On The Brink

For some reason, I have just ironed everything I own. There was a good reason to do some ironing as I’m going to put some stuff on eBay; and that done, I just couldn’t stop, so I ironed all the dresses I’m taking to Towersey and even some of the shirts.

That was yesterday.

I’ve just written a packing list. This is to put off the awful moment when I have to dive into our garage. Due to the building works, it contains – apparently – half the furniture we own. There’s  a very high possibility that I will never emerge, that I’ll get swallowed into some kind of furniture-based wormhole and go gallivanting with fawns and lions and ice queens. Or, let’s be honest, knocked out when a shelf falls on my head.

This packing list features spectacularly middle class who-takes-THAT-camping items such as ‘cafetiere’ and ‘PILLOW!!!’ as well as the mysterious FMGFN – fizzy-make-good-feel-nice, or Alka-Seltzer to anyone unfamiliar with Black Books.

It also includes some ‘well, duh’ items such as ‘TICKET!!!!’ and ‘toothpaste’ because those are the kind of stupid moronic things I always forget.

I am also taking my knitting, a sudoku book, and some novels, because you never know what might happen and you might find yourself stranded without entertainment within seconds and thank goodness you had that knitting there to do. I expect I won’t use any of those things but you have to be prepared, don’t you?

I am mainly fretting, though, because I have yet to buy a filter for my camera lens. I gather there’s a photographic shop in the nearby town so I will google this later and then promptly forget where it is.

And it’s going to rain constantly. Don’t try to tell me otherwise.

Erm, yes, pictures *sensible face*. As usual, click to see full-size. And, because you’re all nice people, please credit me if you want to use these photos for anything and don’t go making any money out of my artwork…!

Plants, see? And, like, focus in ALL THE RIGHT PLACES. I’m sort of quite proud of myself. Bother sensible-face.

What I’m not so pleased about is the fact that I don’t know the names of any of these plants.

Sorry, yes, I think in their camera-owning lives everyone takes at least one photo of a rusty chain to show off how clever they are.

I don’t know why I really like this one, but I do. Ditto the following.

Now, for some knitting. The photos aren’t excellent, mainly due to the lighting situation (poor). The project in question will be a shawl, hopefully sometime within the next few days. I’d like to have cast off before I go to Towersey and preferably, depending on how long it takes, blocked it too, so that I have the option of wearing it at Towersey. It’s quite a festival-chic thing, actually, ideally. I started off knitting it in a soft peach wool I found in my mother’s knitting bag. Obviously I ran out of that well before I thought I would; so I added in some yellow which personally I think works really well because it sort of clashes, but then I would say that. I think it’ll work better if I work the last few rows in a browny-grey colour I also found in the knitting bag, just for extra added clash. If I wear it with fairly plain, simple colours it should work quite well. In a kind of gypsy/hobo kind of a way. Preferably with fingerless gloves and a brazier made from an old oil barrel.

I’m quite pleased with how it’s turning out given that I originally expected to screw up massively and make a rather lopsided generic knitted Thing – I didn’t buy wool with which to make this because it genuinely was meant to be a prototype, so if it does turn out to be something I actively want to wear that is, really, a massive bonus. So it sort of doesn’t matter if I decide I don’t think the colours are right after all (I’m mainly not convinced they’ll suit my skintone. I can’t really wear yellow, much to my chagrin). But we’ll see.

When it’s finished, there will be more photos, don’t you worry. Perhaps even modelled by me, myself.

Basically whilst all you boys are fighting it out on my last post, here are some pretty pictures for everyone else… I got a new camera for my birthday – a Canon 400D for those who are interested – and took some pretty good photos. I even got a few (not so brilliant) photos of my knitting project, which I’ll talk about a bit more later. I believe (and you all know by now how hopeless I am at all this kind of thing) that if you click on the image it will link to a full size version on a page of its very own – and please do click because they’re rather good, if I do say so myself, but lets be honest that’s mainly due to the camera. Which, before you ask, I love, fiercely and a little bit maternally.

Basically we went to Kingston Lacey. I drove, I ran a red light, everyone managed not to have a heart-attack and die, my sister managed to simultaneously have a minor panic attack and constantly mediate between Dad and The World, and actually I think I drove reasonably well under quite difficult circumstances.

I fell in love with this little man and his twin and took billions of photos of which this and the following are two of the best.

Everybody likes sewing machines.

Plants and knitting picture spam to follow but for now I have a game of Scrabble to play!

Now facebook has been around for a few years, and the students who first got facebook have grown up a bit and meanwhile everyone has facebook anyway, peoples’ kids and babies have started popping up there. You see albums of first ultrasound scans, newborns, first birthday parties, second birthday parties, so-and-so’s first day at school in brand new uniform with crisp box-creased chequered dresses and sweaters and shiny new shoes, standing on the doorstep. And it goes on.

I’m not sure if I can put my finger on why, but this makes me deeply uneasy. I know that if I had children I would be deeply proud of them and think them the most beautiful, wonderful things in the world. And I can understand why you’d want to put photos of your child up there in the same way that you put up holiday photos to show everyone else how happy you were and what a great tan you got and how spectacularly cultured you are – it’s that thing about facebook actually being a way of presenting yourself to the world, advertising your depths of maternal feeling and how cute your child looks in a sun-bonnet.

I really don’t think it’s a good idea. Not just because no-one wants all their friends to see their baby photos and you know that if facebook is still around when those kids get accounts of their own, they will get tagged in all of those photos by amused – or even, perhaps, malicious – friends.

That’s not really what concerns me, though, and I don’t know what it is about this that does concern me. Small kids in passing, yeah, sure – if your holiday album happens to contain a few photos of your family which may include your baby daughter or nephew or sister in the same way that peoples’ grandparents and parents crop up in facebook albums from time to time – I don’t have the same kind of problem with that.

It’s a privacy thing, and it’s unnerving. It’s the idea that peoples’ whole private lives are going to be archived on the internet, that children will never be, somehow, quite so free or unobserved again, now there’s the internet. I really don’t mind what data the government has on me or my family and I don’t think I disagree with things like ID cards or DNA-testing the whole population (if it could be proven that it’s not going to throw up erroneous matches and place me at the scene of a murder in Buckinghamshire when to be quite honest I’m not entirely sure where Buckinghamshire is).

And I suppose, up to a point, I can control what information there is about me up on facebook. I can untag myself from photos, if I like, set the privacy settings how I like and only befriend people I know, like and care about. I can talk about myself as much or as little as I like, in as many different ways and media as I choose. I understand how this works and am therefore able to give knowing consent to what is out there about me remaining ‘out there’. I’ve always understood that even if you think you’ve ‘deleted’ something that was once online, you probably haven’t, and I don’t think that’s put me at any risk in any way, as far as I’m aware. And I am reasonably well aware. A small child won’t be. I really don’t think you should have any major presence on facebook until you’re old enough to choose to have a facebook account of your own and fully understand how to use it safely and carefully and responsibly and not regret it later – though how old or mature you have to be to be able to do that is entirely open to debate.

So no, not that I’m expecting to have children any time soon, they won’t be going up on the internet. To be honest I highly doubt I’ll be using facebook by that point, and I don’t suppose I’ll have the time or the inclination to write a blog, but if I do, relevant blog entries will go something like ‘Daughter born [date][weight].’ Cue hiatus. And that’ll be it.

OK, I know a number of my regular readers will probably already know about this and will be able to talk about it more knowledgeably, so, first, look at the Save The Internet site, which is all about Net Neutrality. And then – is this something that’s only going to be a problem in the states or will this affect us in the UK too; and if it doesn’t affect us, are UK service providers likely to go the same way too?

Because I suppose if that is what happens, we can wave goodbye to the blogosphere and all the community and debate and interesting little corners that goes with that. If the internet were to basically consist only of Facebook and Google and Gmail and other big websites… what would be the point of that? Blogs would go back to being email circulars and I’m sorry but I don’t think I’m arrogant enough to spam peoples’ inboxes daily with my vague, half-formed thoughts and wonderings, and I don’t suppose many people are, and further more, I check blogs at my own pace and time and if they were just disappearing into my inbox I wouldn’t bother reading at all, probably. Webcomics would just disappear – Jeph from QC and Randall Monroe from XKCD may be able to earn a living from XKCD and Questionable Content but that’s because currently, running a site isn’t that expensive in the scheme of things. They won’t have the economic clout to guarantee service of a reasonable speed for users to view their comics, and that’ll be that, won’t it?

Or perhaps I’m missing the point. How worried should we be?

One of my first male friends shared my birthday, when we were about six; then there was Alex at school who also did (and does still). We had a sort-of joint thing once, by which I mean that I went to her birthday thing and some people gave me presents too and then I didn’t have to do any organising myself. Good work. And then we went to college and met not one, not two, but three people who also shared our birthday. And now I am living, next year, with a guy who also shares that birthday but is, I believe, a year younger than me. So happy birthday to all those concerned!

As you can imagine, if you’re about my age and have facebook, my wall is filled with congratulations on my birthday. Some of those are from people I haven’t spoken to in ages and people I never knew that well in the first place and I wonder if that’s just some kind of reflex reaction – see birthday notifications, send good wishes. I’m sure, however, that it’s all very well-meant. Some of those people I’ve not spoken to in ages are people I’m very glad to have heard from and I would probably do the same, even if the messages themselves are a bit generic, how many different things can you say about a birthday? Happy birthday, have a lovely day, have a good one, have one on me, have you got anything good planned for tonight, then? Then there’s the more old-fashioned Many Happy Returns, and then one friend (who I really haven’t seen in a long while and would really like to, when I’m a bit less busy in a few days, definitely, plan) who has reminded me that I am now old enough to adopt a child and hire a car in a foreign country, possibly even at the same time. Excellent.

Other people, whose congratulations are equally as bland, are indeed very good friends. So thank you to those too. And other people have used my birthday as an excuse to get back in touch and start talking about meeting up, to which, yes, if you’re reading this, absolutely.

So although I was tempted to get all curmudgeonly and bitch about how on your birthday, on facebook, millions of people you barely remember, and don’t mind forgetting, decide to get in touch to say something mindlessly dull about a day that really doesn’t matter that much to me. But actually, most of those greetings have put a smile on my face. I’ve been reminded of friends who are currently in wholly the wrong country, people who have been away or busy, or I’ve been away or busy, and however much we mean to meet up, catch up, it keeps not happening but that doesn’t mean that the thought’s not there.

So what I’m really saying is that, where it’s truly meant well, as an expression of friendship cherished and or memories well-loved, thank you. Really, I do mean that, despite the next paragraph.

I’m not into mindless giving of birthday wishes and this is where I think facebook is a bit weird, this obsessive collecting of ‘friends’, and there are plenty of people I’d not have on my friends list but deleting them is so final, if they found out it would be a rather complicated social slight and basically I can’t be bothered with making waves and upsetting people just because I really don’t remember or care about the last time we spoke but you might. Yes. Curmudgeonly, I told you. And, well, deleting people, even with Dom’s helpful list, is still a bit tedious.

Another thought I’ve just had is this: it’s kind of surprising how quickly one year or two have gone by and suddenly you think, when was the last time I saw X? And then you do, you have lunch, and it’s like you were never away. Or it’s awkward as arse. After all, this ain’t When Harry Met Sally.

It’s my 21st coming up, which you may or may not (but almost certainly don’t) know. It’s on Wednesday, in fact, but things are so busy at the moment that I’m not actually celebrating it for a couple of weeks until we’ve got a little more time and perhaps even an actual kitchen in which to bake a cake and so on.

Anyway, some of my friends have been asking me about my plans for my birthday, and I am really rather surprised by peoples’ expectations in this day and age of 21st birthdays. No-one is massively surprised that I’m not having a massive party – see first paragraph. Kitchen. Not happening. – but people have asked me things like, ‘So, are your parents going to get you a car then?’ Erm. No. Partly because the oil is going to run out in a matter of decades and I’m only a student and what’s wrong with borrowing my parents’ car from time to time once I pass my test and who on earth would pay the insurance? Why should I expect my parents to buy me a car and then give me the money to run a car which I couldn’t possibly afford to run myself? I assume the questioner in question rather expected that with the gift of a car would come all the costs of running the thing with the possible exception of actual fuel to put in the tank. What possible good would that serve?

I’ve also been asked what I’m getting, and the basic response to this was that I was originally going to be getting a gold watch because that’s a traditional 21st sort of a thing and I really do need a new watch, but actually we’ve decided that what would be better would be to get a camera, and then I can just replace the battery on my cheap old watch and keep that going until I can buy myself a reasonable watch in a few months, nothing fancy, mind, just something plain and simple and elegant and functional. Anyway, I’ve wanted a DSLR for a while and when else to get one but on your 21st? But I would never in a million years expect my parents to shell out several hundred pounds on a camera for me, I mean, it’s not as if they’d ever buy themselves a camera that expensive or, say, expect me to spend that sort of money on them, so actually my plan is that I will chip in and go halves. As far as I can see this is about the only reasonable answer when someone offers to buy you a camera for your birthday.

Some people, I think, have rather thought that there is no reason why I can’t have a gold watch, a decent camera, and a car for my birthday.

The thing is, it’s not about whether or not we have the money for such extravagance. It’s the fact that it really is completely extravagant. I’m twenty-one. I have made it through two decades and a whole year. Erm, well done? It’s not really an achievement is it, really – well done, you haven’t contracted any major diseases, you’ve got no massive genetic flaws, and no-one’s murdered or run you over yet, you clever thing, you.

I would feel, actually, utterly spoilt if I got anything more than just half a camera for my birthday, really. Most years I get, like, a few books and a new handbag or something. My sister’s very good at pampering presents, little treaty things. A beautiful watch for my eighteenth with Murano millefiori glass around the edge of the face, which now is sadly broken and I don’t think it’s fixable, it just gradually warped with use and now won’t stay clasped to my wrist. Other trinkets and bits of jewellery over the years. A very nice silk stole, a bargain in some little Italian market. Posh handcream (always goes down well).

I don’t know, I just feel… it’s like Christmas, you get too much and you’re kind of jaded by all this nonsensical bounty. A few small, well-chosen things are somehow far more pleasing than a whole heap of valuable trophies, and if you get a camera AND a car AND a watch are you going to appreciate any of them even half as much as you would if you’d just got the camera (into which you’d put some of your own hard-earned carefully-managed cash)?

I’m also just somewhat amazed that peoples’ parents are prepared to spend as much money on their children as it seems that they are. I can’t work out why it is, but some of the things I hear astound me. Not becuase people have that much money, but because I somehow think, well, what are your children learning if you just…buy them a horse?

This is my father’s daughter speaking. When I first had a job, he seriously thought about charging me a nominal rent, just to teach me some life lessons. Thankfully for me and my social life, he didn’t, but I was constantly reminded that that’s what his parents had done to him. And perhaps there’s a lot I do need to learn about prudence.

Fi and Marcus, thank you for having a conversation on my newsfeed that led me to this spectacular blog which is a) highly entertaining and b) hunger-inducing. Which is probably about all you need in a blog really.

I think it’s my problem, actually. This mad assumption that everything will turn out for the best and that somehow I’ll land on my feet, buttered side up, and that at the end of the day there’ll be a big ensemble piece with everyone smiling and waving and someone holding up a banner saying ‘The End’ with cherubs and trumpets and swags of flowers. And it doesn’t work like that, and life doesn’t go the way you expect or want it to, and perhaps you’re best off not attaching too much weight to anything, so long as you don’t go down the teenage-philosophy-student wearing-black-and-being-cynical route because at the very least that’s utterly tedious. Do your best and see what comes and don’t expect things. But in absent moments, in the shower, washing up, I leap and bound forwards in time and predict all kinds of good things for tomorrow, next week, next year, next decade, and that’s irresponsible, because life actually isn’t a box of chocolates or a novel or a John Lewis advert. It’s seconds and minutes and days, human beings and atoms and molecules and hormones and neurons and God and Brownian motion and freak acts of nature and coincidences and causality, and there are so many different interactions and choices being played out, and the beauty of it is that it’s totally random. Running with the assumption that God has a plan, I don’t know what it is yet, and I just have to trust that idea and in the meantime do my best to do the right thing, be a good person, be someone I can be proud of.

Yes, I mean you, ASOS, and you, Marie Claire, Cosmo, etc. All of you who try to give us advice on ‘how to wear’ the new season’s looks.

Advice like this on the new way to wear grunge, from ASOS, just will not do:

‘mirror the white fleeze with a simple cable-knit snood’.

‘perfect for glamming down floaty mini-maxi dresses’. What on earth is a floaty mini-maxi dress? Surely it’s mini, or it’s maxi, right?

’show off long, lean legs in ribbed socks’

I love ribbed socks. But I would hardly say they were a way of showing off my legs, even if said legs were lengthy and lean.

‘a harness may not be the obvious choice but worn over a slouchy jersey top it can add real interest to an otherwise basic outfit’.

A. Harness. I’m sorry, I would normally eschew the use of full stops between every word as a literary device, but, well, really. No, ASOS, you’ve lost me altogether now.

The thing is, right, yes – those models look gorgeous in their madcap assortment of aviator jackets, floaty long dresses, clumpy boots, long, clingy jersey and strange accessories. But they would. They’re six foot tall and they’re in a photoshoot and they’re really rather thin. The rest of us are mainly not that tall and thin and we have life to attend to which cannot be done in ankle length jersey or strange leather strapping or six-inch-heeled backless clogs, frankly.

The sort of fashion advice I want for ‘A/W’10′ is in the form of answers to questions like ‘how can I get away with wearing a vest/leggings under every outfit in order to stay warm?’, ‘is there a pair of boots out there which is comfortable and good for my feet whilst also looking good with every item of clothing I own because believe you me I am going to wear boots for almost every day of winter because have you seen how much it rains around here and anyway what happens when it seemingly inevitably snows and then ices up for ages?’, ‘when it does snow am I a total pariah if I take the leap and decide to wear walking boots to the cinema?’ (the answer, sadly, to the last question, is probably yes, which is not to say that I haven’t done it anyway), and, perenially, ’shouldn’t fashion be about what actually looks good, rather than about looking as weird as possible? If I look good in skinny jeans or a black woolen pencil skirt, and Flossie’s hour-glass shape means that that floral 1950s-style dress from the mid-noughties looks stunning on her, and Nora is actually rocking DMs and an original Regency dress, what is your point, Fashion? Why do you try to make us feel inadequate?’

I think I lost my way a bit there. The thing is, I do want to look good, I do want interesting new things, as and when I can afford them. And I do quite like the idea of slimline ankle-length skirts being back in, they look fun. But still, I just don’t get fashion. Some years have been so over-run with the most terrible style they’ve passed me by altogether. And some years I’ve dressed terribly myself. I don’t know.