I am petrified. University is about to come to an end and I can't imagine not having lectures, essays and presentations to dread. What am I going to do with myself?
I am determined to find a job that scares me and pushes my boundaries. "Fear is my favorite ride." I have a lot to prove and a lot more to gain. No university means no safety net. All that work, the work experience, the unpaid hours and stress has pushed me to want it more. It hasn't been all for nothing and I know that if I keep trying and staying positive, it will work out.
Here goes nothing...
Wednesday, 16 April 2014
Friday, 14 March 2014
Sing it Kitty
I love all things weird and wonderful and so when I first peeled my eyes on the new Three Mobile advert 'Sing it Kitty' I instantly felt compelled to laugh. I wasn't sure Three could follow with anything to top their last campaign, 'Dancing Pony' which was very successful on both TV and online platforms such as Twitter, however this new ad is already proving to be popular, generating 2,654,526 views on YouTube alone.
The ad features a young girl and her feline friend cycling around the neighborhood on a pink bike, which can only be described as a six year old's dream, (after all that basket and bell are adorable.) The cute couple sing passionately to Starships, "We built this city" as a Grandma drops her rubbish bag in awe of the strange site. Pigeons flee as the small songstress pedals her way through puddles, singing at the top of her little lungs. The fluffy grey and white cat bounces away in the weaved basket, adding an extra sense of strangeness to the ad. As a boy racer switches on his florescent car's lights, the duo are lit up as if on stage. To top it off, the pair cycle through an everyday garden sprinkler, although at this point the cat is ducking cautiously into the basket.
The end tagline is puurfect for the campaign, (sorry I couldn't resist.) It reads, "We all need silly stuff." And yes, we certainly do.
If you haven't seen the new ad, watch it here.
Monday, 13 January 2014
Taking the Jump
It's difficult to describe the feeling when jumping off a mountain at 8000 feet. Surreal, exciting and absolutely petrifying are words that spring to mind. I have recently just come back from a skiing holiday in Austria, Kuprun and I would highly recommend it to any budding or beginning skiers. I am a lover of sun, sea and cocktails and so I would usually holiday in Egypt. However, I have never experienced such beauty and the feeling of how small I am in comparison to the world. Standing on top of the mountain, attached to an Austrian para-glider, I was in awe of my surroundings.
Everything in my body was screaming at me to not run and jump. A childlike voice was quietly tempting me to completely ignore my instincts and to just go with it. Sometimes I think that voice is the most important one to recognize above the noise. Risk is underrated. I took a deep breath and ran. I felt weightless and hysterical with laughter. My cheeks felt cold and my eyes watered but I refused to blink in fear that I would miss something amazing. My legs dangled above the clouds as I spiraled through the sky. Snow seemed whiter. Trees seemed greener. Mountains stood prouder. I was a floating dot.
When I landed on the ground I sat for a while, completely motionless with my jaw dropped. I looked over to my boyfriend Alex, who had a grin from ear to ear. I eventually stood up and just laughed at the thought of what I had just done.
Gone are the days of travelling. I am an explorer.
Watch me paragliding below...
When I landed on the ground I sat for a while, completely motionless with my jaw dropped. I looked over to my boyfriend Alex, who had a grin from ear to ear. I eventually stood up and just laughed at the thought of what I had just done.
Gone are the days of travelling. I am an explorer.
Watch me paragliding below...
Tuesday, 10 December 2013
The End Of Term
It's nearly the end of term and University is manic.
Students take the form of hawks, scavenging for computers and swiping their library cards briskly as they enter the never ending jungle of books. Panic takes over. Deadline days are drawing closer and the late night owls swoop in, hoping the twenty four hour library is back. It isn't.
Students scan the computer area and circle weak targets, praying that a seat will come free.
The printers spit out documents and images, tired from their ordeal. They jam and jam and run out of ink. Bang Bang Bang, they feel the thumps and thuds of angry and impatient students. They do not have time for this.
Scanners hide at the back of the room. Silently. Silently. No copywright tonight.
Vending machines stand proudly. Tempting and teasing as ten pence coins are jingled in clammy hands.
Books are heavy. Dusty. Over-due. Shoved into bags and taken away from their shelves, only to be crammed, penciled, torn and splashed with late night coffee.
Giver-uppers spin on charis. Maybe the dizziness will stop the anxiety. 1,500 words to go. Save your work. You can finish this tomorrow right?
Not likely.
Students take the form of hawks, scavenging for computers and swiping their library cards briskly as they enter the never ending jungle of books. Panic takes over. Deadline days are drawing closer and the late night owls swoop in, hoping the twenty four hour library is back. It isn't.
Students scan the computer area and circle weak targets, praying that a seat will come free.
The printers spit out documents and images, tired from their ordeal. They jam and jam and run out of ink. Bang Bang Bang, they feel the thumps and thuds of angry and impatient students. They do not have time for this.
Scanners hide at the back of the room. Silently. Silently. No copywright tonight.
Vending machines stand proudly. Tempting and teasing as ten pence coins are jingled in clammy hands.
Books are heavy. Dusty. Over-due. Shoved into bags and taken away from their shelves, only to be crammed, penciled, torn and splashed with late night coffee.
Giver-uppers spin on charis. Maybe the dizziness will stop the anxiety. 1,500 words to go. Save your work. You can finish this tomorrow right?
Not likely.
Thursday, 3 October 2013
A Gathering Light
“Words fail me sometimes. I have read most every word in the Webster’s International Dictionary of the English Language , but I still have trouble making them come when I want them to. Right now I want a word that describes the feeling you get – a cold sick feeling deep down inside – when you know something is happening that will change you, and you don’t want it to, but you can’t stop it. And you know you will never be the same again.”
Monday, 9 September 2013
Cracks
I met him in the middle of the night. He wore navy slippers and a plush, thick dressing gown that cloaked his frail figure. His hands were shaking as he ran a gold chain through his nimble fingers. A locket rocked in the wind, linked to the end of the chain. I remember feeling cold that night. Not from the winter chill or the fact that I was rapidly undressing, ready to dive in the icy sea below me; but from the sensation I felt as I realized that this man, this broken man wanted to die.
And he was going to jump.
It had been raining for ten days and I had flicked through every single page of the magazines I'd bought for the car journey. We'd moved again. I guess you could say it was almost a yearly tradition. Kind of like Christmas without the presents, excitement and joy but with the family arguments and resentment. I had gotten used to packing up our glasses and plates with newspaper. This weeks headline,"Step dad gambles rent money and steals kettle." Mum and Dave's relationship was crazy to say the least. She buried his mobile phone in the garden whilst he moved out every three months and weirdly took things from the house that he knew would annoy mum. So far he's managed to take the hoover, the remote control, the kettle and her bedside lamp. Every time we moved, mum would say those famous words, "New house, new beginning." I'd smile and play along but my sister Mykala wasn't as forgiving. "Yeah okay then" She'd mutter under her breath with a face that could break down a mountain. She was frustrated. I was frustrated.
And he was going to jump.
It had been raining for ten days and I had flicked through every single page of the magazines I'd bought for the car journey. We'd moved again. I guess you could say it was almost a yearly tradition. Kind of like Christmas without the presents, excitement and joy but with the family arguments and resentment. I had gotten used to packing up our glasses and plates with newspaper. This weeks headline,"Step dad gambles rent money and steals kettle." Mum and Dave's relationship was crazy to say the least. She buried his mobile phone in the garden whilst he moved out every three months and weirdly took things from the house that he knew would annoy mum. So far he's managed to take the hoover, the remote control, the kettle and her bedside lamp. Every time we moved, mum would say those famous words, "New house, new beginning." I'd smile and play along but my sister Mykala wasn't as forgiving. "Yeah okay then" She'd mutter under her breath with a face that could break down a mountain. She was frustrated. I was frustrated.
Saturday, 31 August 2013
We're all going somewhere
Glum faces,
Going places,
Bags on laps and litter traces.
Sitting down and standing up,
Sandwiches and a coffee cup.
We're all going somewhere,
Trying to move on,
On the coach and onward,
Why must it take so long?
Sitting awkwardly on suitcases,
Leaning against a wall,
Searching for your coach number,
but the writing is so small.
Ticking names off paper,
Counting by the head,
Packets of crisps won't fill your stomach,
Wish you stayed home instead.
We're all going somewhere,
Trying to move on,
On the coach and onward,
Why must it take so long?
Boredom starts to take over,
And your phone is nearly dead,
The newspapers a metro,
So you'll stare into space instead.
Bladders nearly bursting,
Where did you put the change?
Thirty pence to urinate,
Are the coach station deranged?
They're calling for your coach now,
You'd better get your stuff,
Onwards to your destination,
By now you've had enough.
On the coach you go now,
Juggling your bags,
Your suitcase has a dodgy wheel,
So you pull and heave and drag.
The driver is a jobsworth,
Checking every X,
You forgot to print your ticket
but they did send you a text.
Up the stairs you climb now,
Searching to find a chair,
Praying that someone doesn't sit next to you,
The journey would be a nightmare.
The coach is on its way now,
This is where it starts,
You said you wanted to leave this town,
But really its close to your heart.
We're all going somewhere,
Trying to move on,
On the coach and onward,
To find somewhere where you belong.
Going places,
Bags on laps and litter traces.
Sitting down and standing up,
Sandwiches and a coffee cup.
We're all going somewhere,
Trying to move on,
On the coach and onward,
Why must it take so long?
Sitting awkwardly on suitcases,
Leaning against a wall,
Searching for your coach number,
but the writing is so small.
Ticking names off paper,
Counting by the head,
Packets of crisps won't fill your stomach,
Wish you stayed home instead.
We're all going somewhere,
Trying to move on,
On the coach and onward,
Why must it take so long?
Boredom starts to take over,
And your phone is nearly dead,
The newspapers a metro,
So you'll stare into space instead.
Bladders nearly bursting,
Where did you put the change?
Thirty pence to urinate,
Are the coach station deranged?
They're calling for your coach now,
You'd better get your stuff,
Onwards to your destination,
By now you've had enough.
On the coach you go now,
Juggling your bags,
Your suitcase has a dodgy wheel,
So you pull and heave and drag.
The driver is a jobsworth,
Checking every X,
You forgot to print your ticket
but they did send you a text.
Up the stairs you climb now,
Searching to find a chair,
Praying that someone doesn't sit next to you,
The journey would be a nightmare.
The coach is on its way now,
This is where it starts,
You said you wanted to leave this town,
But really its close to your heart.
We're all going somewhere,
Trying to move on,
On the coach and onward,
To find somewhere where you belong.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)