a not-so helpless world...

So it's been a while since I've actually dared to write about anything serious. But (thinking you might be a bit fed up with accounts of my mundane life), I thought it was probably time.

The world is a bit shit. When opening a newspaper, it is easy to be overwhelmed by all the terrible things happening. Civilians are slaughtered in wars they can neither understand nor support, young men are sent to the gallows for falling in love with one another, HIV tears communities apart. The world reeks of unjust death and there are so many causes we feel we should support. Palestine, Nigeria, Burma. It will never be possible to protest against every tyrant, every mass killing, every dose of oppression. So how do we choose the ones we take interest in and those we let slip by? Obviously the press has almost unlimited power when it comes to bringing selective suffering to our attention; while the death of every British man killed in Afghanistan is reported (and not unjustly), if every civilian death from the same war was mourned in such a way, there would never be time for any other news items. To the media, local lives lost are worth far more than their faceless counterparts.

And even when we take an interest in this seemingly unstoppable suffering, if we wish to continue our middle class, comfortable existence, we are really powerless to stop it. Is it worse to know these horrible things are going on and do nothing about it, or be ignorant to it? Ignorance is bliss, but surely an indifference to the plight of mankind is one step away from condoning it? I just hate this helpless feeling.

Just so I don't explode with the injustice of it all, I tend to take interest in just a couple of these causes at once. Recently, I've been reading a lot about the situation in Iran. I won't turn this into another of my feminist rants, although it would be so easy. Let's just say that women are caught up in a system steeped in oppression and regressive laws. It's easy to say that this nation is too far gone to be helped; to help itself. When I watched this film however; the film the Iranian authorities tried to conceal from its people, I couldn't help but feel that Iran is far from doomed.

There is a somewhat stifled revolution taking place; a challenge to a corrupt government, a yearning for peace. Unfortunately, this uprising has been greeted with shocking violence. The striking image of the beautiful Neda Agha-Soltan's blood streaked face as she died at the hands of the Iranian regime was the reason I, and millions of others began to understand the severity of the problem. The film is brilliant, and I urge you to watch it (not least for the amazing voice of Shohreh Aghdashloo who narrates and who also starred in a recent episode of The Simpsons).

For me, the important thing is that in the face of violent militarism, the people of Iran are beginning to revolt. It's not like these things can be resolved in a couple of years, but I firmly believe that Iran will come out of the darkness in time. If only the years in between could be more peaceful than those preceding them.

a bit Grey...

It's one in the morning. I've been eating insanely healthily over the past couple of weeks because my mum isn't present. I just rebelled by eating a Pot Noodle. It was disgustingly brilliant and now I'm going to be healthy again.

I'm still very much powerless to escape the clutches of Grey's Anatomy. I really don't understand where my obsession with American hospital dramas came from, but it's definitely not budging. I was determined to be a doctor when I was young, it's probably that. Then I set foot in a hospital and realised that they actually weren't that pleasant. Nevertheless, when doctors are portrayed by men with great hair and women dripping with sarcasm, I can't resist. I cried a total of three times yesterday; an emotional rollercoaster full of senile mothers and severed penises, quintuplets and adultery, miscarriages and pus. I'm now watching QI for a bit of British normality; just in case I wake up in the morning under the delusion that I am a shit-hot surgeon with cheekbones that could cut cheese.

I probably need to go out tomorrow...

hopelandic ♥

The last few days of utter solitude have taught me something very important. When I (hopefully) leave in October, I'm never coming back. I don't care if I have to demonstrate my rights as a squatter, or share a flat with someone who smells of mothballs, because you know what? Living alone rules and I'm a nicer person when I don't have to contend with my impossible mother.

And the ironic thing is, the grinding, tedious chores of which I never usually hear the end become simple and undaunting. Today I cleaned the kitchen! And I washed up, cooked, sorted washing, watered the plants and did some ironing. All of these things became almost enjoyable when blasting a soundtrack my mum would usually call 'mindless durge' or 'suicidal droning' and dancing like an arthritic grandpa. Plus I can sit wrapped in a duvet watching Grey's Anatomy all day, learning how to conjugate Swedish verbs from the subtitles if I so choose (which I invariably do). Life just becomes simpler, quieter and much more enjoyable, so I will try my absolute hardest to make sure I return as seldom as possible.

I know I'm a bit late on the bandwagon, but Sigur Ros are now filling my days quite nicely with their devastatingly beautiful melodies. And everything just sounds better in what has been christened 'Hopelandic', doesn't it?

Finally, I have a vague memory of Sarah Dixon and her mother telling me determinedly in the car once how funny the BBC sit-com 'Miranda' is. I brushed off their comments (Sarah has a very odd sense of humour) but was put in my place when I caught it on iPlayer about six months ago. No, it's not that clever, nor will it win a bundle of awards any time soon, but it is the only thing that can make me cackle like a pantomime baddie, and that's got to be worth something. Anyway, the good news is that the lovely BBC are reshowing series one again. Give it a chance? She's a genuinely funny lady...

lost in boxsets...

My mother has just departed for a fortnight in Turkey and my sister's just arrived in Bruges. Now as much as I love solitude, being stuck in Wolverley without a car pretty much sucks. I've passed the day stirfrying various vegetables and delving into Postsecret archives; all in all, pretty depressing.

I need a hobby or a pastime. Something to pass the time other than reading and staring at various screens. Unless power napping counts as a hobby. No?... I've had various commitments in my life, but I'm a bit of a quitter and they all seem to have faded into nothingness. I danced for years, but had no coordination. I played trumpet, but had no musical ability. I helped at Brownies, but stopped due to my general contempt of children; girls in particular. Yesterday I dug out my paints, but then realised why I only got a B for art GCSE. When you build your life around being a nerd, the summer holidays tend to be a bit of a disappointment, particularly when most of your friends live in awkward places like Clent or deepest, darkest Black Country; a good half an hour away. By car. So that's irrelevant.

So tomorrow I'm going for a run. Or a walk with sporadic bursts of lethargic jogging. This means I have to find some trainers (I'm not even sure I own anything other than impractical, canvas flats) and some tracksuit bottoms (I'm a skirt girl). I also have to find a way to overcome my complete lack of fitness. Baby steps...

I'm also going to Worcester in the afternoon to see my good friends the Haworths (my ex-vicar and family) and have tea, chillax by the river, etc. I might even squeeze in a sneaky trip to Accessorize... It'll be lovely to see them because it's been months and while I used to practically live in the Vicarage, since they moved, I really haven't made enough of an effort. Plus it will be nice to see some human beings who neither live in Wolverley or compete at Wimbledon...

I go away on my beastly trip in three weeks and I seem to own no summer clothes. Probably time to get on that...

I won't say I like Tomas Berdych because so far this seems to have jinxed my favourites (Federer, Djocovic, Jankovic, etc), but I have provided a picture so you can work it out for yourselves. His eyes are VERY blue...

If I should become a stranger, you know that it would make me more than sad.

You might think that having nothing to do all day long would result in more regular updates, but I seem incapable of writing in the day. I am a night owl and I think my productivity levels peak around midnight. I'm still technically a teenager so I blame this for my erratic sleep patterns and lack of general routine.

I rant a lot. I am a definite ranter. Some people like this, particularly those who see it as an opportunity to get into a heated debate with me about politics or religion or the never-ending appeal of the grandad cardigan (which some people still refuse to embrace). Others, however must find this particular stubborn trait a pain in the metaphorical bottom, particularly when I take it upon myself to emphasise and fight against the plight of my favourite minority; women. Now just because I am not a bra-burning lesbian, doesn't mean I have to miss out on all the feminist fun. Lately, however, my arguments have been becoming a bit predictable and I feel a bit unconvincing. Luckily, I have the ability to arm myself with plenty of feminist literature so I can rob the ideas of someone else. The first on the chopping block is 'The Feminine Mystique' which I'm enjoying immensely. It's surprisingly readable which I don't usually find with anything non-fiction, and I feel myself becoming more and more bitter with every word which I'm pretty sure is the desired effect...

This song is ridiculously lovely. If you remain unconvinced, at least watch it for his odd-yet-strangely-attractive elfin features.

A very merry un-birthday to mindbop

Ladies and gents, I just realised that my little blog is six months old as of today. Yes, yes that's right, six whole months. And I realise that this neither sounds like a long period of time or a great accomplishment, but you don't understand! The longest I've ever kept a diary is about a week, I skip songs half way through, I never finish books, I resolve to keep fit and it lasts a couple of days, I leave in the interval, I skip to the best bit of the film. When it comes to commitments I am, in short a bit of a flake. So this is in fact quite a monumental achievement. I would just like to take this opportunity to say how much I've enjoyed writing it and the positive feedback makes it all worthwhile! Not that it's a chore really, I only do it when I'm in the mood which is surprisingly often...

I just got back from the final Warwick University Big Band concert which was really really good. I want to get good grades more than ever. My heart's sort of set on it which is a bit of a bugger because I'm fairly sure I've failed myself. I'll have to find a backup...

exams and tennis and hot men reading books...

It is as I feared. I chopped off half my hair and after completely failing the French exam today I feel Samson's pain. My unruly mop of hair was the source of all my linguistic powers. Without it I am weak. But it does look a lot better. Maybe a good haircut makes a life of academic mediocrity seem less tragic...

This is my new favourite blog, though I can't take the credit for its discovery (thank you Anna Muggeridge). It is simple yet effective and I can't help but wish that I had come up with the idea. Needless to say I will be checking in regularly and might even bring you my personal highlights. If you're lucky... I'm not sure there is anything better than men with beards reading books in an intellectual, sometimes pretentious manner. Correct me if I'm wrong. (Was posting three pictures a little too much?)

This is my new favourite song which you might recognise from the brilliant film Little Miss Sunshine. Unfortunately, I heard it on an X-Box advert today which made me like it a little bit less, but it's still pretty good.

Tonight is prom night and despite my lack of hair and lack of alcohol consumption, I think there's a chance that it could be awesome. It's nice that it's so much more relaxed than the much more formal affair two years ago - not a floor-length dress or orange face in sight. It's very refreshing.

Having finished all my exams now and finally ridding myself of the 'I should be revising' feeling, Wimbledon has become my preferred way to spend the day. I love everything about it from the sun burnt crowds to Federer's cardigans. I dropped into conversation with my mum the fact that I thought Jelena Jankovic was really cool and her reaction was "She's ugly!" in such an appalled tone one might think I had just declared myself a Tory. "Yes Mum, but that's not what I said, is it? I said she was cool." "Well that's all very well but men don't like 'cool' do they?" I feel this needs no further comment.