a messy pup, despite the labours to possess a OCD.

In the midst of unpacking it is continuously an ingenious scheme to arrange one’s wardrobe, extract amusement from a stretched out slinky that has yet to intertwine itself into a cluster of carpet and metal, and to snap shoot all of this on a beautiful camera I have yet to understand significantly enough to produce anything worth anyone’s while. Tally ho, here they are.

I have commandeered Nanny’s suitcase since my own pleasant pink contraption with the wheels came to the conclusion it loathed the weekly return to Kent and committed suicide in Waterloo East. I thought I’d look like a cool kid with this design. Alas, without wheels my feeble physique is unable to look anything but hazardous whilst strolling through the train stations of Hampshire, London and Kent.

This bedroom held within its walls not one, not two, but FIVE plates of toast. God only knows how long they had resided there (or why I had to overcome a powerful urge to consume them.)

a pesky question.

Crossing my hairy pins I rest against the wall and glare my favourite curly locked friend in the eyes. “But I aaaaaaaam……” I howl.
“You can’t be,” sighs Freddie, slackening his shoulders and laying back into his seat with frustration, “The Cribs say you are either or eye-ther, so what is it?”
“I’m defiantly both. I promise you, it’s possible to be both.”
“But hooooow?” wails Freddie this time.
At this moment the spindly, profoundly limbed friend jostles into the room, insistent to be integrated into the natter. Matthew Sandford and myself are fervent, conflicting opinions on the matter at hand. I knew his answer to Freddie’s question prior to it being asked.
“Matt, realist or romanticist?” enquires the ringlet one.
“REALIST,” bellows the gangly one.

How did I know? Honestly, I may well have had a small hernia if he’d of replied anything but the cynics response. Matt Sandford is a pessimist, a sceptic, incapable of dreaming loving rom-com’s up in his script writers psyche.

“What are you then Freddie?” I wonder aloud.
“Well, I’d like to think I’m a romanticist, but then again…”

Is it feasible to be a realist in addition to being a romanticist at one time? Or is it implausible to be a romanticist. A romanticist without a smidgen of cynicism about yourself?

For myself, there have been a number of encounters, many experiences where in a split second I have gazed about and contemplated about how the world is truly perfect. How cheesy?! God, I wish it wasn’t true.
My happiest memory should truly be tainted, because the reality a year on is so dissimilar. Yet my romantic side allows me to acknowledge that in that one moment, whilst laying in that Bangkok bed, jet lagged and wide awake at 6:00am flickering through music, chitchatting as life continued in the busy streets of Pinklao outside of my sanctuary, I truly was happy and time can not snatch that memory away from me. This is my romantic side. The segment of my mind that looks upon a beautiful beach, or up at the stars, or across at my dear old Nan and smiles. Because things are right in the world.

Nevertheless I do indeed declare I’m both a romanticist AND a realist.

Despite my optimistic outlook on life, I acknowledge reality. In the deepest realms of love, I’m not naïve enough to believe that it will continue forever. When I gaze at my Nan, I mentally prepare myself for the worst; morbid I know, right? Whilst lounging about on a stunning beach, I know that in but two weeks it will be time to return to reality; beach bumming can not continue subsequently for the next 80 years of life.

It would appear that during times of glee my natural reaction is to remind myself that this will inevitably be followed by sorrow; I seem to reality check myself constantly so as to control my over-zealous emotions.
Whilst alternatively during times of grief and dilemmas my optimism shimmers through, my innate response is to mentally reassure myself that things can and will become better.

Therefore, it is shown. I am both a realist in times of cheerfulness yet a romanticist throughout periods of unhappiness. Optimism and pessimism can coexist beside one another. They can I tell you!
And does this not just sound like the most idealistic state of mind to possess? To allow one's self to have faith, yet misgivings as well, at once. To debate the pro's and con's in one's mind? To be rather brutally honest, the romanticist within is probably the stronger of my self's since, despite acknowledging the brutal realities of life, I will continue to put myself in these positions that one day I know will hurt, but at that moment they create happiness in my life. It's alike that time old saying: a moment on the lips, a lift time on the hips.
Should we really live for the long term, how those pesky 100% Matthew Sandford realist would have us go about our day to day buisness? Or is the spontaneous, short term thinking and consequence forgetting life of the romanticist’s the way to go?

"There’s always madness in love, but there’s always reason in madness."
Leecher

fortitude shall conquer all

Oh Mr. Dallas Green, how you speak such wise words. How well you recuperate what my own mother has told me today: “You must follow your heart.”
From hence forth, the following two years are dedicated to scheduling in extensive details my three year world trip. Beginning in either India (if I daren’t brave the pooey streets) or Thailand (simply because I know the country) I shall travel south east Asia, onwards to the Philippines, down towards New Zealand, Australia and Fiji. Over to Hawaii, up the west coast of the USA, across to the east coast and down towards South America, up again towards the Caribbean and the final frontier shall be the home continent of Europe. Obviously extensive planning shall be taking place, and freelancing shall be a necessity yet I think I can do this…can I not?
Maybe even the Russian vodka trail in celebration? Bear Grylls, watch out, a unwavering girl can do as she pleases, and more.

what's that you say? a collection of photographs ought to have somewhat of a facet in common.

A few snapshots from which to acquire joy and to admire. I ought to exercise my photography skills and the new camera of dreams more often so as to become a increasingly knowledgeable self.

My kinda’ bouquet.

Forest meditations for Buddha.

Timekeeping in Japan

Jewels

ShadaanDan

Mr. Cobb

Head Cheerleader

my natural evolution. from geek to philosopher.

As a young one I was INFATUATED with the cosmos. I begged the mother and father to send me to NASA, I poured over my Dorling Kindersley outer space encyclopaedia and, thanks to Daddy Bob, grew up watching Star Trek and biding the family good night with “Live long and prosper.”
Unfortunately, the parents did not post me off to NASA space camp. I stayed in England, 4271 miles away from Florida while a different ten year old trained to become an astronaut in the sunshine state (I remember reading the story in the newspaper. I recall my hatred of her. Bitch).
Nevertheless I was, am and always will be a star gazer. When I look up and see the stars, I smile. It’s actually quite worrying, in particular for those watching me grin at the moon.
Yesterday eve something dawned on me. Beware. This is a philosophical thought, executed in an incoherent and unarticulated manner.
The stars we see above were suns. Once upon a time. Their light has travelled for millions and millions of years over billions and billions of miles to live above our heads. Therefore that speck of light died years upon years ago. In that specks past it is dead. Adjacent to this, in the future that light will fail to live on in our sky, finally it’s death will spread to us and that light will be erased. The stars in the sky are therefore deceased in their past and lifeless in their future.
Yet, for the present part, they live. They shine. They glisten and gleam and, when I wish upon those little specks of light, they give me hope. But in the end, am I wishing an empty wish?