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For those of you not fluent in Maori, that means ‘let us be staunch in speaking Maori’. It’s the first line of a song which I discovered MADCom will collectively be singing to their clients at their Christmas party – we have a lot of Maori relations through government clients. I’m definitely not staunch in that department… I can’t even pronounce the word ‘Maori’ correctly. I can’t roll my R’s, and you almost need a rolling sound. I have thought about taking a course in Te Reo Maori, and I’m thinking it even more now, since I believe it’ll support me in the workplace. Even if I just learn the different combination vowel/consonant sounds, at least I won’t sound like a complete ‘tard when I’m reading documents incorporating the Maori language.
Kiwi is Maori – pronounced ‘May-or-ree’ by me (this is laughable if you’re a New Zealander), or ‘Mawl-lri’ by people who can enunciate (kind of – I don’t know how to sound it out here) – but he doesn’t know the language really. His Nanny teaches Maori to kids in primary school, maybe I should start with some lessons from her. Even in a country where the main language is English, I feel foreign when I hear people say Kia Ora or Noho oro mai – I think if I was to say it I’d sound trite. But I also sound ignorant when I can’t say names/terms correctly so I owe it to myself and the clients I’ll be meeting to educate myself.
Just a thought for now…
It’s been another day at work with a lot to take in. And I started off the day by tipping a tin of tea on the kitchen floor (such a waste of lemongrass and ginger), and then realising I had forgotten my notebook – I’d left it at home. Inside my notebook was my To-Do List and a bunch of documents (briefs/survey summarys) which were important not only for me but for other people in the office. *Slaps forehead*. Luckily I have the bestest chauffeur Kiwi this side of Upper Hutt and he drove the hour round trip back into the city to bring it to me. He drove me into work and back to Upper Hutt, drove my notebook into work then back to Upper Hutt, then came in to pick me up and drove me back to Upper Hutt. I should get him a black cab.
The day wasn’t all bad – I sorted myself out once I had my notebook back in my hand. But I have a lot more to sort out tomorrow – I have emails flying about everywhere so it’s easy for important messages to get lost amongst the others (I need to organise them into folders) and I have even more bits of paper flying about my desk too. I need a filing system of some description. It really has been too long out of work when organisational skills are defying me…
Anyway, I have to be in the office bright and early tomorrow for singing practice (!). So, away to bed and another chapter of Harry Potter to lull me to sleep… These early mornings are a shock to the system after sleeping in til 9am and taking 2 – 3 hours to slowly get up and dressed (now I have to get ready in 1 hour and 20 minutes – this might sound a lot but my ridiculously thick hair takes 40 minutes of this!). Oh wow, now I’m beginning to appreciate the benefits of unemployment – I should go back in my blog and re-read the posts about inane boredom and feelings of worthlessness – for now I can only remember the ‘good’ stuff of unemployment now I’m reminded of what it’s like in the real world. Lie-ins, lie-ins and… lie-ins. Lie-ins are now only the thing of dreams (except on weekends). Nighty night x
Check out my new page. It’s there to add a little excitement to your visit when you have some time to kill and perhaps I haven’t updated in a while. Push the button and it’ll take you to a random post in my archives; there’s nearly 1 and a half year’s worth of posts to delve into and my journey of thoughts has been interesting to say the least – in that time I have considered relationships (past and present), anxiety attacks, novel writing, body confidence, my time in Newcastle UK, emigrating to Wellington New Zealand, job hunting in a recession and a newly discovered obsession with small and furry critters. Definitely so random.
Another backdated post taking us back to the new year and the UK again. Having stayed in the beauty and peace of the back of beyond in Scotland for 10 days Kiwi and I were ready for civilization, so on 1st January we flew from Aberdeen to London for five days of fun, frolics and the last goodbyes with family and friends during our last weekend in England. We stayed with the incredibly hospitable Ally and boyfriend for the duration of our trip, and I say hospitable most sincerely because on arrival we turned their flat upside down in a whirlwind of the contents of our 5 giant suitcases. You couldn’t move without tripping over an odd shoe of mine and they didn’t complain once. Thank you lovely people, you’re welcome to stay with us in NZ anytime you wish and return the favour by making a mess of our house and eating the entire contents of our fridge… we owe you.
During our stay I took a trip down memory lane by returning ‘home’ to Harpenden, passing by all my old haunts from the first 19 years of my life. It didn’t feel like home anymore – I didn’t recognise anyone, there were new shops, cafes and restaurants and the place had moved on six years, as have I. I spent a day with my brother, sister-not-in-law and my 27 month old nephew who I was sad to leave because his butter-wouldn’t-melt cheeky character is highly entertaining and cute and there’s a lot of growing up of his I’ll miss!
Back in London we met up with some friends who’d travelled down from Newcastle to see us off – it’s gestures like these that makes us realise how great our friends are in the UK and that’s hard to leave behind. My Uncle travelled through from Birmingham for a quick coffee and I also met up some with blasts from the past, having told old school friends that we’d be in London and would love to say goodbye. I never expected so many people to turn up and was overwhelmed to see everyone. Again it makes me wish I had more time to catch up, but I also know that had I not been leaving the UK I’m sure we wouldn’t have had the excuse to meet and I wouldn’t have enjoyed everyone’s company, despite the bittersweet occasion.
Ending the trip with on a high note were our tickets to see the Lion King at the West End. I wasn’t as emotional as I had anticipated, but it was a good 8 years ago that I saw it for the first time and I think age has mellowed the excitement. Saying that, it was still an amazing performance and more importantly Kiwi enjoyed it, having never experienced a West End show. Afterwards we had a lovely meal cooked by Ally (courtesy of Jamie Oliver’s cook book), complete with champagne – the perfect end to a fantastic long weekend in the big smoke.
And so, the end of our chapter of life together in England started on Monday 5th January, the day of our flights and the moment I had been dreading. I imagined the trip to Heathrow airport would be emotional, stressful and I’d feel panicky – I’m usually terrified of flying. But I was calm, collected and ready to go – the journey had been a LONG time coming. We had a smooth check-in, a delicious meal in the airport and the time flew until it was time to board the plane and take off to the beginning of a new chapter of life in New Zealand…
Earlier in the week I was forced to come face to face with the stuff of nightmares. Of my childhood nightmares to be exact, but ones which have become so deeply ingrained that when I overheard the terrifying tones of “Ullah” I was rendered a nervous wreck. Perhaps a slight exaggeration but I was alone in the lounge at the time so I ran to the kitchen for the ’safe’ company of my housemates. Safe it wasn’t however, as it was at that point I met with more chilling sounds, coming straight from the kitchen stereo speakers… Jeff Wayne’s musical version of H.G. Wells’ sci-fi novel, War of the Worlds.
My dad had the musical on vinyl and as a child I’d sit with him, my mum and brother, listening to it as I looked through the vinyl cover insert – consisting of a book containing the lyrics and illustrations. I was always fixated on one particular illustration, of women and children running in the streets, running from the Martian’s Tripods – the terror painted on their faces was so real to me. I have always had a vivid imagination and just looking at the pictures was enough to send shivers down my spine and fear into my body. This, coupled with the emotive soundtrack and the sound of the martians – “Ullah”, stuck in my mind for many years to come.
I remember each time I heard the musical I’d become fearful of going to my bed alone at night. As my brother was (and is) two years older than me, he had a later bed time. One particular night, after sitting in the lounge listening to War of the Worlds, my parents sent me to bed and I refused point blank, knowing I’d be upstairs all alone. All I could think of was that if I peeped out the curtains of my upstairs bedroom, which looked out over the street, I’d see the Tripods staring back at me. I’d heard something at school about the comparative maturity of girls and boys – that girls matured two years before boys, and so I tried to use this to my advantage – “but muuuuuum. Boys mature two years after girls, which means my brother and me are the same age in maturity, so we should have the same bed time…?” Apparently not. I traipsed out the lounge, taking each step as slowly as possible, dragging my feet along the floor. I walked into the dark hallway, closing the lounge door as requested and slothed along the hall until I got to the first step of the stairs. I looked up into the ominous blackness of the upstairs landing, expecting something bad waiting to leap out at me. I slumped onto the second stair, my eyes – trying to get used to the dark – were making out moving shapes on the last stair, dancing around like flickering black candlelight. I remember simply sitting down on the stairs and peering through the bannister, through the glazed window of the lounge door, awaiting salvation (or at least impatient removal by force by mum or dad – but at least I’d have some company on my way to bed). I was a quivering, scared mess. Not much has changed.
I’m old enough now to not let my imagination take over my understanding of what is and what isn’t real… At least, what I think is not real…
Back to last week, and it turns out one of my housemates bought War of the Worlds on CD for 50p at a jumble sale. A Millenium Limited Edition, for fifty pence. Surely that’s an eBay profit treasure? Apparently not, apparently it’s a priceless find and it’s here to stay, to torment me with the nightmare illustrations that lay inside the insert. And so today was the day I decided to let my nightmares lay to rest. Whilst alone in the kitchen, peeling and chopping vegetables, (a long and laborious task which takes me back to spending time with my mum in one of her aprons, misting up the kitchen windows with the smell of homecooking), I felt it was time to put on the CD, time to stop running away and to face the music – Jeff Wayne’s music…
…And I lived to blog about it. Although I still felt the familiar vulnerable feeling of being watched in the light of the kitchen as I seasoned and stirred, by something hidden in the darkness outside the window. The tree branches knocking against the glass accentuated the chilling thoughts which I couldn’t help but let run through my mind. Martians, Tripods, red weed, burning rays… it all seems to trivial to be sat here writing retrospectively. But that’s the magic of a good story – it takes you in, involves you emotionally and mentally. The fear is still there, but I’m old enough now to not let my imagination take over my understanding of what is and what isn’t real… At least, what I think is not real… *Gulp*
I was feeling a bit bleary eyed this morning, after attending the Chip Shop Awards 2008 last night, all the way up in Edinburgh – an international jaunt across the borders from England to Scottishland, as I can’t help but call it. The Chip Shop Awards are awards for design and advertising agencies, for work which would never make it to the client’s presentation table. Not because of lack of creativity – far from it – but with categories including Best Non-PC, Best Use of Shocking Copy and Best Use of Bad Taste, it’s all about controversial ideas in a world of political correctness gone mad. It’s also about punching above your weight, with a category for Best Work For Any Brand You Haven’t A Hope Of Winning.
“controversial ideas in a world of political correctness gone mad”
Held in Edinburgh’s trendy bar Lulu, tickets for the Chip Shop Awards were £40 a pop, so I arrived with expectations of a sit down meal in a giant venue with all the trimmings. I was a bit peeved (although how peeved can you get when it wasn’t my pocket the tickets came out of), to find it wasn’t up to expectations. Now for a quick insight into Lulu – follow some steep steps down into a low lit, low ceilinged basement, where mirror tiled columns sparkle and beaded curtains around the DJ box add a casual retro touch. I quickly got over the initial disappointment as I warmed to the cool, casual surroundings, amongst the crowd of uber fashionable design creatives. I felt part of something special – if a little cliquey. But then, I’m not usually part of the cool clique so it made for an interesting change.
On arrival, free drinks were available from the bar in exchange for your ticket. Much as I tried to flash my ticket then inconspicuously tuck it in my pocket and let the barman forget all about it, he held his hand out and I begrudgingly handed it over. I’m never one to miss a trick, but it doesn’t always go my way. Looking around the room, bowls of pickled onions were dotted around the bar, along with bottles of ketchup and brown sauce, hinting at what would follow. Regardless of the threat of death breath, I can’t resist anything oniony so I dived right in, before being delighted at the arrival of a barmaid presenting a tray laden with individual servings of chips wrapped in stylish chip shop paper.
Glaswegian comedian Scott Agnew warmed the crowd with a stand up set, before the awards ceremony began. Chairman of the judges, Michael Wolff, cofounder of Wolff Olins – *that* agency that designed the logo for London 2012 (ahem), gave a speech about creativity – a slightly self infulgent take on how there’s so much bad and average design out there (his company not included, I’d hazard a guess). I switched off after a while as I couldn’t stop thinking he was reminscent of somebody, but I couldn’t quite place him… Oh no, I could – Gary Glitter.
“I’m not usually part of the cool clique so it made for an interesting change”
After his speech, it was time for Mr Wolff to hand out the trophies to the winners of each category, and shake their hands. The trophies were true to chip shop form – runners up receive a bottle of vinegar, whilst winners receive a ‘chip’. The top trophies are for the Chairman’s Award and the trophy of envy – the Grand Prix, which wins a special black ‘chip’. The Winner of the Chairman’s Award was company Lake, with their advert for Jim the Window Cleaner, from the category Best Use Of A Shop Window Postcard Space. The Grand Prix was won by National Galleries of Scotland, for their Warhol Can Columns. Slightly off topic for the awards, as the campaign was a real one. More to the point, the company I was representing won a ‘chip’ for our category – Best Use of Non PC advertising. We had used a famous picture of the Virgin Mary, photoshopped a mobile phone into her hand and captioned it “Virgin Mobile. Immaculate Reception”. Myself and a colleague trotted up to the front, where all I could think of to say to the Wolff man was ‘oh it’s really heavy, isn’t it’ on collection of the chip. To be fair, it is a brick. I won’t go into every winner, so for all the category nominations and winners (plus all the pretty pictures), visit www.chipshopawards.com.
All in all, it was a successful night with very few attendees going away without a ‘chip’ or vinegar bottle in tow. I was suspicious of this and felt it somewhat watered down the success of the so-called ‘winners’ when up to 3 nominations out of 5 in a category won chips or vinegar. But next year’s awards are set to get tougher, as the competition becomes an international one with international judges and companies entering. Perhaps I’ll get involved from wherever I am downunder – there were admittedly some genuinely thoughtful entries of small genius, which made me smile. I’d love to have the quickwittedness to think up some of the ideas myself, some of them are so obvious, yet so subtle. It’s just a shame they’ll never be used by actual clients, because we could all do with our day brightening by some tongue in cheek, if not horrendously bad taste, billboard or TV ad. Well, apparently not all of us, as proven by Heinz’s Deli Mayo Ad…
And just for good measure, another video of The Lion King – I am more excited about seeing this again than I am about going on holiday to Ibiza next month. I’ve got chills watching this, I can feel myself welling up already – I will be a blubbering mess, I can tell.
I have to apologise to Kiwi but I have spent every spare moment since yesterday drooling over Jason Raize (see above video, specifically 3 minutes and 5 seconds in). My growing obsession came about since youtubing the stage version of The Lion King, as Kiwi and I have tickets to see it in London’s West End the day before we jet off to New Zealand. I saw it for real about ten years ago and it was utterly overwhelming. No exaggeration, it is something you must see before you die – all other musicals pale in comparison.
Jason Raize played the older Simba in the clip above, and he looks incredible. Tragically he committed suicide in 2004. It is beyond me why a man that talented and absolutely beautiful to see could have been in such despair to take his life. It truly is devastating; he has an immense voice, I’m passionate about vocals and his send shivers down my spine.
I get teary eyed over music, mainly when I hear a beautiful vocal piece as I’m passionate about singing but haven’t been blessed with an incredible natural talent for it. I have been known to sob like a little girl watching films or TV (for example Max’s death in Hollyoaks and any emotive moment in Friends – even when watching an episode for the billionth time). I was overwhelmed when I saw The Lion King on stage and cried from the opening note to the closing curtain. To round it up, when it comes to emotional reactions to cultural experiences (highbrow or not), I am unashamedly affective. And so I felt compelled to write about a gargantuan artistic creation which inexplicably moved me.
“magical, unbelievable, astounding, dumbfounding”
It was presented to me in the form of a video during an Arts Marketing conference earlier this week. During what was otherwise an unimpressive seminar came this snippet of something magical, unbelievable, astounding, dumbfounding in some ways and I found myself completely drawn into it – even watching it second hand. I’m writing about The Sultan’s Elephant, an event which took place last year and the clip of which doesn’t begin to do it justice but was the best I could find. From 4th to 7th May 2007, the streets of London were transformed into the scenery of a storybook – the story of a little girl and a time machine in the form of a giant mechanical elephant. I’d never been aware of it until now, which is unsurprising since what goes on in London stays in London, because the UK starts at Uxbridge and ends in Seven Oaks. Hmmm, topical…
It seems as though a large percentage of the capital’s population did know about the event however, as it was guesstimated over 1 million people spilled out onto the apparently gold paved streets of London to see what the craic was all about. And I would confidently say that not one person was disappointed; nobody who turned out that day was not touched by what they saw. The ‘little girl’ that the story revolves around is recreated as a 20ft giant puppet. And yet she is so real, as she walks along the street, looking around doe-eyed and with such innocence, she could be everyman’s child. As several grown men struggle to dress her in socks and boat sized shoes, she instantly appears more vulnerable than her size would suggest. As children play with her – swinging on her arms – she becomes even more human, making eye contact with each child as though sharing in the experience mentally and emotionally. It’s easy to forget that you’re watching a puppet, and this is reflected by the reaction of the crowds. The clip I have linked to doesn’t show the audience, but as the story draws to an end for the finale performance, there is a sea of people crying as the ‘little’ girl returns to whence she came.
“The arts add magic in a world where scientific and technological advances disallow any room for wonderment”
It could be deemed an overreaction, but I can appreciate that the atmosphere at the event must have been extraordinary. The crowd do not just watch a performance – they collectively form an emotional bond with this child and being so close to her within the performance space, they become part of the tale. Over a million people enjoying, loving the mutual experience they are sharing is something so scarce that a powerfully warm ambiance would have incited a similarly strong, warm reaction.
The Sultan’s Elephant costed millions of pounds to create and stage, and some would argue it is wasted money in a world with universal poverty issues, but I would disagree. The arts can cross language and culture barriers and remind us we are essentially the same. The arts remind us not to take life too seriously, they remind us how to feel and they make us think. The arts add magic in a world where scientific and technological advances disallow any room for wonderment, folk tale and imagination. Cultural experiences are so important for bringing people together when we would otherwise become immersed in our individual lives. The little girl giant is the child inside all of us – our innocence from a time where every experience was new. It is the arts that allow us to carry on experiencing new things from cradle to grave. And you can’t put a price on that.
On Friday night, having developed cabin fever due to knock on effects of the credit crunch – no, not the actual credit crunch, but the one Kiwi has imposed on me so I stop impulse spending and start saving for our trip – me and Kiwi took the opportunity of what would otherwise have been a night in, to walk to the Quayside for one of ‘NewcastleGateshead’s‘ so called world-class events, Bambuco. I’m unsure when Newcastle and Gateshead became one uber-city of dual proportions – I believe it was for the purpose of a stronger application for the City of Culture award a few years ago. The plan backfired however, as Liverpool received it – it seems that the City of Culture award is given to the city that needs it most, and as Newcastle already has a thriving cultural scene it wasn’t deemed in need of support.
Gateshead on the other hand is, and may have been more successful in winning if Newcastle hadn’t been on the scene – it is crying out for funding and cultivation of the arts. Its entire offering is made up of The Sage and Baltic and iconic though they are, a city can not rely on just two buildings within a few hundred square metres to call itself cultural. For a short while Gateshead had Tyneside Cinema drawing the usually Newcastle centric crowd toward Gateshead’s centre, but that has now moved back to its original home, leaving the town centre to the perils of the Tescos buy-out of any business they can monopolise. Somehow I don’t think Tescos will be lending a helping hand in generating a cultural scene – the town centre will become a commercial asylum, with new office developments offering a lower cost alternative to the outlets North of the Tyne, keeping any sign of cultural activity South of the river firmly located around the small section of the Quayside known as Baltic Square.
“a city can not rely on just two buildings within a few hundred square metres to call itself cultural”
That’s a long winded digression, I began this post with Bambuco in mind, a review of what turned from a hauntingly beautiful idea into a frustratingly slow let down. Having walked down to the Quayside we were met by the sound of wooden instruments, which reflected the general theme of the event – bamboo. Bambuco is an art installation – a temporary bridge constructed out of bamboo. The bridge can not be crossed by anyone but the Bambuco team so it holds very little purpose during its three day stint, except for photographic benefit, adding a little something extra to the panorama of the Quayside’s already numerous bridges. Friday’s event marked the completion of the bridge, and the beginning of the SummerTyne festival, a weekend event for which occasion the bridge was built for. It seems bizarre to me, as the bridge has been under construction for three weeks, to have it taken down after three days, but I thought perhaps Friday’s event would make it all seem worthwhile.
I had read that over 700 flames would be lit across the bridge, as the Bambuco team skilfully crossed its wire platform from one side of the Tyne to the other, and had epic visions of tightrope walkers juggling flames as they tiptoed across using bamboo rods to steady their balance; perhaps fireworks. On arrival we could see a boat lit up with candles floating ominously across the river, and my imagination went into overdrive, picturing people traversing between the high bridge and low boat somehow – aerial artistry, something visually awe inspiring. As every time I hold high expectations, I was sadly disappointed. We stood for an hour as the Bambuco team rigged their way up either side of the bridge (two structures which resembled a giant game of Kerplunk), painfully slowly, simply lighting hundreds of candles on their way up.
“I am the product of a society in which impatience is a virtue”
After the hour stood watching (im)patiently, wondering if there was to be an impressive finale, the candle lighters reached the top of the Kerplunk towers, and began to edge their way towards the centre of the bridge, still painstakingly slow. Realising there was to be no zip wiring with fireworks of any sort, me, Kiwi, James and Conor who had joined us, had had enough, and like so many others in the crowd, decided to disperse. It was a shame, because the idea was fantastic; the wind instruments offered an eerie addition to the mood lighting formed by the late summer’s eve sunset, and the twinkling candles made for a romantic atmosphere. But I am the product of a society in which impatience is a virtue – if we hadn’t wanted everything quick and easy, would the internet have taken off? And so, the ‘wow’ factor of the visually stunning ‘burning’ bridge was lost with each minute that crept by. A world-class event? I wouldn’t say so, but it was impressive nonetheless.
Kiwi and me went to see the musical Eurobeat, Almost Eurovision last night, and had to make a quick post about it simply because it was immensely funny. Think lycra-clad, tangoed men, greased up to the max and prancing around; horrendous, below-the-belt innuendos; xenophobic jokes and a mixed bag of fake accents, all together in a celebratory parody of the best of the Eurovision song contest. And you even get to feel like it’s the real deal as the Audience votes for their favourite countries to win.
What made it even better (if it were possible) was the addition of the legend Sir Terry Wogan himself, introducing the show with his dulcit tones. Plus, if I wasn’t such a tight arse at the moment, (self-imposed, I refuse to spend any money until I get to New Zealand and my bank account trebles into NZ dollars…) I digress – if I wasn’t tight, I would have purchased every piece of memorabilia available to me – hand clappers, horns, flags, badges, a CD of all the tracks, with which to intensify the Eurovision fever. If you missed it, or if you want to relive it, there are video clips online. Clicky here.
He said, then she said...