Crashing Back to Reality....

Hi there, Blogverse, remember me? I'm that weird person who writes complete and utter crud and rants a lot! I have returned from the Frozen Wastelands of the North (Scotland - and yes, it was frozen) and thought I'd better check in.

I had intended to make this a rather marvy post all about my awesome holiday and how beautiful it all was, but as I've just spent the best part of an hour swearing at my laptop and Facebook while trying to upload the snaps from said holiday, I've now lost the will to live. There will be holiday details and piccies and stories and stuff to follow, but for now I thought I'd nick this from GemGem's blog (and she stole it from Holly, so all's fair in love and blogging!)

If I were a time of day, I’d be midnight.
If I were a planet, I’d be Neptune (it's an icy bitch).
If I were a sea animal, I’d be a seal.
If I were a direction, I’d be lost. (Ask Rich!)
If I were a piece of furniture, I’d be a squidgy armchair or a bookshelf.
If I were a liquid, I’d be blood.
If I were a gemstone, I’d be an emerald.
If I were a tree, I’d be a rowan (it's for protection).
If I were a tool, I’d be a hammer!
If I were a flower, I’d be a sweet pea.
If I were a kind of weather, I’d be a thunderstorm.
If I were a musical instrument, I’d be a cello. Belonging to Perttu.
If I were a color, I’d be indigo blue.
If I were an emotion, I’d be tempestuous.
If I were a fruit, I’d be a peach.
If I were a sound, I’d be laughter.
If I were an element, I’d be earth.
If I were a car, I’d be either a VW Camper or an original Mini Cooper.
If I were a food, I’d be chocolate.
If I were a place, I’d be the Isle of Skye.
If I were a material, I’d be velvet.
If I were a taste, I’d taste of lemon and ginger.
If I were a scent, I’d smell divine!
If I were an animal, I’d be a wolf.
If I were an object, I’d be a key.
If I were a body part, I’d be the heart.
If I were a facial expression, I’d be a smile.
If I were a song, I’d be Feint by Epica or Unintended by Muse
If I were a pair of shoes, I’d be T.U. K's, baby!!

Wow, random...

Oooh...Spooky!

The air turns chill, the leaves are starting to fall and the long dark nights are drawing in. Merlin and Strictly Come Dancing are back/soon to be back on our screens (there will, no doubt, be more posts on Strictly once it properly starts - I have a weakness for it). It can mean only one thing - Winter will soon be upon us.

All is not lost, however. I love the autumnal time of year anyway; from Mabon (which, by the way, is this Wednesday, so happy Autumn Equinox everyone) through to Samhain, there's a magick in the air that can't be explained. There's also the glorious pleasure of snuggling up on the sofa, hot chocolate in hand, and watching good telly. And - oh joy of joys - Monday's have become bearable again (at least for the next eight weeks) with the return of Spooks. *cue Kate's madly over exuberant bouncing, resulting in a fall from the bed*

Ok, ok, I have to admit it - this is an incredibly shallow post. I could spend hours going into the gritty realism, the brilliant acting, the expansive and gripping storylines and the fabulous special effects (a girl's gotta love those huge explosions, after all). I could tell you that I've learned more about counter-terrorism and the workings of MI5 from watching Spooks than I ever thought I'd need to know, and that because of the show I'm fully fluent in 'techie nerd' and 'computer geek' speak. Or I could just be really, brutally honest and admit that, while I always had a passing fascination with the show thanks to the storylines, explosions and the whole spying thing, it's only since Richard Armitage joined the team that I've really made sure I never miss an episode. Oh sure, I used to watch it, but I never fretted if I missed an episode or two and I was always able to do something else at the same time, like flick through a magazine or tap away at the computer. Since Mr A got his MI5 credentials, however, Monday night has become Spooks night and nothing, not even a half-naked rugby team standing on my doorstep (wait, which half? Oh, it doesn't matter anyway...) can drag me away from my drooling. I mean studious appraisal. Or something. *coughs*

So yes, this post is very, very shallow indeed. So I'm a walking boyband sometimes - a mile wide and an inch deep, that's me. But sometimes there's no shame in it. I mean look at this bloke. Seriously, just look at him...

Ok, ok, you can stop looking now. Seriously, stop. Back off, girls - Lady Nocturna doesn't do sharesies. Not even for you, Mooms...although if Sexy Becks is in your luggage upon your return from sunny LA then I'm open to negotiation...And not only is the divine Mr A single and sexy, he's also *swoon* highly intelligent and according to more than one of my sources, he's an absolute old-fashioned gentleman as well *swoon again* Seriously, ladies, back off. I'll bite...

This will be the last post on the blog for a few days as I'm to the wild and wet north-west of Bonny Scotland and shall be sans t'internet for a while. Sadly I'm not going with Richard Armitage (now there's a fantasy I'm not sharing...) but will no doubt have a thoroughly excellent, if not a slightly soggy time. I shall, however, leave you with another of my current crushes (what?): the always-awesome Black Stone Cherry. I saw them last year at around this time (October, I believe) and it was amazing; they're one of my favourite bands ever and Chris' voice is just...*shivers* The first song is 'Things My Father Said', which makes me howl like a baby because it's so beautiful; the second is 'Devil's Queen', which is my favourite song from their second album Folklore and Superstition. Sorry that the quality on the second one is 100%, but I freaking love this song! Oh, and because I'm a video-whore and a total slapper, I'm putting a Corey Taylor video on here; the beautiful version of 'Snuff' that he played at Sonisphere 2010 and dedicated to Paul Gray when I SAW HIM!! Ahem...it's my blog, I can do what I want. :D Ah, you know you guys are gonna miss me...Till I return from Soggy Scotland, farewell. And enjoy the music!! xx

OH GODS, I LOVE THIS MAN!!!!

The Pope Show

I swore I wasn't going to do this post. I promised myself that I wasn't going to do it, because I know there are many people out there who are passionate about their beliefs and, although I may not agree with you about it, I have always said I would defend to the death your right to worship however you see fit (as long as you don't push it down anyone else's throat. Especially mine). I even, shock horror, found myself defending the Catholic Church last Sunday in an argument with my Anglican grandmother, when I quite reasonably pointed out that not every priest is a paedophile and it isn't part of their job description. Yes, of course what has happened in the Catholic Church (and no doubt many other organisations over the years - look at orphanages and boarding schools) is horrendous; words can't accurately describe just how vile and reprehensible it is, and frankly the attitude of the Pope and the rest of the powers-that-be to the whole thing has been despicable, but bad apples and barrels, y'know? Believe me, no one was more surprised than I was by my sudden impassioned defence...

However. Oh, but however...No longer can I keep my big trap shut, and so this is going to be a bit of a ranty, what-the-fuck kind of post. Now that His Popeness is actually here, I'm starting to get slightly sickened by the whole freaking charade.

First of all, I find it completely ludicrous that in a nominally-Anglican country, the tax-payer is expected to contribute towards the cost of the whole shebang. We're facing horrendous cuts thanks to the retarded attitude of our Government; if we were a Catholic country I could maybe understand it, but we aren't. And why the hell is the whole thing being treated as a state visit? The Pope is the head of a religious sect to all intents and purposes, not a visiting President or monarch; why we have to treat him any differently is beyond me. The Catholic Church wanted him here, fair enough - he is their spiritual leader, after all - but then they should foot the bill. It's not a state visit in my eyes, so I want my money back, please. Give it to a charity that works in AIDS research, or put it towards a fund to help pay for counselling for the children abused by priests...

There is also the small issue of the whole attitude of the Catholic Church - and recently reiterated by His Popeness - with regard to women (although I couldn't give a hoot about women bishops, my inner Feminazi screams in unbridled fury at the implication that my gender makes me a lesser being in the eyes of some constructed faith - that's patriarchy for you); homosexuality, and the general attitude towards contraception. Now correct me if I'm wrong (I lay no claim to being an expert on the Bible; I've never read it) but I'm not aware that it actually states in black and white 'thou shalt never wear condoms'. Besides that, even if it did (and I know there's the whole 'go forth and multiply' directive), things have changed in the past 2000 years or so; Jesus and his happy band of followers didn't have to worry about HIV and AIDS whereas we, sadly, do, and how anyone with any modicum of influence and control over people (like the Pope) can stand by and actively encourage people not to use condoms when the rates of HIV and AIDS are going through the roof (especially to the faithful in Africa)...well, as far as I'm concerned he's as good as killed those people. And, of course, his attitude to abortion makes me sick. So when I have some terrified woman in front of me, crying her eyes out because she got pregnant after being raped in an alleyway, or a woman whose health and life will be put at risk if she has this baby which the Church is encouraging her to have anyway because of the whole 'multiply' edict, all I can do is tell her she can't have an abortion or she'll go to hell? Yeah, that's compassionate. Love thy neighbour and all that. Nice one.

But the whole tragic spectacle has become more and more ludicrous with each day that passes, especially now he's actually here. Even before he got here one of the aides compared Britain to a Third World country; when, offended, the Brits reacted, the Vatican's idea of damage control (apart from the sudden and inexplicably well timed attack of gout suffered by said Cardinal) was, "no, no, no, we didn't mean it like THAT! We were referring to how multicultural you are!" Ah good - so you're all racist as well then? Glad we got that one cleared up...

Then, of course, there was The Speech yesterday, followed by The Speech today. Basically, the Pope has come to Britain to try and return it to the Holy Church; to turn back the tide of secularism and atheism that has swept the country and which has caused the marginalisation of religion.

Ok, first of all...most people in this country don't give a shit. We are nominally an Anglican country, not Catholic, and haven't been since Henry the Eighth thought Anne Boleyn looked a bit of a goer; therefore we don't really give a flying monkey about coming back to Holy Mother Church. It was a bad break up, I'll admit but please, move on. We're so over it. I'd say most people in this country would either describe themselves as Agnostic or Atheist anyway, unless you're one of our multicultural brothers and sisters, in which case we know what the Pope thinks of you...he's already slated other religions because, let's face it, you aren't the 'true' religion like his is. Allegedly. So yeah, this is my first problem with his crusade.

The other thing is...well, I guess he needs to sack his advisers. If I were Pope (fat chance as I'm a woman. Oh yeah, and a Pagan-heathen-burning-in-hell-non-believer), and I were coming to the UK on a mission to try and repair the damage of recent scandals and atrocities and to bring people back to the Light of the Lord, I would want to show the world how wonderful my religion is. I would actively want to get out there and spread the word, to bring people who have left in disgust back to the church and to maybe spark the interest of others who previously had no faith, so that they could seek out the information for themselves and maybe - just maybe - find spiritual peace in my faith. What I would not do is come over here and denounce the whole bloody lot of you as 'dangerous atheists', compare secularism and atheism to Nazism, and tell a load of schoolchildren that science was a bad thing. Way to win friends and influence people. It actually makes me even more antagonistic towards religion, especially Catholicism, to have this man come over here and start bitching about how unfair it is that he and his church don't have the power and influence they once did. I don't care for organised religion and I never have, although I find all religions deeply interesting. What I don't appreciate is being told that I'm going to burn for all eternity because I chose to use my brain instead of blindly following some invisible entity. My faith is in Nature, so it's sort-of Pagan/Wiccan but not strictly; this doesn't make me a bad person. Forced conversion, however, does; something organised religions seem to be only too familiar with (and they all have very short memories, it seems. She says, having the obligatory pop at Islam and Judaism as well - I don't discriminate in my antipathy and anger. Although you never get militant Buddhists, it seems...)

Yes, Christianity may be getting marginalised in the UK today, but that's because we live in the modern era instead of clinging to archaic and outdated rules. For those who choose to believe, whether that's in God, Allah or the Pink Unicorn of the Seventh Sanctum, there is a place for them in Britain, and we should never lose sight of the fact that this country has (mostly) always been a safe place for people to practice their religion (it got a little hazy in the middle for a while, what with Catholics being burnt and then Protestants/Anglicans being burnt, and the Jews being persecuted, and the Puritans so on). But we can still be nice people, nice human beings, without believing in Catholicism or any other religion. Similarly, as the recent problems within the church have shown, you can be a man of God and still be an utterly reprehensible human being - and the Pope's way of dealing with this is to make some half-arsed apology to people and then tell us that instead of bringing these bastards to justice, we should pray for them. Only after I castrate them with blunt nail scissors and see them put before a court of law, because strangely enough - secular though it may seem, Your Popeness - that's how we do things in the real world.

I'm sick of the whole sorry charade now and I can't wait until he goes back to Rome. Although this whole blog could just be because I'm bitter about the fact that I haven't lined the church's coffers by not owning any of the official merchandise; maybe if I had a 'Benedictaphone' to sing into, I wouldn't be so recalcitrant and secular. Or I could just be a realist...

Yes, It's Fucking Political!!!

Sometimes the world is a wonderful place, full of magick and abundance, when butterflies dance on shafts of light and there is music and mystery in the babbling brooks and on the gentle breezes. And sometimes the world is like the playground bully who steals your lunch money, punches you in the guts and then, for good measure, kicks sand in your face before running off laughing with your best friend.

When this happens, there are two strategies you can adopt. The first is to scream obscenities in the general direction of the All-Powerful Force of the Universe, shaking your fist and screaming how unfair the whole thing is before collapsing in a sobbing, hysterical heap on the floor. The second, always advocated by the hippy-dippy or ultra-religious lot, is to Count Your Blessings; the idea being that even in the depths of your ultimate despair you'll still be able to summon up the oomph to thank whichever Power you believe in that you aren't a starving African child or a victim of the Haitian earthquake. Clearly those people have never been in the depths of a depression so powerful that actually being a starving African child is preferable to your own miserable existence. Unless it's a starving African child adopted by Angelina Jolie or Madonna; then I think I'll stick with the pit of depression.

I, however, favour a third way. Although I try and count 3 good things that have happened to me each day and chronicle them in my notebook (I know; I'm such a hippy), there are always other things that I know I can count on when the going gets really, really tough...

1) My family, specifically my mum. Even when I have been the most unbearably awful child imaginable, shrieking in hysterical hypochondria or just generally being a complete cow, she is always, always there for me. I wish that everyone could be so lucky to have such a mother; however, no matter how much I love you, you cannot have her - she is mine and I won't do sharesies!!

2) My friends. They are all so different and yet all so dear to me. 'Nuff said, really.

3) Books. Opening a book is like opening a door into another world. There is always something new and wondrous to discover and sometimes you need to be taken out of the craptacular real world for a bit and play somewhere else.

4) Music. Ahh, music. Now this is always guaranteed to make my day because there is quite literally a song for every occasion; something to make the mood and the moment feel more intense. Music soothes the savage beast, it is the food of love and it's the best thing to get you through the good, the bad, the indifferent and just about anything you can think of. A few examples of my own personal soundtrack to life...

* Songs for expressing your righteous anger at the scumbags that somehow pass as politicians these days, with their smug smiles and their silly Eton haircuts: Yes, It's Fucking Political by Skunk Anansie; Take The Power Back by Rage Against The Machine; Fuck You by Lily Allen.
* Songs for being a general pain in "The Man's" butt: anything by Rage Against The Machine, really, but Killing In The Name Of goes down well...or not!
* Songs that remind me of my friends: Trash by Suede; Rasputin by Turisas; Escapist by Nightwish and (for Lee) Don't Stop Movin' by S Club 7. Remember lunchtimes in the pub, Lee-Lee? Ahh, happy days...
* Songs for getting over a break up: A Child That Walks In The Path Of A Man by Angtoria; Fighter by Christina Aguilera; A Rancid Romance by Diablo Swing Orchestra; Liar by Emilie Autumn; Smoke and Mirrors by Paloma Faith.
* Songs that take me right back to my teenage years: Weak by Skunk Anansie; Trash by Suede; Stupid Girl by Garbage; Yourself by the Manic Street Preachers; Bohemian Like You by the Dandy Warhols; Paint Pastel Princess by Silverchair; Local Boy in the Photograph by the Stereophonics; Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana.
* Songs for a bit of a 'feminist' moment: She's Like Thunder by Doro; Return of the Mother by Nina Hagen; Bitch by Sarah Jezebel Deva; That's What the Wise Lady Said by Angtoria; Why Didn't You Call Me by Macy Gray.
* Songs for my 'girlie fae' moments: What If, Rapunzel and Juliet, all by Emilie Autumn; Queen of the May, Wytches, Pagan Born, Heartbeat of the Earth, Midnight Queen, Beltane and pretty much anything by Inkubus Sukkubus.
* Songs guaranteed to reduce me to tears: Unintended and Sing For Absolution by Muse; Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley; Name by the Goo Goo Dolls; Feint by Epica; Bother by Corey Taylor; Piece of my Heart by Janis Joplin; Peace is Free by Black Stone Cherry; This is Yesterday by the Manic Street Preachers; Breathe by Abney Park; Faraway Vol. 2 by Apocalyptica.
* Songs that are better than Prozac: Drumming Song by Florence and the Machine; National Express by the Divine Comedy; The Ballad of Tom Jones by Spaced with Cerys Matthews; She Bangs by Ricky Martin; Love Machine by Girls Aloud; Airship Pirates by Abney Park; Wild Dances by Ruslana; anything by Lordi and anything by Motley Crue. Oh, and Du Hast and Pussy by Rammstein. Pussy also fits into the "songs that are not appropriate for singing in public as I found out to my eternal shame" category, along with 'The Devil is a Loser' by Lordi. Ahem...

So yeah, there you go. Quite a mixed bag, and that's only the stuff I've listened to recently or the categories that have been most appropriate recently. There are, of course, a million million more songs for both all of these categories and any other category you can think of. I honestly can't imagine my life without any of these four things, to be honest; if 'Heaven' is a place without my mum, my friends, my books and my music, you can keep it. Ooh, now there's a topic for a musical playlist...

On 9/11

Nine years ago today, I was preparing to embark on one of the biggest adventures of my life. In a week's time, I would be starting university, the first person in my immediate family to do so, and I was simultaneously excited and terrified by the prospect. Enjoying my last week of freedom before I had to knuckle down and become 'a university student', I was also glad to still be at home because my mum was recovering from an operation on her neck and although she was well on the road to recovery, it was good to be able to keep an eye on her. We had spent the morning watching trashy TV, gossiping and discussing my upcoming student-ness. That was when the BBC announcer advised that they were going to the newsroom for a special report. We rolled our eyes, laughed about "what the hell has happened now?" and waited. And then didn't move for the rest of the afternoon.

We sat and watched in horror as the cameras focused on the North Tower of the World Trade Centre, smoke billowing from its heights. A tragic accident, we surmised, as did most people caught up in the news story. And then...well, we all know what happens next.

On the ninth anniversary of the terrorist attacks on America, the sight of the second plane ploughing into the South Tower of the WTC has lost none of its impact or ability to shock. The iconic images of that day and the associated feelings that they conjure up, even after all this time, can never and should never be underestimated. Many people I know roll their eyes when people say 9/11 changed the world, dubbing it a product of media overraction; of American grandiosity and self-justifaction, but the truth is that the events of that day did change the world: it changed America; it changed the Islamic world and it changed, overtly or not, every other nation. It led America, Britain and other allied nations into the wars in Afghanistan and, subsequently, in Iraq. It changed the way we travel by plane. It made a previously unheard-of Saudi man the most wanted man in the world and it tested politicians, military personnel and civilians to the limits. Nothing like this could have been foreseen; no plan could ever have been laid down for what to do in this situation and yet ordinary people somehow, someway found the strength and resiliance to get through and to help others. Men and women who previously had been office workers, flight attendents, former military personnel; people who were husbands and wives, parents, brothers, sisters...they found the courage to cope with this extraordinary set of circumstances and, in many cases, to perform unthinkable acts of bravery.

9/11 changed the world as we know it but, nine years on, can we really say that we've learnt anything from it. The recent furore over the Florida preacher threating to burn the Qur'an today, the ongoing struggles in Afghanistan and Iraq to this day, the rise of Islamophobia and fundamentalism of all kinds...there were lessons to be learnt and I wonder whether people really have. Hatred and intolerance seem to be on the increase, and it's those attitudes that increase the likelihood of another attack somewhere in the world.

Hatred begets hatred. Intolerance begets intolerance. Discrimination begets discrimination. We need to learn the lessons that 9/11 and 7/7 taught us and rise above these things, to work together to overcome the evils of this world and do what we can to make it a safer place for the generations to come.

MUSE!!!!!

Ahem. *coughs* Yes, I think I'm still a little overemotional after the gig last night. I'm also incredibly tired, which doesn't help the emotion and also makes me unable to type (not to mention turns me into Oscar the Grouch!)

I wish I could tell you, in exact detail, everything about seeing Muse at Wembley last night. I wish I could explain, without sounding like a total fangirl, how important their music has been to me in the past when dealing with "stuff". I wish I could describe exactly why I cried last night on actually getting to see them live. I even wish I could put into words exactly what it is about them that I love so much (besides the fact that I fancy Matt Bellamy like mad). But I can't. I actually, physically cannot find the words. All I can tell you is that the White Rabbits have become a new favorite band of mine, the Big Pink needn't have bothered, Lily Allen was just amazing and I love her, and Muse were...well, Muse were Muse. And Goddess, how emotional...Luckily for me, this time round they didn't play "Unintended" or "Sing for Absolution", because then I would have had to have been taken away by the men in white coats and given ECT to calm my hysterical sobs, but they did play this song (video from their last Wembley gig) and it did reduce me to tears.

Rob - this is for you. You know why. xx

This Was Their Finest Hour...

Today marks the 70th anniversary of the Blitz. Naturally, and quite rightly, the Beeb has been mentioning it at every available opportunity. I'm actually really glad they have, because - thanks to the oh-so-reliable One Show - I have learnt something. Apparently, there is no official memorial to the brave men of Bomber Command.

Just think about that for a teeny, tiny second, please. These young men, over half of whom never returned home, were flying deep into enemy territory and, although we can look back with the luxury of the distance of years and some safety and shudder at the terrible bombings of Dresden, Berlin and the rest, they were only following orders. Just because Churchill himself distanced himself from his own commands at the end of the war (kinda ruins the 'saint Winston' image otherwise), the memories of the fallen shouldn't have to suffer; nor should the quiet heroism of the survivors be allowed to slide into obscurity. Apparently, a memorial to the dead of Bomber Command has been given the go-ahead this year - at long last. So as we look back at the heroism and stoicism of the British people during the Blitz - not just in London but all over the country - and at the daring-do of the pilots of the Battle of Britain, let's not forget the quiet men, the forgotten heroes. Their bravery and sacrifice must not be allowed to be swept under the carpet any more. Let us shout from the very rooftops of St Paul's - this was their finest hour, so here's to the Boys of Bomber Command!!

And of course whenever I think about the RAF and the Second World War, there are two family stories that always spring to mind. The first is that of my beloved Great-Auntie Rose, who tragically passed away last year. I loved my Auntie Rosie; she had an absolutely shocking life until she met my Great-Uncle Ron and the rest of his family, but it never made her bitter or resentful. She really was one of life's truly sweet and gentle people and I completely adored her. That said, we did always have a giggle over some of her exploits - her sense of humour was legendary within the family, and she once joked that she was going to get a motorbility scooter "so she could come down and see us". The thought of her bombing down the M25 on her scooter simultaneously made me shriek with laughter and want to warn the traffic police! During the war, while my Uncle Ronnie was was away fighting, Auntie Rosie worked in a factory making Spitfires, and the family always joked that it was amazing we managed to win the Battle of Britain with Rosie making the planes!!

The second family story is the one that makes me fiercely proud of my ancestors, and also goes someway perhaps to explaining my own personality. According to the story, my great-grandmother was walking home one day when one of the Luftwaffe's finest Doodlebug's flew overhead. Never one to back down from a challenge, Great Granny brandished her umbrella in a particularly menacing manner, shook it in her clenched fist at the departing German drone and shouted, "come on then, you buggers!!!" Great Granny versus the Luftwaffe? Please, no contest. If Churchill had sent some of the women of my family in to Germany, Hitler would have whimpered and rolled over within a matter of weeks. You don't mess with my bloodline...

That said, I now need to go in search of a Galadriel dress. My beloved Baby Forumbat and adopted daughter Gemma turns 18 in November, and is having a fancy dress party to celebrate. We all have to go dressed as something beginning with G. Owen is going as Gimli, from Lord of the Rings, and Ryan is going as Gandalf. When I heard that, I immediately dismissed all thoughts of 'gerbils' and 'gooseberries' from my mind and announced I would go as Galadriel. Cue much excitement from the others, and much scratching of my own fair head as to how and where I can transform myself into the luminous Cate Blanchett in two months.

Maybe I should go as a germ after all...

Consider Yourself...One Of The Family...

Ok, so bad West End musical impressions aside (oh, Oliver, how I adore thee!!) the title for today's post springs from the fact that I spent yesterday up in The Big Smoke with my beloved second family, the Forumbats. It is absolutely astonishing to think that it was only really just over a year ago that we all met properly, although there had been months/years of peripheral contact and abuse on the Nightwish forum beforehand, and yet I genuinely cannot imagine my life without any of them now. From the first initial "um...wombat?" at Brixton Academy last March to the hysteria that ensued in the Science Museum yesterday, I honestly adore all of them. Yes, Raymond, even you...

We were only six yesterday, as some of the Forumbats appear to have gone missing in action; another one (Alicia) is away in the Frozen Viking Wastelands of the North; and two (Rich and Ryan - flange!) were otherwise occupied, but those of us who did make the perilous trek into the capital reverted to type in our natural habitat of Hyde Park and spent hours talking about anything and everything, observed some very weird goings-on (a woman doing some bizarre form of Tai Chi, a couple who really needed to get a room and several strategically positioned corpses) before the so-called British Summertime became too much for us and we retreated to the warmth of the museums. After dragging the boys round the costume section of the V&A, we went up to the Cast Courts and technically went halfway round Europe. Next time I go away, I shall dispense with my camera and just take a whole truckload of Plaster of Paris with me...Having 'returned' from our travels, we spent many a happy hour shoving small children out of the way impatiently as we took our own child (Baby Forumbat GemGem) round the wonders of the Science Museum. I think I can confidently say that we learnt absolutely nothing from the experience, but we had a damn good laugh the whole time, so I would say it was a successful outcome!

Sadly, we had to lose Holly a bit early (well done on your A-levels again, sweetie; I am soooo proud of you!!) and GemGem and Owen too were gone by six (love you lots, my clever, fabulous daughter, and Owen, you are a complete genius). That left myself, Ray and Hannah (happy birthday for today, Hannah!! Love you!!) to stuff ourselves with chips before heading off to the Crossbones graveyard...

Crossbones is a patch of unconsecrated scrub ground which, back in medieval times, was designated the final resting place for the so-called "Winchester Geese"; the prostitutes licensed by the Bishop of Winchester to ply their trade in the area around the Clink. Over time, it became a place where all those too poor or 'shamed' to be given a decent Christian burial (not just prostitutes) were buried. When the Jubiliee line was being built, it was rediscovered and 148 bodies were removed; since then, it has become a place of pilgrimage and a memorial, not just to those who were and are still buried there, but to the many women within the sex industry today who have been murdered. There are memorials to the five women murdered in Ipswich, to the three women killed in Bradford and other cases that don't make the national news. I heard about it a few months ago and, as I potentially have an ancestor who was a sex worker (she was known as a 'seamstress', a euphemism for prostitute and as she only had one hand I'm a little dubious as to the exact brilliance of her sewing ability), I became intrigued. It was deeply moving and a very sombre end to the day, but I'm very grateful that Ray and Hannah came with me and I hope it wasn't too depressing for you both.

So all told, yesterday was a marvellous day and I love my Forumbat family more than life itself. Holly and Owen, good luck as you head off to uni in the next few weeks; I'm very proud of you both for your epic A-level results and know you'll both be brilliant. GemGem, my Baby and my treasure, I love you to bits and I am so pleased you came on Halloween and are now part of the family. And Ray and Hannah - what can I say to you that I haven't already said? I love you both more than I can say.

Forumbat meets will be harder to organise as even more of our number are off to university and the big wide world, but I can guarantee that whenever, wherever the next meet-up is, there will be much laughter, much love and complete chaos. Sorry, citizens.

RA RA!!

Fundamentalism, Tolerance and the American Dream

Next week is the ninth anniversary of what will forever be known as '9/11'. What happened on that day is something that lives in the collective consciousness of everyone who witnessed the event; we can never underestimate the worldwide changes that were brought about by such shocking events. The civilised world stood shoulder to shoulder with America in grief and shock; when the US President and Senate advocated war with Afghanistan and then Iraq, America's allies - Britain included - went in with them.

This isn't going to degenerate into yet another anti-war rant; frankly, it seems ridiculous to keep going on about how legal or illegal the war was, or how justified we can claim it to be. Not even the recent shenanigans with the US finally pulling combat troops out of Iraq (cos we won that one, apparently) or the hoo-ha about Tony Blair's book are justifications for going over and over what happened. Besides, I'm fairly certain that those of you who know me are pretty clued in to my feelings about the two military campaigns...But what has completely pole-axed me - and yet doesn't really surprise me in the slightest - is the recent news coming out of America relating to the news that an Islamic Cultural Centre is to open two blocks away from Ground Zero.

I'm going to indulge in a few sweeping generalisations here, for which I hope anyone reading this will forgive me. Naturally there are exceptions to every rule; indeed, I know several exceptions to the very statements I'm going to make, but there are times when the old sweeping generalisation is the most accurate statement. So...America has always traditionally harped on about being "the Land of the Free" and how tolerant and accepting they are; look at us, they cry, for did we not rise as a nation from the ashes of other countries? Are our people not the people of the world, for we came as immigrants from far and wide to settle this land. (This of course conveniently neglects the indigenous population who were there all along, but as many Americans have and still do the same thing, I find this a justifiable statement. I digress...) With this historical melting pot of class, culture, creed and country, you'd think that the US of A would be the most tolerant and compassionate nation in the world, right. Well, I guess it is...if you happen to be a right-wing, white male Christian fundamentalist.

The reactions of the people that I've seen interviewed about this centre have completely beggared belief. One guy, whose firefighter son was tragically killed in the 9/11 disaster, stated the following (and I quote):

"'It is hallowed ground to us. There are porn shops and other things down there, but they didn't murder my son. Muslims murdered my son. And that is why I don't want the mosque there. They were cheering in the streets of Cairo, Baghdad, all through the Middle East, they were cheering the murder of my son that day. All we are asking is, practice your religion, but just move it a little bit further away.' He says he is not a bigot and this is not about religious freedom. 'All Muslims are not to blame, just like all Japanese are not to blame for Pearl Harbour, but you wouldn't put a Japanese centre at Pearl Harbour. I would say they promised to come back after '93 and they did, they promised to come back after 2001, I bet you it will be through that mosque if they do.'"

Whoa, whoa, whoa...let's just back up here a wee bit, shall we? First of all, it's not like they're erecting a mosque on the exact site of the World Trade Centre. I appreciate that he notes that it's not 'all Muslims', although subsequent comments about the fact the mosque (it's not a mosque, by the way, not by Islamic standards) will be used to launch the next attack on America detracts somewhat from that. I am very, very sorry that this man lost his son; what happened on that day was absolutely horrific and we should never forget that, but Jesus how paranoid could America be? And of course the right-wing nut jobs like Sarah Palin (Goddess help all of us if that woman ever gets into the White House) have jumped all over this particular bandwagon. And frankly, his comments and those of many other people about "oh yes, we're tolerant and don't mind you practicing your religion as long as you do it a bit further away" are verging on inciting religious hatred - how much further away is good for you, America? The Middle East? All this comes after a taxi driver in New York was attacked explicitly because he was a Muslim and a mosque in Tennessee was the target of an arson attack - be careful, America, because you're starting to resemble the intolerant hate-filled insurgents you claim to be going to war against. This all comes, of course, in the same week that the Israeli and Palestinian presidents meet in the US to try and salvage some form of treaty and hope from the dreadful situation in those countries, which is another ranty-filled blog entry yet to happen I feel (hint of my feelings - Israel has a collective short memory).

The lesson of 9/11 should not be that hate begets hate. The lesson should be that, by working together to understand the vast disparity of cultures and religions that this world has to offer - without pushing one or the other onto the rest of it - we can combat the small minority of religious fundamentalists and terrorists who seek to cause fear and bloodshed and hate. Don't let them win by assimilating their views and becoming the same intolerant and hate-filled people. We're better than that. We are.

Head. Desk.

This is going to probably be a very, very, very short and possibly quite ranty and disjointed post because I am close to blowing a gasket. I shall not dwell on the details because to do so would only make me turn violent; suffice to say that certain people need to realise that a group that was set up for fun is not a dictatorship and I will not be held responsible for expressing an opinion. I'm awaiting both the backlash and my expulsion from said group. Up the Proles!!

On a related-but-happier note, I am trying to get my arse in gear to come up with something vaguely workable for the annual trial that is NaNoWriMo (that's National Novel Writing Month to the less acronym-happy among you). Every year I say 'never again' and yet, come November or July, I am poised over my laptop in a feverish haze attempting to knock out 50,000+ words of something sort-of coherant. It's like an addiction or something. So as November prepares to roll around, I find myself once again at a complete loss for what to write. As it's NaNo, I can't finish the never-ending epic that I started last JulNoWriMo (July Novel Writing Month) because it has to be a completely new piece of work; but although I have a few vague ideas floating around, I can't make a decision or formulate a plot. The options so far?

1) Something based on the life of one of my heroines, Elizabeth Siddal, which is what I planned to do for one of my 2 (yes, 2!) novels last November; I started it but it didn't go to plan as I had no real idea what I was doing, trying to combine her life story with that of a modern girl who was obsessed with Lizzie. So not autobiographical at all, then. ;)
2) Something about the 'Winchester Geese' and the Crossbones Cemetary - I'm spending my days at work at the moment researching prostitution and the 'single women' *coughprostitutescough* buried in Crossbones intrigued me even before I started this.
3) I have a vague notion of Death's Goddaughter being my heroine. She works in a morgue and has a smart-arse cat called Mr Eddie, a live-in ghost called Henry and...and I have no idea what to do with her/them.
4) Something based on a weird dream I had this morning involving the world being devastated by plague, 'safe' communities and the wandering rabid plague victims, and me marrying some Irish guy clled Johnny. Nope, I dunno what it means either.
5) Just writing "help" 50,000 times over.

So yeah, no pressure to come up with anything. Maybe something will crop up the night before, like it did when I wrote the epic that became Poppy Valentine. I must revisit that...

Anyways, to lighten my mood, a video. This was taken (not by me, although I was picture-happy on the night!) at the Sarah Jezebel Deva gig at the Underworld in August. She's awesome, her band are awesome (I got friend-requested by Ablaz, the bassist, which was weird but uber-cool; he rocks!) and the whole night was awesome. I love this song...