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...