dusseldorf |
Bright and early Wednesday morning (after I had convinced staff at Charlie's hostel to let me in and wake her up at 5am using a muddled early morning mix of Deutsch and English), we boarded an IC train and started our journey across Germany.
Some hours later, Charlie and I arrived in Dusseldorf Derendorf and attempted to find the British Consulate. In a way that only Charlie can, she accosted a man who alighted at our stop and in the strongest English Midlands accent first said, 'Sprechen Sie English' and then before the man could fully give his response, Charlie launched into 'Do you know where the British Consulate is? Passport problems you see.' Thankfully the man obliged, explained how to get to the Consulate and bid us good day.
The Consulate itself is an understated building. The only clue this was the Consulate was the four Polizei standing outside and the Union Jack hanging slightly limply from its flagpole. As we approached, a darkened (and probably toughened) glass door opened and a cheery but serious German guard greeted us. Once he established we had an appointment we entered the building where we were ordered to hand over all electronic items, our bags were searched and a metal detector was run over us.
And to be honest, that's all there is to say on our trip. Our time in the Consulate wasn't especially interesting being as it involved form filling and a lot of waiting, but she got her passport! So on that note, I'll sign off for another day. Tschuss!
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| She can go home! Charlie with her Emergency Passport. |
And to be honest, that's all there is to say on our trip. Our time in the Consulate wasn't especially interesting being as it involved form filling and a lot of waiting, but she got her passport! So on that note, I'll sign off for another day. Tschuss!
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Life In Germany: A cinema trip to see Avengers Assemble
It's a rare occasion when, still emerging from your oversized cinema seat, you mentally consider your next viewing of a film moments after you've seen the last of the end credits roll off the screen. But then it's also rare a big, and let's face it, hyped, blockbuster movie comes along to inspire that overwhelming desire.
In fact I can think of only a handful of times I've walked out of the cinema, wishing I could re-live the last two hours of my life. Titanic (the James Cameron version first time round in 1998) was one of those, Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey another. Bill & Ted is a classic case of cult 90s film. For Titanic I claim a pre-teen obsession with Leo DiCaprio and misguided judgement on what a 'timeless' movie actually is.
On Friday I added Avengers to that handful.
Avengers. Now that's a film definitely worth every cent tipped out of my purse and onto the cinema counter to pay for a mildly extortionate ticket. A ticket that allows me to sit in a large public room with a big screen and lots of people and wear two pairs of specs (contact lens and my eyes have a love-hate relationship).
In case you don't know, Avengers is the latest blockbuster in the run of Marvel Studio films, and the culmination of Kevin Feige's original plan to have four separate superhero franchises (The Hulk, Thor, Captain America and Ironman) and then pull them all together into one epic action superhero movie. It is, in short, every comic book fan's ultimate dream.
Director Joss Whedon (probably most widely known for his creation of TV's Buffy the Vampire Slayer), has created a funny, clever, jaw-dropping and generally mind-blowing movie based on the simple plotline of 'a selection of superheroes must save the world together'.
It helps if you know the superheroes back stories, or at least the idea that they have each emerged from their own set of comics and movie(s). But, even if you've no idea what Marvel is, the brilliance of the script will entertain with its comedy and action and the 3D graphics will amaze. Plus, there's enough reference to previous encounters with each superhero to give you a basic grounding that will get you through and suck you into the story.
In fact, the only thing that was even slightly disappointing in my viewing of Avengers was the unexpected interval. Apparently in Germany it's commonplace for a film that stretches into the two hour region to have a short interval mid-movie. The film is cut, the curtains swoop in front of the screen and the lights go up.
Having never experienced this in my life before I did, for a good few minutes, wonder whether in fact there was an actual problem with the film and how long it would be before we were offered free tickets to return to another showing. As those minutes passed, it became clear everyone else had been expecting this moment. 'Do cinematic malfunctions have a high frequency in Germany', I wondered? 'No', my German companions confirmed, 'we just have breaks in long movies'. Right.
Having never experienced this in my life before I did, for a good few minutes, wonder whether in fact there was an actual problem with the film and how long it would be before we were offered free tickets to return to another showing. As those minutes passed, it became clear everyone else had been expecting this moment. 'Do cinematic malfunctions have a high frequency in Germany', I wondered? 'No', my German companions confirmed, 'we just have breaks in long movies'. Right.
In the 48 hours since I saw Avengers I have tried to understand this concept of a break mid-movie, but to no avail. I really can't see the point in cutting the action mid-scene. Sure, it has benefits, not least to the cinema who no doubt hope punters will leave their seats and shell out on snacks but really, when I've paid, let's face it, a lot, to see a film, I don't want my viewing interrupted. I can do that at home with the DVD.
However, the strength of Avengers is perhaps proven by this pause mid-movie. I doubt there are many films that can truly withstand a break in the adrenaline rush and excitement in the way Avengers did. It's a cleverly put together film that will have you enthralled from the very first second and leave you on the edge of your seat until the credits are over. And refreshingly for a 3D blockbuster, it doesn't rely on 3D and CGI to be its ultimate selling point. This has the added bonus of meaning it should be just as great in 2D and will translate well to DVD.
So, if you only see one movie in 2012, make it Avengers. Preferably in 3D.
(Just check first to see if there will be an interval. Great if you have bladder issues or are liable to need more snack food - not so great if you like to spend your cinema time fully immersed in the film and dislike surfacing before the last of the end credits has rolled.)
PS I don't own the above trailer in anyway. It was posted by MarvelUK youtube.com user. You can check out the original here.
PS I don't own the above trailer in anyway. It was posted by MarvelUK youtube.com user. You can check out the original here.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Life In Germany: Challenging perspectives
The longer I live in Germany the more I discover how ingrained my British culture is. I guess, though, it's hardly surprising considering ALL my years of life thus far have been predominantly spent in England.
I've lived in Germany for almost two months and that time has opened my eyes to how tied my thoughts and perceptions of the world are to a British sensibility.
Before I moved I thought I was quite accepting of other cultures. In school and at university, despite living in predominantly white middle class areas, I'd had friends with all kinds of national backgrounds; Nigerian, Singaporean, Chinese, French, German, Indian, Greek, American, Welsh, the list goes on. At the time I thought I was embracing my friends' cultures. But now I live in a foreign country I realise what I accepted was an Anglicised adaptation of their culture. I had an expectation that if you moved to my country you should speak my language and do things the way my country and culture dictated. However, somewhat naively, I had not considered that this notion should also work in reverse.
Now, to use an English idiom, the shoe is on the other foot. Let me give you an example, I would not expect someone in England to approach me and ask if I spoke German, Spanish, Urdu but yet I am fully prepared to ask someone in Germany if they speak English. This is the resounding impact of my British upbringing. Having realised this, I have a completely different perspective on the people I meet in my day to day who look at me slightly vexed and say "Nein" as I utter "Sprechen Sie Englisch bitte?" These people are pertaining the same expectation I have in my country of origin. Simply, "if you live in my country you should try to speak my language".
And so while I will not renounced my Britishness, I am prepared to be more Germanic in my day to day - as I've already expressed in this blog, I am trying to master the German language as my own.
I draw the line at adopting the German's version of tea though.
Please send supplies of Tetley and Yorkshire!
I've lived in Germany for almost two months and that time has opened my eyes to how tied my thoughts and perceptions of the world are to a British sensibility.
Before I moved I thought I was quite accepting of other cultures. In school and at university, despite living in predominantly white middle class areas, I'd had friends with all kinds of national backgrounds; Nigerian, Singaporean, Chinese, French, German, Indian, Greek, American, Welsh, the list goes on. At the time I thought I was embracing my friends' cultures. But now I live in a foreign country I realise what I accepted was an Anglicised adaptation of their culture. I had an expectation that if you moved to my country you should speak my language and do things the way my country and culture dictated. However, somewhat naively, I had not considered that this notion should also work in reverse.
Now, to use an English idiom, the shoe is on the other foot. Let me give you an example, I would not expect someone in England to approach me and ask if I spoke German, Spanish, Urdu but yet I am fully prepared to ask someone in Germany if they speak English. This is the resounding impact of my British upbringing. Having realised this, I have a completely different perspective on the people I meet in my day to day who look at me slightly vexed and say "Nein" as I utter "Sprechen Sie Englisch bitte?" These people are pertaining the same expectation I have in my country of origin. Simply, "if you live in my country you should try to speak my language".
And so while I will not renounced my Britishness, I am prepared to be more Germanic in my day to day - as I've already expressed in this blog, I am trying to master the German language as my own.
I draw the line at adopting the German's version of tea though.
Please send supplies of Tetley and Yorkshire!
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Life in Germany: Not all plain sailing
Since my last post some unexpected things have happened.
Firstly I found myself jobless after nearly three weeks in the foreign country I have chosen to call home for the next year or so. Secondly, I was also potentially homeless.
What happened? I hear five concerned voices ask as they read. I could, at this juncture, go into some epic tale telling the woes of a English aupair, who struggled with a family who knew not her mother tongue. That however, would be a fabrication of fiction. The truth is, as is often the case, a little duller than that.
As previously mentioned, the little girl I had been charged to care for over the next three months did not know any English and I, for my part, had extremely patchy German with comparatively less knowledge about Deutsch than Eurozone politicians have on how to solve the international debt crisis. However, despite the challenges, I was confident that, given time, the child and I would eventually form a bond that bridged our language barrier and actually end up conversing in a glorious mix of German and English. I might not have been being terribly realistic I know, but I was willing to give it a shot.
This was not to be. Three weeks into aupairing, just as I managed to win over the girl and place the first foundations of our wonderful bridge, the mother tells me she fears the challenge of language between her daughter and I is too big to overcome. Another childcare solution would be found and I was free to look for another job and she would be willing to give references.
With that one sentence not only was the job that bought me to Germany gone, so too was the home I had planned to live in until my flat became available.
Most other people would, I suppose, accept defeat, move back home and try again later. I, however, am not most people. Instead I've chosen to believe that somewhere out there (are you paying attention Germany?) my perfect job awaits. And the housing thing? Well it just so happens that wonderful friends of mine from the UK who have also moved to Germany have a spare room. Sorted.
No one ever said living your dream was easy.
Germany, bring it on.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Life in Germany: Ist gleich England. Almost.
Would you believe I touched down in Germany ready and raring to completely immerse myself in German life, German culture and hopefully to at least gain an understanding of the German language a mere three (ish) weeks ago?
These weeks have simultaneously felt like an eternity and yet have wooshed passed in a flash of coffees, German verbs and cake; not to mention the wurst, kase and brot! In that time, whilst I still frequently have a blank look on my face as someone talks merrily away to me in Deutsch, I have to some extent gained a grounding in a language I could only before butcher everytime I opened my mouth. (That's not to say I don't still destroy it - I continually deal with Germans looking at me in incredulous disbelief after I've said something. And the little girl I look after tells me I don't know German - which, ironically, she says in German.)
Hopefully the title of this post translates, roughly as "Life in Germany: It's the same as England. Almost". And really it is. I think I was all prepared for something completely and utterly different but actually, it's not all that far removed from English life.
Sure, there are differences; driving on the right, (multiple) bins in train stations for all sorts of waste and attitudes towards smoking.
In Germany it's much more acceptable to light up and cigarette advertising is prolific. In England, I forget the last time I saw an advert for cigarettes or any adverts where cigarettes featured in some small way. Here it's hard to go more than a few 100 metres without bumping into something promoting smoking or cigarettes. You can even buy your ciggies from vending machines on the street! In the supermarkets by the tills where in England you'd find sweets and chewing gum and other 'last minute buys' you will find cigarettes and little miniature bottles of booze alongside the confectionery.
And I'm pretty sure I've never even SEEN a bin in an English train station except maybe in a quintessentially old English village in the backwaters of the countryside where it may quite conceivably be the ONLY public bin for miles. I've also never seen so many different Heinz sauces in one place, which a brief trip to the local store recently revealed. It was eye-opening, let me tell you. I didn't even know half of those sauces existed!
I guess other people's experiences might be hugely different, but for me, aside from wondering first thing in the morning what the strange language going on around me is, Germany isn't as drastically different as I perhaps imagined it would be. Culture is all about "the way we do things 'round 'ere" and I'm sure, as time wears on, more differences will arise, particularly when the time comes for me to brave things on my own. At the moment I am blissfully unaware what is a typical German trait and what is a quirk of the family I'm living with.
So for now, I'll embrace the little differences and oddities that have cropped up into my everyday life and, at least for the time being, I'll not be too upset about swapping my tea for coffee. I'd been going off tea anyway.
These weeks have simultaneously felt like an eternity and yet have wooshed passed in a flash of coffees, German verbs and cake; not to mention the wurst, kase and brot! In that time, whilst I still frequently have a blank look on my face as someone talks merrily away to me in Deutsch, I have to some extent gained a grounding in a language I could only before butcher everytime I opened my mouth. (That's not to say I don't still destroy it - I continually deal with Germans looking at me in incredulous disbelief after I've said something. And the little girl I look after tells me I don't know German - which, ironically, she says in German.)
Hopefully the title of this post translates, roughly as "Life in Germany: It's the same as England. Almost". And really it is. I think I was all prepared for something completely and utterly different but actually, it's not all that far removed from English life.
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| Have you ever seen so many varieties of Heinz sauces? |
In Germany it's much more acceptable to light up and cigarette advertising is prolific. In England, I forget the last time I saw an advert for cigarettes or any adverts where cigarettes featured in some small way. Here it's hard to go more than a few 100 metres without bumping into something promoting smoking or cigarettes. You can even buy your ciggies from vending machines on the street! In the supermarkets by the tills where in England you'd find sweets and chewing gum and other 'last minute buys' you will find cigarettes and little miniature bottles of booze alongside the confectionery.
And I'm pretty sure I've never even SEEN a bin in an English train station except maybe in a quintessentially old English village in the backwaters of the countryside where it may quite conceivably be the ONLY public bin for miles. I've also never seen so many different Heinz sauces in one place, which a brief trip to the local store recently revealed. It was eye-opening, let me tell you. I didn't even know half of those sauces existed!
I guess other people's experiences might be hugely different, but for me, aside from wondering first thing in the morning what the strange language going on around me is, Germany isn't as drastically different as I perhaps imagined it would be. Culture is all about "the way we do things 'round 'ere" and I'm sure, as time wears on, more differences will arise, particularly when the time comes for me to brave things on my own. At the moment I am blissfully unaware what is a typical German trait and what is a quirk of the family I'm living with.
So for now, I'll embrace the little differences and oddities that have cropped up into my everyday life and, at least for the time being, I'll not be too upset about swapping my tea for coffee. I'd been going off tea anyway.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Hello Germany, I'm here!
I made it. I actually made it.
Four (quite long) days ago I stepped off a plane and made my way to the Arrivals lounge of Frankfurt International Airport. There I was greeted by three Germans, ready to welcome me into their family for the next three months.
I type this in my new home in the middle of the German countryside watching Fireman Sam, or rather Feuerwehrmann Sam. It's not quite how I remember it growing up as a child in England. Sam et al appear to have turned into Pontypandy's super rescue A team; not only putting out fires and saving kittens from rooftops but becoming Pontypandy's coastguard too.
I should probably point out that I'm watching Feuerwehrmann Sam on my own. Anna, the five-year old girl I'm here to look after for the next three months, is at Kindergarten. The TV is on to try and ease the eerie lack of noise in my new home (and also to help with my learning the German language.)
Everyone warns you moving country is a big deal, but no one quite prepares you for the change!
And it has definitely been a change. Taking everything I want for my life in Germany, and using only a plane to take it, somewhat limits what can be packed. Despite moving house over 12 times in the last eight years, I've often failed to clear out unwanted items; habit, time and personal nature resulted in me chucking most of what I own into the back of a car and hoping for the best.
This time, packing a Ford Feista to its gills was not an option. This time, I had just one large suitcase, one small suitcase and a handbag (thank God for BA's generous hand luggage allowance!). This time, my whole life had to fit into 46kg give or take a few hundred grams.
I'm a natural hoarder (a gene I've inherited from my father who would keep anything 'just in case'), so ruthlessly going through my clothes created THREE bags of items I no longer wore, and several pairs of shoes that had seen significantly better days. Not to mention the collection of general things I no longer used, picture frames, cables, jewellery, little gifts from people I'd never opened, unburned candles, endless toiletries I didn't need. However even after getting rid of several bags worth of items it took me days to make everything I wanted/needed to fit in my suitcase. (And we'll just not talk about the small collection of items I've wistfully left in England with the plea to anyone coming out to visit to bring an item or two with them...)
Now the drama of the cases is over and done with - well until the next move - the next challenge is settling into German life, learning the German language and not forgetting to drive on the right (so far I've not actually got behind the wheel of a car though so that's not such a problem).
I do, however, really miss breakfast cereal.
Four (quite long) days ago I stepped off a plane and made my way to the Arrivals lounge of Frankfurt International Airport. There I was greeted by three Germans, ready to welcome me into their family for the next three months.
I type this in my new home in the middle of the German countryside watching Fireman Sam, or rather Feuerwehrmann Sam. It's not quite how I remember it growing up as a child in England. Sam et al appear to have turned into Pontypandy's super rescue A team; not only putting out fires and saving kittens from rooftops but becoming Pontypandy's coastguard too.
I should probably point out that I'm watching Feuerwehrmann Sam on my own. Anna, the five-year old girl I'm here to look after for the next three months, is at Kindergarten. The TV is on to try and ease the eerie lack of noise in my new home (and also to help with my learning the German language.)
Everyone warns you moving country is a big deal, but no one quite prepares you for the change!
And it has definitely been a change. Taking everything I want for my life in Germany, and using only a plane to take it, somewhat limits what can be packed. Despite moving house over 12 times in the last eight years, I've often failed to clear out unwanted items; habit, time and personal nature resulted in me chucking most of what I own into the back of a car and hoping for the best.
This time, packing a Ford Feista to its gills was not an option. This time, I had just one large suitcase, one small suitcase and a handbag (thank God for BA's generous hand luggage allowance!). This time, my whole life had to fit into 46kg give or take a few hundred grams.
I'm a natural hoarder (a gene I've inherited from my father who would keep anything 'just in case'), so ruthlessly going through my clothes created THREE bags of items I no longer wore, and several pairs of shoes that had seen significantly better days. Not to mention the collection of general things I no longer used, picture frames, cables, jewellery, little gifts from people I'd never opened, unburned candles, endless toiletries I didn't need. However even after getting rid of several bags worth of items it took me days to make everything I wanted/needed to fit in my suitcase. (And we'll just not talk about the small collection of items I've wistfully left in England with the plea to anyone coming out to visit to bring an item or two with them...)
Now the drama of the cases is over and done with - well until the next move - the next challenge is settling into German life, learning the German language and not forgetting to drive on the right (so far I've not actually got behind the wheel of a car though so that's not such a problem).
I do, however, really miss breakfast cereal.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Review:The Last Train Home and other stories by Erin Lawless
The art of the short story is one that, when mastered, produces artfully compact, tantalisingly brief episodes with characters and settings. It is a dreamlike - or nightmarish - encounter with characters that have, at one point or another, chosen to etch themselves in the minds of their creators. To create one good short story - let alone several (The Last Train Home contains 16 beautifully formed pockets of life) - requires an ability to form characters in a mere sentence and an enthralling storyline in less than half a paragraph. Short stories are essentially dreams captured on paper.
Thankfully this is a skill Erin Lawless possesses. In The Last Train Home and Other Stories, she somehow manages to capture her audience's imagination within an instant over and over again.
While many of the stories featured in The Last Train Home seem to follow a similar formula involving a two person interaction, Erin Lawless has succeeded in making the reader feel as though they have just consumed several different bitesized tales. Perfect for a quick delve into fiction on the commute home.
And while each story is self-contained, there's certainly room for some of these snippets to evolve into novellas, serving as prologues or key chapters in a longer creation.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
2012: Time For A Change
Over the last few months this blog has somewhat been lacking posts and for this I apologise. It is not because I have become slack at blogging. Far from it in fact. For the last few months I have found myself writing, editing and running blogs for others (most notably Anya 17 and Hope City Frankfurt). Only thing is, between that and holding down two part time jobs, it left me with no time to write in my own blog (although with probably only six readers in the whole wide interweb I doubt my ramblings have been missed too much!). But now it's 2012, it's time to pick up the old keyboard and screen and start over.
I don't believe in New Year's Resolutions (mainly because I am abysmal at sticking to them), but for me, 2012 presents a long-awaited beginning which should at least be documented in the semi-permanence of the internet [purely for it to be lost in cyberspace and then one day rediscovered by some unsuspecting hacker who probably hasn't even been born yet, you understand].
The dawning of 2012 marks the final steps towards probably one of the biggest and slightly more mental decisions of my life. In a matter of months, nay weeks (job, flights and accommodation permitting), my pale little English face will soon be finding home amongst throngs of German ones as I set up life in Frankfurt.
Yes, at 26 bizarre and wonderful years of age, I am going to leave my mother country and attempt to live in a land where to be honest, I can hardly order a coffee and my ability of asking for cake with it involves saying "Kanne Ich........... [long pause as I point widely]...die kucken?" (Apologies to anyone who can actually speak German and is aware of the shocking language assault I just performed, please bare with me.)
It might seem like a mad, hair-brained idea (my mother is less convinced it is now following several lengthy discussions about it over the last ten months) but I'm a believer of destiny and calling and I'm as sure as I can be that moving to Germany is part of an incredible plan for my life. Sure, if you'd told me three years ago that this is what 2012 would look like, I'd have probably thought you were, well, not altogether there, shall we say?
It certainly wasn't part of my original life plan dreamt up years ago when, aged about six, a teacher asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. In that version of my life, I was probably the secret sixth member of the Famous Five, grew up on the dark Heathcliffian moors and could talk to any book character I pleased. Or I was a secret mutant human, part of Xavier's school for the gifted, best friends with Bill and Ted and able to ride any horse I wanted. I probably also told this teacher I wanted to be a jockey or a vet or a Thunderbird or something. I definitely never imagined living in another country (living in fiction was enough, obviously). Not until I was 13 at least and began to harbour desires of being a journalist in the Big Apple a la Sex In The City (although I had no idea who the heck Carrie Bradshaw was) did my life plan ever consider a bit of healthy emigration.
But now, now I'm actually alive in 2012 and it isn't some ethereal, slightly futuristic number given to a year in the distant future, now, I've come to realise that my life plan doesn't really matter. What matters is that I live in the destiny I've been called for. I cannot wait to live in Germany no matter how daunting it may seem. There's only one go at this life so I might as well give it my best shot and take the bull by the horns.
You're welcome to join me for the ride.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Rioting, Looting and the Broom Army: A Social Networked Response
There was a day this summer where I was simultaneously proud and ashamed of my country and the people in it. In August 2011 the British newspapers suddenly had something to talk about on what would have otherwise been a slow news day. What's more, they could speculate on the impact of social media on our society.
It was one of those weeks where you'll remember where you were as you watched the surreal, movie-esque news coverage of London burning. Watching BBC News late on the Monday night I was waiting, almost willing, the credits to roll; as if this was all some terribly realistic film that would soon be over leaving us all thinking how wonderfully lucky we are that this was a clever cinematic creation.
But the credits didn't roll and London continued to burn.
It burned in Tottenham, it burned in Enfield, it burned in Clapham. Five generations of family business lit up the London skyline in Croyden.
Twitter was all a-flap with news of the latest developments, as unbelieving eyes and ears took on board what they were living through. Facebook was littered with messages of love and concern, disbelief and fear of the events unravelling across the capital. As time wore on, these messages were added to with photos and videos hastily put together by Joe public. It became apparent that the riots of 2011 had taken hold of social media and they weren't about to let go.
In the breakfast news of Tuesday morning the London Eye was set against a backdrop of smoke, a stark reminder that the previous night's events weren't merely a War of the Worlds remake.
While the daylight allowed the nation to take in the true horror of the night before there was still hope for humanity. Amid the claims social media sites had been used to encouraged the riots; Twitter, Facebook and a heap of other social networks were loud with information on clean up jobs happening across the country and the encouragement to join in if you could.
While the newspapers clattered about with reports of people inciting violence through using Blackberry Messenger to bring together what would have otherwise been an unorganised riffraff; the general public used the same social media networks to mobilise an army of defiant retaliation.
Epitomised by one iPhone captured image on the streets of London of the so-called Broom Army, Twitter, Facebook and the rest, empowered individuals to come together in a comradery arguably not dis-similar to the "keep calm and carry on" attitude we British like to believe prevailed through wartime in the early twentieth century.
The British Riots of the summer of 2011 showed the good and the ugly side of social media. If we learnt one thing, it's that social networks hold the power to motivate a people into action - be it for good or for destruction. After the initial start in London, riots elsewhere in the country appeared to be a bunch of individuals coming together to jump on a bandwagon and join in for whatever they could get - all supposedly inspired by tweets and facebook posts.
Social media, while perhaps a vital tool in aiding groups of hapless individuals to reek havoc in their cities, also provided the antidote to the mindless destruction. Even the Police forces were in on the social media. South Yorkshire Police used Twitter to inform those in the area of the lack of riots happening in the region. (As a Sheffield resident I just want to say here how proud I am of the youth, teenagers and young adults of South Yorkshire for not rioting.) Videos captured on mobile phones and posted on internet sites aided the naming and shaming of people involved. People rallied together in the post-riot shambles, inspired by the support coming from Twitter and Facebook.
Without social media networks the events of August 2011 could have been very different. The riots might not have spread beyond the localised attacks in Brixton, but the unity and sense of community as people rose up against the rioters and looters was enhanced by social media networks. And in these times of uncertainty, community and unity is exactly what Britain needs. Long live social media!
It was one of those weeks where you'll remember where you were as you watched the surreal, movie-esque news coverage of London burning. Watching BBC News late on the Monday night I was waiting, almost willing, the credits to roll; as if this was all some terribly realistic film that would soon be over leaving us all thinking how wonderfully lucky we are that this was a clever cinematic creation.
But the credits didn't roll and London continued to burn.
It burned in Tottenham, it burned in Enfield, it burned in Clapham. Five generations of family business lit up the London skyline in Croyden.
Twitter was all a-flap with news of the latest developments, as unbelieving eyes and ears took on board what they were living through. Facebook was littered with messages of love and concern, disbelief and fear of the events unravelling across the capital. As time wore on, these messages were added to with photos and videos hastily put together by Joe public. It became apparent that the riots of 2011 had taken hold of social media and they weren't about to let go.
In the breakfast news of Tuesday morning the London Eye was set against a backdrop of smoke, a stark reminder that the previous night's events weren't merely a War of the Worlds remake.
While the daylight allowed the nation to take in the true horror of the night before there was still hope for humanity. Amid the claims social media sites had been used to encouraged the riots; Twitter, Facebook and a heap of other social networks were loud with information on clean up jobs happening across the country and the encouragement to join in if you could.
While the newspapers clattered about with reports of people inciting violence through using Blackberry Messenger to bring together what would have otherwise been an unorganised riffraff; the general public used the same social media networks to mobilise an army of defiant retaliation.
Epitomised by one iPhone captured image on the streets of London of the so-called Broom Army, Twitter, Facebook and the rest, empowered individuals to come together in a comradery arguably not dis-similar to the "keep calm and carry on" attitude we British like to believe prevailed through wartime in the early twentieth century.
The British Riots of the summer of 2011 showed the good and the ugly side of social media. If we learnt one thing, it's that social networks hold the power to motivate a people into action - be it for good or for destruction. After the initial start in London, riots elsewhere in the country appeared to be a bunch of individuals coming together to jump on a bandwagon and join in for whatever they could get - all supposedly inspired by tweets and facebook posts.
Social media, while perhaps a vital tool in aiding groups of hapless individuals to reek havoc in their cities, also provided the antidote to the mindless destruction. Even the Police forces were in on the social media. South Yorkshire Police used Twitter to inform those in the area of the lack of riots happening in the region. (As a Sheffield resident I just want to say here how proud I am of the youth, teenagers and young adults of South Yorkshire for not rioting.) Videos captured on mobile phones and posted on internet sites aided the naming and shaming of people involved. People rallied together in the post-riot shambles, inspired by the support coming from Twitter and Facebook.
Without social media networks the events of August 2011 could have been very different. The riots might not have spread beyond the localised attacks in Brixton, but the unity and sense of community as people rose up against the rioters and looters was enhanced by social media networks. And in these times of uncertainty, community and unity is exactly what Britain needs. Long live social media!
Friday, December 31, 2010
Music: Ones to watch in 2011
It's that time of year again; time for round ups, retrospective opinions and contemplative previews.
As December draws to its wintery end and the world gears itself for a fresh batch of 365 days seen in with a decent amount of revelry here's some music to add to your NYE playlist of acts to watch in 2011. (So when they make it big next year, you can feel smug knowing you've been ahead of the game)
The Joy Formidable
Ritzy, Rhydian and Matt are otherwise known as The Joy Formidable and come highly recommended by Radio 1's new music connoisseur, Huw Stephens. This spritely, enthusiastic little Welsh band have been doing the rounds for a good few years and have just completed a tour of the US.
2011 sees the release of their debut album The Big Roar at the end of January. It is preceded by the single Austere (check out the new video), available on limited edition vinyl and to download from January 17th.
All that is followed by a tour kicking off in February, which takes them across the UK, Europe, back to the US and to 2011's SXSW in Texas.
If you can't wait a few weeks to hear more then lurking in the depths of the internet is their previous EP A Balloon Called Moaning.
Little Comets
Another band releasing their debut album in January 2011, and also hotly tipped by Huw Stephens, are northern foursome Little Comets. Think the Mystery Jets meet The Coral and you might end up somewhere close to the sound of Matt, Mark, Michael and Robert.
Hailing from Sunderland and Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Little Comets have already created an extensive fan base and gained a notoriety for gatecrashing university lectures and performing on public transport.
After the success of previous singles Adultery, One Night In October and Isles, Little Comets are set to grace airwaves up and down the country with the release of their debut album In Search of the Elusive Little Comets at the end of January.
Catch them on tour at a venue near you in January starting at Liverpool's Shipping Forecast on the 28th.
Everything Everything
Technically Everything Everything aren't a brand new, emerging act for 2011 but they are taking part on the NME Shockwaves Awards Tour which has often provided a platform for bands ready to hit the mainstream bigtime (notably The Killers, Bloc Party, We Are Scientists and Arctic Monkeys).
Sounding a little like a noughties indie version of The Pet Shop Boys (and that's a good thing), Manchester quartet Everything Everything are already leaving their mark with their 2010 album Man Alive.
Expect great, probably slightly surreal, things from this band in 2011. They've been 6 Music's album of the day, met Rolf Harris on a ferry and have already hidden themselves away to write that "difficult second album".
If you want to get a taste of Everything Everything and their more than slightly quirky style then check out the single Photoshop Handsome - available to download from January 17th - or their previous single My KZ Ur BF.
The Go! Team
If you've never come across The Go! Team before you have been missing an audio/visual treat. They are a six piece from Brighton and 2011 brings a brand new album that's bound to be jam-packed with feel-good bouncy tunes galore.
Rolling Blackouts is due for release at the end of January. It is the third album from the band and looks set to continue their happy, psychedelic party throwback sound.
February will see the band make a welcome return to the live scene, starting with a show in London's Heaven on February 8th. If you've wanted to see how a band incorporate various instruments including an African Thumb piano, harmonica and glockenspiel into a rock band, The Go! Team are the ones to catch.
Educate your ears with hits from their 2004 debut Thunder Lightning Strike and a few previews of the new album.
Alice Gold
She looks a bit like a moody Joss Stone or a tastefully dressed Jennifer Ellison and sounds like PJ Harvey got pumped full of adrenaline. She's recently supported Athlete on their UK tour, unleashing her attitude-laden voice and guitar rock on the unsuspecting crowd.
Born in Camberley, Alice started writing at age eight, toured America on her own in a 1978 Winnebago and generally appeared to live a bit of a nomadic-esque life according to her myspace profile.
Keep your ears out for her album Seven Rainbows which is due in the summer, and expect a single in early 2011. Describing her sound to The Sun as 'psychedelic pop played with soul' Alice is sure to crop up in the music press every now and then if nothing else.
So that's it, your five to listen out for in 2011. This list isn't by any means comprehensive; comment, criticise and add your own top tips below.
Other notable acts to make sure you delight your ears with include Sheffield band Feelix, James Blake, Lyrikkal (she's nine and could give Willow Smith a run for her dad's money) and if you haven't happened across these yet make sure you give Sleigh Bells and Cold War Kids (who are back with a new album) a listen.
As December draws to its wintery end and the world gears itself for a fresh batch of 365 days seen in with a decent amount of revelry here's some music to add to your NYE playlist of acts to watch in 2011. (So when they make it big next year, you can feel smug knowing you've been ahead of the game)
The Joy Formidable
2011 sees the release of their debut album The Big Roar at the end of January. It is preceded by the single Austere (check out the new video), available on limited edition vinyl and to download from January 17th.
All that is followed by a tour kicking off in February, which takes them across the UK, Europe, back to the US and to 2011's SXSW in Texas.
If you can't wait a few weeks to hear more then lurking in the depths of the internet is their previous EP A Balloon Called Moaning.
Another band releasing their debut album in January 2011, and also hotly tipped by Huw Stephens, are northern foursome Little Comets. Think the Mystery Jets meet The Coral and you might end up somewhere close to the sound of Matt, Mark, Michael and Robert.
Hailing from Sunderland and Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Little Comets have already created an extensive fan base and gained a notoriety for gatecrashing university lectures and performing on public transport.
After the success of previous singles Adultery, One Night In October and Isles, Little Comets are set to grace airwaves up and down the country with the release of their debut album In Search of the Elusive Little Comets at the end of January.
Catch them on tour at a venue near you in January starting at Liverpool's Shipping Forecast on the 28th.
Everything Everything
Technically Everything Everything aren't a brand new, emerging act for 2011 but they are taking part on the NME Shockwaves Awards Tour which has often provided a platform for bands ready to hit the mainstream bigtime (notably The Killers, Bloc Party, We Are Scientists and Arctic Monkeys).
Sounding a little like a noughties indie version of The Pet Shop Boys (and that's a good thing), Manchester quartet Everything Everything are already leaving their mark with their 2010 album Man Alive.
Expect great, probably slightly surreal, things from this band in 2011. They've been 6 Music's album of the day, met Rolf Harris on a ferry and have already hidden themselves away to write that "difficult second album".
If you want to get a taste of Everything Everything and their more than slightly quirky style then check out the single Photoshop Handsome - available to download from January 17th - or their previous single My KZ Ur BF.
The Go! Team
Rolling Blackouts is due for release at the end of January. It is the third album from the band and looks set to continue their happy, psychedelic party throwback sound.
February will see the band make a welcome return to the live scene, starting with a show in London's Heaven on February 8th. If you've wanted to see how a band incorporate various instruments including an African Thumb piano, harmonica and glockenspiel into a rock band, The Go! Team are the ones to catch.
Educate your ears with hits from their 2004 debut Thunder Lightning Strike and a few previews of the new album.
Alice Gold
Born in Camberley, Alice started writing at age eight, toured America on her own in a 1978 Winnebago and generally appeared to live a bit of a nomadic-esque life according to her myspace profile.
Keep your ears out for her album Seven Rainbows which is due in the summer, and expect a single in early 2011. Describing her sound to The Sun as 'psychedelic pop played with soul' Alice is sure to crop up in the music press every now and then if nothing else.
So that's it, your five to listen out for in 2011. This list isn't by any means comprehensive; comment, criticise and add your own top tips below.
Other notable acts to make sure you delight your ears with include Sheffield band Feelix, James Blake, Lyrikkal (she's nine and could give Willow Smith a run for her dad's money) and if you haven't happened across these yet make sure you give Sleigh Bells and Cold War Kids (who are back with a new album) a listen.
Monday, December 27, 2010
LIVE REVIEW: Athlete O2 Academy Sheffield November 29 2010
First published by Sheffield's free magazine Exposed
Photos to follow just as soon as I get them uploaded!
Photos to follow just as soon as I get them uploaded!
Athlete
O2 Academy, Sheffield
November 29th 2010
4/5
For unbeknown reasons, Athlete have never really hit the so-called Big Time. Even the success of 2002's album Vehicles and Animals or hit single, Wires, in 2005, hasn't seen them secure a coveted place in the indie hall of fame. (Although they did secure an Ivor Novello Award for Wires). Where others have soared in a giddy haze to the top, Athlete have been the steady tortoise, plodding faithfully, writing beautiful songs and producing stalwart albums.
Yet in the intimate venue upstairs at Sheffield's O2 Academy, competing against the beats of Vampire Weekend downstairs, Athlete prove just why they have sustained a firm and varied fan base. Tonight they are supported by local singer songwriter Stoney and a girl called Alice Gold who looks like Joss Stone and sounds like an attitude laden PJ Harvey.
Athlete's Joel Pott takes to the stage with his acoustic guitar and mix track and launches into You Got The Style. Considering the weather outside is threatening a snow blizzard, it's the perfect ironic start - Oh it's getting hot in here, must be something in the atmosphere – to a beautiful night.
Immediately the room is in full voice, singing along. As they abandon the setlist for a moment, the boys crank out Vehicles and Animals, swiftly followed by Westside – complete with Joel forgetting the lyrics and a brilliant little bit of heckling and banter between stage and crowd.
Athlete have drawn a Sheffield crowd that spans generations and includes some fans who witnessed the band perform ten years ago supporting Mansun at the Leadmill.
It's feel good, it's melancholic, it's downright cheerful in places. Whatever you think of Athlete, make sure you catch them live next time they grace a Sheffield venue. Surveying the audience tonight as they dispel onto snowy Arundel Gate, every face displays a smile despite the freezing weather. You won't be disappointed.
Monday, November 1, 2010
LIVE REVIEW: Just a Band - Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip, Plug, Sheffield
Dan le Sac vs Scroobius Pip
Plug, Sheffield
October 27th 2010
4/5
This review was written for Exposed (exposedmagazine.co.uk), Sheffield
It's been over three years since they graced our airwaves with a satirical social commentary on NME and the supremacy of Stephen Fry but Dan le Sac and his bearded pal Scroobius Pip are back. Stopping off in an energetic Sheffield to play Plug, which, in Scroobius' words, looks like a laser quest venue, they bought a quirky American lady by the name of Kid A and Birmingham septet Misty's Big Adventure with them.
Kid A, otherwise known as Anni T, can only be described as Bjork meets Morcheeba to a background of electronica beats. The voice of Sac vs Pip's latest single release, Cauliflower, Kid A opened the night in an unassumingly pleasant way.
Misty's Big Adventure, on the other hand, launched into their set with provoking poetry and a tune not dissimilar to the Batman cartoon theme. It's rare a support brings so many feel good vibes as Misty's Big Adventure. Imagine The Go! Team crossbred with The Zutons and you might be close to the hunched over excitable band complete with trumpet and baritone sax. Their emo-spoof, I Want A Biscuit, You Can't Have One was a definite highlight.
Despite a series of hit songs a few years back, Dan le Sac vs Scroobius Pip are still very much on the backburner of the mainstream. Opening with Sick Tonight, they immediately get the Sheffield audience on side, Dan dropping beats only he knows how to perfectly complements Pip's half spoken, half sung vocals.
Even as the boys pull out more melancholic tracks, including The Magician's Assistant, they strike a balance with humour about dwarves and three children sneaking into the gig on each others' shoulders. After a solemn moment in memory of a lad called Jamie, Scroobius and Dan pull out the track that first snuck onto the iPods of the crowd – Thou Shalt Always Kill. With the crowd singing back every word as they bounce around, the song ramps up the gig for the final part of the nigt.
Saving hits The Beat That My Heart Skipped and Letter From God To Man for the encore, complete with Pip's longest crowdsurf in which he kicked a mirror ball, these too likely lads from Essex leave the northern audience on a high and disappear.
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