It's been a strange couple of weeks. After accepting a job offer from UWE, I received another from the University of Liverpool, and spent a long weekend in Syon Park in London (more on that in a minute) agonising over one of the most important decisions I've ever had to make. Prestige and rare books at Liverpool, or exciting technological developments and a broader role at modern UWE? Long story short, I am still, now, preparing to move to Bristol. I have a room in a shared house and everything, once I've paid the agents' fee and the deposit, and have started having anxiety dreams about turning up to my first ay at work horrendously late or drunk. Neither has ever happened in my life, though there was a memorable morning at Gladstone's Library, after the staff Christmas party, during which I crawled miserably out of bed and dragged some decent clothes on while Googling hangover cures, then chose my breakfast in the dining room accordingly (boiled eggs, heaps of toast and a bucket of green tea, if I remember rightly).
I am still tea-ladying, and have spent the couple of weekends with the Foodies Festival in Syon Park and Birmingham. Syon Park is in Brentford, the other end of London, and we camped on the field near a wood, in which the trees were full of tuneful green parakeets. My boss' dad, who helps her out, told me that one of the sotries regarding the parakeets is once, Prince himself brought them to the Park during a festival,set them free, and they bred and became permanent residents. No records of this exist online, as far as I can tell, but it is a fabulous story. It was sadly a pretty quiet weekend, and we had so few customers at one piint that we sat at one of the tables with cups of ginger beer and watched people make a fool of themselves in the chilli-eating challenge. I'll say this too - of all the stops so far on the tour, the Londoners have been the stingiest tippers. In Birmingham our customers were much more fun and more generous; the fact that every time someone leaves a tip, we encourage them to ring the bell as we all shout "Woohoo!!" tickled a lot of people. I am looking forward to leaving waitressing behind, thanks for asking.
This does seem like a lot of inane wittering while the story of the Orlando shooting still unfolds. I'm trying to keep this blog a positive space, but it feels wrong to publish something without commenting, whatever my comments are worth. I'm just trying to think through it myself. Life is still going on, and I forgot about it for a couple of hours over dinner. It's such a horrible, horrible, incomprehensible thing, and some of the reactions to it are disconcerting, even disregarding (as every human should) the fluffheaded arsewipe Donald Trump. As soon as I heard the news, and heard that it was being described as a terrorist attack, my heart sank even further - when I heard the name of the suspect, I knew immediately why. If the gunman had been white, any speculation would've pegged him as mentally ill. Because he wasn't white, straightaway the links are being made to IS. Never mind that the attack was clearly driven by homophobia more than anything else, which everyone knows is a strong thread in many forms of Christianity, and other religions, in the USA and beyond. Of 998 mass shootings in America since Sandy Hook, 2 were by Muslims, and 100 per cent of the 998 were carried out by men. That's a statistic precisely no one can argue with, a statistic that Americans should be paying most attention to, not braying about Islamic extremists and the need for 'vigilance' and more guns. I'm heartsick. And sad this blog took such a dark turn. I just couldn't natter on about myself without thinking about it, and I couldn't wait until the horror was over to publish because once I begin a blog post, it tumbles out of me and can't be stopped. And there would in all likelihood be another mass shooting across the pond while I was waiting. All I can think of when contemplating the news is that Fred Rogers quote: 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.' And, as ever, there are.
So, exciting things and heartbreaking things. Ticking off another item on the To DO List, and adding about three or four more. I flick between choosing the perfect pair of white leather Keds to wear to my new job, and checking the BBC live feed for updates on Orlando. Soon I'll be picking a date to move and starting to pack my life up, again. I have three bin liners of old stuff to take to the charity shop, and this week might finally be the week I take them up, and clear several feet of space in my bedroom. I'll go shopping for a good pair of work trousers. We keep on, that little bit heavier than before.
Syon House. One of the last few privately-owned ducal residences. Trés pretty.
We went for drinks one night in Richmond, and I failed to take a decent photo.
The view of Foodies Festival from across a pond in Cannon Hill Park, Birmingham. We went for a long wander while the bosses packed down the marquee.
I'm listening to: Here I Am by Tom Odell. It's been a while since I've liked an artist so mainstream, but this is stuck in my head and I actually don't mind. It's dramatic and ballad-y and I can't help but dance when I listen to it. I'm listening to it right now. In fact, I've written the majority of this blog post to the album. Especially 'Still Getting Used to Being On My Own', which resonates for all the reasons.
I'm eating: chocolate brownies with white chocolate chunks, baked by me (with a few tweaks, just because) to the best recipe ever.
I'm writing: some dull freelance articles about saving money. Well, I'm meant to be (I've written about forty of these, and it's getting difficult to think of new ways to say it). Instead I'm writing this blog. And contemplating my short story/possibly novel about a rebel monarch.
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