tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67896895517314991392024-03-18T09:47:47.166+00:00notes on paperScribbling notes; reveling in serendipity; everyday treasure seeking.Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.comBlogger990125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-18338532149410163692019-02-16T18:15:00.000+00:002019-02-16T18:15:27.048+00:00Life Documenting: Dispatches from the Land of the Flu (and Haunted Urethra).Hey you.<br /><br />Last month there was a lot of social media chat about how long January felt. How it was dragging on. How people couldn’t wait for it to end. Couldn’t wait for slight, slim, and brief as a rainbow February to sneak through a crack in the year and come to the rescue.<br /><br />Yeah. Well. Not I. <br /><br />January treated me pretty well thankyouverymuch. What with it being the month I chose a marvellously romantic Word of the Year (‘Romance’, obvs), found <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BtG94kejtK7/" target="_blank">the boots of my dreams</a>, published two blog posts (a minor miracle!) and had a birthday of my very own. <div>
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Honestly, for me, January could have lasted a little longer. But February? February was a different matter.<br /><br />February drifted in on the breeze with all the charm and subtlety of an arson attack on a manure heap, then continued to stink up the year from there on in.<br /><br />First we had a sudden snowfall, then, under the cover of the aforementioned snow James drove over something that burst his car tyre. Hours later, he began burning up … and that’s when things got even better when flu bullied its way into our lives. 36 hours later it was my turn to take a kicking, but not before the cystitis I’d chased away at the end of January crept back in to haunt my urethra. (And who wants a haunted urethra? Clue: nobody. No. Body.)<br /><br />And so … what follows is kind of a Captain’s Log reporting back from The Land of the Flu (and Haunted Urethra). My collection of notes made while everyone else was falling face first in love with a brand new month, yet James and I were laid out, knocked back, and smacked down by the flu. As James’s virus emerged a day ahead of mine I had the joy of watching what was happening to him, knowing that in a matter of hours it would all be mine. So really, I’m just passing on the ‘forewarned is forearmed’ favour to you. <br /><br />If nothing else, you might want to read it as a cautionary tale about wishing away a perfectly good January in exchange for a February created from a Lucky Dip of Evil.<br /><br />Happy reading! <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">Dispatches from the Land of the Flu (and Haunted Urethra).</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">Day 1.</span></b></div>
<br /><b>Symptoms may include:</b><br /><ul>
<li>A headache</li>
<li>A burning, dry, heat that starts on the face/head then moves to the whole body.</li>
<li>Followed by a damp, slick, slippery, sweaty heat.</li>
<li>And then freezing cold – 4 blankets deep and still shivering – chills.</li>
<li>Extreme aches and pains wracking the body, especially across the back, hips, and legs.</li>
<li>Accompanied by extreme swearing every time you need to move.</li>
</ul>
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<br />Plus ...</div>
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<li>Repeated pleas of : 'Please make it stop make it stop' and 'Help me' to anyone who’ll listen. (Spolier: there won’t be anyone listening. No one wants to be within a five-mile radius of you, you germ ridden sack of aching bones and sweaty cleavage.)</li>
<li>A dry cough.</li>
</ul>
<br /><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Additional side-effects:</span></b><br /><ul>
<li>Unable to sleep for the pains, you might be in need of a distraction so very, very, badly that you get up, slump on the sofa, and find yourself watching the Superbowl. You. Watching the Superbowl. A ‘sportsball’ game thing that you wouldn’t understand even if your brain wasn’t addled. </li>
<li>There will also be secondary disappointment when you realise that none of the players appear to be as sexy as they are made out to be in sports-themed romance novels. (Life’s just one kick in the crotch after another right now.)</li>
</ul>
<br />Speaking of which …<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b style="background-color: #cccccc;">Day 2. </b></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Symptoms may include:</b><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">A <i>dry </i>cough that turns into a <i>productive </i>cough (but hey, at least something round here will have achieved something this week.)</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">But if, like me, you also have cystitis then do take extra precaution with that cough. No one who feels as ill as this flu make you feel, needs to add 'weed a little bit on the bedroom carpet. And, maybe, kinda, also the landing carpet.' to their litany of indignities. Ask me how I know<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><br /><b>Side effects:</b> You will lose your appetite and instead keep yourself alive by on subsisting on mainly beige food (bread, biscuits, bread, toast, cream<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"> of anything soup, bread.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background: white;">Side-effects of the side-effects:</span></b><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> the lack of decent food may result in phantom food fantasies floating around your brain, even though you wouldn’t feel like eating them if someone put it in front of you.). These strange and sudden cravings may be for things like a toasted bacon sandwich, cheese on toast, a plum ( a plum? Really? Where the hell did that craving come from?) or a cheese and tomato sandwich. (Apparently, I had mainly cheese based fantasies.)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Day 3.</span></b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"> </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background: white;">Plot twist!!</span></b><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span></span><b style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Today’s symptoms may include</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> … </span></div>
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<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">a spot of cheeky diarrhoea. (Pardon the pun/ puns). </span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">But yeah … the need for speedy toilet visits is just what your aching limbs and poor digestive system have been crying out for.</span></li>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><b>One good thing: </b>by now you’ll experience fewer peaks and troughs in temperature, however, you’ll still cold by the time your slow old legs make it to the bathroom. <i>If</i> you make it to the bathroom ...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><b>See also: </b>today might be the day you end up visiting the doctor for antibiotics for cystitis. Which may or may not include the awkward exchange with the receptionist which begins “Is that enough” … in reference to the meagre water sample you’ve managed to produce to hand over the counter to her. FML.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><br /><span style="background: white;">You may supplement your bread-based diet with the grapes you bought while wandering around Asda like zombies while you wait for your prescription.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">New exciting symptoms:</span></b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<li><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">Pain above/behind the eyes. This is so annoying that you’d roll your eyes at the injustice of yet another thing to worry about. If you could roll your eyes.</span></li>
<li><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">Sneezing. Which can be dangerous. (See also ‘coughing with cystitis’.)</span></li>
<li><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">Today may also be the day you receive vaguely threatening texts from a parent declaring their intention to storm the Bastille (ie. come round to check you’re still alive). And I quote - “I will have to come and check on you both to make sure you’re on the mend. I’m a mother, that’s my job.”</span></li>
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<b style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background: white;">New ways of thinking:</span></b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Frequent pondering if we can hire someone to come and clean the house for us.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 17.12px;"><br /><br /><b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cccccc; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">Day 4.</span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background: white;">Symptoms may include:</span></b></span></div>
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<li>You may find yourself feeling a little better today. But, look, don’t get too excited. ‘Better’ is a relative term. Because, feeling ' a little better' while experiencing this hell still equates to a regular fu*king nightmare.</li>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><b><span style="background: white;">Second plot twist!!</span></b><span style="background: white;"> </span></span></div>
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<li>You might manage to go downstairs, report to work that you're still off sick, open the curtains, then haul yourself up the stairs gripping the banister like a mountaineer. By the time you reach the top you may realise that you're sweating and cramping and that ‘something’ is going to happen.</li>
<li>So you edge into the bathroom (Because there's no chance of any kind of 'dashing' happening any time soon) and - to cover all the bases - you sit down on the loo with your head over the sink.</li>
<li>It is now that you will then wake your partner from their flu-ridden slumbers with the sound of <i>loud dry heaving </i>echoing off ceramic. Good Morning!!</li>
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However, you don’t actually throw up, and all is not lost today, as it’s also the day you decide to do something drastic. Like ...</div>
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<li>get up. Manage a shower and wash your hair. Then sit downstairs. Upright. Almost. Ish.</li>
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<br />Today you may even eat a sandwich complete with greenery. Do try not to get drunk on the vitamins<br /><br />At 7pm – because this week hasn’t yet been awful enough - you might remember a deadline you have. For today. And spend the next 2 hours writing and submitting it.<br /><br /><br /><b><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">Day 5.</span></b><br />
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<br /><b>Symptoms may include:</b></div>
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Conversations which run like: </div>
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<li>“When do you think we'll start doing normal things again?”</li>
<li>“Like what?”</li>
<li>“Oh, like, cooking a meal. Going outside. Or when might I stop walking like a baby dinosaur?”</li>
<li>“Never”.</li>
<li>"Oh, thanks."</li>
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Today may also be the day your parents/loved ones may invoke <i>the power of The Key.</i><br /><ul>
<li>Usually, under normal circumstances, our house - like Mordor - isn't somewhere they ever just walk into. </li>
<li>But today we were instructed that if we weren’t well enough to get up and answer the door, they were going to use The Emergency Key to drop off the grocery shopping they’d got for us.</li>
<li>They didn't need to, but ... </li>
</ul>
<b>Alternative therapies:</b><br /><ul>
<li>Day 5 is the day you should self-medicate by watching To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before on Netflix. </li>
<li>It was the 3rd time I’d seen it and …you can move over Paracetamol, because watching Peter Kavinsky fall for Lara Jean is a far more potent healing power.</li>
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<b><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">Day 6.</span></b><br />Today you will learn that “I’m coming round to change your sheets” is a statement and <i>not </i>a question.</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w_xMH7ZYvTE/XGg33dr49MI/AAAAAAAAUg4/si0J3dJKoW8-7Ytyor2t0ZYhlj0oc3CVwCKgBGAs/s1600/bed_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w_xMH7ZYvTE/XGg33dr49MI/AAAAAAAAUg4/si0J3dJKoW8-7Ytyor2t0ZYhlj0oc3CVwCKgBGAs/s1600/bed_.jpg" /></a></div>
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My mother did just that - came to our house, helped change our sweat soaked, Olbas Oil scented sheets … then stayed to do our laundry, clean the kitchen, and make lunch. And, wow, it was the <i>biggest </i>treat.</div>
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<br />She also managed to slip in the phrase: “You could have died”. Because what visit from a mother is complete without a reference to death?<br /><br /><b><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><br />Day 7.</span></b><br /><br /><b>Symptoms may include:</b><br /><ul>
<li>Getting your money’s worth from your Netflix subscription for the first time in months because you can’t even face reading.</li>
</ul>
Yeah, just to recap … you might find yourself </div>
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<li>unable to read, </li>
<li>watching sport on TV </li>
<li>and accidentally pissing on the carpet but … what’s this? The universe has one more poor taste joke to play on you???</li>
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On Day 7 I had my first cup of tea in a week. And ... I didn't like it. *gets down on knees and shakes fist at thunderous sky begging ‘Why cruel world? Why?’*<br /><br /> <br /><b><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">Day 8.</span></b></div>
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<b>Symptoms may include:</b></div>
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<li>A delivery of Sunday Lunch from people who care about your nutrition. And you may even manage to eat it! You actually sit down and consume real actual food. Warm stuff.Go you!</li>
<li>Which is all a world away from Day 1 when I asked for “A Ryvita served on a paper thing” by which you meant ‘a sheet of kitchen roll’ … because even plates felt like too much fuss.</li>
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<br /><b>Symptoms may also include: </b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Some light disapproval from the people who bothered to make you in the first place who may not approve of your decision of what to do with their darling creation. It might be best if you don’t tell them you plan to return to work the next day … because they may well prefer it if you promise to stay off. Maybe forever.</li>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">***</span></div>
<br />look ... I wouldn’t be telling the full story if I acted like <b>Day 9</b> dawns and you become a new person, full of life, energy, cured by a platefull of homemade mince and dumplings and Peter Kavinsky’s beautifully non-toxic masculinity but … alas …<br /><br /><ul>
<li>As I write ... another week has passed by and I’m still feeling the effects of the flu (although, thankfully the antibiotics worked and my waterworks have been fully exorcised!)</li>
<li>I’m still coughing, still sleepy, and – while I am drinking tea again - I still haven’t quite got the hang of 3 decent meals a day yet.</li>
</ul>
And, quite frankly, if this goes on for much longer I’m definitely going to need a tonic. </div>
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<b>How does a <i>4th</i> viewing of To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before sound to you?</b><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">***</span></div>
<ul>
<li>Have you too have experienced this awful February flu?</li>
<li>Have you too accidentally watched sport while in a weakened state?</li>
<li>Maybe you too have been haunted by an evil combination of minor illnesses? </li>
</ul>
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Feel free to share any and all symptoms and cures (including restorative Netflix recommendations) in the comments (here or <a href="http://instagram.com/withjuliekirk" target="_blank">on Instagram</a>).</div>
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Julie<br /><br /></div>
Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-2864035329548341872019-01-29T15:14:00.000+00:002019-01-29T15:14:37.419+00:00Leave To Stand : a short story about lust ... and microwaves. <br />
Hey you.<br />
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I wrote this piece to submit to a writing competition last year (no, it didn't win anything) where the theme was 'Cooking'. And it's always odd where even the vaguest of prompts can take your imagination. I mean ... until then I'd never really felt the need to write about the effect a microwave can have on a relationship. But that's exactly where the story led me.<br />
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Oh, and, forgive me but ... it's written in the <i>second person</i> point of view because I really wanted to make <i><b>you </b></i>complicit in this awkward little tale of illicit love, and vegetable soup.<br />
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Please enjoy. (And, remember to pierce the film lid before reading.)<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Leave to Stand: </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">a short story </span></b><span style="font-family: courier new, courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>about lust ... and microwaves </b></span><b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">by Julie Kirk</span></b></div>
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<br /> That microwave is so high up on the wall it’s all you can think about. Just so high, impractical, awkward.<br /><br /> You should probably be focusing on him though. You didn’t shower and pick out matching underwear to come and fixate on a microwave inconveniently bracketed to the wall above eye-level. Well, above <i>your </i>eye-level at least. <i>He </i>seems to be managing just fine with it where it is. But you can’t help thinking, just one lapsed moment of concentration and that’s a scalding right there. <br /><br /> You wouldn’t have your microwave that high up. You don’t, in fact, yours is at a far more reasonable counter-top height. You suppose his is where it is because that’s where his landlord put it. It just came with the house, and its tiny shared kitchen. Some things some people don’t get a choice in.<br /><br /> He glances between your face to where your gaze is pinned on the lunch waltzing around at head height over there.<br /><br /> “What’s so fascinating?” he asks, with the genuine interest that attracted you to him in the first place.<br /><br /> You want to reply: <i>It’s just not right, is it? Having a microwave all the way up there. Doesn’t it bother you, where they’ve put it? It’s courting an accident. Surely?</i> <br /><br /> But you don’t say that, you say “Oh, nothing.” and drop your head, hoping to look coy rather than irritated. By a kitchen appliance. <br /><br /> “It’s just … I didn’t have breakfast this morning, and,” you nod toward the microwave, “I’m counting the seconds.” <br /><br /> Your palm instinctively circles your grumbling stomach. The anticipation of being alone with him had shut down your appetite this morning, forcing you to leave your overnight oats in the fridge for an extra night. You’ve only had a glass of water and a travel sweet all day and you’re feeling it now. You really do want to eat even though you’re not thrilled about the menu. <br /><br /> You return to staring at the bowl twirling on a down-lit stage to the background hum of a 750 Watt orchestra, trying to remember the last time you ate like this. <br /><br /> Chunky soup. Tinned. Microwaved. <br /><br /> Not that you’re a food snob, you’ve got a microwave too. One, like you say, at a <i>normal </i>height. Mostly for defrosting, but occasionally for heating up baked beans, or a milky hot chocolate when you don’t want to get a pan out. And you’d choose a slick and creamy squeezy cheese (preferably sucked directly from the tube, feeling the hard thread of the nozzle against the delicate skin of your inner lip) over a supposedly ‘good’ Camembert any day. <br /><br /> But part of you is gratified to know that he’s not really eating like this from choice, but necessity, it’s a money thing. Not that you think people with more money automatically eat better than those on a budget. Although, of course, you’ve seen articles linking low income and poor nutrition. And food poverty is obviously terrible, and yes, you do always drop something into the food bank collections at your local supermarket. Well, not <i>always</i>, but you have done, once or twice, when you remembered. <br /><br /> The steady slamming of his palm against the base of a second can diverts your eyes from the microwave in time to see the last chunk of potato, a perfect building-block cube of a thing, and an oddly olive-green-tinged pea, slop into the bowl beneath. You swallow. Then note that this bowl doesn’t match the one in the microwave. <br /><br /> Your eyes meet, and you blush, caught in a judgmental act, although he’ll likely suspect you’re flushing at his cheeky can-spanking. And, now you come to think of it, you are. </div>
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You watch as he rinses out the can, dipping in his long slender fingers, gliding over its ridges. And this time the redness in your cheeks has nothing to do with being caught judging his mismatched crockery. <br /><br /> Those hands, they’re on <i>The List</i>. The list you created last week, when he’d invited you here and you wanted <i>all the reasons</i> to say yes. The one you ran through last night when you came up with a lie about why you didn’t need to make a lunch for today; and again this morning when you’d turfed out your bedside drawer looking for your favourite perfume, which you then spritzed over your body. Including behind your knees. </div>
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Despite a longer list of reasons for you to be nowhere near here, him, or his hands, they’re two of the more tangible reasons you find yourself tracking them as they move around the kitchen preparing your lunch. <br /><br /> You become transfixed by how, in contrast to the pale, smooth pale palms - freshly laundered hotel sheets that haven’t been lain on - the backs are sinewy and firm, with a drift of dark hairs emerging beyond the cuff line. And, like much of his skin (that you’ve seen, so far), the backs of his hands are ever so softly browned, like toast made in a hurry. The colour coming from his of love of outdoor pursuits; hiking, cycling and wild-swimming. (Whatever <i>that</i> actually entails, you just nodded when he told you, feeling you ought to know, and would appear out of touch if you asked.) And even just from his habit of sitting outside, with a book, on a wall in the car park during his lunch hour. <br /><br /> The day you’d met it had been Thoreau’s <i>Walden </i>he was poring over, one hand guiding a sandwich to his mouth, the other firmly holding the page open so wide that the front and back covers were pressed against one another. You’d never spoken to him before but you <i>had </i>read <i>Walden </i>and, well, what better conversation starter is there? <br /><br /> You’d thought it was such a unique choice for a twenty-something, not that you said that to him. Rather you’d chatted about Thoreau’s philosophy and the poetry he’d found in the simple life, until you’d both had to return to the office. Later, when you’d googled it to recap on the finer points, and to check you’d been saying the right things, (it’d been a while since you’d read it), you learned that, it’s recently become a bit of a bible for the minimalist, wild-garlic-foraging, organic-record-player type of hipster and you’d felt a sting of disappointment, embarrassment even. You’d been relieved the following week to see him with a different book, so there was no longer any danger you might be drawn into a conversation about sustainable micro-homes or digital-nomadism. <br /><br /> Now, as he dips and darts around the tiny kitchen your eyes drift from his hands to his lean, denim-wrapped, legs. Legs so long that any two consecutive strides bring him to a halt against a worktop, where a third would see him stepping clear out of the back door on to the, well, ‘patio’ would be a kind word for it. </div>
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Or if he were facing your direction, then three strides would bump him right up against you. <br /><br /> Toe to toe. <br /><br /> Nose to chest. <br /><br /> A steadying hand on a waist. <br /><br /> And if he did? If he came close enough for you to draw in the scent of his laundry powder, what then? Would <i>that </i>be the moment you’ve been waiting for? The one you daren’t actively bring about but, if it<i> just happened</i>, almost accidentally like that … If he bumped against you in that cramped space, with that droning oven turning away overhead, wouldn’t he be stepping straight into something you’ve been rolling around your mind like a lucky marble all these months? </div>
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If those hands reached around to the nape of your neck, and slid up into your hair, and if he were to draw your face towards his and …<br /><br /> Ding! <br /><br /> You inhale a little too quickly, and instinctively straighten up. <br /><br /> “I think that’s you done.” he says.</div>
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“Mmmuh?” you murmur, hoping your thoughts aren’t playing publicly across your face. But he’s just talking about your vegetable soup. <br /><br /> With his hands around the tea-towel he’d been casually wearing over his shoulder, he carefully places the hot bowl on to the work surface next to you warning:<br /><br /> “You might want to let that cool off a bit first”. <br /><br /> Which feels as much like pointed advice as it does a serving suggestion. <br /><br /> While the soup cools he prepares the drinks. And he's so focused as he cracks the ice tray over your glass, so present, you almost think ‘childlike’ but then remind yourself that his is <i>not </i>a child’s age. He’s a grown man with a good job, a house (well, his own bedroom and a shelf of a fridge in a shared semi). He can drive, he can vote, a fact you’ve even discussed with him. He’s voted in a general election, and a referendum so not only <i>can </i>he vote, he <i>does</i>. He carries out his democratic duties, so, no, definitely not a child. <br /><br /> Although, when he’d opened a craft beer for himself and offered you one, (which you passed on, preferring a nice crisp white that he doesn’t have), you’d flat-out refused the fizzy-something alternative he brought out from the back of the fridge. Because drinking pop, at a boy’s house, on a school day, would simply have been an anachronism too far; this is not, after all, 1991. He hands you an iced tap water, then gestures towards the living room (where you curse the speed with which you just calculated that out of the two of you, it was only you who was alive in 1991.) <br /><br /> You sit at one end of the sofa, cautiously balancing the bowl on your knees. Meanwhile, at the other end, he curls effortlessly into the creased cushions. Tucking a leg beneath him he angles his body, his slate grey eyes, and his enviably easy manner towards you. </div>
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And as you watch him watching you, you think maybe this <i>could </i>work. Here, today ... tomorrow. You could have, well let’s not got so far as to say a ‘future’ together but, you could definitely have <i>something</i>. And, you do want <i>something</i>, otherwise, why are you here? It’s certainly not for his cooking.</div>
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<br /> You finish the soup, even though it’s gone cold around the edges, an assault on your tongue’s expectations, and he leans across to take your bowl and put it on the floor. He’s now so close you can feel his increasingly quickening breaths dancing over your bare arms. <br /><br /> “I had to have <i>this,</i>” he says, lightly grasping the neck of his empty beer bottle, before moving it further way, and himself closer. <br /><br /> “So that I could do <i>this </i>…”.<br /><br /> And this is it. <br /><br /> The moment you’ll finally know.<br /><br /> Even after months of incrementally increasing intimacy, the snatched lunchtime chats, the shared meal deals, the swapped snacks. (Like the time you finished off an apple he didn’t want. Carving through his teeth marks with your own. Your mouth over his.) The inching. The edging. The nearing towards inevitability, you’re still not all-in. <br /><br /> But you’re sure that when your lips meet for the first time you’ll have no more doubts. That the answers to all your questions will appear before you, like the pictures in those water-reveal colouring books you used to get as a kid. Full colour, clear picture, magic-wand stuff. <br /><br /> His lips graze yours.<br /><br /> He pulls away slightly to check you’re OK with it, and you grab a handful of his t-shirt in assent. Your eyes sink shut, your shoulders drop and you let ‘<i>something</i>’ happen. <br /><br /> You don’t feel any sparks just yet, but hey, what are sparks really? Just the stuff of romance novels. Or static. And, as you suspected, his hands <i>do </i>feel good in your hair and, oh, he’s eager, and yes, this could be nice. <i>Is </i>nice. </div>
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Just go with it, get out of your head, stay in your body. Touch his. Don’t be brain. Be lips, hair, hands, jaw, hard chest, washing powder. <br /><br /> He moves his mouth down to your neck. You gasp and your eyes open wide in delight … and … then that’s when you see it. <br /><br /> Over his head. Watching from the kitchen. Looking down on you with its single, stationary, glass eye. <br /><br /> That bloody microwave. <br /><br /> And, no two ways about it, it’s just <i>so very high</i>. Ridiculously high. <i>Too </i>high. Not like the one you have. At home. <br /><br /> Not like the one sitting happily, on your oiled walnut counter-top, at waist height.<br /><br /> The one your husband uses to make those ‘mug cakes’ that he considers more like witchcraft than dessert, but that he makes for you because he knows your need for cake can sometimes reach dangerously high levels. <br /><br /> And the one he used last Thursday, at 3am, to heat the lavender scented wheat-bag, when you had cramps, and couldn’t sleep, and had an early meeting the following morning.<br /><br /> So, no, this is not like the one you have at home. <br /><br /> And … </div>
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<br /> <i>Ding</i>! <br /><br /> I think that’s you done.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large; font-weight: 700;">THE END</span><b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b></div>
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<b>'Leave to Stand' <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">©</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> 2018 Julie Kirk</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y-iOTvvg0yU/XE38KtfeJHI/AAAAAAAAUf8/IYo-kFvOqWgMuUYo0QjnRgWz-aiqB8-vQCKgBGAs/s1600/Leave_to%2B_Stand-Short-story_title%2Bimage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y-iOTvvg0yU/XE38KtfeJHI/AAAAAAAAUf8/IYo-kFvOqWgMuUYo0QjnRgWz-aiqB8-vQCKgBGAs/s1600/Leave_to%2B_Stand-Short-story_title%2Bimage.jpg" /></a><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"> </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #666666;">Thank you for reading to the end of my odd little tale of lust amongst the white goods! </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #666666;">Sharing my fiction is still new to me ... so any comments or observations you might like to share are truly welcome. Without it I'm sending out words without knowing how they land. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #666666;">I don't think they're lukewarm in the middle, like a lacklustre microwaved ready-meal, but other than that ... it's hard to judge my own work. </span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #666666;"><b>So, if you have any comments, questions or encouragements, I'm here for them! </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666;">(It doesn't need to be blog comment here, just catch up with me anyway / anywhere that's easiest for you across social media.)</span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #666666;">And if you're inclined to share 'Leave to Stand' on your own social media, or with a friend in 'real' life, that would really mean a lot. </span> </b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Julie x</span></b></div>
Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-66965823117239715722019-01-13T19:01:00.001+00:002019-01-14T08:27:08.695+00:002018: A Year in Bad Portraits (Welcome to a year's worth of awkward photo-fails).<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Hello you. </div>
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If you've ever dropped by to visit me here in any given January over the last 5 years you'll be familiar with the concept of my bad portraits. But, if not ... let me explain:</div>
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<ul>
<li>they're my visual equivalent of a New Year detox; </li>
<li>they're a means for me to balance out a year of sharing the <i>best, most flattering</i> photos of myself - (these days that happens over on Instagram - <b><a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/" target="_blank">@withjuliekirk</a></b> - where like clockwork, every 4th photo I share is one of me) - with the ones that didn't quite make the cut. For reasons which will become obvious.</li>
<li><b>they're a flushing-out, a fresh start, an enema for the ego!</b></li>
<li>and they're a chance for me to laugh at myself ... and offer you the same opportunity.</li>
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They're my <i>BAD </i>portraits ...</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pE8OS3x5KzE/XDDez7FvE_I/AAAAAAAAUcU/UyHINnC0fBwv5tm3B_d42tZwEyhD7s7fQCKgBGAs/s1600/AYearinBadPhotos_2018_Logo_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="189" data-original-width="551" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pE8OS3x5KzE/XDDez7FvE_I/AAAAAAAAUcU/UyHINnC0fBwv5tm3B_d42tZwEyhD7s7fQCKgBGAs/s1600/AYearinBadPhotos_2018_Logo_.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b style="color: #333333; font-family: "courier new", courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">As I say each year, you are free to laugh at the following content. In fact, please do, because otherwise what am I even doing sharing them?! </b><br />
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<li>This project is never about body-shaming or self-critique. At worst it's self-deprecating ... at best, it's a healthy self-assessment, and I share mine in the hope that it'll make you feel better about yours! </li>
<li>And I never share photos that make me feel bad, or ones that don’t make me laugh, so you're absolutely safe to laugh along.</li>
<li>So, let the guilt-free voyeurism commence ...</li>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>My Year in Bad Portraits: </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>The 2018 Edition.</b></span></div>
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I'm going to start with a photo in which I look like an oil painting.<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q5zyb_1362M/XDDZZrVcgUI/AAAAAAAAUaY/osUABp0fd_MAgMZv1RUG37i3FrqTMCs0wCKgBGAs/s1600/02_February_Bad_Portraits_%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q5zyb_1362M/XDDZZrVcgUI/AAAAAAAAUaY/osUABp0fd_MAgMZv1RUG37i3FrqTMCs0wCKgBGAs/s1600/02_February_Bad_Portraits_%2B%25281%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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It's just a pity that the oil painting in question is one of <a href="https://www.google.com/search?tbm=isch&q=rembrandt+self+portrait&chips=q:rembrandt+self+portrait,g_1:old:Dyu6wKE1XbA%3D&usg=AI4_-kRzvVQLf0M_6hfdZnSvdZLScDgHEQ&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjJmouwi9ffAhVIWxUIHbkrCLMQ4lYIKigA&biw=1366&bih=657&dpr=1" target="_blank">Rembrandt's self portrait</a>s.<br />
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Granted, dude could paint ... but he was no looker was he?<br />
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Below I've put together my <b>Top Modelling Tips</b> so we can all learn from my mistakes. Because these kinds of selfies - where you accidentally take a photo while clutching your phone in a clammy hand, and then you end up looking like an old Baroque artist - are just <i>the worst</i>. Right?<br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>Modelling Tip No.1: </b></span><b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Find your Angles. </span></b><br />
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<b>Please note: </b> this one is <i>never</i> your angle:<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9qGrhgDLJr8/XDDZZt_jZ_I/AAAAAAAAUaY/f1KxnomOBqc9hc3x--_Fede2CB5tXSeJQCKgBGAs/s1600/Low%2Bangle%2BBad_Portraits_2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9qGrhgDLJr8/XDDZZt_jZ_I/AAAAAAAAUaY/f1KxnomOBqc9hc3x--_Fede2CB5tXSeJQCKgBGAs/s1600/Low%2Bangle%2BBad_Portraits_2018.jpg" /></a></div>
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Unless you have an especially interesting under-the-chin tattoo, there's never a good reason for you to be taking a selfie from below.<br />
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Ever. (As these shots prove.)<br />
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From above my loves. Always from above.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>Modelling Tip No.2: Always be aware of what your hands are doing.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XAT230ezmNc/XDDZrODH6dI/AAAAAAAAUak/dxBfGpE7i0gbVQegj_WZhuvnPO7sREWfACKgBGAs/s1600/Hands_Bad_Portraits_2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XAT230ezmNc/XDDZrODH6dI/AAAAAAAAUak/dxBfGpE7i0gbVQegj_WZhuvnPO7sREWfACKgBGAs/s1600/Hands_Bad_Portraits_2018.jpg" /></a></div>
<b>Left:</b> despite how it appears, I'm not actually trying to keep paparazzi at bay with a modest "No photos please" gesture. I'm just trying to get my phone's camera to take a selfie (where you hold up a hand to set the self-timer going). And then. ... I guess I got distracted. Which happens.<br />
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<b>Right</b>: At first this seems like a half-decent outfit shot (of a vintage jumper I found in a charity shop), the kind any fashion-oriented Instagrammer might share. But, then - as I did while deciding which shot to share - you might just notice where my it looks like my right hand is resting. Oh. Dear.<br />
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And you might think I'm an entirely different kind of Instagrammer ...<br />
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<b style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;">Modelling Tip No.3: Cultivate your 'Signature Pose'</b><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">And while yo're practicing it in front of your bedroom mirror, just be glad that 'startled Scooby Doo' is the one that comes naturally to <i>me</i>, and not you:</span><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QvQ5ethBtGU/XDDZwek0M_I/AAAAAAAAUao/czGwP_PTX7Y3NLzFZrLHAKn2nT3UwO0zQCKgBGAs/s1600/Eyes_Bad_Portraits_2018_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QvQ5ethBtGU/XDDZwek0M_I/AAAAAAAAUao/czGwP_PTX7Y3NLzFZrLHAKn2nT3UwO0zQCKgBGAs/s1600/Eyes_Bad_Portraits_2018_.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;">Modelling Tip No.4: Be like an actor and think yourself into the character you're trying to project. </b></div>
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Case in point: </div>
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<li>here on the <b>left </b>I'm channeling that look your mother gave you when you arrived home later than your curfew when you were 8 and where she claims she was just about to call the police to find you.</li>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3P-Z1CPjtD0/XDDaTwzjhjI/AAAAAAAAUbI/cSz9l84-hDY2gi-UJWFc3JzxXFvelgIXACKgBGAs/s1600/Where_You_been%2B-%2Bwhere%2Bare%2Bmy%2Bkeys%2B_Bad_Portraits_2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3P-Z1CPjtD0/XDDaTwzjhjI/AAAAAAAAUbI/cSz9l84-hDY2gi-UJWFc3JzxXFvelgIXACKgBGAs/s1600/Where_You_been%2B-%2Bwhere%2Bare%2Bmy%2Bkeys%2B_Bad_Portraits_2018.jpg" /></a></div>
<ul>
<li>Meanwhile, on the <b>right </b>I'm bringing to mind all those times in life when you're in public, and you don't want to make a big fuss but your stomach has just sank because you've suddenly thought "Oh God, where did I leave my keys? I thought they were in my pocket, but they're not in my pocket."</li>
</ul>
<div>
(Honestly ... posing for outfit photos is a sure fire way to foster a greater respect for models!)</div>
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<b style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;">Modelling Tip No.5: Be a blank canvas so you can easily adopt other personas.</b><br />
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Here, I've managed to appear <i>so blank</i> ... I've accidentally allowed myself to be possessed by Neo from The Matrix:<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DOozCcJT_X8/XDDZzY2lykI/AAAAAAAAUas/HhvP7KN8FMcTGRo7q6xxnKuGlTtO_nSgwCKgBGAs/s1600/Lookalike_Neo_matrix_Bad_Portraits_2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DOozCcJT_X8/XDDZzY2lykI/AAAAAAAAUas/HhvP7KN8FMcTGRo7q6xxnKuGlTtO_nSgwCKgBGAs/s1600/Lookalike_Neo_matrix_Bad_Portraits_2018.jpg" /></a></div>
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(Seriously, all I was trying to get was a selfie with the sky while I was out walking! Why does this happen to me?)<br />
<br />
Additionally ...<br />
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<ul>
<li>On the <b>left </b>my mother and I clearly tapping into our inner thugs with our 'We're out to hot-wire cars' looks:</li>
<li>While on the <b>right </b>I'm tapping into the 'Forthright nun' pose so, at least whenever I move on from modelling I'll have a future in Call the Midwife: </li>
</ul>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VIxgfHHuBNA/XDDZ7qBgKUI/AAAAAAAAUaw/B8ln1ie0tzwWXwb_ovN7pe9jdQ0aXLs_ACKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_2018_nun%2Band%2Bthug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VIxgfHHuBNA/XDDZ7qBgKUI/AAAAAAAAUaw/B8ln1ie0tzwWXwb_ovN7pe9jdQ0aXLs_ACKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_2018_nun%2Band%2Bthug.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;">Modelling Tip No.6: Leave behind your self-consciousness and really <i>feel</i> the moment.</b><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-60_wLbW2UGc/XDDaTyotzyI/AAAAAAAAUbI/FD8Whlngc9Erj0JdjEB08Nft1btG0SkWACKgBGAs/s1600/Visitation_Bad_Portraits_2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-60_wLbW2UGc/XDDaTyotzyI/AAAAAAAAUbI/FD8Whlngc9Erj0JdjEB08Nft1btG0SkWACKgBGAs/s1600/Visitation_Bad_Portraits_2018.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></div>
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Genuinely, neither of these photos were staged to look funny. But as to what I was <i>really </i>doing in them?<br />
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Buggered if I know.<br />
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<b style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;">Modelling Tip No.7: At the very least ... try <i>not </i>to look like the walking dead:</b><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eQP2YSf4vTk/XDDaT_QEmlI/AAAAAAAAUbI/Ewxvl0z0U0cW_Enlfzgyxov7YSUIbnwxgCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_2018_walking%2Bdead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eQP2YSf4vTk/XDDaT_QEmlI/AAAAAAAAUbI/Ewxvl0z0U0cW_Enlfzgyxov7YSUIbnwxgCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_2018_walking%2Bdead.jpg" /></a></div>
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And, finally ...<br />
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<b style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;">Modelling Tip No.8: Play with the camera by embracing your inner child. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<ul>
<li>On the<b> left </b>I've somehow managed to access the look of a sly and crafty five year old drugged-up on too many sweets.</li>
<li>And on the <b>right</b> ... well ... I guess this is the face I make when eating crisps in a library whether I am aged 2 or 42!</li>
</ul>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H2b-tKc_iN8/XDDaDwdzJ8I/AAAAAAAAUbA/r7W2TQhsCVYFj7I6OWUrBFsF5p7mR-m-ACKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_2018_Kid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H2b-tKc_iN8/XDDaDwdzJ8I/AAAAAAAAUbA/r7W2TQhsCVYFj7I6OWUrBFsF5p7mR-m-ACKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_2018_Kid.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">***</span></div>
<br />
Now, while not strictly part of my modelling tips ... no Bad Portraits round-up would be complete without a shot of me crying and eating! (Generally in life, if I'm not doing one I'm doing the other!)<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-i6WimxWtRuw/XDDbcoYJbDI/AAAAAAAAUb0/05dkr6BOWRs1fNZy5rmB7-BwKNbtuA2lQCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_2018_%2Bcry%2Band%2Beat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-i6WimxWtRuw/XDDbcoYJbDI/AAAAAAAAUb0/05dkr6BOWRs1fNZy5rmB7-BwKNbtuA2lQCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_2018_%2Bcry%2Band%2Beat.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />
<ul>
<li><b>Left:</b> don't worry, I'm crying for nice reasons, I was watching the movie <i>God's Own Country </i>on Netflix for what must have been the 2nd or 3rd time. And yes. I still cry. Every time. </li>
<li>And <b>Right</b>: If you've followed my Bad Portraits in past years you'll already be aware that James often takes advantage of a moment where I'm standing still with my mouth full (no comment) to capture a shot of me where I can't complain at how long he takes to take a bloody photo! </li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">***</span></div>
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And so ... we've reached the end of another year of my bad portraits. If you'd like to share my selfie-struggles with a friend, or on social media, please do. In a photo-manipulated world, the more people embracing the fun to be had from photo-fails, the better! </div>
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Now, if you don't mind, seeing as how I've carried out my penance ... I'm diving back into another 12 months of sharing only the well-lit, poised photos, shot from above (always from above). </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Right that's it ... you can leave now, before I give you that look. You know '<i>the look</i>'. This one (OK, maybe it's more of a glare):</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WEMPcfumIGA/XDDaT6GYYaI/AAAAAAAAUbI/RB3gFfH-W4EiqeelZ3XD9tMS6pe0W8d2QCKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_reading.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WEMPcfumIGA/XDDaT6GYYaI/AAAAAAAAUbI/RB3gFfH-W4EiqeelZ3XD9tMS6pe0W8d2QCKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_reading.JPG" /></a></div>
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(Jeez. I was relaxed, happy, on holiday, reading when this was taken. I wasn't even trying to look annoyed in this photo. But I do. Clearly it's an innate skill.)</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Julie x</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">***</span></div>
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Psssssst, before you go: if you've ever missed any of my awful faces - fear not - you can catch up with them all here:</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.com/2018/01/when-selfies-go-bad.html" target="_blank">#BadPortraits 2017</a></b></span></div>
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<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.com/2018/01/when-selfies-go-bad.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="189" data-original-width="551" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JixCBXtySDI/Wl4mrpKZ91I/AAAAAAAAUHw/IMbiz2rxG4sTlWGOrcEvZrLI-w_knP6UwCKgBGAs/s1600/AYearinBadPhotos_2017_Logo_.jpg" /></a><br />
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<b style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2017/01/2016-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank">#BadPortraits 2016</a></b></div>
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<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2017/01/2016-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="189" data-original-width="551" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MMmsuRhc0S8/Wl4mrobhjJI/AAAAAAAAUHw/vK8bQNSunB074Tt5h6TAZE74N5IfQ18BwCKgBGAs/s1600/AYearinBadPhotos_2015_Logo_.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2016/01/2015-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank"> <b style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;">#BadPortraits 2015</b></a></div>
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<img border="0" data-original-height="189" data-original-width="551" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PS6Yo1_NE-w/Wl4mrp708pI/AAAAAAAAUHw/hdmuoFkxRpoKv_IzK88TGK86GOKAZYqNgCKgBGAs/s1600/AYearinBadPhotos_2015__Logo_.jpg" /><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.com/2016/01/2015-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank">http://notesonpaper.blogspot.com/2016/01/2015-year-in-bad-portraits.html</a></div>
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<b><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2015/01/2014-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"> #BadPortraits 2014</span></a></b></div>
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<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2015/01/2014-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="189" data-original-width="551" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jWczVNOKsOw/Wl4nYd354jI/AAAAAAAAUH4/J3ayzcVOvz4ntCgF_6LV6hIKAqe60d5GwCKgBGAs/s1600/AYearinBadPhotos_Logo_.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/2013-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank">#BadPortraits 2013</a></b></span></div>
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<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/2013-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="189" data-original-width="551" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NCFV7szZ3XM/Wl4nYb17HJI/AAAAAAAAUH4/o_5h6lKgXUoCRQ1P55OWQgkSFvmaP1VyACKgBGAs/s1600/AYearinBadPhotos_Logo_.jpg" /></a></div>
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Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-15858825548779284012018-10-12T14:28:00.000+01:002018-10-12T14:28:02.977+01:0050 Shades of Nay, Chapter Two: my two biggest fears about growing out my grey.<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<br />Hello hello. <br /><br />I know, I know. I'm never here. I treat this blog like a hotel. I never call. <br />Forgive me? I won't waste time making excuses, and hey, I'm here now, and while I am ... you can check out how much more of my grey is showing since the last time I was here. OK? <br /><br />Before we begin, you should know … <br /><br />I drafted out this post a few months ago, before I’d lived with the grey for any length of time. And, at this moment in time, I don't feel quite the same. Unlike my roots, my original feelings have been coloured by experience since then! <br /><br />As of today (12.10.18) it's 25 weeks since I began my no-dye experiment, but my original thoughts, which you can read below - are from around the 6-12 week point. But I thought they were still worth sharing in case someone reading is only just now setting off on a greying adventure, and might be glad of the company. Welcome aboard!<br /><br />I’ll try to get around to writing an update soon, and share my experiences from further down the grow-out line. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rbZjYirv0IQ/W8COWPN2mXI/AAAAAAAAUUg/6x8F_GtfBFA-n0JGNY-6_MB8Rz7jPye4wCKgBGAs/s1600/2.Grey_July_2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rbZjYirv0IQ/W8COWPN2mXI/AAAAAAAAUUg/6x8F_GtfBFA-n0JGNY-6_MB8Rz7jPye4wCKgBGAs/s1600/2.Grey_July_2018.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">14 weeks without dyeing. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fear No.1. Perhaps the the most obvious fear. That I’ll look </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">older</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></span><br />
<br />
When I considered halting the Sisyphean cycle of covering-up my grey, the idea of looking older wasn’t actually my biggest concern. Still isn’t, but, hey, it’s big enough! And it’s probably the most obvious so … let’s deal with that one first, shall we?<br /><br />All my life people have mistaken me for someone younger than my actual age. <br /><br />When I first started working at the University, supporting students in and around campus, I was told that some other students on the course had asked: “Why is that girl always hanging around with X in his classes?” <br /><br />I was 31.<br /><br />Just this month a colleague asked if I’d ever had trouble turning down students’ requests for me to go for a coffee with them seeing as how “I was so much closer to them in age” than she was. <br /><br />I’m 42. (And had no idea how to break it to her.)<br /><br />And at least once in my 40s I’ve been IDed while buying wine.<div>
<br />Maybe it’s because I’m small (5ft 2in / size 10), or softly spoken, or child-free, or psychologically unwilling / unable to dress like a ‘proper lady'. But whatever it is, there’s something working to embellish me with a (thin!) veneer of youthfulness.<br /><br />Or maybe it’s genetics. When my Dad retired from work people asked him why he was taking early retirement. He wasn’t. He was 65.<br /><br />So - apart from using this as an opportunity to boast (joke!) - I wanted to explain how I’ve spent a lifetime correcting people’s assumptions about me, my age, my status, my experience. All of which has led me here, to wondering … how will having grey hair change all of that? <div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J6i3EcpYP6I/W8CWju8ADpI/AAAAAAAAUU4/B5UsaGuorHkB2YP35kuZkBBzo2BMkfUqQCKgBGAs/s1600/2.Above_grey_july_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J6i3EcpYP6I/W8CWju8ADpI/AAAAAAAAUU4/B5UsaGuorHkB2YP35kuZkBBzo2BMkfUqQCKgBGAs/s1600/2.Above_grey_july_2.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">13 weeks without dyeing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">Surely once my grey’s on public display, those kind of mistakes (which, were once frustrating, but are becoming more flattering with time!) will cease. Who will I be then? A grown up? </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Yeah. First world problems. Crack out the violins, right?</b></span></span></div>
<br />
But while this all may sound privileged and indulgent I’m really just trying to be honest, so that anyone reading this who feels similarly, knows that at least one other person out there is feeling the same trepidation. <br /><br />I won’t gloss over these concerns for fear of sounding superficial. That’s how women are systematically kept in place, through fear of sounding frivolous, childish, not serious (think how many things associated with traditional femininity - clothes, make-up, Rom-Coms - are also considered less worthy than masculine pastimes). <b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
And it’s good to recognise the purely socially constructed embarrassment that persuades us to not dare to admit we’d still like to look young, all while being sold products that promote that exact idea! Then we’re tapped between either:<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<ul>
<li>being scared of looking old, and reaching for the hair dye ... </li>
<li>or quietly going grey, while scared of looking old when we do!</li>
</ul>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hence me talking about it here to contribute to the growing conversation between women experimenting with what grey means and looks like to them (check out <a href="https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/grombre/" target="_blank">the <b>#grombre</b> hashtag</a> on Instagram for all kinds of gorgeous greying inspiration). </span><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
So, yes, looking older is absolutely a concern of mine. Going grey is possibly the most ageing change in my appearance since my front teeth grew back in when I was 7, or that time in the 90s when I thought boxy jackets were a worthy style choice. <div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4E6Z83L8niQ/W8CXYsPNKZI/AAAAAAAAUVE/0dwee2H35JQq73zbIf4FYqEiRxvi5wWWwCKgBGAs/s1600/2.Above_grey_july_3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4E6Z83L8niQ/W8CXYsPNKZI/AAAAAAAAUVE/0dwee2H35JQq73zbIf4FYqEiRxvi5wWWwCKgBGAs/s1600/2.Above_grey_july_3.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">13 weeks without dyeing.</td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">However, as I’ve mentioned, looking old is not the </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">biggest </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">fear I have, not the most immediate, not the one that makes looking in the mirror the hardest. Because first place in that race is taken by Fear No.2 … </span></b><br />
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I dare you to admit it. </div>
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That there’s been a time when you noticed a woman with visible root regrowth (of any colour, not just grey) and you thought to yourself “<i>Hmmm, has she seen herself in the mirror lately?</i>” </div>
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I've thought it. <br /><br /> I’m not proud of it, but I have thought that kind of thing in the past. (I honestly try to not be judgemental about appearances at all any more).<br /><br />But, because I’ve thought it, I know that - when a percentage of those (most likely) women who’ll witness to my current amazing technicolor dream hair - <b>it will <i>absolutely cross their mind</i> that I’m ‘letting myself go’, that I must not care what I look like.</b><br /><br />When I do. </div>
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Oh how I really do.</div>
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<br />Again, as with the fear of looking <i>older</i>, the fear of sounding vain about your appearance is similarly not something we’re encouraged to openly confess! <br /><br />I know that hair, makeup, clothes and shoes are not everyone’s priority. <b>But to a lot of us, how we physically present ourselves to the world, is equally a huge part of how we construct who we are, for <i>ourselves</i>. </b><br /><br />And if there wasn’t some truth to the idea that many of us enjoy putting our best selves forwards, then we’d all only ever take just one quick selfie, rather than pausing to pose for several, many, dozens! And yet - once again - women (young women and girls in particular) are frequently vilified for caring too much about their appearance. But for some it’s a critical part of who we are. <br /><br />I know there are those whose only interest in clothes begins and ends with the practicalities: <br /><ul>
<li>to fit with social convention, </li>
<li>to keep warm </li>
<li>to keep from being arrested for indecent exposure in the cereal aisle of Asda.</li>
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That’s not me. My personal style is my creativity worn on my shoulders, on my feet, in my ears. </div>
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My look is how I tell you who I am. Who I want to be. And not just you … it tells <i>me</i> the same things about me. It creates and reinforces the person I am, who I've always been, since I started picking out my outfits and attempting to dress myself at 18 months old. </div>
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<b>So the idea that someone might clock my grey grow-out and interpret it as evidence that I no longer care about my appearance that’s … aw, hell, that’s a sharp dig in all of my soft places!</b><br /><br />And I know that - for however long my hair’s in this untidy, muddled, inbetweeny, neither one thing nor the other stage - the risk of looking a little dishevelled will be the thing that bugs me far more than the idea of looking older. </div>
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<br />Older is not something I can help. But looking <i>put together</i>, <i>like I care</i>, is something I <i>should </i>have control over. </div>
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And control could look like marching into a shop and buying a dye and mastering this unruly and ragged head of mine. And yet ... </div>
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... that's not the experiment is it? The experiment is seeing what this mop looks like once there's no longer a trace of dye amongst it. </div>
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And all my control right now is channelled into <i>not </i>dyeing it!<br /><br />And, fortunately, while looking like I've stopped caring <i>is indeed </i>my biggest fear, I think maybe there’s something, a few things even, that I can do about it. A quick wardrobe restyle, a haircut, something, anything to give the impression that I still care, will hopefully do the trick. (If you've seen <a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/" target="_blank">my Instagram account - @withjuliekirk - </a>at any point in the few months since I wrote this, you'll know I definitely gave the hair chopping thing a go.)</div>
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So, there's that ray of hope. And while I’m growing out these silvering locks I’ll take all the silver linings I can get!</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Do join in the conversation ...</b></span></div>
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When I shared <a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.com/2018/07/growing-out-grey-hair.html">my first <b><i>50 Shades of Nay</i></b> post (all about how I tried a hair dye-stripper to speed up the greying process, which you can find here</a>) there were some great responses in the comments section, and on my other social media too. And I really enjoyed hearing your stories and thoughts on the greying process ... so please don't stop there ... </div>
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<li><b>are you happy to share any of your own greying fears? </b></li>
<li><b>is your biggest fear the fear of looking older ... or looking like you don't care? Or something else entirely?</b></li>
<li><b>or maybe you've got tips on how to survive the months / years it takes to finally grow it all out?</b></li>
<li><b>any advice on how to talk yourself out of ogling the packs of dye in Boots like how you eye-up the rotisserie chicken when you go to the supermarket before you've eaten lunch?</b></li>
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Whatever you've got to share, and wherever's easiest for you to share (here, Insta, Facebook, sky-writing) I'm all ears ... let's keep the grey chat going. </div>
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Julie </div>
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Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-83256941796644142182018-09-12T06:00:00.000+01:002018-09-12T06:00:00.183+01:00Can I have a quiet word? 7 Things Quiet People Wished You Knew on ‘Quiet Day’.<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
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Hey there, can I have a word? </div>
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Today (Sept 12th) is National Quiet Day, a day during which we’re encouraged to take a break from the over-stimulation of modern life. To tune out, turn down and switch off.</div>
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<br />And if this is about having one day a year where you can focus on listening, reflecting and just being, rather than speaking, then, hey, I’m all for it.<br /><br /><b>But what about those of us who are quiet for the remaining 364 days of the year?</b><br /><br />I’ve been considered, and called, ‘shy’ and ‘quiet’ all my life and, along the way I’ve come to understand that many louder, more gregarious folks, either simply don’t know how to deal with us, or else they’d rather we change everything about our nature, to suit some bubbly, outgoing ideal. </div>
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(How do I know this? Because they’re not shy in telling us precisely that!)<br /><br />And so I’m taking today’s pause amid the incessant chatter as an opportunity to speak (in hushed tones, naturally) about some of the ways in which my comrades in quiet and I are often misunderstood.</div>
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See how many you recognise ...<br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-weight: 700; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">You Knew on ‘Quiet Day’.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>1. We're not spending all of our quiet time silently judging you.</b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I mean, yeah, sometimes we are. Obviously. And never more so when you publicly point out how quiet we are (see No.2 below). <br /><br />But, most of our time, whether we’re sitting quietly during a group conversation, a meeting, or at a party, we’re generally not silently observing you and picking apart everything you say, do, or are.<br /><br />I have a friend who used to say quiet people made her nervous, mainly because she didn’t know what we were thinking. So I guess it’s not much of a leap for chatty types to fill in the blanks and decide that we’re probably observing them, judging them, quietly plotting their downfall. <div>
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<b>Yet, in my experience, quietness more often goes hand in hand with a loud <i>inner</i> critic. </b><br /><br />We’re keenly aware that, while we’re perfectly happy being quiet, we’re somehow failing to meet the expectations of a society that insists we need to contribute, join in, come 'out of our shells', make conversation. <br /><br />Our inner critics know we’re expected to be able to do this thing they call small talk (the <i>worst </i>kind of talk, and a lot of talk is bad) and trust me, <b>if there’s anyone in that room we’re judging harshly, it’s most likely to be <i>ourselves</i>. </b></div>
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<b><br /></b>So, while we’re quiet externally, <i>internally </i>our inner monologues are loudly cajoling, debating, and assessing whether we should be trying harder at the decibel range of a hostage negotiator hollering to be heard over a thunderstorm.</div>
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<br />In fact, it will likely achieve the opposite. <br /><br />It’s the moment in a social gathering that quiet people dread, when someone, either just thinking aloud, or perhaps considering themselves to be uniquely insightful, comes right out and baldly states: <b>“Aren’t you quiet?”</b><br /><br />If you’ve done this, shall I let you in on a secret? <b>It’s not exactly news to us that we’re not the chattiest of Cathies in the room. </b><b><i>We know this.</i> </b></div>
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And now congratulations! You’ve worked it out too. Woo hoo!<br /><br />Now what? How do expect us to respond?<br /><br /><ul>
<li>If we say a plain <b>‘No’</b>, we’ll seem deluded because, patently, <i>we are </i>quiet. </li>
<li>If we say an embellished ‘No’, such as - “<b>No, actually, I’m not all that quiet really, you should hear me natter when I’m with someone I actually like.”</b> – we’ll appear rude.</li>
<li>Ruder still to retaliate with <b>“And aren’t you a complete gobshite?”</b></li>
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But, equally, if we admit a plain ‘<b>yep</b>’, but then continue on in our silence, we’ll appear facetious. <br /><br />The last time this happened to me was in a tea break at a workshop, where someone pointed out my lack of contributions so far and wanted to know if I was OK. As well intentioned as it was, it made me feel under scrutiny, and for the remainder of the day the notion that I was now marked out as ‘Quiet’, sealed my mouth shut tighter than an introvert’s smile when someone unexpectedly joins them for lunch.<br /><br /><b>We really can’t win when you point this out about us. We’re backed into a conversational corner with duct tape slapped over our mouths. </b><br />Worse still, this often happens <i>in company</i>, where there are <i>other people’s </i>ears pricking up, watching how we respond, which only serves to increase our discomfort and embarrassment making relaxed, natural interaction almost impossible.<br /><br /><b id="docs-internal-guid-fcf50edd-7fff-fed9-0cb7-75b947731b9c" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<br />I wish I had ten minutes peace for every time someone decided I needed to ‘come out of my shell.’ <br /><br />Rarely, if ever in our western society, do we hear it suggested of loud, gregarious, people that:</div>
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<li><b>“Oh, bless them, they just need to realise how inappropriately loud they are being, and go back into their shell”.</b> </li>
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Preferably a soundproofed one. <br /><br />This is especially hard when we’re children, being constantly told that we’re not contributing enough (particularly in school). And as young adults where we’re trying to find a way to be in a world that constantly asks us to go against our nature, rather than consider accepting us as we are, for the skills and qualities we can quietly offer.</div>
<br />At 42 I know that this quiet person‘s body and mind is <i>who I am, where I live</i>. It’s not temporary shell-like accomodation. I’m not moving out of it any time soon. </div>
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And yet, imagine this, I’ve still managed to get through life, maintain a long-term relationship, get jobs, make friends, express myself, and follow my creativity. Who’d have thought? Certainly not the teachers who were obsessed with me changing.<br /><br />If your concern for us is real then you can help by not being so blunt and confrontational about our natural personality traits. Stop embarrassing us in front of others, stop pointing out what you consider to be our weakness. And if you really <i>do</i> care about what we have to say, then offer us a safe environment in which we can do that.</div>
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In general though, you're going to have to trust us that we’re not hiding from you. <b>We’ve shown you who we are many times, but you keep denying it, telling us we just need to be a little bit different.</b></div>
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Stop trying to change us, improve us, coax us out. </div>
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<br />There is no shell. <br /><br />We’re just quiet slugs, plain and simple. Not snails who you’d like to see evicted. <div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-996eb46e-7fff-f837-16e1-4d45355469e0"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">4. We’ve been led to believe we’re ‘less than’. </span></span> </span><div>
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<br /><b> Quiet people are often made to feel that they’re just not getting this whole life thing right. </b><br />Early on in my first ‘proper’ job a member of staff attempted to explain why she didn’t think I’d fit in in with their school as they had lots of ‘big personalities’ there. <br /><br />The implication being that, in contrast, my personality was <i>small</i>. <br /><br />Yeah.<br /><br />In ‘<i>Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking’</i> (one of the key works on this subject) Susan Cain explores how the West's education and employment systems are set up in such a way that louder, more outgoing people, are offered the chance to shine (even from the basics like a focus on group discussions in classrooms or using open plan offices), while quieter people are overlooked or considered lacking in what it takes to succeed.<br /><br />We may already have our own reasons for being quieter than others (be that introversion, shyness, confidence issues, being on the Autistic spectrum, being a HSP [highly sensitive person]) and so on. But team those with an awareness that we’re also being judged and found wanting by a structure that prizes outgoing personalities over ours and ask yourself … how likely is it that we’ll feel comfortable enough to communicate <i>more</i>? </div>
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For the record, me and my not-big personality for stuck at that job, where I managed to not only find some ... but to to then work to my <i>strengths </i>as a quiet practitioner. In between other duties I deliberately set out to champion overlooked kids hosting various groups and activities for those who liked to read, for the shy quiet ones, for the Gifted & Talented. <br /><br />By the time I left teachers were talking about:<br /><ul>
<li>my ability to “<i>sit quietly and talk with the children</i>”, </li>
<li>my ability to keep a child on track while keeping my voice low,</li>
<li>my calming influence, and so on. </li>
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Despite not being the loudest candidates, us quiet types do have gifts to offer. Who knows, maybe sometimes it takes a quiet adult to help a quiet child. And even a noisy child.<br /><br />And nothing about that is ‘small’. <span id="docs-internal-guid-19206ef6-7fff-32b6-b2bf-4173653bbb54"><div>
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<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><span style="white-space: normal;"> </span><span style="font-weight: 700;">5. We love it when we find friends who 'get' us, without wanting to change us! </span></span></span></div>
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Just as we’re underestimated in the world of work, negotiating friendships when you’re on the quieter side can be tricky too. <br /><br />A few years back now a group of my friends had been away for a weekend, and this particular time for some reason or other, I hadn’t gone with them. On their return they voluntarily offered up the information that they’d missed me.<br /><br />And I was shocked. Genuinely. Because who could miss little old me? </div>
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<li>Me, and my ‘small’ personality.</li>
<li>Me, inside my shell.</li>
<li>Me, who is ‘less than’.</li>
<li>Me, a vacuum where a personality should be.</li>
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What even was there to miss? <br /><br /><b>Clearly I’d internalised all the things I’d heard about quiet people and applied them to my role in this friendship. </b><br /><br />Fortunately for me, my friends hadn’t internalised anything. And knowing that they call a spade a spade, I knew they weren’t lying, had no reason to, and were simply letting me know I’d been missed. And, let me tell you, you can’t buy that kind of confidence boost!<br /><br />Us quiet types can honestly come to believe that we have little impact on the world, and feel no one would notice if we just didn't turn up one day. But let me, and the friends who missed me, serve as objective evidence that we're wrong! </div>
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Even when we’re confident that our friends actually do like having us around, it can still be tough for a quiet person (particularly an introvert like me) to maintain friendships. <br /><br />Sometimes we simply don’t fancy meeting up. It’s nothing personal. We might like the time to ourselves instead. We might not be up for company. During our time off we might find it easier to just dive into a book, or Netflix, or bed. <br /><br />My friends now know that, when I <i>do </i>go away for long weekends with them, there will still be times when I just absent myself, take a long shower, mooch around outside with my camera, curl up with a book. Be together, but apart. And it seems to work OK for us. <br /><br />So, if you can find it in your chattery, nattery, bubbly and outgoing hearts to just cut us some slack, to keep inviting us to join you, even if we don’t always take you up on it … we’ll love you forever. <br /><br /><b>Please don’t stop asking. It really isn’t you, it’s us. </b><br /><br />(If it was you, you’d know. We may be quiet, but that doesn’t mean we’re good at hiding it when we don’t like someone!)</div>
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And finally ... for us quiet types ... </div>
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<br />It’s not always true that quiet people just don't like to talk; we can often be found gabbing away in specific circumstances. </div>
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When I was little - the same tiny Julie who was told she needed to talk more in class - was referred to a ‘Little Miss Chatterbox’ at home. And I personally like to think that I can talk to anyone, with the emphasis on the '<i>one</i>'. <br /><br />Because there’s the rub: the numbers. <br /><br /><b>Quiet people, especially introverts, may only really struggle to talk in a group situation where all of those additional personalities can heighten our long held anxieties about our own.</b></div>
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<br />Personally I don’t love trying to get a word in while sitting in a large group and I have to brace myself for any attention that me opening my mouth can bring down on me. So, the fewer people watching me speak the better, and in a one-to-one situation, with no audience, I'm in my element.<br /><br /><ul>
<li>Take for example, the time, in that same school I mentioned already, where - one-to-one - I could handle the domineering headteacher without batting an eyelid (in fact, one time his secretary later asked me what I’d been saying to him to make him laugh so hard!) </li>
<li>Or more recently, during the novel writing course I attended I got to have four separate meetings (two on the phone, two in person) with a Literary Agent. </li>
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<br />Me, Quiet Julie Kirk, and <i>the London Literary Agent. </i></div>
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<br />Me, Off-work-sick-with-anxiety Julie Kirk <i>and the London Literary Agent</i>. Chatting. About my work. Like that's a thing that happens to people like me.<br /><br />In all honesty, I couldn’t actually manage to share my work with my peers back in the workshops, but with the agent (which maybe should have been scarier?) I was perfectly fine because it was just me and her. <br /><br />Working to my strengths and taking on only the aspects I could manage at the time - without berating myself for not taking on <i>everything </i>- was an act of defiance, and self care. <br /><br />And I hope a quiet person reading this thinks ‘Oh, I now there’s something I could do!’. Because even if we can’t do the group thing … it shouldn't mean we automatically miss out on the entire experience. <br /><br />Talking to the agent was a key part of the course wherein, after that, the cohort got whittled down from 20 to 8, to move on to the second round. And quiet Julie Kirk got through. <br /><br />Moral of the story: make sure to grab <i>any </i>opportunities you get to shine in <i>your natural setting</i>! They don’t come along every day! <br /><br /><br /><b>However, maybe somewhat perversely, on the the flip side of our reluctance to speak in front of <i>a couple of other people </i>… quiet types don’t always share the wider population’s terror of <i>public speaking</i>. </b><br /><br />Groups are unruly, raucous things, where you never know who should or will speak next, and you have to gauge when's the best time for you to pipe up and make yourself heard.</div>
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But, in the past I’ve given a eulogy in a packed church, where more gregarious family members, confessed they’d never have been able to do it. Yet the key for me there had been having complete control of the situation. Delivering a speech you've written, in church, while standing on an altar, alone, well in that situation … you’ve kind of got the upper hand. Aint nobody gobby enough to dare talk over the top of you there!</div>
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<br />So maybe the majority of the time we'll battle to get a word in but, give us a clearly defined face-to-face meeting, a microphone, and even access to Instagram Stories … and you might soon be trying to find ways to get us to shut up! </div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>Right then, your turn, speak:</b></span></div>
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<li><span style="font-size: large;">Which of my 7 points had you nodding in recognition?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">What annoying things have people said to you about your quiet nature? </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Dare you admit that you've said them to someone else?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Or is there anything else that you - as a quiet person - wished the louder population understood about you?</span></li>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Speak now or ... you know what they're like ... the gasbags over there will only get in first! </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Thanks for pausing to chat today. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Julie </span></b></div>
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Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-85069794743658094342018-07-31T06:30:00.000+01:002018-07-31T06:30:03.281+01:00Short story: 'Buried' (the first piece of fiction I've ever shared online!)<br />
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Hello you. </div>
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Well, this is something new; I'm sharing a short story of mine today. Which is a first. </div>
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I wrote it last summer, as my final piece of work for <a href="https://www.instagram.com/superlativelylj/" target="_blank">Laura Jane Williams's</a> '<i>Don’t Be a Writer, Be a<br />Storyteller</i>' writing course, where the prompt had been to write a short story inspired, somehow, by the prompt 'Woman in crisis'. And it features several generations of women, with the crisis affecting the woman 'off stage' so to speak, the Great Grandmother of the narrator. </div>
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<b>A narrator who - for the record - is <i>not</i> me!</b> It's written in a similar tone to how I write here so I thought I'd just clarify before we begin that it's definitely <i>fiction </i>and not based on my life or family <i>at all. </i>(The photos aren't of my family members either, they're just part of my vintage paper collection!).</div>
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If you follow me on Instagram you might have seen that I hinted, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/Bl2oJ4Qh88_/?taken-by=withjuliekirk" target="_blank">in this recent post</a>, that this story features the topic of conscientious objection. A subject I'm particularly interested in and one which I spent some time researching last year; which is how this story came to revolve around the revelation that ... well ... no ... I won't spoil it for you ... I'll just let you get on and read it for yourself. So, please enjoy ... </div>
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<b>Buried: a story by Julie Kirk </b></h2>
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“I’ll never forget what she said to us on the day of me grandmother’s funeral.” <br /><br /> My own grandmother had paused leafing through an old photo album and with a nobbled finger was tapping at the image of her mother. <br /><br /> “There was me -” she concentrated, squinting behind bifocals, peeling away the years “- our Sally-Anne, Lillian, George-Henry – Georgie – you never met him, he was long gone before you were even a twinkle.” She nudged me playfully, her well-rounded but ageing flesh yielding to mine. “And, erm … who have I said? Me, Sal …” she silently counted, head nodding, trying to recall the names which had grown increasingly, maddeningly, elusive. “Did I say Arthur?” </div>
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<br /> “Well, he was still with us then so ... yes, Arthur.” </div>
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<br />And she set the scene: it was the morning of the funeral and she and her siblings were waiting for their mother in the front parlour, lined up as if on parade. As she began casting back, though I could feel the comforting weight of her against my arm, I felt part of her slip elsewhere. </div>
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“There we all were, a bit sniffly and teary, missing Granny - even though she was right behind us, in her coffin - it was what people did in them days.” Then, like a film set collapsing around Buster Keaton’s ears, the intervening years dropped away, leaving her standing awkwardly in a cold street house in 1913.</div>
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“And mother looks us up and down” she went on “and says ‘Well, at least you’re all looking smart; no one can say owt about that’. That was it, all she had to say. Bugger that her mother was dead and her kiddies were sad. So long as we weren’t giving the neighbours nowt to talk about, she was happy.” </div>
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Her finger struck the photograph, a typist hitting a full-stop. </div>
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“Right stuck up bitch she was.”</div>
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“Grandma!” I mock-chastised. Not that the sentiment itself had surprised me, I’d always sensed the spectre of a rift, but it was more the rawness, the youthfulness, of it. <br /><br />“What?” she asked defiantly. “No, no. You don’t know. Two of my brothers would be alive today if she hadn’t worried so bloody much what other people thought.” <br /><br />“Well, maybe not quite, eh?” I said, meaning they’d be well over 100 by now, but, misunderstanding, she dug in. <br /><br /> “Listen, when that war broke out, the first one I mean, our Georgie couldn’t wait to get his head in an army cap. It was all he’d talk about, thought it’d be one big adventure.” she said, officiously polishing her glasses with a hankie. “Said he’d be off with his pals the minute the recruiters set up in the town centre.” she gestured behind her with the arm of the frames. “But, she wouldn’t have it, would she? Leaving home? Going off to war? Not her blue-eyed. Oh no!” <br /><br />Apparently, a battle had then commenced within the walls of their two-up two-down and Gran described how my Great Grandmother had initially thought that ordering her son not to enlist would be enough to stop him. Then, when it became clear it wouldn’t, she’d tried ‘weeping and wailing for a week solid’ instead. <br /><br />“But, he must have persuaded her, because ...” I flipped ahead in the album to a photo of lanky limbs trussed up in scratchy wool; Georgie as a Tommy. <br /><br />“Oh, he went alright. But that was down to Mother seeing Alfie Monroe from a few doors down walking past in uniform. And well, that was that.” With a finger, she made slow circular movements against her temple. “Little cogs started turning. Got her thinking how impressive her boy would look in uniform, how everyone would look up to him ‘doing his bit’”. She shook her head in something close to disgust. “That dried her tears sharpish and he was signed-up by the end of the week.” <br /><br />“Then once that novelty wore off she turned to Arthur. But he’d always been a gentle one - ‘Soft as shite’ me Dad used to say. And he wouldn’t go. Wouldn’t take a life. Said all the weeping and wailing she liked wouldn’t change his mind.” <br /><br />Satisfaction rippled over her face as she recounted how, despite the pressure, from his parents, from men too old to sign-up, and even from ‘some daft girls up on Market Street who’d pushed a white feather into his pocket’, Arthur steadfastly refused to enlist. <br /><br />“And then conscription came in, didn’t it? Kitchener wanted you” she turned to me and pointed “and he was going to bloody well have you, whether you liked it or not.” <div>
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“So, what happened?” I asked, turning the pages to check if I’d missed a photo of Arthur in uniform. I hadn’t.<br /><br />“He became a conchie.” she announced matter-of-factly. “An erm, what was it now, oh, err, an ‘Absolutist’, that’s it, that’s what called him. Couldn’t budge him an inch. Went to jail for it in the end.”<br /><br />I was confused. Until then, Great Uncle Arthur was just someone who’d pressed a shiny coin into my palm, or conspiratorially sneaked me a packet of crisps during one of his post-pub Saturday afternoon visits to Gran and Grandad’s. As a toddler, I’d ridden on his shoulders; as a travel-hungry teenager I’d pummelled him for stories about his trips to Europe. And now I had to make space in my understanding for Arthur the conscientious objector, Arthur the prisoner.<br /><br />When I told Gran that this was the first I’d heard of it, she hooted.<br /><br />“Oh, she’d’ve liked that would Mother! Me keeping the family secret.”<br /><br />She gave the photo album a nudge, sending a plate of digestives skittering across the table like a game of shove ha’penny. “She never mentioned him again after they put him in that prison y’know?”<br /><br />I frowned sceptically.<br /><br />“No. Not once.” she stood firm. “When he refused to do anything for the war effort she was ashamed. Wouldn’t visit or write, forbid any of us to an’all. Said he was good as dead to her.”<br /><br />“What? Really?” I asked. “She didn’t.”<br /><br />“She did.” she flashed me an ‘I told you so’ face and continued. “That’s what I’m telling you, that’s what my mother was like. And, wait ‘til you hear this, even when Georgie was killed in action, God rest his soul, she still wouldn’t have anything to do with Arthur. Could’ve welcomed him home, water under the bridge. Could’ve held one of her sons again. But no. Nothing.” she paused before delivering the final blow.<br /><br />“The three of us left at home always said that the Jerrys killed one of our brothers and our mother killed off the other.”<br /><br />“Oh Gran.” I sighed, reaching out to take her hand, but she gently waved me – and her own approaching tears – away. </div>
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<br />With a crack of cartilage, she levered herself out of the chair, walked around the table to rescue the biscuits from their precarious position on the edge, and wound herself forward in time a little.<br /><div>
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“Y’know I never saw hide nor hair of him again until after the second war; 1947 it was. At her funeral.”<br /><br />She came to a stop behind my chair and with arthritic hands, fingers bent at a right angle to the palms, held on to my shoulders.<br /><br />“All them years of nothing and then there he was. Big and broad. Suited and booted. A proper man. Different, but when I looked in his eyes he was still there. Me big brother. And, do you know what I said to him, after all that time?”<br />I tipped my head backwards to look up into her face “Tell me”.<br /><br />“‘Well,’ I said, ‘You can take that off for a start’ and I pulled at his tie – posh one it was – in a big knot.” she smoothed her fingertips against my shirt collars as she spoke. “And I said to him ‘If you’re going to look all smart like that, what will anyone have to talk about?’”<br /><br />“And, at first, I thought it’d been too long, been too many years in between, that he wouldn’t know what I getting at. But then he lifts his big hands to the top of my head and he says, ‘In which case …’ and he ruffles my hair into a right mess! I’d only had it set that morning. And, well, we must have looked a proper pair; him with his tie all skewwhiff and my perm like a bird’s nest. Mother’ll have been rolling in her box!” And she flipped my fringe loose from behind my ears with a laugh that sparked from deep within her.<br /><br />“And then” she said, after the laughter had burnt out into a splutter. “Then, we held each other’s hand … and watched them drop her into the soil.” </div>
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So - I hope that was a vaguely diverting ... erm ... <i>diversion</i> in your day. </div>
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If you know someone who might enjoy reading it too, will you direct them towards it? Thank you, you're ace.</div>
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Feel free to leave me a comment either here, (or on Instagram where I'm <b><a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/Bl2oJ4Qh88_/?taken-by=withjuliekirk" target="_blank">@withjuliekirk</a>)</b>, either: </div>
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<li>about my story;</li>
<li>about short-stories you think I'll enjoy;</li>
<li>about conscientious objection as a subject;</li>
<li>about your own family experiences of war ... or secrets ... or <i>both;</i></li>
<li>or about anything else this post has stirred up in you. </li>
</ul>
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Thanks for reading me today. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Julie </div>
<br /><br /></div>
</div>
Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-51618499496830783022018-07-06T11:57:00.000+01:002018-07-09T13:02:12.425+01:0050 Shades of Nay. How I'm ending my relationship with hair dye and embracing the grey. <div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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Hey you. </div>
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If you follow me on Instagram - <a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/">@withjuliekirk</a> - you'll already have a heads-up on this because I spent much of the day posting IG Stories while I tried out a hair dye removal cream in the hopes it would reveal the grey beneath. (Spoiler alert: it didn't).<br />
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(BTW: I've saved all of those stories in my 'Grey Hair' section of my IG ‘Highlights’ if you fancy watching me attempt to wrap my head in clingfilm. And why <i>wouldn't you </i>want to do that?)<br />
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So, yes, I've decided to<i> </i>share my flirtation with grey here and Instagram. And, because I'm not above using a <i>terrible </i>pun in telling you all about it, please welcome the new no-dye blog series I'm shamelessly calling... <b>50 Shades of Nay.</b><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SmhEIzcR8TQ/Wz4xHBVRclI/AAAAAAAAUNE/RwU1k1cYqVkdVl_qDIxk1pMWV2dlf9nkgCKgBGAs/s1600/50_Shades_of_Nay_main_title_blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SmhEIzcR8TQ/Wz4xHBVRclI/AAAAAAAAUNE/RwU1k1cYqVkdVl_qDIxk1pMWV2dlf9nkgCKgBGAs/s1600/50_Shades_of_Nay_main_title_blog.jpg" /></a></div>
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I don’t like being ‘found out’.<br />
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If I’m entirely honest, I find it weird enough when people know things about me that are <i>general knowledge</i>, so having people know something about me that I’m <i>actively trying to hide </i>is, at best, rattling.<br />
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And, having my grey roots breaking free and glinting shamelessly in the sunshine, revealing their natural naked selves to all and sundry, has come to feel too exposing. Too out of my control. Too <i>furtive</i>.<br />
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But rather than spur me on to do a better job at hiding them, maybe by buying one of those root sprays, I’m doing the opposite: <b><i>I’m exposing myself.</i></b><br />
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No, wait. Hang on there. I didn’t mean it quite like that. Let me rephrase …<br />
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<li>I’m no longer waiting for my roots to give me away.</li>
<li>I’m going to hide them <i>in plain sight</i> instead; by growing them out.</li>
<li>They’ll no longer be able to scream ‘grey roots’ when the rest of my hair is grey too. </li>
<li>(Yes, I accept that going grey is going to bring with it its own delightful set of neuroses ... but I'm saving those for a future blog post!)</li>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xAoP8FtHZgo/Wz4xHNxySbI/AAAAAAAAUNE/tvjxV2TWHpAp9z2MkDDUXMw-kQRdKbXlgCKgBGAs/s1600/roots_blog_grey_hair_before_dye_remover_June_2018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xAoP8FtHZgo/Wz4xHNxySbI/AAAAAAAAUNE/tvjxV2TWHpAp9z2MkDDUXMw-kQRdKbXlgCKgBGAs/s1600/roots_blog_grey_hair_before_dye_remover_June_2018.JPG" /></a></div>
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<b>So, for the foreseeable future at least I’m laying down my disposable gloves, because I’m done dyeing.</b></div>
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I’m not ruling out <i>ever </i>turning to dye again. After all it can be fun. I mean, that’s why I originally started dyeing it. It was a relatively quick and easy way to play with my image, to temporarily become someone else and often, in doing so, step further into myself.<br />
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Thinking back, there's been:<br />
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<li>The perfect peach streaks that delightfully appeared when I experimented with an all-over copper on top of blonde highlights.</li>
<li>The sharp red bob with a fringe the summer I took a film-making course.</li>
<li>The brazen burgundy streaks on a white hotel pillowcase, from where my hair was drenched in the rain the night I saw Benedict Cumberbatch in Hamlet.</li>
<li>Plus all the shades of rich woods, precious metals and gemstones a shop shelf can hold.</li>
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But then, as more grey began to emerge, I started to leave the fun colours behind. </div>
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<b>The regrowth from those would leave me wearing three distinct colours</b>: </div>
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<li>the dyed shade, </li>
<li>my own dark-brown roots,</li>
<li> … <i>and </i>the greys in between.</li>
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Which is when I took up café colours instead, turning to ‘iced coffee’ and ‘frosted chocolate’. Which, as well as making me peckish, reduced the obvious distinction between the dyed lengths and my natural roots. Which offered less of an obvious regrowth and yet ... there were still the greys making their way through to the surface like an invasive plant forcing its way from the darkness of a tumbledown shed and out into daylight.<br />
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And then, more recently I've been using the underwhelmingly titled ‘Dark Brown’ as a cover-up and now - along with the enthusiasm of whichever copywriter named that shade - my desire to dye has just fizzled out.</div>
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(I suddenly feel like getting on my hands and knees. looking up to the sky, shaking my fists and yelling 'I don't wanna dye!!!!' But then ... maybe I breathed in too many fumes from the dye-stripper.)</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">My first step towards going grey: making the decision to stop dyeing. </span></b><br />
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(AKA: Saying 'nay' to dye. Because '50 Shades of No' doesn't roll of the tongue as easily.)<br />
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The last time I dyed my hair was 11 weeks ago, on the 16th April (2018). </div>
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Then I used a lighter brown than usual (probably called something inspiring like ‘A Lighter Brown Than Usual’) and it didn’t really cover the grey. So at that point, fed up with wasting the time, money and mental energy hiding grey had begun to take, I already had one foot out of the dyeing door.<br />
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Finally, when I got a fringe cut in, two months ago, a lot of the grey which had - until then - been skilfully lurking beneath my parting was suddenly pulled <i>front and centre</i>. And became really obvious:</div>
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<b>At this point I'd begun to think life would be much more streamlined if I just stopped worrying about going grey, and allowed it to happen. </b></div>
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Kind of like a 'Frankie Goes to Hollywood approach to hair dyeing': Relax don't do it, When you want to go to it. Relax don't do it, When you want to ... erm .. grow out your grey. </div>
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Or something like that. </div>
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It was about this time that, in order to speed up the process, I genuinely considered either cutting it very short ... or just shaving it off altogether and seeing what grew back! </div>
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I <i>think </i>I'm over that urge now.<br />
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However, the next time I see my stylist I will definitely be asking for something a bit shorter than usual. (I <i>won't </i>be mentioning shaving it off though, because judging by how excited she was when I got her to give me an undercut 2 years ago, I think she might leap at the challenge!)</div>
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So, yes, cutting it off is one way to get rid of the over-dyed lengths, but I'm impatient. And I <i>hate </i>the way you can see the grow-out line and so ... I turned to chemicals. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">My second step towards going grey: hair dye removal cream.</span></b></div>
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Faced with a calendar's worth of waiting for a full head of grey, I wanted quicker results and so I bought myself a hair colour remover product.</div>
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Ahem ... I may have taken the opportunity to take some super-flattering photos that - should I ever become a singer songwriter - I will consider for use as album covers. </div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-khEy2zB0iM8/Wz5BaAs6GkI/AAAAAAAAUOA/GIVokcLfQ_MmpjBIQsEq5t2BRJoBITh2wCKgBGAs/s1600/collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-khEy2zB0iM8/Wz5BaAs6GkI/AAAAAAAAUOA/GIVokcLfQ_MmpjBIQsEq5t2BRJoBITh2wCKgBGAs/s1600/collage.jpg" /></a></div>
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I turned to this method - the colour remover - not the stunning 'Old Towel Portraits', mainly to remove the annoying band left behind from those lighter dyes I mentioned. </div>
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If my hair is going to end up two-tone dark brown / grey for the next however many years it takes for me to go as white as all of the flesh that's suddenly gone on display during this heat wave, then so be it.<br />
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<b>I'll call it zebra-hair and it'll be on-brand. </b><br />
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But I don’t need black, white and a big four inch strip of lighter brown too. Plus, if the remover managed to "Remove all types of dark colour build-up" - as was promised on the box - then all the better. </div>
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However ... as anyone who's watch the Instagram Stories I filmed during this lengthy (and sulphurous) process will already be aware ... </div>
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Reader, it didn't work. </div>
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Rinse until the water runs clear it said. The water ran clear from the very start. Nothing moved. </div>
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So far, so disappointing.<br />
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But that's not all.<br />
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Not only did it <i>not </i>remove that band of lighter colour I was so keen to wave goodbye ... </div>
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Reader, it <i>brightened </i>it and made it <i>MORE </i>OBVIOUS!!<br />
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I mean ...<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xo-Cm5FN0NA/Wz5BaPdDl1I/AAAAAAAAUOA/dHz43qt2Sng6ZA8i-Q22mqGS9GgDZPRygCKgBGAs/s1600/rolleyes_grey_hair_After_dye_remover07.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xo-Cm5FN0NA/Wz5BaPdDl1I/AAAAAAAAUOA/dHz43qt2Sng6ZA8i-Q22mqGS9GgDZPRygCKgBGAs/s1600/rolleyes_grey_hair_After_dye_remover07.JPG" /></a></div>
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I suppose there's a chance I could have better results if I go to the salon and have my stylist work her magic on it but, for now, I'm just going to live with it, and look for the positives (I'm digging deep for these, people. Deep.): </div>
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<li>the conditioning treatment it came with made my hair <i>really </i>shiny and soft, like after dyeing. Which I haven't had for the 3 months without dye so ... that's <i>something</i>. </li>
<li>It's kind of, almost, blended out some of that annoying harsh regrowth line. That, or the colour's just so bright now it's dazzled my yes and I can't see straight!</li>
<li>And ... I got an unexpected new colour for summer! </li>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A45C1ALHVkI/Wz5BaLRb02I/AAAAAAAAUOA/PeRAXbv2xO80mnCh3SHv-EaO2mUSB7kPACKgBGAs/s1600/after_remover_3_blog_grey_hair_before_dye_remover_June_2018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A45C1ALHVkI/Wz5BaLRb02I/AAAAAAAAUOA/PeRAXbv2xO80mnCh3SHv-EaO2mUSB7kPACKgBGAs/s1600/after_remover_3_blog_grey_hair_before_dye_remover_June_2018.JPG" /></a></div>
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<b>But all of this has now left me faced with the one method I was trying to avoid: patience. </b></div>
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Because <i>that's </i>something I've got in abundance. *Rolls eyes so hard they vanish beneath my newly ginger fringe*.</div>
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But I'll give it a try. What choice to I have? </div>
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In the meantime I'm laying down at the feet of the Pinterest gods and pinning images of all the stylish grey haired women I can find. </div>
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To motivate me.</div>
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To stop me from slowing down in the 'Permanent Colour' aisle the next time I'm walking through Boots. </div>
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To keep me going. </div>
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To keep me going <i>grey</i>. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Now I want to hear from <i>you</i>: </span></b></div>
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<li>Have you let your grey grow out? </li>
<li>How long did it take? </li>
<li>How did you stay motivated?</li>
<li>What have you learned?</li>
<li>Did you go back to dye?</li>
<li>Has anyone had grey highlights put in to blend it through .... that's my next big plan! </li>
<li>Anything else I should know?</li>
</ul>
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Oh and ... </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">If you dye your hair, please know this:</span></b><br />
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<li>We can still be friends. </li>
<li>This is a personal experiment based on aesthetics and a desire to be free of hassle ... it is <i>not </i>a moral/ethical/social judgement!</li>
<li>I am not going to become a militant pro-grey activist but I will be occasionally blogging and Instagramming my journey to the grey side!</li>
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So do get in touch - whether that's here in the comments, or on Facebook, Instagram, email, in the street (ew, on second thought maybe not, I don't do casual talking in the street.)</div>
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Under this newly orange, brown and white hair ... I'm all ears. </div>
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Julie x </div>
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p.s: Feel free to pin / share this image if you think your friends / followers would be interested in reading this. Thanks in advance! </div>
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Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-86935607026380897852018-06-21T11:18:00.002+01:002018-06-21T11:18:29.334+01:00Do you have an address book? No, not a 'Contacts' app. A real papery tabbed edge book? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hello hello. </div>
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Considering I haven't posted here in <i>months</i> the topic of this post is pretty appropriate. It's about communication. </div>
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(By the way, I may not be here very often, but you can find me most days over on <a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/" target="_blank">Instagram @<b>withjuliekirk</b></a>).</div>
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I'm sharing today something I wrote a few years ago - all about the role of the humble address book in our digital age - which first appeared in print in the ‘Pretty Nostalgic’ 2016 Yearbook. And I reckoned that summertime - the time of souvenir postcards and 'Wish You Were Here', was a good time of year to bring up this subject with you ... so, tell me ... do you have an address book?</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Addressing Life by Julie Kirk </span></b></div>
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<b>Do you have an address book?</b><br /><br />I’m not talking here about the contacts in your email or an app on your phone. I mean a real address book. Old fashioned even. One made from paper with A-Z tabs along the edge. One which is there, on hand, to easily refer to whenever you feel the need to reach out to someone?<br /><br />Perhaps you’ve never given them much thought, they’re just something you keep in a drawer most of the year, yet the average address book is not only a practical document containing information on other people it's also a chapter in the book about you.<br /><br />Because if, as Shakespeare proposed [and goodness knows I’m not about to quibble with the Bard!] ‘all the world’s a stage’ and all the men and women merely players who have their exits and their entrances, then the humble address book is surely the 'Dramatis Personae' of our lives:</div>
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<li>It's the cast of characters who have made an appearance on our personal stage; </li>
<li>a platform featuring everyone from those with long standing starring roles in our biopic, down to the bit part actors who, like a character from Game of Thrones, we assume will be there forever but, in reality, don’t make it past Season One! </li>
<li>And if you’ve been keeping an address book since you were a child then you’ll even have the cast list to the prequel in there! </li>
</ul>
Until very recently I didn’t have an address book, or at least not one that I’d updated in the last decade. I’d grown used to storing addresses here, there, and everywhere from the back of a journal to the back of my head and at the bottom of my inbox. And yet I had a growing sense that I really ought to start keeping one again. After all I use pen and paper to house other things I want to store away for future reflection: ideas, lists, moments and memories; but I wasn’t doing the same for important things like addresses, phone numbers and dates. <br /><br />Then idea of getting organised with a humble address book started to feel more appealing when I was planning my holiday last summer and I decided that, this time round, I’d connect with friends and family via the retro route: with a postcard. The scene I pictured, of writing out my ‘Wish You Were Here’s on a sunny balcony, was far more romantic without a contacts list open on a laptop screen in the background so in preparation I searched through emails for addresses to print off and scribbled down others in my travel journal. And I realised just how much simpler the whole endeavour would’ve been if I’d just had a straightforward, low-fi, address book to take with me.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SYCGEdGdKYU/Wxk8ddaBWjI/AAAAAAAAULg/kwF7uPUZcpYt-RCa3fY2tVMeRRRo25qbwCKgBGAs/s1600/Postcards_v%2B%25288%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SYCGEdGdKYU/Wxk8ddaBWjI/AAAAAAAAULg/kwF7uPUZcpYt-RCa3fY2tVMeRRRo25qbwCKgBGAs/s1600/Postcards_v%2B%25288%2529.JPG" /></a></div>
<br /><br /><b>So what happened to keeping the cast list of my life up-to-date? </b><br /><br />All of this made me wonder why I didn’t already have an address book filled with those who’ve played supporting roles on my life’s stage; but it only took a brief flip through the one I’d abandoned to find the answer: the internet!<br /><br />The most recent entries were from years ago including old university friends and even my boyfriend at the time; and the former I’m no longer in contact with while the latter’s home address has become much easier to remember since it became the same as mine when we bought a house together over a decade ago! <br /><br />And it’s surely no coincidence that I stopped updating my book around the turn of the century; the same time that, like many of us, I began communicating via email and mobile phones. New technologies which not only offered alternative places to store people’s contact details but which gradually eroded the need to know someone’s street address in the first place. After all how many of us have reduced the number of physical greetings cards we send since Facebook made it so easy to leave a message on someone’s virtual doormat instead? Where we don’t even need to note down the date on which to leave the message as we’re reminded it’s someone’s birthday as soon as we log on! <br /><br />Now, I’m no Luddite, I adore the wider world of friendship and opportunities the internet has opened up for us and many of my close friends are those I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting in ‘real life’ as yet. But if, like me, you enjoy playing a part in maintaining written communication in an increasingly digital age then together, between us, back-and-forth, we’re going to have to make sure that while so much is being sent to ‘the cloud’ we’re also sending tokens through the street, the post bag and the letterbox. And to achieve this then an up-to-date address book is going to be as vital as ever! <br /><br /><b>But wait … reports of the death of the address book have been greatly exaggerated! </b><br /><br />Once I’d realised how much I’d neglected my own address book I started asking around for other peoples’ postal experiences. Many my age and older have grown up seeing a parent refer to an address book, a repository of family information, if only at Christmastime when writing out cards. And many of us with early stationery-addiction tendencies will have also kept our own even if it only contained addresses of the school friends we saw every day anyway or of pen pals and fan clubs. [Remember writing to fan clubs and sending postal order to pay for memorabilia? Now there’s a blast from the postal past!] </div>
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We’re of a generation who became accustomed to there being one place in which we’d find the details we needed to write to someone, even it if was only when we felt a pressing need to swap some stickers!</div>
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<b>So I did a little bit of research</b> [ironically using the same instant response social media that’s had its impact on slow mail] and I learned that not only is the humble address book alive and kicking in the digital age, it’s actually being cherished by many as a vital document of their personal and their family’s history.</div>
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Two key themes recurred throughout people’s responses:</div>
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<ol>
<li> The first was that many of those address book still in use had been in their owner’s lives for so long that they were <b>now falling apart</b>. </li>
<li>Meanwhile the second was that, despite this fact, the sentimental attachment they’d developed for these notes about familiar characters meant <b>they wouldn’t dream of ever getting rid of it!</b> </li>
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Descriptions such as “old and tattered” “battered”, “worn” and “falling apart” were frequently used by people who often admitted to having had their book for over 20 years. No doubt people will have been using those books since a new era in their lives was marked out by the buying of a first home, or getting married; that time in our adult lives when the responsibility for fostering the bonds between us and our life’s cast members shifts from our parents over to us. A time when we take on the role of keeper of the contacts!<br /><br /><b>“I’ve kept every one I’ve ever had”. </b><br /></div>
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But when those much referred to books were filled, what then? People told me that when dilapidation or lack of space dictated a new one must be bought, they still “couldn’t bear to part” with the original, stating they would be “lost without it”. It was almost as if throwing away an address book would be in many ways akin to throwing away family photographs i.e unthinkable, out of the question.<br /><br />Because when we’re talking about something containing details from our long distant past, those addresses with rhythms so familiar on the tongue and the names so evocative of good times then we’re not just talking about a book that keeps us organised, we’re talking about a book that keep people and places and memories.</div>
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Unlike many of the other office supplies you might have laying around at home an address book is a living breathing family document that can elicit tender emotions. [I don’t know if anyone ever shed a sentimental, nostalgic, tear over a ring binder or box file, but address books certainly have that power!] </div>
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It’s like Shakespeare said, on our stage people make “entrances and exits” and many people use their address books to note down names of new characters, spouses and children, who enter stage left as a family expands. </div>
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Conversely there’s the ache of <b>leafing through the pages and finding those who've exited the stage for good.</b></div>
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<li>“The sad thing is” said one respondent “the people who are crossed out as they have passed away” while another told of how she’d never part with hers as it contained “the addresses of grandparents and others who are not with us any more”. </li>
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And in my own book I found the address of a grandparent crossed out with a poignant final address, of a care home, written beneath. </div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SS1HYYJ84bk/Wxk8dYngJ3I/AAAAAAAAULg/oR7oucFAjC4GnCcnnaRcMfGHNJOqq3KqACKgBGAs/s1600/Postcards_for_blog_re3.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SS1HYYJ84bk/Wxk8dYngJ3I/AAAAAAAAULg/oR7oucFAjC4GnCcnnaRcMfGHNJOqq3KqACKgBGAs/s1600/Postcards_for_blog_re3.JPG" /></a></div>
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It was then I fully understood that address books are seemingly mundane work-a-day items ...</div>
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<li>Until you begin to reflect on all those lives you’ve pinned down between its covers. </li>
<li>Until it comes to crossing out an old address that had sentimental value to you, or the name of a friend from who you've moved on, or of a family member who's sadly no longer home. </li>
<li>Until you find that you can't throw it, along with all those memories of people and places and moments, away. </li>
</ul>
It’s only then that this underrated book makes known its deeper meaning.<br /><br /><b>A new tradition?</b><br /><br />Now that I have a fresh new address book in which to restart recording the cast list of my life I won’t swear to never again rely on the quick search facility in my email to find an address, and I’ll certainly continue to keep mobile phone numbers safely tucked away on my SIM card; it’s just that I now have a back up.</div>
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In an increasingly digital world we can still make good use of paper and pen [or pencil for those among us who prefer erasing to the horrors of crossing out!] to store those more recent communication methods such as email and blog addresses, mobile phone numbers and websites. Because a tangible ‘real’ address book won’t crash on you, or become corrupted or, like our much relied upon, but ultimately vulnerable smart phones, it won’t be rendered useless after being accidentally dropped into a toilet bowl! And while I’m not saying it would be a pure joy to flip through those soggy pages after rescuing it from the watery deep, you would at least still be able to flip through it if you needed to look up Aunty Mary’s land line number in a hurry!<br /><br />But not only is maintaining an address book a practical defence against third party damage, theft and general clumsiness, it’s a back up of our more personal memories too. As we live out our stories on life’s stage the address book is a means for us to reflect on all those who we’ve co-starred alongside already and to keep track of the cast of characters who will populate all the new chapters and scenes still waiting to be written. </div>
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<br /><b>So perhaps it’s time we started a new tradition. </b></div>
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Why don’t we start gifting young people their first paper address book when they turn 18, with an accompanying note to share why we believe, they’ll enjoy leafing back through it one day. [Although we might have to do some serious explaining to true ‘digital natives’ who’ve only ever known communication through Face Timing and Snap Chatting!] We’d be setting them up with a simple means of preserving memories of those characters who’ll inevitably drift in and out of their life story and the locations in which they were set. <br /><br />Of course, if you don’t have one already, then give <i>yourself </i>the gift of an address book and start making documenting your own supporting cast. But if you do, especially if it’s one you’ve been neglecting while you’ve been busy tweeting and writing on people’s virtual ‘walls’, then why not open it up today and indulge in a few re-runs; a few episodes from your life, complete with that familiar cast of characters who’ve played a role on your own life’s stage. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">******</span></div>
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Before I go I want to thank all of those who contributed to my research on the topic! Thank you for sharing your own address book tales, you inspired me to write a full feature from what began as the flimsiest of thoughts. As ever ... I learned that there is always more than meets the eye, and that sometimes the most simple questions reveal the deepest, truest, eccentricities that make us human. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">And please ... do drop me a line (here or via Instagram) about your own address book habits. Or any thoughts you have about the subject. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">And, if you do use both a papery address book <i>AND </i>Instagram, then do share a photo of yours!!! </span></b></div>
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<li><b><span style="font-size: large;"> Use the hashtag </span></b><span style="font-size: large;"><b>#myrealaddressbook</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>And tag me @withjuliekirk so I can see it and the inevitable comments your followers leave! </b>(because, as I've learned from experience, you only need to mention address books and people start telling you about theirs!)</span></span></span></li>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Julie x</span></div>
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(p.s: bundles of vintage postcards are now <a href="https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/JulieKirk" target="_blank">available in my Etsy store</a>). </div>
Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-63060639442584126832018-02-01T04:00:00.000+00:002018-02-01T04:00:36.913+00:00*Anxiety Episodes*: my anxiety as a TV show. Time To Talk day 2018.<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">'Anxiety Episodes' </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">OR 'my anxiety as a TV show'</span></b></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444;">This was taken 7 days before the events in this story. In retrospect, those aren't happy eyes.</span></td></tr>
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The scene unfolded like a page from a screenplay that had slipped loose from the pile and floated down into an average Wednesday morning before shouting ‘Action!’.</div>
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“You need to go home” she said, her arm outstretched behind her back, stopping her cigarette smoke from drifting into our conversation, on the chill November air. <br />
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“You need to go home, and you need to see your doctor” she repeated. Emphatically. <br />
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And there was something so sincere, unequivocal, about how she said it that, not only did I know that <i>she </i>believed me, it led <i>me </i>to believe it for myself. A case of “Shit, if someone outside my head can see the trouble I’m in … then I guess it must be real after all”. <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Because, until that moment, sitting on a bench, talking to a work colleague, I hadn’t especially believed it. </span></b><br />
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I’d only starting feeling unwell on campus <i>a week </i>before that cold morning when I simply <i>could not </i>face going into work. Only <i>three </i>times I’d struggled to sit still in lectures, watched the clock, felt nauseous, crampy, sweaty. How can something that had only happened <i>three times</i> feel this insurmountable this quickly? How <i>could it</i> be real? It <i>must </i>all be in my head. <br />
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And it was: <br />
<ul>
<li>it was in the constant, incessantly racing thoughts that impeded my ability to function, like a computer virus slowing down a laptop. </li>
<li>it was in the negative self-talk that made me feel pathetic, childish, neurotic, for suddenly struggling with something I’d done regularly for over a decade. </li>
<li>it was even in the positive self-talk I ceaselessly narrated while I was flailing. ‘You’ll be OK, this is nothing, you’re just exaggerating, you won’t pass out, you’ve been anxious before and never thrown up or fainted, just get through this next hour without jumping up, rushing out and making a show of yourself. OK, f*ck the hour, just get through the next minute, second …” and repeat until home. </li>
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All of which had no effect, except to exhaust me. <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">So yes, it <i>was </i>all in my mind. But, funnily enough, your mind’s kind of a useful thing to have on board to get you through the day. </span></b><br />
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It kind of keeps the whole ship running. And if there’s a mutiny, well, nobody wins, you all just get scuppered, wrecked, pulled under with the tide. <br />
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But right then, when she said: “You need to see your doctor”, like Cinderella’s golden coach and snowy white horses, the reality of my mental illness suddenly materialised before me. <br />
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This thing was real. This wasn’t normal behaviour. Even for me. Something was wrong. <br />
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So, I did exactly as I was told. As instructed I went home and, the next day, I went to see my GP, who also believed my new – no longer a pumpkin – reality and signed me off work for a month. Just like that. <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The explanation on the sick note read: ‘Anxiety episodes’. Which at least gives me the title for the TV drama, when I write it. </span></b><br />
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‘She’, by the way, is my closest colleague on the university campus where I’ve worked, part time, for over 11 years. Let’s call her Anna. <br />
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Anna is self-effacing, generous, funny (she can spin a good yarn, often complete with actions); the kind of person who knows everyone who passes by and who, somehow, also knows all their names, and they hers. <br />
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The kind of person who, without missing a beat, can turn someone’s month around, all while finishing off her morning ciggie and take-out coffee. <br />
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I’d been mooching around, unable to settle, when I spotted her outside and went down to join her. After waiting patiently, fake-smiling and laughing all the way while she chatted to one of the groundskeepers (who she knew by name, naturally) – I eventually did something very un-British: <br />
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When we were finally alone, and she turned and asked how I was, I didn’t say ‘<i>Fine thanks</i>’. I told the truth.<br />
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“I’m feeling anxious” I confessed, "And I just don't know why." then she pretty much intuited the rest. <br />
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“For no reason?” she suggested.<br />
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I nodded. <br />
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“And you thought if you came to talk to me it would help distract you?” <br />
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Another nod. <br />
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“But it’s not working is it?” <br />
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I shook my head half in laughter, half sadness. <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">That’s when she instructed me to go home and talk to my GP. Hell, she even offered to talk to the administrator in our office to explain why I had to go home. </span></b></div>
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And – just like that – Fairy Godmother style again, there was the administrator, walking across the square in front of us. And Anna went over to her and the morning continued to play out like a TV show; now I was in one of those scenes where the protagonist can’t hear what the others are saying, but there’s enough gesturing and glancing in their direction to know they’re the topic of conversation. </div>
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Then she was back by my side; obstacles magically removed; deal sealed: I was going home. <br />
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And I did go home. But, before I went, and before this story ends, let me tell you one more thing Anna did for me that day … <br />
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When I write ‘Anxiety Episodes’, (the hit TV series), it’ll include a scene that everyone watching will think is a little far-fetched, a bit on-the-nose, purely there for broad comic effect. Everyone, that is, apart from you, me and Anna because, we’ll know that it was 100% based on true events. <br />
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<i>These </i>events in fact. <br />
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While we were talking Anna’s student, a wheelchair user, arrived in the car park so we headed off to meet her. And there, while waiting for the student to get her belongings together Anna made me promise to text her when I was safely home, before uttering that simple, matter-of-fact phrase, often used by allies of the mentally unwell: <br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">“There’s nothing for you to feel silly about” she chastised “You wouldn’t think anything about being off work if you had a <i>broken leg,</i> would you?”. </span></b><br />
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And, of course, she was right. Our society really shouldn’t still be finding mental illness so much harder to comprehend than broken bones, vomiting bugs and runny noses. But, it does. And, on that day, and for at least a few weeks afterwards, I did.<br />
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But, as I nodded in half-hearted agreement with her sentiment, Anna’s face changed, her eyes bulged, she tried to hold my gaze while wordlessly indicating something with a tilt of her head. <br />
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“I can’t believe it” she gasped. “Here’s me going on about broken legs and then …” the head gesturing grew more pronounced forcing me to turn around just in time to watch a student slowly, but determinedly, hobble past us … <br />
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… on crutches … <br />
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… with her a leg in plaster. <br />
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I swear! <br />
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So there we were. Two disability support assistants, trained to the hilt in inclusivity, loitering in a carpark while appearing to be – hang on, no, not ‘appearing’ to be – but <i>actually</i>, hooting with laughter at a hobbling student! Wheelchair to the left of me, crutches to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you.<br />
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Anna, with the aid of the impeccable comedic timing of the benevolent universe, gave me laughter too that day. Right when I needed it. <br />
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And I hope the ripple reached you here. Have a smirk on us. And maybe pass my 'Anxiety Episodes' story along to someone who might need to hear it. <br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>*** </b></span></div>
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Thanks for pausing with me and Anna today. I should tell you that I’m feeling much better now, so there’s no need to be concerned about me. But I’m gratified to think it might have crossed your mind to worry.<br />
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‘<b><i>Anxiety Episodes</i></b>’ is my contribution to ‘<b><a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/TimetoTalk?src=hash" target="_blank">Time To Talk’</a></b> day (1 February 2018), a campaign to tackle the stigma and discrimination surrounding mental health. <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">For more stories and information: </span></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>visit the <a href="https://www.time-to-change.org.uk/" target="_blank"><b>Time to Change</b> website</a> </li>
<li>follow the<b> </b><a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/TimetoTalk?src=hash" target="_blank"><b>#timetotalk</b> hashtag</a> on <a href="https://twitter.com/TimetoChange" target="_blank">@timetochange on Twitter</a> </li>
<li>or <a href="https://www.instagram.com/timetochangecampaign/" target="_blank">their <b>@timetochangecampaign</b> Instagram</a> </li>
</ul>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">And if you’re struggling with a mental health issue: </span></b></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>please know that you are not alone. You might have your own Anna to confide in – even if you don’t recognise it at first. I’d never imagined how OK it would be to say it out loud until that morning. </li>
<li>When our inner voices are telling us we’re useless and feeble, we judge everyone else through that filter. But most people are more understanding than we give them credit for. Plus others can be better than we are ourselves at appreciating that something’s wrong, as they have the benefit of distance and clarity. </li>
<li>Alternatively, follow this link to the <a href="https://www.time-to-change.org.uk/mental-health-and-stigma/help-and-support" target="_blank"><b>Time To Change</b> resources page which contains</a> many sources of information and support: </li>
<li>And there’s always your GP. </li>
</ul>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">And if you're a potential Anna ...</span></b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>if you're someone who might be able to listen without judgement and guide without criticism then, don't be afraid to engage.</li>
<li>You don't need to solve all the problems for whoever confides in you.</li>
<li>But listening, and even <i>laughing</i>, can be the perfect opening scene where someone can begin to share their story ... </li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
Thanks for stopping by today.<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><b>Julie </b></span></i><br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-78690129337498440732018-01-18T12:27:00.000+00:002018-01-18T12:27:16.045+00:002017: A Year in Bad Portraits <br />
<br />
Hello you, and happy 2018!<br />
<br />
As is now customary round these parts (this is the 5th year running), my <b>first blog post of the new year</b> is:<br />
<div>
<ul>
<li>my factory reset for the ego; </li>
<li>my rejection of photo filters;</li>
<li>my antidote to all the tasteful, <i>vetted</i>, photos of myself I've shared unapologetically throughout the previous year; photos like these: </li>
</ul>
</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4ZS5yuJfXPo/Wl4i9C1eAcI/AAAAAAAAUHc/ufi0UCO8D5MozA7dLwseoZiiz7-ZhT39ACKgBGAs/s1600/Good_portraits_2017_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4ZS5yuJfXPo/Wl4i9C1eAcI/AAAAAAAAUHc/ufi0UCO8D5MozA7dLwseoZiiz7-ZhT39ACKgBGAs/s1600/Good_portraits_2017_.jpg" /></a></div>
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Because, after another year of carefully curating my selfies, today it's time to for me to share ...<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">My Year in Bad Portraits: </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">The 2017 Edition. </span></b></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N-4xnjuw2GA/WlusJR_6oSI/AAAAAAAAUGE/FmcxIvw9kwwFQno6yiA9RUJqNjda2wKKACKgBGAs/s1600/AYearinBadPhotos_2017_Logo_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="189" data-original-width="551" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N-4xnjuw2GA/WlusJR_6oSI/AAAAAAAAUGE/FmcxIvw9kwwFQno6yiA9RUJqNjda2wKKACKgBGAs/s1600/AYearinBadPhotos_2017_Logo_.jpg" /></a></div>
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(If you’re new to the project then do treat yourself to the gurning, gawping and glaring of previous years here: <a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/2013-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank">2013</a>, <a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2015/01/2014-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank">2014</a>, <a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2016/01/2015-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank">2015</a>, <a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2017/01/2016-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank">2016</a>. I'll post links again at the end of this post so you can't possibly miss <i>any </i>of my ridiculous faces. You're welcome.)<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Before I begin ...</span></b><br />
... for some reason, this year there weren't so very many <b>#BadPortraits</b> for me to choose from. <i>Not </i>because I became miraculously more photogenic in 2017 - although, maybe I <i>have </i>learned more about which angles suit me! But for a few other reasons which I've narrowed down to:<br />
<ol>
<li><b>It might, in part, be James's fault. </b>(Yeah, why not, sounds like a likely cause). In previous years, some of the worst photos of me were taken by my beloved (although goodness knows what that says about how he sees me) but he doesn't seem to take as many photos these days, so my awful stock-photography levels have been depleted. BTW: he makes an appearance with a #BadPortrait of his own later in this post. It's not one for the faint-hearted. Don't say you weren't warned. And ... </li>
<li><b>My concept of what constitutes a 'bad' portrait has changed. </b>Having done this for 5 years now, I'm getting used to seeing imperfect photos of me for longer than it would take for me to hit the 'delete' button. (Remember I even got to <a href="http://www.marieclaire.co.uk/life/worst-photos-on-instagram-the-badportraits-campaign-18874" target="_blank">feature on Marie Claire UK </a>with them?! They're hanging around out there.) And, in response, I'm becoming a bit immune! My ‘bad’ portraits bar has been raised so high that I have to look reeeaaallly bad for me to even notice.</li>
<li><b>Plus - this year - I've started talking/appearing on my Instagram Stories </b>(short videos that only last 24 hrs) and around 90% of the time on those I'm not wearing make-up and am often in my 'working from home no one will see me' clothes. So, again, I'm losing a level of self-consciousness and accepting what I <i>actually</i> look and sound like as just part of the 'real' me behind the careful social media presentation. </li>
</ol>
<b>Case in point: </b><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyr2YO-Zrv2hLvVBu-VawhmzkRZ-hgX5j_hayaFZbsbhXg5y9U4EXvy9swknAB8npCAB7HhFaGH9nawS1WPzw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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All that aside ... there were plenty of<i> perfectly imperfect </i>portraits on my hard-drive so how about we dive in?<br />
<b><br /></b>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>As ever, you are free to laugh at these! In fact, please do, because otherwise ... what am I even doing here?! </b></span><br />
<ul>
<li><b>If you can see it - it's fair game: </b>of course there are some shots throughout the year that <i>don’t </i>make me laugh, that make me feel awkward, weird, or unattractive. I don't share those ones, and so you're safe to laugh at the ones I do! </li>
<li><b>This project is <i>never </i>about body-shaming or self-critique. </b>At worst it's self-deprecating ... at best, it's a healthy self-assessment, and I share <i>mine </i>in the hope that it'll make you feel better about <i>yours</i>! </li>
</ul>
So, let the guilt-free voyeurism commence ...<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">My Year in Bad Portraits: </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">The 2017 Edition.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">The glamour of 'Champing*'</span></b></div>
I can honestly say that, in my 40+ years, until the day this photo was taken, I had <i>never </i>undressed in a church before. I mean, I might have taken my coat off on occasions, but even then ... that would have felt a bit risque. But, when James and I spent a few days Champing (*camping in a church) last year, I learned just how quickly I can take off one item of clothing and replace it with a nightie (And a dressing gown. And a vest. And a hat. And bedsocks.) in order to mitigate the sheer unrelenting awkwardness of - I'm just going to say it - of <i>having my boobs out</i> - in front of saints and angels.<br />
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And wasn't the end result a glamorous one? Not for us an anniversary spent at a fancy hotel!<br />
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<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2017/05/champingchurchcamping.html" target="_blank"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F6LHunp-tQY/WlusJWA56wI/AAAAAAAAUGE/b2k_c_oP8n4scRgjIYhzPT8Hg1WjuGS9gCKgBGAs/s1600/05_May_Champing_Inside_%2B%25283%2529.JPG" title="Julie in a dressing gown, hat and bed socks, in an old church" /></a></div>
For the record:<br />
<ul>
<li><i>Yes</i>,the door was locked. </li>
<li><i>No</i>, there was no congregation in at the time ... </li>
</ul>
If you'd like to see more photos (and a couple of videos) from <a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2017/05/champingchurchcamping.html" target="_blank"><b>Our Great Big Anniversary Champing Adventure</b> then do visit the blog post I wrote</a> all about it.<br />
<br />
This next one was taken in MIMA gallery where I spent part of the summer writing, and co-hosted a Snipped Tales workshop for the dementia friendly craft group there, as part of my stint as <i>Writer in Residence.</i><br />
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And don't I look professional?<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UTYJv5X-AgE/WlusJcAGAwI/AAAAAAAAUGE/iJp8XNaCOyY8kOS74t9RpAw1Ywu9TDL-QCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_mima.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UTYJv5X-AgE/WlusJcAGAwI/AAAAAAAAUGE/iJp8XNaCOyY8kOS74t9RpAw1Ywu9TDL-QCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_mima.jpg" /></a></div>
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That thing I'm doing there - the whole looking upwards and away thing - is not, sadly, an isolated incident. Whatever look it is I'm aiming for ... be it 'really engaged in my surroundings', 'dreamy', 'wistful' or whatever, it never works. So why am I a repeat offender?<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Exhibit B:<i>'First her eyes rolled up into her head ... then she started doing impersonations of a chicken'</i> ... </span></b><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JrwFNezH1qE/WlusJcFZiLI/AAAAAAAAUGE/vzj5wC4NgdkjUE1RwjcQu_1j-Myt_SYbgCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_stairs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JrwFNezH1qE/WlusJcFZiLI/AAAAAAAAUGE/vzj5wC4NgdkjUE1RwjcQu_1j-Myt_SYbgCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_stairs.jpg" /></a></div>
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No, I don't know what's happening here either. Let's blame James again shall we.<br />
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And, apparently, when my eyes aren't trying to escape my skull, they're <i>glazing over i</i>nstead ... </div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Here I am stumbling bravely over that fine line between the pose that says <i>'I'm a deeply pensive woman'</i> ... and the one that says <i>'that evil witch made good on her threat to turn me into mannequin'</i>:</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ikA0Sk2nGZM/WlusJRo3VaI/AAAAAAAAUGE/HBgE7ymsRJIUb5_f29XlwcZgBS66ldIOwCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_mannequin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ikA0Sk2nGZM/WlusJRo3VaI/AAAAAAAAUGE/HBgE7ymsRJIUb5_f29XlwcZgBS66ldIOwCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_mannequin.jpg" /></a></div>
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I mean, for someone who generally can't sit still for two minutes, in these photos I'm doing a pretty good impression of something made entirely from fibreglass. </div>
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And, when I wasn't playing the mannequin in 2017 ... I was in charge of making one speak ... </div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>Ladies and gentlemen, allow me introduce to you: <i>Little Fitz and his ventriloquist dummy Ziggy</i>: </b></span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S7_IKGvNB_Q/WlusJfVPxXI/AAAAAAAAUGE/RsRTcIXUUF46mDshVy6YFrDl7CEn-obZwCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_Little_Fitz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S7_IKGvNB_Q/WlusJfVPxXI/AAAAAAAAUGE/RsRTcIXUUF46mDshVy6YFrDl7CEn-obZwCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_Little_Fitz.jpg" /></a></div>
No, there isn't anything I'd like to reveal to you about my private life. And no, this isn't how I generally dress at the weekend, honest guv, but this long weekend away in a cottage with friends (yes <i>Jean</i>, that includes you! I know you'll be reading this!) had a <i>Murder Mystery</i> theme.<br />
<br />
Jean had bought a mystery game in which we each had to take on a role and find a suitable costume to bring with us. I played 'Little Fitz' (<i>and</i> Ziggy, because my acting talent is nothing if not versatile), and managed to source everything except the trousers (a loud check pair I found in a charity shop) in my <i>own regular wardrobe</i>. My instructions stipulated a bow-tie ... and I even had a choice between two. (I opted for silver in the end, because, why wouldn't I?)<br />
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<b>What exactly does it say about me that - at the drop of a hat - I can open my cupboards and dress like a 1900s Musical Hall performer should the whim arise? </b></div>
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And it''s all - literally - fun and games when you're trying to make people laugh with your appearance, but it's not such a joy when you're not ... </div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Sometimes you think you're rocking <i>'60s Beat poet in smoky Parisian cafe'</i> chic ... when you're actually more like <i>'toothless French poet gets door-stepped by paprazzi'</i>:</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U1t8EerxHeE/WlusJbXRzdI/AAAAAAAAUGE/751QXTi5jV0clskrQLjRclw1RL2qAZIZQCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_sultry.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U1t8EerxHeE/WlusJbXRzdI/AAAAAAAAUGE/751QXTi5jV0clskrQLjRclw1RL2qAZIZQCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_sultry.JPG" /></a></div>
Ah, the gap between intention and outcome. That can really punch you where it hurts!<br />
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Similarly, judging by these next two, things go strangely awry when my intention is to convey how happy I am ... and yet, what gets captured instead is this ...<br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>I call these my '<i>Wow, Julie looks thrilled' </i>poses:</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e361YxHBnlc/Wl4jFxtLwRI/AAAAAAAAUHg/VlEYsSRYKictOk7ZNlebNn5mqJsu9XT0ACKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_%2Bthrilled_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e361YxHBnlc/Wl4jFxtLwRI/AAAAAAAAUHg/VlEYsSRYKictOk7ZNlebNn5mqJsu9XT0ACKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_%2Bthrilled_.jpg" /></a></div>
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Because, the thing is, I was happy, on both those occasions. The left one was taken before we went to a comedy performance, and on the right I'm standing in front of the first Snipped Tale to feature in a <i>public exhibition</i>!<br />
<br />
I genuinely <i>was </i>happy. It's just ... no one had told my face.<br />
<br />
Same again here.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>I'm purely trying to get a decent shot of myself. </li>
<li>I am not under duress. </li>
<li>No one is bothering me. </li>
<li>I'm entirely alone ...</li>
</ul>
<br />
<b style="font-family: "courier new", courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;">So why do I look snotty, and disapproving, and all <i>'Errrm, excuse me? Can I help you?'</i></b><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p-GyXgfT0dU/WlusJbHuG9I/AAAAAAAAUGE/uiiKIIrMCkAX64YW1c0YBPi_T6CdnfgCACKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_who_are_you.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p-GyXgfT0dU/WlusJbHuG9I/AAAAAAAAUGE/uiiKIIrMCkAX64YW1c0YBPi_T6CdnfgCACKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_who_are_you.jpg" /></a></div>
Surely there's someone out there working on an app that can talk to you while you're taking selfies ... one that drops gentle, friendly hints like 'Hey Julie, you might want to stop frowning at invisible people' ...<br />
<br />
The next couple of shots are from a time when I <i>wasn't </i>alone, and when the other person with me definitely wasn't invisible. And while they're not strictly 'bad' portraits ... you'll be able to guess why neither made it on to<a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/" target="_blank"> my Instagram grid - <b>@withjuliekirk</b> - in 2017.</a><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Part 1: <i>The Photo Bomb</i>: </span></b><br />
To quote Sophia from the Golden Girls 'picture the scene' ... it's a Saturday morning, in our hallway, and - as is often the case - I'm trying to take decent 'Outfit of the Day' shots, to <a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/" target="_blank">share on Instagram</a>.<br />
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And then, with my camera propped up on the pew, and set on a timer, this happens ...<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XtQQ9tP6QOw/WlusJVlNQaI/AAAAAAAAUGE/ioMIPOQKsAQW8PU-yadqgE4rUOsu-yuxACKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_photobomb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="825" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XtQQ9tP6QOw/WlusJVlNQaI/AAAAAAAAUGE/ioMIPOQKsAQW8PU-yadqgE4rUOsu-yuxACKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_photobomb.jpg" /></a></div>
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But ... two can play at that game Mr ... </div>
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Cut to a month later, same hallway, same day of the week, same posing for an outfit of the day shot, only this time, the tables are turned ... </div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Part 2: <i>The Photo 'Bum'</i>: </span></b></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CLLash91fis/WlusJTZ9ncI/AAAAAAAAUGE/j8gRLl7cEfYAjo7Z6jIzrZqPe19s6Jb3ACKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_photo-bomb-revenge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="824" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CLLash91fis/WlusJTZ9ncI/AAAAAAAAUGE/j8gRLl7cEfYAjo7Z6jIzrZqPe19s6Jb3ACKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_photo-bomb-revenge.jpg" /></a></div>
Genuine conversation in our house last week:<br />
<ul>
<li><b>Me: </b>"I've been looking through photos for my Bad Portraits post and there's one of you, on the stairs, tying your shoe lace, and well, you're jeans are a bit low. Are you OK with me using the photo? ... It's not that bad ... my finger is covering most of your bum crack".</li>
</ul>
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Reader, I showed him the photo and he agreed to let me share it with you all. Feel free to judge his exhibitionist qualities as you will. </div>
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And, while we're in the hallway, here are another few, taken in the same spot, that I took by accident. Obviously. Because who would <i>deliberately </i>pose like this? <a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2zfDLBP4WvE/WlusJQ1xUTI/AAAAAAAAUGE/-7ZA1YFr-LUcdysJ4OYsRQWngNiG-9HZwCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_outtakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></a></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2zfDLBP4WvE/WlusJQ1xUTI/AAAAAAAAUGE/-7ZA1YFr-LUcdysJ4OYsRQWngNiG-9HZwCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_outtakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2zfDLBP4WvE/WlusJQ1xUTI/AAAAAAAAUGE/-7ZA1YFr-LUcdysJ4OYsRQWngNiG-9HZwCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_outtakes.jpg" /></a></div>
There's something a bit creepy, voyeuristic, about that left hand side one. Like it was taken by someone hiding under a bed or something. *Shudders*. (It was actually my phone propped up in a shoe and my hoodie had slipped over it, which isn't so sinister after all.)<br />
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And from ones I didn't pose for , to one I kind of did ... </div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s9LVSXr1ejI/WlusJTLf-PI/AAAAAAAAUGE/XbUQkKfpXy0wF_6y1gBj6-GogSaEQDilACKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_fringe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="825" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s9LVSXr1ejI/WlusJTLf-PI/AAAAAAAAUGE/XbUQkKfpXy0wF_6y1gBj6-GogSaEQDilACKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_fringe.jpg" /></a></div>
Here I was trying to capture the strange new hair growth that I've noticed in the last few years. Before you ask - no - it's not pregnancy related, I've had it for around two years now and, last time I looked I wasn't an elephant, so I think we can rule 'gestation' out as a cause.<br />
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It was almost like I turned 40, got lots of presents, a big cake ... and a second fringe.<br />
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I reckon it's 'hormones', because isn't it <i>always</i>? I might stop trying to photograph it though; that level of close-up does no one any favours.<br />
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As for these two near-identical poses ...<br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>I'm calling these </b></span><b style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;"><i>'Oh Jesus, did I lock the back door?'</i> and <i>'Mardy teenager gets asked to do the washing-up'</i>:</b><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ca_J2BMev5E/WlusJR8mhZI/AAAAAAAAUGE/9WbeQQ5eo2wo4bt7pac81GCS_MJRD8lPQCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_sideways.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ca_J2BMev5E/WlusJR8mhZI/AAAAAAAAUGE/9WbeQQ5eo2wo4bt7pac81GCS_MJRD8lPQCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_sideways.jpg" /></a></div>
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I honestly don't know what happens to my face once it becomes aware that I'm trying to capture it! Although - I should make it clear that with these I was capturing the shots in <i>a public space</i> and ... I don't know ... I know I share a lot of photos here, and a lot of people see them, but ... it doesn't make me any less self-conscious when snapping photos when I'm possibly being observed by strangers.<br />
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I mean, who wants to grin and pose all perfectly perky? I mean who would do such an annoying thing?? Who???<br />
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Oh yeah ... me:<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X8prlbALvVI/WlusJbdQc4I/AAAAAAAAUGE/Z4ypLoDDIxUMvOm0RI9oAbnUyHQvXTd4QCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_Prim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="512" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X8prlbALvVI/WlusJbdQc4I/AAAAAAAAUGE/Z4ypLoDDIxUMvOm0RI9oAbnUyHQvXTd4QCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_Prim.jpg" /></a></div>
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Don't take this the wrong way but - when I look at the Julie in this photo - I could just give her a s<i>wift kick.</i> Nothing too violent, but just enough to stop her being so painfully perky. </div>
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Of course, the difference between <i>Perky Julie</i> and <i>Glazed-over-emotionless-android-Julie</i> selfies is that no one can see me in my hallway! It's far easier to attempt to be human from the privacy of your own home. I'm a much less convincing human in public.<br /><br />However, my true self can probably be found somewhere between the overly keen Julie <i>above</i> ... and the overly emotional Julie below ... </div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>This pose is called <i>'Julie watches Billy Elliot the Musical for the first time - particularly the bit where </i></b></span><b style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;"><i>boy-Billy </i></b><b style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;"><i>dances with </i></b><b style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;"><i>adult-Billy': </i></b></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3UeupgpNkxY/WlusJZbjCiI/AAAAAAAAUGE/vRKXe9S-M7UwN6eyaWf10zvCf9mtAi8gQCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_Billy_Elliot_tears_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="512" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3UeupgpNkxY/WlusJZbjCiI/AAAAAAAAUGE/vRKXe9S-M7UwN6eyaWf10zvCf9mtAi8gQCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_Billy_Elliot_tears_.jpg" /></a></div>
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Oh man. That show. It drained me and filled me up at the same time. </div>
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I <i>love </i>the film version. Jamie Bell's performance in the Town Called Malice scene is a <i>perfect</i> 3 minutes of cinema. If he never performed another creative act that routine alone is lifetime's worth. And so ... I'd always - <i>wrongly</i> - expected a 'musical' version to be a bit, well, <i>tacky</i>. </div>
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Then I watched it. And I cried. And cried. And made everyone I know watch it too. Then they cried. </div>
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I've never been happier to have been proven wrong! </div>
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And now, after all that crying ... let's just check that there's nothing untoward happening in the nostril area ... </div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>Because no year of #JuliesBadPortraits would be complete without an up-the-nose shot. You're welcome:</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--Y1Wpr4CtI8/WlusJUkrtvI/AAAAAAAAUGE/AWfUgq_5jG8CclaBrVaTKP49-gd6b6zGQCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_up_nose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="824" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--Y1Wpr4CtI8/WlusJUkrtvI/AAAAAAAAUGE/AWfUgq_5jG8CclaBrVaTKP49-gd6b6zGQCKgBGAs/s1600/Bad_Portraits_Julie_Kirk_up_nose.jpg" /></a></div>
What was I thinking? Well ...</div>
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<li>I was thinking: <i>wouldn't it be nice to get a shot of me walking along the road, in the snow, beneath this clear blue sky</i>. </li>
<li>But I was also thinking: <i>yes, that would be nice but ... I don't want all the people going past in cars to think I'm a total narcissistic tit who takes selfies while walking down the highstreet in the snow. </i>So I tried to be surreptitious and hold the phone low down. Which resulted in nostril central here. Mystery solved. </li>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>Of course, the irony is that - as much as I don't want people to catch me taking selfies in public - I do rather defeat the object of all that coyness by then collecting them altogether and broadcasting them online! </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>Even the bad ones! </b></span></div>
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<b style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;">*** </b></div>
So ... there you have it - my 2017 in Bad Portraits - I hope you enjoyed them. Let me know your best of my worst in the comments!<div style="text-align: left;">
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Now, this is where I usually set out the rules for if anyone wants to play along (only photos of yourself, no body-shaming, the photo MUST make YOU laugh first) but ... no one ever does join in. Not that I blame you. It's not for everyone.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b>But ... if you fancy giving it a go during 2018 here are my tips:</b></span></div>
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<li>Ease yourself in by simply not immediately deleting the awful shots. </li>
<li>Let them hang around in your phone for a while.</li>
<li>If they make it that far ... save them to your laptop/harddrive/cloud.</li>
<li>Set up a 'Bad Portraits 2018' folder and start dragging them over into there.</li>
<li>Add to the folder throughout the year.</li>
<li>Delete any that make you feel bad about yourself.</li>
<li>Keep the ones that make you laugh, that free you up a little, that make you see the absurdity that is being human!</li>
<li>If you feel brave enough - drop them into a blog post sometime in January 2019! </li>
<li>OR if you share any on Instagram - no matter what time of year - use the hashtag <b>#juliesbadportraits </b>or<b> #badportraits </b>and let me know <b><a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/" target="_blank">@withjuliekirk</a> </b>and will hop over to look/laugh along with you. </li>
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<b>Thanks for dropping by to see me in this shiny new year. May 2018 bring you all that you wish for yourself ... plus good camera angles.</b></div>
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Julie x</div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>*** </b></span></div>
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Psssssst, before you go: if you've ever missed any - fear not - here they all are again:</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/2013-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank">#BadPortraits 2013</a></b></span></div>
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<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/2013-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="189" data-original-width="551" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NCFV7szZ3XM/Wl4nYb17HJI/AAAAAAAAUH4/o_5h6lKgXUoCRQ1P55OWQgkSFvmaP1VyACKgBGAs/s1600/AYearinBadPhotos_Logo_.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2015/01/2014-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"> #BadPortraits 2014</span></a></b></div>
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<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2016/01/2015-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank"> <b style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;">#BadPortraits 2015</b></a></div>
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<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2016/01/2015-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="189" data-original-width="551" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PS6Yo1_NE-w/Wl4mrp708pI/AAAAAAAAUHw/hdmuoFkxRpoKv_IzK88TGK86GOKAZYqNgCKgBGAs/s1600/AYearinBadPhotos_2015__Logo_.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2017/01/2016-year-in-bad-portraits.html" target="_blank">#BadPortraits 2016</a></b></div>
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If you're a pinner will you save this to Pinterest to spread the #BadPortraits word? Thanks!<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>#BadPortraits 2017</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JixCBXtySDI/Wl4mrpKZ91I/AAAAAAAAUHw/IMbiz2rxG4sTlWGOrcEvZrLI-w_knP6UwCKgBGAs/s1600/AYearinBadPhotos_2017_Logo_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JixCBXtySDI/Wl4mrpKZ91I/AAAAAAAAUHw/IMbiz2rxG4sTlWGOrcEvZrLI-w_knP6UwCKgBGAs/s1600/AYearinBadPhotos_2017_Logo_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="189" data-original-width="551" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JixCBXtySDI/Wl4mrpKZ91I/AAAAAAAAUHw/IMbiz2rxG4sTlWGOrcEvZrLI-w_knP6UwCKgBGAs/s1600/AYearinBadPhotos_2017_Logo_.jpg" /></a></div>
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Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-49015864512758905592017-12-21T15:26:00.004+00:002017-12-21T15:26:54.029+00:00May all your Christmases be striped: A tale of festive crafting with anxiety.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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Hello you ... </div>
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This post both <i>is </i>and <i>isn't </i>about Christmas cards. Kind of a 'Schrödinger's Christmas Card' post if you will. Anyway ... </div>
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Merry Christmas! Please accept the following as a festive greeting from me to you:</div>
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I haven't been around here lately at all (although I'm <i>always </i>on <a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/" target="_blank">Instagram </a>if you want to keep in touch there.) But, a look back at some of the titles of my most recent posts: '<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2017/10/an-anxious-person-does-stuff.html" target="_blank">An anxious person does stuff, like climbing a tower.'</a> and '<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2017/09/explaining-anxiety.html" target="_blank">How having anxiety is like having a funfair goldfish thrust upon you</a>', might just give you a clue as to what's been preoccupying me lately.<br />
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I mean, when <i>thousands </i>of words on a given topic pour out of you on to the page, you might think that'd be a <b>big </b>clue that your mind was especially focused on that subject right now. It wouldn't take a genius to work out that maybe, just maybe, something wasn't quite right. Right?<br />
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Yeah. Except, <i>no</i>.<br />
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Somehow - despite having written two major blog posts about it, and even discussing with my writing mentor the possibility of writing an <i>entire book</i> on the subject, the anxiety attacks that I started experiencing back November took me <i>completely by surprise</i>. <br />
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This genius here missed all the signs.<br />
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In hindsight, it's no great shock, but at the time? <i>Sideswiped</i>.<br />
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But, please don't worry about me, this isn't a sad post. I'll be fine, I'm getting treatment, I'm talking to people, I'm trying to take it easy on myself and ... I'm crafting. Which is where these cards come into the story ...<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5AxbNy8acI4/WjqQvXCWFkI/AAAAAAAAUB8/JgE0iKJ0wsI6ZeBApwTnI6f_xLG_9PtZgCKgBGAs/s1600/Cheers_Party_Zebra_Christmas_Cards_2017_%2B%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5AxbNy8acI4/WjqQvXCWFkI/AAAAAAAAUB8/JgE0iKJ0wsI6ZeBApwTnI6f_xLG_9PtZgCKgBGAs/s1600/Cheers_Party_Zebra_Christmas_Cards_2017_%2B%25282%2529.JPG" /></a></div>
While taking some time off work I gave myself a few weeks to rest (OK, you got me ... I find that very hard to do, so maybe I tidied the loft, and all the dining room cupboards, and made shop kits, and put all the Christmas decorations up, and ... you know how it is ..). <br />
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So, yeah, maybe I wasn't exactly resting my body so much, but I did make an effort to rest my mind. A remedy that involved things like a good dose of guilt-free Netflixing (it's the <i>guilt-free</i> part that 's the hardest to achieve, but that does the most good) and also a spot of <i>purpose-free</i> card-making.<br />
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It began at my monthly crafty get-together with friends where I started making greetings cards for <i>no reason whatsoever</i>. Which I hadn't done in ... I couldn't tell you how long. Yes, I make cards for magazine commissions but, as nice as that is, it's still work. So to just sit with no brief, no end goal, no recipient in mind, to just enjoy sifting through papery products, for fun, for the pleasure of mixing and matching colours and shapes and prints - was just what I needed.<br />
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These cards and those but it kick-started my crafty brain / hands again ... and I just kept going, only with more festive slant on things: <br />
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And yes, my striped friends even make it into my festive crafts because zebras are for Christmas, not just for life. </div>
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So, with '<i>Anne with an 'E'</i>' running in the background on Netflix (highly recommended!), I surrounded myself with all kinds of supplies - traditionally Christmassy ones and regular non-festive, year-round stuff too, and pulled out a mix of zebra images and stamps to use as my focal point, and made a start ...</div>
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And just kept going ... </div>
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I gave the various zebras noses fit to guide a sleigh ...<br />
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And typed out the greetings on kraft labels: </div>
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And I coloured, clustered and layered to my heart's content ... </div>
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Now, I'm not saying crafting with zebras has cured me (although ... <a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2010/07/more-about-zebra.html" target="_blank">my stripey friends do have previous experience of helping me out</a> in these situations), but they did allow me several welcome hours of using a different part of my brain to the one trying to work out where and why my brain had taken a detour.<br />
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And that's what you need isn't it? A brief distraction. Not so much that you're ignoring the problem, and not for so long that you become unwilling to return to reality ... but for just long enough to let your brain to take a break, put up its feet, drift away for a while. <br />
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And - really - I could do worse that a distraction that involves zebras, washi-tape, coloured staples, patterned papers and shiny 'bits'. Remind me to try it again sometime soon. </div>
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Merry Christmas. May it bring you some gem-like delights and distractions of your own. </div>
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Julie </div>
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(P.S. Don't forget to find me <a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/" target="_blank">@withjuliekirk on Instagram</a> if you'd like to hear from me more often. I even do Instagram Stories - short videos - over there, so you literally <i>will hear </i>from me and my tiny North Eastern accented voice. Which James says is posher than my real voice. So it's worth a visit purely for that.)</div>
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<br />Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-48488927763139602142017-10-19T20:45:00.001+01:002017-10-19T20:45:27.101+01:00An Anxious Person Does Stuff (like climbing to the top of a tower)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Hey you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This is a post I’ve been wanting to write for months but – be warned - that doesn’t mean I'm very clear on what I want to say. There may* be rambling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">(*There will be).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In general about doing things while
you’re feeling anxious - and it may be the start of some sort of manifesto I’ll
develop (#ananxiouspersondoesstuff), or it may come to nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And it doesn't have satisfyingly transformative ending and, hey, who
knows, it might just depress someone. Including me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Am I selling this to you yet?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh and the story itself isn’t a particularly interesting, exciting, or
dramatic one, it doesn’t really go anywhere, and some people may think I wrote
it to fish for nice people to say nice things. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sounds <i>great</i> doesn’t it? You’ll have to read it to be the judge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">So what is it about?</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s a poke around the idea of ‘</span><i style="font-family: inherit;">conquering</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">’ your anxieties, a
narrative we often hear in relation to mental health, which is great in theory (I mean, who </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">wouldn’t </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">want to get over all
their fears and worries and live a fulfilling life?) - yet in </span>practice<span style="font-family: inherit;">, in
daily minute-by-minute life,it’s not always so straightforward. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Last month I wrote a post about how anxiety can feel like having a
funfair goldfish in a plastic bag unexpectedly handed to you, which makes the
rest of your day just that bit harder to deal with (if you missed it,<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2017/09/explaining-anxiety.html" target="_blank"> catch up <b>here</b></a>). In that post I mentioned that something over the summer
had caused me to start thinking more deeply about anxiety and, hello! … <i>this
</i>is that<i> </i>something.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>After it happened, or maybe even <i>while it was still happening</i>, I
realised there were <i>two</i> distinct ways I could present the events:</b></span></div>
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<li>As an entirely true, but slightly selective,
‘internet’ version of event in which I wouldn’t have lied about what happened
or - if I did - it would only be a lie of omission. And it would have ended
with a glossy, punchy, neat Instagrammable philosophy. Or ...</li>
<li>as a messy and complete version, where
I <i>do </i>reach some sort of happy ending … but then sail straight past it to the more
realistic place that lurks just over the horizon.</li>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">You know I decided on the latter, don’t you?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If I’d gone with the first version we may all come out of it with a
little sugar rush of good feeling but it wouldn’t have lasted. </span></div>
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<b>It would’ve perpetuated the lie that you need to be bold and confident to get anything done in this world, when I’d rather say: <i>anxious people can do stuff too, even if we feel conflicted and crappy while we’re doing it!</i></b><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, for your reading pleasure (or not) here it is … <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="color: #666666;">Content notice:</b><span style="color: #666666;"> this post contains detailed descriptions of an anxiety attack which may be triggering. Also, there’s swearing because … well, because apparently that’s what comes out of me when I write naturally. (Imagine the disappointment I must be to my Catholic school English teachers).</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">A story of An Anxious Person Doing Stuff (including a guided tour up a bell tower).</span></b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">So what have you been worrying about now Kirk?</span></b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Well - thanks for asking - over the summer James and I booked to go on a
guided tour of the highest tower of Lincoln Cathedral, which, initially, wasn’t
a cause for concern. We’d been on several other roof tours there without a
problem, I’m not especially claustrophobic, or scared of heights, they’d
provided some great photo opportunities in past years and it seemed like a good
solid part of our holiday itinerary. It never occurred to me to worry about it
...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And then … <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And then, when we went to book tickets <i>in advance</i>, they made us read a list of all the things that we
could expect during the tour (regarding the steepness of the 300+ steps, the narrowness
of the stone staircase and passageways, the heights, plus the level of fitness
and the sensible footwear required), and we had to sign to say we were OK with all
of that. Which I was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And then …<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And then we had to wait several days for the event itself to come
around. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Oh the sweet irony of our room name ... </div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-seUywjp-S5A/WeSs5Ld3TVI/AAAAAAAAT-I/L1zXTpB1Bo8i8r_biy0wQ_0oO4hI__7ywCKgBGAs/s1600/Anxiety_blog_Tower_tour_rooftops_.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-seUywjp-S5A/WeSs5Ld3TVI/AAAAAAAAT-I/L1zXTpB1Bo8i8r_biy0wQ_0oO4hI__7ywCKgBGAs/s1600/Anxiety_blog_Tower_tour_rooftops_.JPG" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>Before the anxiety </b>(or, if you’re familiar with the analogy: ‘Before the
<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2017/09/explaining-anxiety.html" target="_blank">funfair goldfish </a>arrived’)<b>:</b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If I’d read that list <i>ten minutes</i> before beginning the tour I might not
have been quite so alert to the possibilities for concern; but there’s nothing
like the luxury of <i>All. That. Time. To. Think.</i> to reall<b>y </b>set anxiety in
motion, is there?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“It’s probably the same list they’ve shown us all the other times” said
James sensibly. “And nothing ever happened then.” he went on, trying to
reassure me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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And maybe it was, maybe every other time I’d just skim read those potentially troubling phrases, dismissed them, signed it and gone straight on the tour without a second thought. But ahh … this time, <i>time </i>was the enemy.</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Seeds of anxiety + time + plus the manure dumped from an
over-thinking brain = quite the strong, and anxious, seedling growing in my
chest.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Or, to use<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2017/09/explaining-anxiety.html" target="_blank"> the goldfish analogy</a>: at this
point someone was surrounded by the smell of diesel-powered generators and
boiling hot-dogs, wasting all their spare change on trying to hook a duck and
win a fish. No one had yet thrust a goldfish at me ... but the moment was
growing ever closer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">On the day itself, sitting waiting for the guides to arrive, my
breathing had already begun to speed up, I began to feel slightly dizzy, a bit
nauseous, and maybe like my digestive system might play me up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I want to repeat here that there doesn’t need to be a <i>specific </i>cause for the anxiety: I was
NOT sitting there thinking I was going to get trapped in the narrow corridors,
or fall from the height. Rather, like a scaly little fish, in liquid, in a thin
bulging plastic bag, anxiety is often <i>far more slippery</i> than that. I was just
anxious. Not <i>of</i> or <i>about</i> anything in particular. I just <i>was</i>.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And then ... </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">the tour began.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>During the anxiety/goldfish</b>:</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, there we were, a group of around 15, heading straight up the first
set of stone stairs where several things conspired together to make me
uncomfortable: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>It was warm:</i></b> it<b><i> </i></b>wa<b>s </b>July,
in a narrow staircase packed with bodies exerting themselves, travelling
upwards, just like the heat.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>It was narrow:</i></b> like … ‘not much wider
than some people's’ shoulders’ narrow, which I could probably have coped
with, except …<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>It was a spiral</i></b>: the tightly coiling twist
meant that the steps tapered away into nothing at the centre so, while you
could easily set down your left foot, the right foot had to be careful it
actually made contact with a flat surface or you’d slip. And all that spiralling
became dizzy-making. The women in my family are not blessed with the
strongest of necks and looking up to grab the hand rope (there was no
rail) and look down to check where my feet were going, tightened my neck
muscles making me dizzier still. <o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>It was steep and speedy:</i></b> the guides were setting
such a fast pace (it would’ve put even the most overly achieving personal
trainer to shame) there was literally no time to stop to catch your
breath. </span></li>
</ul>
And finally, to quote Tom Petty -<div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -18pt;"><i style="font-weight: bold;">There ain’t no easy way out:</i></span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -18pt;"> At times I couldn’t keep
up and tried to slow down, but the guide at the bottom was setting the pace for
the people <i>behind </i>me leaving no way to drop back and let people overtake. The staircase was only
wide enough for <i>one </i>person, so there was </span><i style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -18pt;">absolutely no way down </i><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -18pt;">without
making the entire party back up all the way down too. And who wants to be </span><i style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -18pt;">that</i><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -18pt;"> person??? (Oh, hi there Social Anxiety,
fancy meeting you here, have you come along to take photos of the view too?)</span></li>
</ul>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lWsxgQ6MB74/WeSs5LTO2YI/AAAAAAAAT-I/HnjCSEW2T30-HIAnrWpZiJOnO9QUJ2KvACKgBGAs/s1600/Anxiety_blog_Tower_tour_window.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lWsxgQ6MB74/WeSs5LTO2YI/AAAAAAAAT-I/HnjCSEW2T30-HIAnrWpZiJOnO9QUJ2KvACKgBGAs/s1600/Anxiety_blog_Tower_tour_window.JPG" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">None of this on its own would be insurmountable – but all of it slung
together? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And … did I mention it was warm? And like a work-out? And <i>relentless</i>.
And verrry … verrrry … swirrrrrllllllyyyyyy spinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnyyyyyyyy? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">James was ahead of me, I often glimpsed the soles of his shoes dip out
of sight around the spiral while I tried to slow my pace - meanwhile, behind
me, or rather - below me - a stranger had their head at my feet. Or worse. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And - boom - there I was, wonkily storming up an ancient spiral staircase filled
strangers while trying to carry a funfair goldfish (seriously, if you still don’t
know what this means, you need to <a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2017/09/explaining-anxiety.html" target="_blank">read my other post</a>).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">By the time we reached the first stopping point I was struggling. <i>Emotionally
</i>more than physically but hey - <i>physically</i>
too – let’s not leave out that particular treat; I had the <i>whole</i> <i>party</i> going on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, we
already know I’m a bit head-spinny, and my legs are heavy, and my lungs are
asking <i>Why Julie?</i> <i>Whyyyy</i>? But now:</span></div>
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<ul>
<li>the hollow of my spine was slick with sweat;</li>
<li>my forehead a curtain of droplets to
be swept away by a tissue, </li>
<li>and there was a tightening in my guts. </li>
</ul>
And, anxious readers, <i>you </i>know the
kind of tightening I mean. The kind where you’re not 100% sure how it all might pan out. Like, <i>maybe </i>you might just burp or your
stomach will grumble and then you’ll feel some relief, or ... maybe it’ll be vomit,
or a fart. Or worse. Who knows? (And when you know where a stranger’s head is
going to be in a few minutes once you’re back on that staircase, well … it
doesn’t bear thinking about.)<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lDNlFZyzNHU/WeSs5J9Wy4I/AAAAAAAAT-I/TfDNPjMQD6U5Z14ZQXAU_it-U0sCLdbvACKgBGAs/s1600/Anxiety_blog_Tower_tour_height.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">By now we were in an open space where we could pause to breathe and
recuperate, while the tour guides told us something about the automated bell
ringing system and used their laser pointers to indicate areas of architectural
interest. But my body was demanding more of my attention and - you know how in
Tom and Jerry, when the humans talk and all you hear is that ‘Wah wah wah’ sound? Well, that. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, ignoring the tour altogether I began stripping off. Off came my
jacket, rolled up my sleeves and, let me tell you, if there’d been a dignified
way to whip off the leggings from under my skirt …</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">While trying to juggle these immediate physical needs (get cool,
breathe) with the overarching emotional goal of <i>calming the fuck down,</i> there
was a constant battle rumbling in my mind: <i>how much of this discomfort is due
to the anxiety and how much to the sheer exertion? </i>It was probably a filthy mix
of both but – if I focused on the idea it was most likely just the exercise I
could prevent the anxiety from escalating. Far better to attribute the wobbly legs
to all those bloody steps, than to some inexplicable fear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And then … <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Despite all the attempts at rationalisation I started planning my exit
strategy. What would I say? When would I say it? <i>So yes, hi, yes, so … yes, lovely brickwork up there, and h, those ancient beams, but I can’t do this any longer, I can’t go further
up, I can’t go at that pace. Something might come out of me, who knows from
where. Don’t make me, you’re not the boss of me, let me out, let me ooooooouuuuuutttttt!”.</i>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Or words to that effect. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">But, on second thoughts … FFS it’s
supposed to be a nice day out, you wanted to do this, it’s a normal thing, it
shouldn’t be this overblown. You’ll spoil the day for James. You’re a hundred
or more steps up, in a room with some sort of machinery (if I’d been listening properly
I’d have known more) and there’s no way they’ll leave you to wait here until
they all come back down. No. You’ll have
to be escorted out. All the way. You’ll look feeble. A failure. A criminal! <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And I
reckon it was this – the idea of the social embarrassment – that made me decide
to stay the course in the end. Not the positive self
talk, not the focusing, not the 1reathing but the horror of something worse
than feeling like this i.e: feeling like this while other people spectate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So I kept calm and carried on! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">OK, OK, OK, no … that was just a little joke! Let me re-phrase that: <i>I carried on</i>. We can say that much if
nothing else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lDNlFZyzNHU/WeSs5J9Wy4I/AAAAAAAAT-I/TfDNPjMQD6U5Z14ZQXAU_it-U0sCLdbvACKgBGAs/s1600/Anxiety_blog_Tower_tour_height.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lDNlFZyzNHU/WeSs5J9Wy4I/AAAAAAAAT-I/TfDNPjMQD6U5Z14ZQXAU_it-U0sCLdbvACKgBGAs/s1600/Anxiety_blog_Tower_tour_height.JPG" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">After the initial anxiety began to subside:</span></b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In short, w</span>e climbed further up; <span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -18pt;">we squeezed through a corridor that was almost too narrow for me; I</span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -18pt;"> sat opposite the bell as it bonged. 12 times. (Alas, it’s a level of
distraction not yet readily available on the NHS as a treatment.) </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Iba5kA4HBjM/WeSs5EClZSI/AAAAAAAAT-I/Nk-KYFj6EJcBSfd2zgYyvsPsMH-3C4QWACKgBGAs/s1600/Anxiety_blog_Tower_tour_bell_.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Iba5kA4HBjM/WeSs5EClZSI/AAAAAAAAT-I/Nk-KYFj6EJcBSfd2zgYyvsPsMH-3C4QWACKgBGAs/s1600/Anxiety_blog_Tower_tour_bell_.JPG" /></a></span></div>
<div>
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We climbed up more swirling steps to the roof ...</div>
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<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
where we looked out for miles across the countryside;</div>
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<div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And saw the resident peregrine falcons swooping and sweeping below us.</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cByDv_huRKE/Wej7LUh5dDI/AAAAAAAAT_I/yJTl6PL4HSwNI2nKn9hW6SCUhWytf7wXwCKgBGAs/s1600/Anxiety_blog_Tower_tour_through_fence_.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cByDv_huRKE/Wej7LUh5dDI/AAAAAAAAT_I/yJTl6PL4HSwNI2nKn9hW6SCUhWytf7wXwCKgBGAs/s1600/Anxiety_blog_Tower_tour_through_fence_.JPG" /></a></div>
<br />
I was fine with the height, and thoroughly welcomed the cooling blustery breeze. <br />
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</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
And then ... then we went down the way we came, only this time non-stop, with more open space in front of my face (if you think that going up my face was close to the steep stone steps rising directly in front) and also without my bum in anyone’s face. Always a bonus.</div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uCBpw2ntros/WeSs5C5k2ZI/AAAAAAAAT-I/Y3akV0YGZ5EbneK19QvNybW9idZ6-QXvQCKgBGAs/s1600/Anxiety_blog_Tower_tour_stairs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uCBpw2ntros/WeSs5C5k2ZI/AAAAAAAAT-I/Y3akV0YGZ5EbneK19QvNybW9idZ6-QXvQCKgBGAs/s1600/Anxiety_blog_Tower_tour_stairs.JPG" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Back on terra firma I felt like someone made of rubber trying to
maintain their balance on a bouncy castle. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I felt like an astronaut meeting
gravity once again. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I felt heavy, yet breakable. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Slow yet skittish. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I needed lunch; a good
cup of tea; a hand to hold. I also needed to write about what just happened (it’s
how I deal with stuff) and before I was even out of the Cathedral I had the
idea to turn the experience into a blog post. And the first, most obvious,
thought I had was that it would probably take the shape of a story detailing
how I, beat the anxiety to get through the day, a kind of heart-warming triumph
over adversity type click-bait. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And then …<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And then <i>nothing </i>about that plan sat right with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If I had written the <i>“Here’s how I overcame my anxiety to enjoy a day
out”</i> post it would have been kind of true – but also kind of bullshit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The truth is <i>yes</i>, I did it despite being anxious, but I didn’t want to
turn it into some half-truth that glossed over the ‘real’ parts of a
real-life story. Because, when it comes down to it, apart from the bit on the
roof, and seeing the birds in their element, it was <i>unpleasant</i>, and I wish it had been <i>easier</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>How’s that for some inspirational lifestyle blog content? </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But it’s the truth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">So why are you telling us all this Kirk? What exactly is it you’re
trying to say?</span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Well, if you remember at the beginning (hours ago, I know, I just can’t
write short posts – sorry about that.) I did warn you that there was no truly happy ending here. So I hope you’re not too disappointed with the weary conclusion that – even if you manage to ‘feel the fear and do
it anyway’ it doesn’t mean it will feel <i>good</i>.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But what would it achieve for me to end the story at the point where I
look brave and wise and like I have all the answers without telling how it left
me feeling?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Yes, I stayed until the end of the tour despite wanting to leave but I
got through it because it <i>ended</i>. </b>We moved locations, sitting down to hear the bell
ring helped me focus on something else, the breeze on the roof top was
life-giving and sweat-drying. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn’t ‘overcome’
it because I achieved some peak mindfulness (although Lord knows that was mixed
in there somewhere) or because some catchy life-hack rewired my neurons in 10
minutes, or because I recalled the enlightened words from some gold-foiled
motivational slogan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I got through it because it didn’t get worse, not because I suddenly
found “5 fresh ways to battle an anxiety attack”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>I got through it because, despite my body trying to convince me
otherwise, I didn’t pass out, die or, worse still, do an explosive shit in the
face of a total stranger. </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And – rather than feeling elated, powerful, a changed woman … I just
felt hollowed out and like ‘<i>Oh, really? This
crap? Again’. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>I’m not saying I’m not pleased I stuck around but I can’t say what I did
made me feel strong or brave …</b></span></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li>Because when your mind and body are in turmoil trying to decide if you
can cope with a perfectly normal situation - <i>it doesn’t feel brave</i>. At all. And
that’s OK. If we wait until we’re brave to do thing we might never do things!
And we’ll miss out. And we don’t deserve to miss out.</li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -18pt;">Because the idea of ‘brave’ whitewashes just how hard it feels to be
present while your body and mind are in mutiny.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -18pt;">Because - what if I’d decided that, actually, y’know what? the best
thing for me in that moment would be to practice some gentle self-care? What if
the kindest thing I could have done for myself was to quietly take aside one of
the guides and explain I wasn’t feeling happy about the rest of the tour and
could I please leave? Would that have made me the opposite of brave. Would that
have made me a coward?</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If I’d spun this as a motivational tale of how you can hang on in there,
get through a panic attack, and not miss out on interesting experiences – I
worry that I’d be giving the idea that it’s (a) what you </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">should </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">do, and (b) suggest that it's </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">easily </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">done.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s neither. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s all hard and dirty and foggy and baffling and individual and
changeable and challenging and draining. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I don't feel in any way valedictory about it. (Although, truth be told, I’m more
sanguine about it now months down the line – but at the time – I did <i>not</i> feel proud of myself for keeping my
head when all around me were quite possibly having no problem keeping theirs). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">So is the moral of this story that
anxiety sucks, and you shouldn’t even <i>try </i>to get through it because you’ll
still feel like limp turd afterwards? </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Firstly – ew, ‘limp turd’? Nice visual there dude. And secondly: no but
also yes – a little bit. And no, of course not. And kind of. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Glad we’ve got that clear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mostly I wanted to share the story here partly because I thought the line "</span>do an explosive shit in the face of a total stranger" was too funny to waste, but more so<span style="font-family: inherit;"> to say that:</span></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li>if you too have felt like a quivering wreck for no good reason, if you too have been visited by the <a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2017/09/explaining-anxiety.html" target="_blank">unexpected funfair goldfish</a>, and if you too felt like why, <i>for the love of Netflix</i>, you can’t just
function like everyone else … then … hey … me too. </li>
</ul>
<b>It’s not just you. </b><b>It feels
like it is, but it isn’t.</b><br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I wanted to talk about it because often it’s the ‘after’ stories you
read; the stories of how people came out the other side … and, as inspiring and
optimistic as they might be … it’s not always realistic to think that there’s a
‘Other Side’ to come out of. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Life’s messy and circular, it throws unexpected goldfish
at you when you thought the funfair had left town for good years ago. Life doubles
back, and drops you down wormholes, and you’ll be dragged backward and forwards
in your ‘journey’ more times than Marty McFly … <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Rather than share a clean and tidy ‘after’ story, I wanted to share a messy
‘during’ one, not to depress anyone, but to say something along the lines of: </span></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li><i style="font-family: inherit;">You know what? You can have anxiety and
still do stuff, it might not always be fun, you might struggle, you might
almost fall apart in public, you might sometimes feel like you might die, but –
honestly- you rarely do, and don’t let
that put you of doing something you want to do</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">, </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">it can’t</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">be just the bold and
oblivious who get to see and things and</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">
and, and, and ….</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">And I’ve got</span><i style="font-family: inherit;"> so much more</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I
want to say on this topic – the 1000 words I’ve cut out of this post for a
start. But I’ve said far too much for one post already, and those other words
can go towards my manifesto for all those anxious people doing stuff! (which, at the rate I'm spewing out this stuff could easily turn into a book!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eA0xi2tkhNA/WeSs5DV01SI/AAAAAAAAT-I/c9p3H_IxAZAqsMe5zvFrRrKIs8bpMZCBACKgBGAs/s1600/Anxiety_blog_Tower_tour_.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eA0xi2tkhNA/WeSs5DV01SI/AAAAAAAAT-I/c9p3H_IxAZAqsMe5zvFrRrKIs8bpMZCBACKgBGAs/s1600/Anxiety_blog_Tower_tour_.JPG" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m going to be using <b>#ananxiouspersondoesstuff</b> on Instagram if I have
another stressy tale to tell (chances are …) and you’re welcome to join in with it and
tag me or get in touch via any of my online homes: </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/">Instagram</a> * <a href="https://twitter.com/notesonpaper">Twitter </a>* <a href="https://www.facebook.com/withjuliekirk/">Facebook </a>* <a href="http://withjuliekirk.com/">Website</a></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>AND / OR:</b></span></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li><b>Please add your anxious voice to the wobbly chorus if any of my messy life moments here struck a chord. Have your say in the comments.</b></li>
</ul>
The more we share this stuff the more we'll learn that there are lots of us out here focusing on our breathing, trying to ignore funfair goldfish and always carrying a packet of stomach-settling mints 'just in case'.<br />
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<br /></div>
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Let's speak loudly and elbow our way into the world, and not let the confidently oblivious types have all the fun.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And let's be kind to those we see struggling ... including ourselves. </div>
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Julie</div>
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Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-41365988945369966702017-10-10T13:02:00.000+01:002017-10-10T13:02:21.735+01:00Alright Teesside Blogging Workshop - link round-up<br />
Hello there regular readers - and a special welcome if you've just popped in after attending the 'Blogging & Mental Health' workshop at the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/alrightteesside" target="_blank">Alright Teesside</a> World Mental Health Day event today. Hello again!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>If you <i>were </i>at the workshop:</b></span><br />
<ul>
<li>Below are <b>links to all of my mental-health related blog posts</b> I mentioned during my half of the workshop;</li>
<li>Plus links to my 'Push-up Bra Blogging' online course (it's all free, you can just hop from one post to the next picking up tips as you go).</li>
<li>And the Instagrammer I mentioned to. Just keep scrolling for all the links ... </li>
</ul>
<b style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;">If you <i>weren't </i>at the workshop:</b><br />
<ul>
<li>Consider this a re-cap of some of the mental health themed articles I've posted here over the years.</li>
<li>If you are someone who's ever left a comment on one of those posts - thank you - and please know that I used you as an example of the power of the blogging community at the workshop today! </li>
</ul>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">***</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Links to the blog posts I mentioned during the workshop:</span></b></div>
<br />
Here's <a href="https://draft.blogger.com/Anxious%20goldfish%20http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2017/09/explaining-anxiety.html" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">how I compared anxiety to having to look after a funfair goldfish</a><b>:</b><br />
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<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2017/09/explaining-anxiety.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-COlYz2feEm0/WdYZDa8emnI/AAAAAAAAT7A/2q08u7XlmrYWhtyRjMnRrdqRQO3IQgdJACKgBGAs/s1600/Anxiety_goldfish_blog_%2Bsquare_title_550_.JPG" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
Here's a post where<a href="https://draft.blogger.com/Book%20binding%20workshop%20http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2015/03/bookbinding-workshop-navigator-north.html" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank"> I combined a regular post about a day out ... with being honest about the anxieties I had about going</a><b>: </b><br />
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<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2015/03/bookbinding-workshop-navigator-north.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FjpjO1gUsQI/Wdt6PaidD4I/AAAAAAAAT7o/V2B2sd9uXVYUDAVg0pROmIBm3xOW-QW5gCKgBGAs/s1600/TitlePage_Bookbinding_.JPG" /></a></div>
<br />
And <b><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/the-writing-day-that-made-me-consider.html" target="_blank">here's the post where I talk about how my anxieties nearly made me want to give up writing</a>:</b><br />
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<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/the-writing-day-that-made-me-consider.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zNzCRE93x-Y/Wdt68UcB8OI/AAAAAAAAT7w/qQTzpXe-Fk87vBEW1cjkPXi0OGfp7czcgCKgBGAs/s1600/04_2016_April_SpaceToWrite_Hotel_room.JPG" /></a></div>
<br />
And <b><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2010/07/more-about-zebra.html" target="_blank">this one's the post where I originally revealed how I'd experienced depression in the past, as well as explaining what a plastic zebra had to do with my recovery</a>. </b><br />
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<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2010/07/more-about-zebra.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TWS_QtAX45c/Wdt77OldzAI/AAAAAAAAT78/jiM7dwFiBBYwt9IPvcWCeuMaPO4PI7fdwCKgBGAs/s1600/Zebra%2B%25283%2529_StorytellingSunday_.JPG" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
And <b><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2016/09/mind-mental-health-zebra.html" target="_blank">here's a link up to my guest post on the <i>Mind </i>blog</a>.</b><br />
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<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2016/09/mind-mental-health-zebra.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TiyaqOMHtaM/WdYZIn00uHI/AAAAAAAAT7E/bgkMX55IuDYsH9Li0cMBZ7vZ388W6VCigCKgBGAs/s1600/Logo_Julie_Kirk_Zebra_Mind_Guest-Blogger-Sept-2016_.jpg" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
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<b style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;">***</b><br />
<b style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;"><br /></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>Info on Instagram: </b></span><br />
<ul>
<li>You can find me on Instagram <b><a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/" target="_blank">@withjuliekirk</a></b></li>
</ul>
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<ul>
<li>Laura Jane Williams Instagrams at - <a href="https://www.instagram.com/superlativelylj/" target="_blank"><b>@superlativelylj</b></a> - and she's a great example of how you can use IG as a micro-blogging platform.</li>
<li>And if you want to read through the Instagram posts I've written about my own dog phobia, you can find those on IG by searching for the hashtag #phobiatales - or by clicking here: <b> <a href="https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/phobiatales/" target="_blank">#phobiatales</a> </b></li>
<li>And, if you want to group together a particular set of your own posts, remember to <b>create your own hashtag too</b>. (Simply decide on the words you want >> hit the # key >> write the word with NO GAPS between them >> and that's it! It automatically becomes a link to click. Remember to tag all the similar posts with the same hashtag, and they'll all be visible when you click it! </li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>Links to my *free* blogging course:</b></span><br />
If you're brand new to blogging some of this might be information to bear in mind for further down the blogging road - however, there's still lots you can pick and choose from to see what helps! (and - for the record - it has nothing to do with bras! It's just meant to be a memorable comparison!)<br />
<ul>
<li><strong><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/introducing-push-up-bra-approach-to.html" target="_blank">Here's the introduction</a></strong> - to help you get acquainted. There's a wealth of information in there covering: what the series <em>is all about</em> and what it <em>isn't;</em> who the series <em>is for</em> ... and who <em>it isn't.</em></li>
</ul>
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<br /></div>
<ul>
</ul>
<b>1. The 'Why?' Approaches: Why would I want to blog more? What's in it for me?</b><br />
<ul>
<li>Chapter 1: <span style="color: #741b47;"><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/push-up-bra-blogging-1-mcfly-approach.html" target="_blank"><strong><em>The McFly Approach Part 1</em></strong></a> :</span> or 'it's all about you'<span style="color: #741b47;"><em></em></span></li>
<li>Chapter 2: <span style="color: #741b47;"><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/push-up-bra-blogging-2-mcfly-approach.html" target="_blank"><strong><em>The McFly Approach Part 2</em></strong></a><strong><em> : </em></strong></span><span style="color: black;">or '</span>it's still all about you'<span style="color: #741b47;"><em></em></span></li>
</ul>
<b>2. The 'What?' Approaches: But what am I going to find to blog about?</b><br />
<ul>
<li>Chapter 3: <span style="color: #999999;"><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/pushupbra-blogging-guest-carolinesouth.html" target="_blank"><em>Special Guest post</em> from <strong>Caroline South</strong></a> </span>of <em>Scraps of Us</em></li>
<li>Chapter 4: <strong><span style="color: #999999;"><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/push-up-bra-blogging-4-push-up-bra.html" target="_blank"><em>The</em> <em>Push-Up Bra</em> <em>Approach</em></a> </span></strong>: or 'making the most of what you've already got'</li>
<li>Chapter 5: <span style="color: #999999;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/push-up-bra-blogging-5-groundhog-day.html" target="_blank"><strong><em>The</em> <em>Groundhog Day</em> </strong></a></span><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/push-up-bra-blogging-5-groundhog-day.html" target="_blank"><strong><em>Approach:</em></strong></a> or 'exploiting the benefits of repetition'</span> </span></li>
<li>Chapter 6: <span style="color: black;"><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/GabrielleTreanorGreenGables.html" target="_blank"><em>Special Guest post</em> from <strong>Gabrielle Treanor</strong> of <strong>The Green Gables</strong></a></span></li>
<li>Chapter 7: <span style="color: black;"><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/JenniferGraceCreates.html" target="_blank"><em>Special Guest post</em> from <strong>Jennifer Grace </strong></a>of <em>Jennifer Grace Creates</em></span></li>
<li>Chapter 8: <span style="color: black;"><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/push-up-bra-blogging-8-austin-kleon.html" target="_blank"><strong><em>The Austin Kleon Approach:</em></strong></a><em> or '</em>how to steal like an artist'</span></li>
</ul>
<b>3. The 'How?' Approaches: Getting organised + streamlining your blogging. [Plus a note on blogging-pains!]</b><br />
<ul>
<li>Chapter 9: <a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/push-up-bra-blogging-9-kenny-rogers.html" target="_blank"><strong><em>The</em> <em>Kenny Rogers</em> </strong></a><em><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/push-up-bra-blogging-9-kenny-rogers.html" target="_blank"><strong>Approach</strong></a>: or </em>'you gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em etc'</li>
<li>Chapter 10: <strong><em><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/push-up-bra-blogging-10-freezer-meals.html" target="_blank">The Freezer Meals Approach</a></em></strong><span style="color: #999999;">: '<span style="color: black;">making in bulk but savouring one at a time'</span> <span style="color: red;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">IF YOU STRUGGLE TO FIND <em>TIME</em> TO BLOG THEN THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES MY #1 TOP TIP OF THE ENTIRE SERIES!!</span></strong> </span></span></li>
<li>Chapter 11: <strong><em><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/push-up-bra-blogging-11-dr-who-approach.html" target="_blank">The Dr. Who Approach</a>: </em></strong>'how travelling in time can come in useful'</li>
</ul>
<strong>And finally ...</strong><br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/push-up-bra-blogging-12-where-next-few.html" target="_blank">A course summary</a>, a round-up and a reflection on the other side of the screen ... your blog readers + community.</li>
</ul>
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There's plenty of reading here to keep you busy for a while so ... I'll leave you to it!<br />
<br />
I hope you find something here today that helps inspire you to:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>start a blog of your own </li>
<li>OR to join Instagram</li>
<li>OR to simply start thinking about the stories you tell yourself in daily life ... and the stories you could maybe share with others some time in the future.</li>
</ul>
<b>Here's to exploring, explaining or <i>escaping</i> your mental health issues through storytelling, wherever and however feels right to you. </b><br />
<br />
<div>
Julie </div>
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<br />Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-44905295744073160832017-09-21T06:30:00.000+01:002017-09-21T06:30:14.505+01:00Book Review: The Red Ribbon by Lucy Adlington <br />
Hello you, how's things?<br />
<br />
If you're looking for something new to read, Christmas gift for a book lover, particularly if they're a young adult with a fondness for fashion - then don't budge until you've had a look at <i><b>The Red Ribbon</b></i>:<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">What is <i>The Red Ribbon</i>?</span></b></div>
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<b><i>The Red Ribbon</i></b>, is a young adult novel set in a WW2 concentration camp, and is the first novel by fashion historian Lucy Adlington. </div>
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If you’ve been with me here, or <a href="http://instagram.com/withjuliekirk" target="_blank">on Instagram</a>, for a while you’ll have heard me mention Lucy before as I've attended several of the fashion history presentations she delivers through her company <a href="http://www.historywardrobe.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">The History Wardrobe</a>. All of the talks I've seen, such as Great War Fashion, Gothic for Girls, Fairytale Fashion and Jolly Hockeysticks, have shone a light on the role clothing has played in women’s history, and they've each used the politics and practicalities of costume to explore <i>larger ideas</i> about women's role in society. (I always attend these events with my Mam and sister and – it's like my sister says – we go in thinking we’re just going to look at clothes … and come out with our militant feminism nicely burnished!)</div>
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<b>And, unsurprisingly, with <i>The Red Ribbon</i> Lucy Adlington continues in exploring those same themes, this time inspired by the dressmakers of Auschwitz. </b>While there may be some slightly fairytale-esque elements to the narrative - the idea that there was a <i>sewing workshop inside a concentration camp </i>- is not one of them. It's is based on true - if little known - historical events, because, yes, even in the darkest of man-made places there was silk, and satin, and ribbon. And it's there that Ella - the heroine of Adlington's story - learns that being chosen to serve the fashion whims of the wives of SS officers is one way to survive.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">How does <i>The Red Ribbon </i>handle the infinitely dark setting of the story?</span></b><br />
Well, I'd say Adlington handles it carefully, respectfully and at a (I'm guessing) deliberate remove.<br />
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The book is published under the <i>Young Adult </i>category<i>,</i> therefore - while never white-washing any of the brutal realities - this is, understandably, not a story about the darkest moments. I would say it's aim is to educate younger readers about the atrocities, but in a safe space, a self-contained narrative, with a feisty teenage leading character alongside them every step of the way.<br />
<br />
As a 41 year old perhaps I'm not the ideal reader, yet I still found much to enjoy here, with a story that - like the rest of Adlington's work - is compelling, illuminating, ... and <b><i>female</i></b>.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">How is the book structured? </span></b></div>
The narrative focuses on Ella's experiences of the camp:<br />
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<ul>
<li>her recruitment to the sewing room, </li>
<li>her progress and attitude towards dressmaking for their captors, </li>
<li>and on towards well ... that would be a spoiler wouldn't it? Perhaps I'll leave you to find out the rest for yourself ... </li>
</ul>
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The blurb on the preview copy puts it in the same category as The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas and The Diary of Anne Frank, but - not having read either of those - it put me in mind of two other Holocaust-related narratives: Primo Levi's <i>The Periodic Table </i>and Edmund de Waal's <i>The Hare With Amber Eyes.</i></div>
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<ul>
<li>In <i>The Periodic Table </i>Levi tells different stories about his life, including surviving the Holocaust, using elements from the Periodic Table as building blocks to connect together his life experiences, with each of the stories in the book taking the name of an element.</li>
<li>Similarly Adlington colour-codes each of the book's sections, Green, Yellow, Red, Grey, White and Pink, with each colour describing not only Ella's current dress-making project , but also the colour of the life around the camp.</li>
<li>The colours, plus the focus on the dressmaking itself - rather than the entire history of the concentration camps - is a well thought out method of approaching the subject matter. </li>
<li>It takes what is vast, unfathomable and beyond general comprehension - and zooms in, and in, an still further, until we don't need to try to understand the incomprehensible, we just need to pay attention to this one single aspect. <b>It's in absorbing the details that we can appreciate the wider picture.</b></li>
</ul>
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As for the Edmund de Waal similarity: </div>
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<ul>
<li>like in The Hare With Amber Eyes - which tells the Holocaust through the experiences of members of author's family - <i>The Red Ribbon</i> gives us someone (albeit a fictional someone based on various true accounts) to relate to within a story usually told in terms of <i>millions</i>. </li>
<li>We get to know an <i>individual. </i></li>
<li>And, in this case, it's an individual who loves fashion magazines, who resents authority figures, who hopes her grandparents are OK, who feels the excitement of a new friendship. </li>
</ul>
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And - if current and future generations are to continue to heed lessons from the Holocaust - <b>stories such as this, which <i>personalise </i>the past, are always going to be valuable.</b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">So how is it 'fairytale-esque' then? </span></b></div>
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Well - despite being at the centre of one of the defining events of the 20th Century - Ella's world is very small, and, in the heightened conditions of life in the camp she's very much a fairytale heroine, a kind of Cinderella trying to find a way out of her restrictive lifestyle. </div>
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Furthermore the writing style is, at times, almost fable-like in its choice of language. </div>
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<ul>
<li>For example Ella talks of being on 'a List', and how the List is why some people end up in the camp while others don't. Yet, as a child, she doesn't have a full explanation as to what's happening, it's all experienced as rather mythical and story-like. </li>
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But, really, who would know exactly what was happening? </div>
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<ul>
<li><i>We </i>look back on that time with hindsight, with documents, photographs, films made which reveal the scale of the atrocities; </li>
<li><i>we </i>now know the terminology, the details, the locations, the numbers. </li>
<li>But if we were there, if we were like Ella - stripped of everything and fighting - or dressmaking - for our lives - how much would we really know about what was going on? How could we know? </li>
</ul>
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<b>The device of the naive narrator who gradually begins to realise what's happening will likely impact younger readers who may not themselves entirely understand that period of history. </b>And as not everything is clearly spelled out from the offset, they may be drawn into Ella's story without fully appreciating which story it is she's telling. Once they're involved, once they care about Ella, the story then gradually begins to unfold the genuine horrors, but with care.</div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Who is this book for?</span></b><br />
<ul>
<li><b>Anyone </b>(like me)<b> who likes learning about history <i>through fiction</i>.</b> The idea that there were dressmakers of Auschwitz is a grotesquely fascinating one, and is worth learning about whether through non-fictional accounts, or stories such as <i>The Red Ribbon</i>.</li>
<li><b>Anyone who likes 'a good story'. </b>One they can get absorbed into and want to follow through to find out what happens at the end. </li>
<li><b>A young adult with a passion for self-expression through fashion. </b>The book (and indeed Adlington's work with <i>The History Wardrobe</i> in general) has <i>a lot</i> to say about the dismissive attitude that 'it's just clothes ... it's not important.' Because the fact that people made space for dressmaking inside a living hell proves that the social messages we tell through them mean they're absolutely not 'just clothes'. </li>
<li><b>And anyone looking for a refreshing take on inclusion.</b> I'm pretty sure that it's not just my interpretation, and that there was a (very) subtle nod to same-sex attraction within the narrative. I won't spoil it for anyone, but I'm pretty sure there was a frisson, a spark which wasn't made out to be a huge deal, was not overly laboured as a defining issue but was just a light touch, fresh, natural, and simply there as a part of the story. </li>
</ul>
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<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>The Red Ribbon</i></b> by Lucy Adlington is published by Hot Key Books (on September 21st 2017).<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Wh</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">at do</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"> reckon then? Can you think of someone who'd enjoy <i>The Red Ribbon</i>?</span></b><br />
<ul>
<li>Does it help you cross off a name from your Christmas gift list?</li>
<li>Or does it give you a title to add to your <i>own </i>Christmas Wish List?!</li>
<li>Does it remind you of something you think we all need to add to our reading lists?</li>
<li>Does it make you want to find out more about the <i>real stories</i> which inspired the novel?</li>
</ul>
Let me know in the comments or via any of my online homes: <b style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/">Instagram</a> * <a href="https://twitter.com/notesonpaper">Twitter </a>* </span><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/withjuliekirk/">Facebook </a>* <a href="http://withjuliekirk.com/">Website</a></span></b></div>
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<b>And you can catch up with Lucy Adlington via <a href="https://www.facebook.com/historywardrobe" target="_blank">the History Wardrobe Facebook page</a> or on Twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/historywardrobe" target="_blank">@historywardrobe</a> #theredribbon</b></div>
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Happy reading! Speak soon.<br />
<br />
Julie<br />
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<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;"><b>Disclosure:</b> I was sent a copy of <i>The Red Ribbon </i>in return for a review. When I saw that Lucy's publishers were seeking reviewers I put my name forward, as being familiar with her work already (through her presentations and her non-fiction book about Great War Fashion) it seemed an ideal fit. I've not been asked to discuss or link to anything in particular.All of the words are my own (well, I didn't <i>invent </i>them, but I <i>did </i>arrange them in the order I wanted, to say the things I wanted to say!)</span></div>
Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-88188424605558706102017-09-14T14:56:00.003+01:002017-09-15T14:09:33.432+01:00How having anxiety is like having a funfair goldfish thrust upon you ... and other stories. <br />
Hello you, can we have a chat about anxiety? Yours, mine, anyone’s. <br />
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And can we help those <i>who’ve never experienced anxiety</i> to understand it a little better by explaining to them how having anxiety can be like being given a funfair goldfish in a plastic bag?<br />
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<span style="color: #666666;"><b>Content notice:</b> Discussion of people with anxiety and how some people struggle to support them. Also contains some swearing (because, when you’re writing about real things … you might as well be real about it). </span><br />
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So, if you’re up for that chat … read on …<br />
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Next month (Oct 2017) I’m going to be co-hosting a workshop, with the mental health charity <i>Mind</i>, in which we’ll introduce people to the idea of blogging for, and about, mental health. And, while I don’t consider myself a #mentalhealthblogger as such, I don’t shy away from sharing my wobbles through life. </div>
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And while sharing can’t necessarily <i>prevent </i>wobbles, it’s good to know there are other wobblers around. They give us something to grab on to, and even if we feel ungainly and awkward while grabbing, at least the reaching out keeps us from hitting the floor. </div>
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And the only way to learn that there are other people experiencing these things is for one of them to talk about it; and today it’s my turn. If you need to grab on right now, this post is for you. <br />
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So, yes, anxiety. <br />
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For the record: I <i>don’t </i>have a current medical diagnosis of anxiety. I have had in the past and, these days, while anxiety relating to my phobia is frequent, the more <i>generalised </i>anxious episodes I'm talking about today are thankfully few and far between.<br />
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However ... this summer I experienced something which gave me a slight anxiety attack. Afterwards, when it crossed my mind to blog about the event, it really made me stop and think about how we talk about anxiety, how we emphasise <i>battling </i>through it, <i>getting over it</i>, feeling the fear and <i>doing it anyway,</i> which - to me -<i> </i>doesn't feel like always the best approach. But, before I write that post, before I tell that tale, and consider those questions ...</div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">I’ve been trying to think of a good way to explain this particular kind of anxiety to someone who hasn’t experienced it. </span></b></div>
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<li>Because sometimes people are anxious for <i>no fully explicable reason,</i> which can be hard for both the individual and those around them to comprehend. </li>
<li>If we admit to feeling anxious, the people around us, led by a genuine desire for us not to be upset, can sometimes respond with things like: “Well don’t be” or “There’s nothing to worry about”, “You’ll be fine” etc. </li>
<li>And while the “Don’t be upset” attitude is genuine and well-meaning … it’s also less helpful than it’s aiming to be. </li>
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(Of course, there are also people who are just Ignorant Shits who think you should just pull yourself together, but I don’t think they’re reading this right now. But if you are, hey, just don’t be a shit eh? And that’s that problem solved.) <br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">What I want to do now is offer up a couple of comparisons, an analogy or two, a Forest Gump-ism if you will ...</span></b></div>
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<li>something that might help <i>non-anxious folks</i> appreciate how baffling a sensation anxiety can be</li>
<li>how it can feel like a loss of control</li>
<li>and how <i>external</i> it can feel, even though it’s happening <i>inside </i>your own body. </li>
</ul>
If there’s someone in your life who you‘d like to ‘get’ it a little better than they do now, shove this under their nose and see if anything helps them understand (you know how people like to hear things from <i>several sources</i> before they quite believe in it!) <br />
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So, here we go … <br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">How anxiety is like having a funfair goldfish thrust upon you ... and other stories. </span></b><br />
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Just like that feeling when you suddenly wonder if you’ve left the gas hob on, the bathroom window open, or the back door unlocked, there are times when a sensation like dread, panic, or turmoil, descends on you, fully formed, from out of nowhere. It just creeps up on you. Hits you. Washes over you.<br />
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<b><i>That’s anxiety. </i></b></div>
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<b><i><br /></i>Because, often in those situations: </b><br />
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<li>it’s not like you’ve actually been sat there all morning<i> actively thinking </i>about the gas, the window, or the lock. </li>
<li>It’s not like you’ve been turning the over the idea in your mind like a gem stone in a polishing tumbler. </li>
<li>It’s just something that popped up, something that suddenly occurred to you … and, try as you might, you can’t un-occur it. </li>
</ul>
<b>And, just because you tell yourself: </b><br />
<ul>
<li>Of <i>course </i>you’ll have locked the door, why wouldn’t you? </li>
<li>When have you ever just walked out and left it? </li>
<li>You <i>definitely </i>did. </li>
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It really doesn’t stop that niggling doubt, that increased heart rate, that whirring mind, that prickle of panic-sweat in your armpits. <br />
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<b>And, if I tell you that <i>everything’s fine</i>, that I’m <i>sure </i>you’ll have locked the door, that you can just stop worrying about it … will you? </b><br />
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<b><i>Can </i>you? </b></div>
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Exactly.<br />
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<b><i>That’s anxiety. </i></b><br />
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Because someone experiencing anxiety <i>can’t </i>just switch it off simply because that would be the most rational and productive thing to do. </div>
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Once you’ve panic-sweated, you’re stuck with panic sweat. It’s a reality. Thinking calmly might certainly prevent an escalation, but it’s only a clean-up job after the fact – the event still happened, it’s still something you need other people to take seriously if their support is to be of any use to you.<br />
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And, yeah, it’s hard for someone to put themselves inside you head – especially when, during an anxious episode - you yourself may not be too sure why you feel that way. And it’s not always easy to ask for support. </div>
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So, in order to explain to others this slippery, wispy, spectre of a sensation that wafts in unbidden and – more importantly – unseen … <br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">... </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">let’s try thinking of anxiety as something tangible, something concrete, something that can be witnessed and accepted as ‘real’. </span></b></div>
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Something we can hold. </div>
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Literally. </div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>How about we think about anxiety as a funfair goldfish that’s been dumped on you? </b></span></div>
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OK? OK then. <br />
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Say you’re going about your business one day, doing your thing, living your life, and then someone emerges in your peripheral vision, carrying a goldfish in a plastic bag, the kind you win at a funfair. And they’re a little out of breath, a touch distracted, they keep looking over their shoulder, and then ...</div>
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<b>... they hold out their arm saying “Here, hold this this” while thrusting the plastic bag towards you. </b><br />
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And you take it, because – of course you do – it’s a goldfish in a plastic bag what else are you going to do? Let them drop it? <br />
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“Thanks for that” they say, while turning on their heels to leave. And you attempt to object, opening and closing your mouth in a manner not unlike the goldfish you’re holding, but they carry on regardless declaring: “I’ve got to dash, I’ll be back for it later” before vanishing. <br />
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And you don’t really know how you got into the situation, you don’t know the backstory (Why you? Why now?) all you do know is that <b>you’re suddenly on your own … with a funfair goldfish in a plastic bag to handle. </b><br />
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And you’ve got shit to do, you’ve got to go about your day, get stuff done, act like a functioning adult; <b>and as if everyday life isn’t tricky enough, you’re now going to have to try to do all of that while taking a f*cking funfair goldfish along with you. </b><br />
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<b><i>That’s anxiety. </i></b><br />
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Then you bump into someone you know – someone who <i>doesn’t </i>have to carry a funfair goldfish in a plastic bag with them – and they ask how you are. And although you feel silly, embarrassed and awkward confessing it, you do. You tell them that – <b>because you’ve suddenly got a goldfish in a plastic bag that you have to carry around, you’re actually struggling a little to do all the normal things that everyone around you seems to be managing without issue. </b><br />
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<b><i>That’s anxiety. </i></b><br />
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And this person (who isn’t an Ignorant Shit) doesn’t like the idea of you struggling so they try to ‘fix’ the situation. They say things like: <b>“Well, just stop having a funfair goldfish in a plastic bag then, and it’ll be fine. You can get on with things like I do and you can stop worrying”. </b><br />
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“Oh” you say, thinking for a second that you’ve found a kindred spirit “So you know what this is like then? Have you also had to struggle along with a funfair goldfish in a plastic bag? What worked for you? How did you change things and get back to ‘normal'?” <br />
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And they frown a little, and tense-up, and think you’re being sarcastic. </div>
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“No” they say, “I’ve never had a funfair goldfish in a plastic bag <i>myself</i>. But, if I did, and if it stopped me doing the things I wanted to do, then <b>I’d just stop having a funfair goldfish in a plastic bag</b>.” <br />
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<b>And your heart sinks a little while you try to explain that <i>it really isn’t as simple as all that</i>. </b></div>
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<li>That you didn’t ask to have a funfair goldfish in a plastic bag today, it just sort of happened to you. </li>
<li>That you didn’t opt for one for the attention.</li>
<li>And you <i>did </i>try to get out of the situation, </li>
<li>And yes, you do know that you could put it down but that – seriously - that’s not as easy a job as you’re making out. </li>
<li>Because – it’s vulnerable and wobbly and you’re not sure what’s the best approach. </li>
<li>And well, it’s in a plastic bag for a start, it’ll probably roll off the table, or leak or burst and the fish will probably die and then the whole situation will be so much worse and it’ll all be your fault and everyone will be staring at you and wondering why you can’t just for god’s sake handle something as simple as a goldfish in a plastic bag like anybody else would!</li>
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And they look awkwardly at you like you just said all of that out loud, because you just said all of that out loud.<br />
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And they say “Oh, so, are you like, frightened of funfair goldfish or something? Is that why you’re panicking? Do you think it’s going to kill you or something? Because, it won’t kill you, you know? <b>I think you’re getting this all out of proportion. Just breathe. It’s only a funfair goldfish in a plastic bag. Don’t think about it.” </b><br />
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<b>And – after considering the best place you could shove the goldfish in order to stop them talking - you explain that:</b></div>
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<ul>
<li> <i>No </i>you’re not frightened of funfair goldfish in plastic bags. </li>
<li>You don’t think they’re going to kill you.</li>
<li>They’re not something you spend your life dreading, in fact, most of the time they don’t enter your head.</li>
<li>But that actually <b>none of that rational thinking matters right now, because right now – no matter how you try reframe the situation – whether you think about it or not, there’s no mistaking it – you’re still standing here holding a bastard funfair goldfish in a plastic bag. </b></li>
<li>You just are. </li>
<li>It’s happening. </li>
<li>And it’s happening <i>now</i>.</li>
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<b><i>That’s anxiety. </i></b><br />
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And eventually the person (who <i>really isn’t </i>an Ignorant Shit, they just don’t get it because, unlike you, they’ve never had to carry a funfair goldfish in a carrier bag around with them) looks you in the eye, realises they’re not helping, and says “Is there anything I can do?”. <br />
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And at first you want to cry a little because, part of you is just not used to people being so thoughtful, while another part of you feels ridiculous and not worthy of their consideration. </div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">But you have a think, and you give them some options, some ideas of things they could do to help you while you've got to hold on to a funfair goldfish in a plastic bag.</span></b></div>
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“Well,” you say … </div>
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<li>“You could maybe<b> just sit with me</b> for a bit. It might get a bit lonely what with me being the only one here having to hold on to a funfair goldfish in a plastic bag so, some company might be nice.” Or … </li>
<li>“You could try to <b>distract me.</b> Tell me a joke, give me something to focus on or fiddle with until I can get rid of this thing.” Or … </li>
<li>“You could <b>tell me that you know it’s not my fault</b>, that I didn’t think my way into this, that anyone can find themselves suddenly having to hold a funfair goldfish in a plastic bag, that it can happen to the best of us.” Or … </li>
<li>“You could <b>remind me that ‘this too shall pass’</b> – that goldfish don’t last for ever, that the owner will come back soon, that I won’t be carrying this for all time.” </li>
<li>“Or … if I’m really struggling with this whole having to carry a funfair goldfish around with me thing, you could tell me that - if I can’t carry on with business as usual - <b>you won’t think any less of me if I just take it outside/home/somewhere quiet</b> <b>and just wait it out</b>.”</li>
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And then, you say "Oh, and when it does pass – which will probably feel quicker now I’ve got some company – but when I’m no longer struggling to hold this thing together and stop it bursting all over the floor and ruining my entire day …<br />
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<li>... after that <b>I might feel a bit tired, a bit vulnerable, a bit silly </b>– so maybe then you could <b>make me a cuppa, pat my hand, kiss my forehead</b>. </li>
<li>(Obvs. that last one depends on who they are. Don’t let the Ignorant Shits kiss your forehead #ruletoliveby) </li>
<li>... <b>and then we could just carry on like it was no big deal.” </b></li>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>And then the person who didn’t get it before, gets it a little more. </b></span><br />
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And where before they were <i>uncomfortable </i>with you having a funfair goldfish in a plastic bag - because they felt helpless, out of control - <b>they now begin to feel useful</b>, like there’s something they <i>can </i>do if it ever happens again. <br />
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Which it might. Because that’s just caring for funfair goldfish for you. And anxiety. <br />
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They're both unpredictable but better when shared ... and orange*. </div>
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(*Anxiety isn’t really orange, I just put that in to see if you were still paying attention.) <br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">***</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">So ... what do you reckon? </span></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>I don’t pretend this analogy reflects everyone’s experience of anxiety, yours will be different. </li>
<li>If you have <i>your own way </i>of defining, describing, giving a <i>shape </i>to you own experiences of anxiety … do share those too. Someone else may read your version and relate to it.</li>
<li>But if this one does help you, or someone you know, get their head around the amorphous confusion that is ‘Anxiety’ …then please ... </li>
<li><b>Take it, use it, adapt it </b>and let me know what you think in the comments or via any of my online homes. </li>
<li><b>And please - if you can - <i>share it</i> ... so others might find and benefit from thinking about anxiety as a funfair goldfish! </b></li>
<li>And any time you're welcome to join me with your own responses or stories using the tag: <b>#anxiousgoldfish </b></li>
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<b><a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/">Instagram</a> </b><b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">*</span></b><b> <a href="https://twitter.com/notesonpaper">Twitter </a></b><b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">*</span></b><b> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/withjuliekirk/">Facebook </a></b><b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">*</span></b><b> <a href="http://withjuliekirk.com/">Website</a></b></div>
<b><br /></b>Thanks for letting me chat about this with you today. I hope something sticks in your mind and comes in useful when you need it to. </div>
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Julie <br />
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*No funfair goldfish were harmed in the making of this article.<br />
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Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-24826169407769162312017-09-05T15:15:00.000+01:002017-09-05T15:15:34.204+01:00Book review: The Letters Page Vol.2 <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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Hey you. </div>
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I don't know about where you are, but from where I sit it's raining, it's chilly, and there's more than a subtle imposition of Autumn nudging up against by bare ankles today. </div>
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So, it's probably about the time of year I start settling-in with a blanket, a pair of socks long enough to cover my chilly bits, and a good read - such as Volume 2 of the literary journal <b><i>The Letters Page</i></b>. </div>
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<span style="color: #444444;"><b>Full disclosure: </b>I was sent this copy in exchange for an honest, independent, review (I know! And there's me always going on about how I <i>never </i>get anything for free ...). </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">I should probably also say that I have submitted a piece of work for consideration in Volume 3 but this review is not linked <i>in any way</i> to that submission process. If anything though, the fact that I've submitted something is merely evidence of my <i>genuine </i>interest in the publication, because why would I have submitted to it in the first place?! Now, let's move on to the journal itself ... </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">But hang on though, because I simply <i>can not</i> talk about the book's contents until I've <s>squealed over</s> shown you the packaging! </span></b><br />
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<i>This</i> how Vol 2 arrives: in style, dressed in its own perfectly form-fitting box-envelope (not a roll of brown, impossible-to-find-the-end-of, parcel tape in sight):<br />
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Show me any lover of stationery or mail art who wouldn't swoon when a handsome, sturdy, printed kraft card envelope like that presented itself on their doormat. I certainly did. (Except when I came into the hallway mine was still partly dangling from the letterbox which, understandably, didn't want to part with it too soon. And so it was tantalising from the very start!) </div>
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And from then on its design continued to delight.<br />
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<i>The Letters Page</i> is published by the School of English at the University of Nottingham in partnership with <b><a href="http://www.bookexmachina.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Book Ex Machina</a>,</b> a specialist in special edition, small runs, of art books; so the high level of design and detail in this journal comes as no surprise. They refer to its design as a 'celebration of the printed object' ... and it is certainly that.<br />
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As someone who agonised over the details of <a href="http://withjuliekirk.com/index.php/my-book" target="_blank">my own niche book</a> ... I can really appreciate all the extra touches that go into making something feel special. The embossed front cover even folds out to reveal this beautiful stamp-inspired end-paper design: <br />
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If you're anything like me you'll already be a little bit smitten with <i>The Letters Page Vol 2</i> even before you've begun to look at its contents. But before we look inside, what I haven't explained yet is that:<br />
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<ul>
<li>it's called The <i>Letters</i> Page - as each submission is sent in via the old-school, snail-mail, post. And the majority of the articles begin n the style of a letter, giving them a particularly intimate feel - like they've been sent directly to us, for our eyes only. </li>
<li>it's published and edited by writer <a href="http://www.jonmcgregor.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Jon McGregor</a> - who I first discovered through his short story collection <i>This Isn't The Sort Of Thing That Happens To Someone Like You. </i>And it was through link hopping from his website, to read more about that book, that I first heard about <i><a href="http://www.theletterspage.ac.uk/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">The Letters Page</a></i>. </li>
</ul>
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Right then, how about we start turning some of those pages?<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">So, exactly what kind of publication is <i>The Letters Page</i>?</span></b><br />
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<b><a href="http://www.theletterspage.ac.uk/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><i>The Letters Page</i></a></b> is a literary journal - which, I suppose, you could describe as a collection of essays and musings that are satisfyingly <i>more substantial and esoteric</i> that the other kinds of articles you find yourself clicking-on via social media day-in day-out! They're a mixture of the sort of piece you might find in a thought-provoking magazine, some you'd read for academic purposes (complete with footnotes!) and some that feel like ... well ... like <i>letters</i>. </div>
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None of which is any kind of a bad thing. In fact I really embraced this collection and felt smarter after reading it. It reminded me of just how absorbing it can be to research and read around a particular subject - something I adored doing at university, and which I'm re-indulging in while researching for my novel. Which brings us to the idea of 'theme' ...</div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">The theme of Vol 2 is 'Influence, copies and plagiarism'</span></b></div>
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And really - to someone who has produced<a href="https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/498265029/snipped-tales-a-book-of-collaged-stories" target="_blank"> an entire book made from snippets of other books</a>, and who once co-hosted a blog called <i>The Copy & Paste Project</i> - this couldn't have been a better topic to dive into! </div>
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Curated in this volume are ten stylistically very different articles from contributors, plus letters from the publisher and editor which bookend the other pieces.</div>
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And they really do offer a wide variety of both <i>interpretations </i>of the theme, and <i>genres/styles</i> through which to explore it. For example ...<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><b>Kit Caless</b>'s feature, 'Who Knows the Origin of Anything?', consists of a series of letters to someone who set up an Instagram account which 'borrowed' his idea of documenting the carpets inside Wetherspoon's pubs via Tumblr. In the letters, Caless considers the nature of copyright in an age of multi-platforms: can you expect to have the same name, the same idea, and carry it across each social media platform? Can you claim any idea as yours and yours alone? </li>
<li>There's a letter from poet<b> Andrew McMillan</b> exploring the idea of being a 'copy' when you're following in your father's poetic footsteps. </li>
<li><b>Joe Dunthorne</b>'s contribution is a short story 'Delete These Exact Letters', in which only uses one single vowel - 'e'. The footnotes explain that the piece is influenced by the idea of 'univocalism', a structural exercise he acknowledges was directly influenced by the Oulipo group and Georges Perec. </li>
<li>And <b>Rowena Macdonald</b> creates an entire backstory inspired by the people she 'meets' when she finds their lost correspondence tucked inside a secondhand book. (Anyone keeping up with my <a href="https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/thewhitbypapers/" target="_blank">hashtag <b>#thewhitbypapers</b> on Instagram</a> will know that both I, and my IG community, are a little obsessed right now over all the possible stories behind the letters in the hoard of vintage papers I recently found!) </li>
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But perhaps the piece that has stayed with my longest is 'Thou Shalt Not Steal' <b>Darren Chetty's</b> discussion of how rewarding it can be - rather than starting from scratch each time - to produce something which "combines existing work into something new and coherent". Chetty's focus is on how sampling in hip-hop can be read as a creative act, a kind of folk-art, that borrows from existing music and creates a new collage style of its own.<br />
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Needless to say - even though his is a perspective drawing from music, Chetty's approach chimed so, so much with my own way of working on <i><a href="https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/498265029/snipped-tales-a-book-of-collaged-stories" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Snipped Tales</a> ... </i>especially as his piece begins with him planning to compose his own letter about plagiarism from snippets of other peoples' letters, before he gives it up as too tricky. It really couldn't have been any more appropriate for me if it tried, and I have a feeling I'll be delving further into his work at some point.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">TL;DR / in summary ...</span></b></div>
<ul>
<li>I <i>thoroughly enjoyed</i> my review copy of The Letters Page Vol 2.</li>
<li>I digested it over breakfast, at a leisurely pace, for several days, and I've dipped back in once or twice since. </li>
<li>It's is a substantial read, but it's also <b>accessible, refreshing and beautifully curated</b>. </li>
<li>Yes in parts it's slightly highbrow, and asks careful reading and concentration from you ... but - equally - there's also a discussion of a colour chart for urine so ... it all evens out in the end. (The tone of the book I mean, not the colour of the urine ...).</li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>The Letters Page:Vol 2 is for *you* if ...</b></span></div>
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<ul>
<li>... if you're interested in <a href="https://austinkleon.com/steal/" target="_blank">Austen Kleon's 'Steal Like an Artist'</a> manifesto - there's some similar ground covered here but from interesting new angles. </li>
<li>... if you love short, manageable, articles, perhaps online or in magazines, but ... you occasionally feel like reading something a bit more <i>thought provoking </i>than the regular 'hot takes' or click bait.</li>
<li>... if you enjoy accessible literary and academic articles. </li>
<li>... if you like to see an issue tackled from a wide variety of viewpoints.</li>
<li>... if you want an introduction to an inclusively broad variety of writers.</li>
<li>... if you love the feel, smell and design of <i>physical </i>books! </li>
<li>... if you like feeling smart, clever and a little bit pleased with yourself for taking time to read and absorb something new! </li>
<li>... if you want to treat yourself to something that will feed your mind <i>as well as</i> satisfying your design cravings.</li>
</ul>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">Where to find <i>The Letters Page</i> ...</span></b><br />
<ul>
<li><b>The Letters Page: Vol 2</b> is published by <a href="http://www.bookexmachina.com/theletterspage-vol-02.html" target="_blank"><b>Book Ex Machina</b> on September 7th 2017</a> and is available for pre-order <b>now</b>. </li>
<li>Further details on previous issues and where to find them on social media can be found <a href="http://www.theletterspage.ac.uk/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">here on <b>The Letters Page</b> website</a>.</li>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">So what do you think? </span></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Is it your kind of thing? Something you might turn to? Something you'd like to see gracing your doormat?</li>
<li>Are you going to hop over to their social media and maybe have a closer look at what they're up to?</li>
<li>Any other fresh, creative, intelligent publications you'd like to recommend?</li>
</ul>
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Do get in touch, here, or via any of my other online homes. Although, I guess by letter would be the most appropriate way ... </div>
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Julie</div>
Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-33817682769094785932017-08-02T16:45:00.002+01:002017-08-02T17:25:31.048+01:00Meet 'The Start Studio' and find out how *you* can help this new creative social enterprise.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hello you. </div>
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How would you like to spend a creative hour or two in this gloriously retro Scandinavian-style setting? </div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hKz8XjH3QjY/WWzQPfASw5I/AAAAAAAATs8/ig_uig5aQi8pMzUlr7mrpeRjD0SAcs-7QCKgBGAs/s1600/TheStartStudio_window2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hKz8XjH3QjY/WWzQPfASw5I/AAAAAAAATs8/ig_uig5aQi8pMzUlr7mrpeRjD0SAcs-7QCKgBGAs/s1600/TheStartStudio_window2.jpg" /></a></div>
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I know. Me too.<br />
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Or how would you like to clear some space in your craft room and help out a new social enterprise at the same time?<br />
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Luckily for anyone who can get themselves to the Teesside area, we'll soon be able to spend time at the <b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheStartStudioLinthorpe" target="_blank">The Start Studio</a>, (</b>opening on August 6th 2017<b>), </b><b> </b>in Linthorpe, Middlesbrough; a new creative community space run by teacher and arts educator Sara Calgie of <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pg/Findthecraftyfox/about/?ref=page_internal" target="_blank">Find The Crafty Fox</a>. <br />
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And ...you can scroll down (or just hang on if you're patient) to find out how you can help get this arty social enterprise off to a bountiful beginning! <br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9YxoGJeMVgQ/WWzQPURxEgI/AAAAAAAATs8/HHH3a-GdqfYD0R_2dHzdL7Q4mdp1n7_6ACKgBGAs/s1600/TheStartStudio_sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9YxoGJeMVgQ/WWzQPURxEgI/AAAAAAAATs8/HHH3a-GdqfYD0R_2dHzdL7Q4mdp1n7_6ACKgBGAs/s1600/TheStartStudio_sign.jpg" /></a></div>
A few weeks ago I popped in to see Sara for a cuppa and a chat about her dream to bring affordable, inspiring, creative workshops to the area. (While the majority of the focus will be on children's workshops, do look out for the rolling programme of workshops for adults hosted by guest creatives.)<br />
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Oh and ... yeah ... I also wanted a nosey around her <i>beautiful</i> space, which was once the <i>Swedish Church and Seamen's Mission</i> (hence the glorious, worshipful, stained glass). Isn't it amazing?<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RwMnAWX6g28/WWzQPbkNBkI/AAAAAAAATs8/qrgF4RSmHCoGPZNixBdYSUFjJ-c5jQJrwCKgBGAs/s1600/TheStartStudio_shelves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RwMnAWX6g28/WWzQPbkNBkI/AAAAAAAATs8/qrgF4RSmHCoGPZNixBdYSUFjJ-c5jQJrwCKgBGAs/s1600/TheStartStudio_shelves.jpg" /></a></div>
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While the space was still a work in progress when I visited (I did feel a bit bad keeping Sara talking while she clearly had lots to prepare for her opening day!). But it had already come an awfully long way from a dark, tobacco stained interior, that had taken a <i>lot</i> of white paint to subdue!</div>
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But even so, I think you can tell what a welcoming and well-equipped place it already is:</div>
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And all those original features. Oh my! From the parquet flooring, up to the scandi-chic ceiling lighting it's a true mid-century interior treat and that's before we even mention that <i>incredible</i> glass rainbow of a window. <br />
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However ... even if you can't make it down for a visit in person, and if - like me - you just feel like helping keep this heartening community-focused space well-stocked, here's how you can do just that:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mRJDeUh_-hw/WYH8uh_i4-I/AAAAAAAATyc/NkxoNf8OX6AwBlg85vK_PgrLeKi91K4XQCKgBGAs/s1600/TheStartStudio_craft-supplies-amnesty_550-re.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mRJDeUh_-hw/WYH8uh_i4-I/AAAAAAAATyc/NkxoNf8OX6AwBlg85vK_PgrLeKi91K4XQCKgBGAs/s1600/TheStartStudio_craft-supplies-amnesty_550-re.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheStartStudioLinthorpe" target="_blank">Read more about The Start Studio here</a>.</td></tr>
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<b><span style="background-color: #f9cb9c; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Full disclosure:</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">This is <i>not</i> a sponsored post ... nor did Sara ask me to do this! </span></b><br />
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<ul>
<li>I knew Sara was still stocking up on crafty supplies before her launch and so, when I visited, I used it as an opportunity to clear out my craft cupboards and do a little bit of good! I filled a box,<b> </b>and several bags, full of papers, embellishments, ink-pads, stamps, craft books and all kinds of bits and bobs lurking in the back of my shelves. </li>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hivT4WU0FGY/WYHn08tInBI/AAAAAAAATyA/5jKJuCP_O304mAB1VeQwtmaue31FcJvVACKgBGAs/s1600/craft-supplies_donation%2B%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hivT4WU0FGY/WYHn08tInBI/AAAAAAAATyA/5jKJuCP_O304mAB1VeQwtmaue31FcJvVACKgBGAs/s1600/craft-supplies_donation%2B%25281%2529.JPG" /></a></div>
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<li>(You can see more of what I donated<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BWhmv22DszH/?taken-by=thestartstudio" target="_blank"> here in @TheStartStudio's Instagram post</a>.) </li>
<li>I knew I'd blog about my visit (naturally ... hello!) and I knew that once I mentioned it on here, some of you would no doubt ask me how you could get involved. </li>
<li>So - <i>planning ahead</i> - I asked Sara if she'd be OK with me letting you know that - <i>if you wanted to</i> - you could donate something too. And so that's all this is. </li>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Start Studio is not a charity ... but it is a CIC (a Community Interest Company): </span></b><br />
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<li>Which means that it is a social enterprise and that any that profits made will be invested back into the studio.</li>
<li>Alongside paid workshops for children Sara plans to host <i>free</i> activities / drop-in sessions where children and families can drop by and simply make whatever they fancy. </li>
<li>And if my old embellishments, paper flowers and inks etc can help her offer that, than I'm <i>delighted. </i>What a way for my old supplies to gain a new lease of life.</li>
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<b><span style="background-color: #f9cb9c; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">What kinds of things could you send?</span></b></div>
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<li>The sort of things I took included patterned papers, speciality papers, funky foam, stickers, alphabets, paper straws, flowers, pompoms, lolly-sticks, blanks to cover, books ... and more.</li>
<li>But it can be anything you think kids can use in creative play. I know you ... you know the kinds of things. </li>
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<b><span style="background-color: #f9cb9c; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Local friends: </span></b></div>
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<li>If you're coming to one of our usual crop days and want to bring something for me to drop off at The Start Studio, I'm happy to take in your donations! Sara makes a good cuppa so, I'm sure I'll be visiting again soon.</li>
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<b><span style="background-color: #f9cb9c; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Further afield friends:</span></b><br />
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<ul>
<li>Please don't feel obliged to send <i>anything</i> ... this is purely a 'if you want to help, here's how you can' type offer. No hard sell here! </li>
<li>But if you do and you're thinking about ease of posting/delivery from/in the UK then an A4 envelope weighing up to 1000g can be sent Second Class as a Small Parcel for £2.90. Or anything flat, but up to 750g, can go as a Large Letter for up to £2.14. (Full details via <a href="http://www.royalmail.com/" target="_blank">the Royal Mail site</a>).</li>
<li>If you're outside the UK, you're welcome to join in but if postage is prohibitive, please don't worry about sending anything!</li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">And do contact Sara directly</span> at </b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheStartStudioLinthorpe" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">The Start Studio</a>(<a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheStartStudioLinthorpe" target="_blank">their contact details are available on their Facebook page</a>)<b>if you think you can be of use to her </b></span><i><b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">in any other way.</span></b></i><br />
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<ul>
<li><i> </i>I don't know who's reading this ... maybe you've got magical / influential / creative connections and can open up a world of possible supply sponsorship opportunities. Can you?</li>
<li>I just know that, when I've mentioned good causes here in the past, nice people have made nice things happen, so there's no reason to believe that won't happen again. </li>
<li>Or maybe - as has already happened with a few companies - you have a local business whose waste /bi-product / off-cuts etc would come in handy for arty-up-cycling, again, please contact Sara if you think your product might be useful. </li>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">And it might be nice...</b></span></div>
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<li>If/when you do pop something into the post, you mention that you heard about <b>The Start Studio</b> from <i>me!</i> </li>
<li>Not because I'm on commission (although I could maybe get her to pay me in tea) ... but because it'll make it slightly less like some random - albeit arty - junk mail dropping through her letterbox. </li>
</ul>
<b>And then pretty soon either your craft supplies, or you, or <i>the pair of you</i> will be enjoying the view from <i>inside</i> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheStartStudioLinthorpe" target="_blank">The Start Studio</a>!</b><br />
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And, whether or not you send The Start Studio anything <i>physical</i> ... how about sending your <i>support and well wishes</i> for the launch on August 6th?<br />
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<b><span style="background-color: #f9cb9c; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Wish Sara and The Start Studio well ...</span></b><br />
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<ul>
<li>... <a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheStartStudioLinthorpe" target="_blank">here via <b>The Start Studio</b> Facebook page</a>;</li>
<li>or at <a href="https://www.instagram.com/thestartstudio/" target="_blank"><b>@theStartStudio </b>on Instagram</a></li>
<li>or by papery mail at <b>2 Park Road South, Middlesbrough, Teesside, TS5 6HB.</b></li>
</ul>
<b><br />Thank you in advance you lovely crafty people you! </b></div>
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Julie<br />
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Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-65593854751571394442017-07-18T10:09:00.003+01:002017-07-18T10:09:32.775+01:00The Jane Austen bicentenary: it's been 200 years Janey, and we're *still* reading you.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Hey you. There's a link to a free Jane Austen-themed download at the end of this post, but first you'll have to put up with me getting a little sentimental ... </div>
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At some point today, maybe after I've left my calling card at some grand house, or tried in vain to find someone to dance with at a ball, or had an intellectually stimulating bickering-fest with a brooding hero, I'm going to sit down for a gossip with my good friend Jane. </div>
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Not that we've met. </div>
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Not that that matters. </div>
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Because, when you read a Jane Austen novel you quickly become her friend. You're right there negotiating the social niceties of early 19th Century England with both her and her bright, observant, witty heroines. You're surrounded by chatter and drama and biting commentary, you're meeting new, alarming or eccentric characters, creating strong friendship bonds with kindred spirits and - after so many false starts and missed connections - you're falling in love. </div>
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And today - July 18th 2017 - marks 200 years since the death of the woman who managed to fit all of that life and entertainment into just 6 timeless novels. (<i>Sense & Sensibility</i>, <i>Pride & Prejudice</i>, <i>Mansfield Park</i>, <i>Emma</i>, <i>Northanger Abbey</i> and <i>Persuasion</i>. Or 7 books if you count <i>Sanditon </i>the unfinished/finished by another author novel that some of us are reading as part of our <i>Jane Austen Summertime Book Club</i> - the <b><a href="https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/sanditonalong/" target="_blank">#sanditonalong</a>!)</b></div>
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All from a woman who struggled all her career to be taken seriously and who died at 41. (I keep welling-up writing this, I find her story and talent so inspiring. I'm also 41 and I'm trying to string a together a romantic novel so ... little wonder I'm nearly weeping into my keyboard here!)</div>
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Just 6 books, published over just 6 years; a <i>tiny </i>sliver in time for an author who has gone on to be read and loved throughout the world for <i>200 years</i>. 200 years. Good on you Jane. Good on you. </div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">A little Austen bicentenary reading for you: </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Well, for a start there's those 6 classics to dive into.</span></b> </span></div>
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<li>I will admit I haven't read them all ... yet. I've got <i>Mansfield Park</i> and <i>Sense & Sensibility</i> still to go. If you're new to Austen - dig out a copy at a charity shop and give it a whirl; the language and style can be a tricky pattern for moder readers to slip into ... but it's worth it in the end. I swear I laugh out loud while reading (and not in that fake 'Oh yes, look how much I understand this high-brow literature' way; but genuine LOLs. #truejaneaustenstory</li>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">And there's still time to dip into<i> Sanditon</i> along with us this month.</span> </b><div>
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<li>I haven't finished reading it yet, and there's still plenty of time to join in. If you find one of the editions that's completed by another author it's all kinds of interesting to wonder how Austen herself would've finished the story ... and how close - or otherwise - the alternative writer's ending might be to her own!</li>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Plus there's a collection of well known authors discussing <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/jul/15/which-is-greatest-jane-austen-novel-200-anniversary-of-death" target="_blank">their favourite Austen novels</a>...</span></b></div>
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<li>... which featured in last weekend's Review supplement in <i>The Guardian</i> (featuring a lovely illustration by Romy Blumel) but you can <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/jul/15/which-is-greatest-jane-austen-novel-200-anniversary-of-death" target="_blank">find the articles here online</a>.</li>
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(It's OK, yes, I <i>do</i> know that Austen didn't use a <i>typewriter </i>... I just wanted to sneak this little treasure in in here as I found it for an almost criminal £5.00 in a charity shop this weekend. And I thought you'd like to see it!)<br />
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<b>And finally...</b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Penguin Random House spotted our #sanditonalong and have been in touch to bring the <a href="http://www.signature-reads.com/download/the-essential-guide-to-jane-austen/" target="_blank">Signature's Essential Guide to Jane Austen'</a> to our attention! </span></b><br />
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<a href="http://www.signature-reads.com/download/the-essential-guide-to-jane-austen/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oe0_lgBHJhA/WW3OVAoAMmI/AAAAAAAATvo/2GnSb4TWCKoSMcGmvnzZ19epkZWfXVfSACKgBGAs/s1600/Signature_Jane_Austen_Guide.jpg%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<li>It's a 29 page, <a href="http://www.signature-reads.com/download/the-essential-guide-to-jane-austen/" target="_blank"><b>free-to-download PDF booklet</b></a> containing 12 essays on the Austen canon (you just need to supply an email address to gain access to the download, <a href="http://www.signature-reads.com/download/the-essential-guide-to-jane-austen/" target="_blank">simply follow the link here</a>.</li>
<li>And don't worry about it being some dry, academic paper (although, to be fair, I'd probably read some of those too) as it contains such entertaining titles such as '<i>10 Jane Austen Quotations for the Vehemently Single</i>' and - the one that caught my eye first <i>'6 Jane Austen Novels Ranked by their Sexiness'</i>! </li>
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And, while I'll definitely give that piece a fair crack of the whip ... it'll take quite some powers of persuasion (no pun intended) to convince me that there's anything sexier than Mr Knighley in Emma. (Although, I'm willing to admit that might have had something to do with casting Jonny Lee Miller in the 2009 adaptation of <i style="text-align: center;">Emma ...).</i><br /><i><br /></i>
Quick, someone fetch me a chaise longue ... I'm feeling a little overcome. <br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">If there are other Jane Austen bicentenary related happenings and publications you think I should have thrust under my nose ... then thrust away! </span></b></div>
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In fact - feel free to launch into <i>any and all</i> Austen-themed chatter in the comments - or across my social media homes:</div>
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<b><a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/">Instagram</a> ~~ <a href="https://twitter.com/notesonpaper">Twitter </a>~~ <a href="https://www.facebook.com/withjuliekirk/">Facebook </a>~~ <a href="http://withjuliekirk.com/">Website</a></b></div>
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The more Austen-themed gossip and stories we share ... the more richly Austenite our commemorations will be! </div>
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But before that ... how about we raise a glass, or a cup of tea in a fine china cup, to our good friend Jane?<br />
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To Jane. Cheers! </div>
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Julie </div>
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<b>Disclosure: </b>This is <i>not</i> in any way a sponsored post. I have not received payment for mentioning anything here, I'm sharing the freebie-reads with you purely for the love of Austen!</div>
Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-47156452045345509492017-07-17T12:51:00.002+01:002017-07-17T13:10:28.871+01:00A visit to RSPB Saltholme nature reserve. (There's cake involved, because, there's *always* cake involved.)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hello, hello. </div>
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You'll often find me sharing photos of our trips to art galleries, museums or nice little shops; y'know, the kinds of places I can wear a nice skirt and a big necklace and where there's plenty of opportunity to stop for tea and cake? But today's post is a little different because ... we've actually been <i>outside</i>, in nature, under the (damp, British-summertime) sky where we filled up on birdsong and reed-rustling and, yes, OK, obviously there was cake too. Naturally. We're not <i>complete </i>savages. </div>
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<b>Disclosure: </b><span style="color: #666666;">Last Saturday I was a guest at <a href="http://www.rspb.org.uk/reserves-and-events/find-a-reserve/reserves-a-z/reserves-by-name/s/saltholme/index.aspx" target="_blank">RSPB Saltholme</a> where they waived the usual £5.00 per car entry fee in return for a blog post and some social-media sharing about my visit. I did not receive payment for this post, I wasn't asked to mention anything other than how they have Family Activities running throughout the summer, and all views are my own. Because ... can you imagine me agreeing to let someone put words in my mouth? Exactly. </span></div>
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So, now that's out of the way, lace up your walking shoes and grab your binoculars ... we're off on a nature walk ...</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a6llu91O5yI/WWx7ScNwSHI/AAAAAAAATr0/0Qp8AnO674g2EjW6Chyw92hmTs6f0z9egCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Building_welcome.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="RSPB Saltholme welcome sign" border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a6llu91O5yI/WWx7ScNwSHI/AAAAAAAATr0/0Qp8AnO674g2EjW6Chyw92hmTs6f0z9egCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Building_welcome.JPG" title="Welcome to RSPB Saltholme" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/rspbsaltholmeandnortheast" target="_blank">RSPB Saltholme</a> is a nature reserve in Teesside, just outside of Middlesbrough. If you can find our landmark Transporter Bridge, you can find Saltholme, the bridge is visible from right across the reserve (see if you can spot it in the background of my photos). </div>
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And if you can't find the Transporter Bridge when you're in Middlesbrough then just stop someone in the street and they'll point the way, or just look up and it'll be there, plus it's bright blue so ... you can't miss it. You could even use a visit to Saltholme as an excuse to have a trip across the Transporter too because, as the name suggests, it 'transports' vehicles/pedestrians across. Anyway, you've distracted me now by asking about bridges, where was I? </div>
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Oh, yes, I was in jeans, trainers, and a coat (although my socks did have fringing on them and I did manage to squeeze in a big necklace under my hoody) and I was on a nature reserve, under a damp sky, trying to be a good blogger while keeping my camera out of the rain!</div>
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Last weekend they hosted their annual 'Woolly Weekend': a celebration of all things sheep-ish, as the site keeps sheep to graze the grasslands.<br />
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If you follow me on social media you'll have seen more images and video of the day, but I'll just show you a few photos of that here, because I want to show you what you'll see if you're visiting Saltholme during the rest of the year (they're open every day except Christmas day!)<br />
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As for those sheep, we watched them being sheared both with traditional clippers:<br />
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And modern electric shears: </div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hw9GZ5YTZcY/WWx7SdVSLAI/AAAAAAAATr0/dc8fqJhIPOgpz6IQW6xcfZZ-Bs0ZI01hgCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Sheep-shearing_11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hw9GZ5YTZcY/WWx7SdVSLAI/AAAAAAAATr0/dc8fqJhIPOgpz6IQW6xcfZZ-Bs0ZI01hgCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Sheep-shearing_11.JPG" /></a></div>
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You could actually buy the fleeces from these sessions and, while I was tempted, I resisted ... what would I have done with it? I suppose I could've tried my hand at spinning it ... but maybe I'll leave that to the professionals:</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rh8gfzTc_js/WWx7SeOr5BI/AAAAAAAATr0/IsSP9w8B928Bed-siDqvi8EbHYBT0uTcgCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_lifehook%2B%25285%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rh8gfzTc_js/WWx7SeOr5BI/AAAAAAAATr0/IsSP9w8B928Bed-siDqvi8EbHYBT0uTcgCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_lifehook%2B%25285%2529.JPG" /></a></div>
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And we watched this beautiful breed - whose fleece is so dark they looked like dense, dark, shadows with horns:</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Va-aXGuiSLs/WWx7SVBdBII/AAAAAAAATr0/DPI-kUnGX5onqIKjiUTUcssdqDtvENozgCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Sheep-Dogs_11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Va-aXGuiSLs/WWx7SVBdBII/AAAAAAAATr0/DPI-kUnGX5onqIKjiUTUcssdqDtvENozgCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Sheep-Dogs_11.JPG" /></a></div>
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... being rounded-up by some very willing sheep-dogs:</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-le7NPS1tCDw/WWx7SWuDW5I/AAAAAAAATr0/DJpTwuSiS0kF--7XkLEueXoiQPJYV2mswCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Sheep-Dogs_09.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-le7NPS1tCDw/WWx7SWuDW5I/AAAAAAAATr0/DJpTwuSiS0kF--7XkLEueXoiQPJYV2mswCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Sheep-Dogs_09.JPG" /></a></div>
(ahem .. anyone notice the bright blue iconic bridge anywhere in the scene?)<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">The Environment: </span></b><br />
<b>Speaking of dogs ... Saltholme is a <i>dog-free zone</i>, only assistance dogs are permitted on the reserve. </b><br />
<br />
I know I joke about my dog-phobia (because, oh my, if I <i>didn't </i>...) but anyone who:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>has a phobia themselves,</li>
<li>or has seen one of my dead-eyed panic attacks, </li>
<li>or who knows just how many activities I can't bring myself to do because of it ... </li>
</ul>
... will know the absolutely debilitating restrictions it imposes on my life. So, being able to walk around in nature, without having to worry about an off-the-lead dog bounding up to me is a freedom I'm rarely afforded.<br />
<br />
Truth be told - I did have to get James to tell me that there weren't any dogs there - just to hear it, to double-check - but after that, I was OK. I was free to enjoy being outside without anxiety, something I guess many other people take for granted? (I don't know ... I can hardly conceive that some people <i>aren't </i>constantly vigilant and hyper-aware while they're out and about! It's like when you think about how the internet works; you <i>know </i>it's <i>true </i>... but you still don't 'get' it.)<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>And Saltholme is an oasis in more ways than one. </b><br />
<br />
It allows me to enjoy the great outdoors, it provides food and habitat for a huge variety of birds and wildlife, and - like many places on the industrial side of Teesside - it nestles itself amongst major works sites, making it a complete natural haven in the heart of man-made industry:<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ELVtb8-96bQ/WWx7ScC6R3I/AAAAAAAATr0/Qgrs07s9v_E0SLSkOElgXGzwHGwn5WbnwCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_lifehook%2B%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ELVtb8-96bQ/WWx7ScC6R3I/AAAAAAAATr0/Qgrs07s9v_E0SLSkOElgXGzwHGwn5WbnwCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_lifehook%2B%25283%2529.JPG" /></a></div>
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And it's the land itself, the combination of wet grassland, reed beds and meadows that contributes so much to its eco-system: </div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6aNQKeb3uw4/WWx7SXc7kNI/AAAAAAAATr0/0aclfFARwkg2ot1Eono3OK0WkH8IOcgyACKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Building_Info07.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6aNQKeb3uw4/WWx7SXc7kNI/AAAAAAAATr0/0aclfFARwkg2ot1Eono3OK0WkH8IOcgyACKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Building_Info07.JPG" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>What your visit might look like: </b></span><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jXaKAs4lxdA/WWx7SakeHAI/AAAAAAAATr0/eJxfE9v26V8eW3lRP_UnbllVz1gipufcACKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Hides_see.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jXaKAs4lxdA/WWx7SakeHAI/AAAAAAAATr0/eJxfE9v26V8eW3lRP_UnbllVz1gipufcACKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Hides_see.JPG" /></a></div>
<br />
If, like us, you have a general - rather than comprehensive - knowledge of birds, then don't be put off; there are plenty of guide-books, signs, wall displays, and real-life guides to help you work out what you might be looking at. And currently, in the visitor centre:<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z25UTgeuI9U/WWx7SXMzpHI/AAAAAAAATr0/fX7C6sK6RDMMvc7LvM78hLBTnhL6rkZugCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Building_.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z25UTgeuI9U/WWx7SXMzpHI/AAAAAAAATr0/fX7C6sK6RDMMvc7LvM78hLBTnhL6rkZugCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Building_.JPG" /></a></div>
... there's even a chance to catch-up on what the nearby seals are doing on their 'Seal Cam Live!':<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nopT2pt6awA/WWyUSwn0AhI/AAAAAAAATr4/KrWhtAEjZ3wfd2eJqoYvzwz3LFHD1z1QQCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Building_sealcam.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nopT2pt6awA/WWyUSwn0AhI/AAAAAAAATr4/KrWhtAEjZ3wfd2eJqoYvzwz3LFHD1z1QQCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Building_sealcam.JPG" /></a></div>
From the visitor centre you can take one of two exits to explore the reserve, we headed out towards the Transporter side where we headed past the various gardens and play areas, along part of the Lake Walk and down to the hide at 'Paddy's Pool':<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3kBZ1stSC9U/WWx7SVtQ2yI/AAAAAAAATr0/lmFoRjjPl7Uv1hYJmZvogOdsONnV4yzAwCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Hides_paddys.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3kBZ1stSC9U/WWx7SVtQ2yI/AAAAAAAATr0/lmFoRjjPl7Uv1hYJmZvogOdsONnV4yzAwCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Hides_paddys.JPG" /></a></div>
From here you can pull up a chair, wind down a window and get a closer look at some of the birdy happenings (can you tell I'm not an official 'twitcher'? What gave it away?)<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WNaX8AEed2s/WWx7ST8v0VI/AAAAAAAATr0/rB2jCWEqyfI4MOeY53OMRsvXtzB__UxDQCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Hides_paddys_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WNaX8AEed2s/WWx7ST8v0VI/AAAAAAAATr0/rB2jCWEqyfI4MOeY53OMRsvXtzB__UxDQCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Hides_paddys_2.JPG" /></a></div>
From here you can take a number of routes across the reserve, we opted for a wander through the wildflower meadow:<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-juAI2AIASXA/WWx7Sd0b4XI/AAAAAAAATr0/jTbzuoRNdsUoa9EA7-uAnTwozm65IiMSACKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Flora_teasel.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-juAI2AIASXA/WWx7Sd0b4XI/AAAAAAAATr0/jTbzuoRNdsUoa9EA7-uAnTwozm65IiMSACKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Flora_teasel.JPG" /></a></div>
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It was <i>extremely</i> peaceful and there were plenty of photo opportunities!</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Qxl6ng7K198/WWx7SU8plXI/AAAAAAAATr0/HAt9zFW0Qn4qYz6XvqpiJ_ZElRw5pROAACKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Flora_hand.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Qxl6ng7K198/WWx7SU8plXI/AAAAAAAATr0/HAt9zFW0Qn4qYz6XvqpiJ_ZElRw5pROAACKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Flora_hand.JPG" /></a></div>
<b>BTW: </b>this was a pathway cut into the grass, but the majority of paths on the reserve <b>are suitable for pushchairs and wheelchairs.</b><br />
<br />
From here we dipped into the 'Wildlife Watchpoint' another cosy spot to pause and take in the scenery:<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cXeOrJT1gTo/WWx7SRvLQLI/AAAAAAAATr0/MhJ2Xwrh5MgeRNdhEUfXG1uNyyIy4DifwCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Hides_06.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cXeOrJT1gTo/WWx7SRvLQLI/AAAAAAAATr0/MhJ2Xwrh5MgeRNdhEUfXG1uNyyIy4DifwCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Hides_06.JPG" /></a></div>
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Here we watched clumsy moorhen chicks trying to get their long ungainly legs to cooperate with the rest of their bodies, and, we're pretty sure we spotted a water-vole bumbling under the surface at the water's edge!</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RUFisxDnVHQ/WWx7SXmBJMI/AAAAAAAATr0/MSQFZw-9xwgPbVB7e5fgbF0VvQcmjHHWACKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Hides_09.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RUFisxDnVHQ/WWx7SXmBJMI/AAAAAAAATr0/MSQFZw-9xwgPbVB7e5fgbF0VvQcmjHHWACKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Hides_09.JPG" /></a></div>
The combination of lackadaisical ducks and swans gliding over the water, the background noise of rustling reeds, and all that fresh air very nearly sent me to sleep. Next time I can't nod-off I'll know where to come ...<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IVddSan2zkg/WWx7ScTQmSI/AAAAAAAATr0/IEXAKQdSw_kQWxZvyh_gJXhccPhD9g07wCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Hides_swans.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IVddSan2zkg/WWx7ScTQmSI/AAAAAAAATr0/IEXAKQdSw_kQWxZvyh_gJXhccPhD9g07wCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Hides_swans.JPG" /></a></div>
And, if birds aren't your thing, you could stop off for some mouse-spotting!<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Sdj3fkeEoYY/WWyZhg9QP4I/AAAAAAAATsI/_gUKHVLXewsDG8SqpFQB7Zlfr1v_MkU0QCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Hides_mouse.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Sdj3fkeEoYY/WWyZhg9QP4I/AAAAAAAATsI/_gUKHVLXewsDG8SqpFQB7Zlfr1v_MkU0QCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Hides_mouse.JPG" /></a></div>
This little mouse house linked up to a woodpile outside so, if you're lucky, you might catch yourself some mouse-action (not a sentence I've ever envisaged writing ...).<br />
<br />
Back on the Lake Walk we stopped for a closer look at the reed beds:<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1yOBwEZYabU/WWx7SdwvuhI/AAAAAAAATr0/padMxKi7zCUOzLK5II9RP11wdM6nukl1QCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Flora_reed-beds.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1yOBwEZYabU/WWx7SdwvuhI/AAAAAAAATr0/padMxKi7zCUOzLK5II9RP11wdM6nukl1QCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Flora_reed-beds.JPG" /></a></div>
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If you've been visiting me here for a while now you might remember that I've visited Saltholme in <i>winter</i> on several occasions when they host their annual 'Soup and Starlings' events. There we get to watch tens of thousands of starlings swoop and swirl in their 'murmurations' - the en masse air-ballet they perform - before dipping down to spend the night among the reed beds. (You can see some of my photos from those events in <a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=starlings" target="_blank">these older blog posts.)</a></div>
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So it made a change seeing this habitat in summer and not on freezing - I'm-wearing-30-items-of-clothing-and-my-eyes-are-the-only-visible-part-of-my-body - afternoons in December and January! </div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Wa0q7IkraFI/WWyaL0udznI/AAAAAAAATsQ/r3HaQWhbcUwSuJWeEfvO-2FlwzMlRqAsQCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Flora_reeds.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Wa0q7IkraFI/WWyaL0udznI/AAAAAAAATsQ/r3HaQWhbcUwSuJWeEfvO-2FlwzMlRqAsQCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Flora_reeds.JPG" /></a></div>
And it was here that I saw something my parents really would've found really useful when I was little! <br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ll8lu5_BcIw/WWx7SW8QibI/AAAAAAAATr0/ctirN5oZcUMExTc7JnnZnGOK-KCSLPfFgCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_lifehook%2B%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ll8lu5_BcIw/WWx7SW8QibI/AAAAAAAATr0/ctirN5oZcUMExTc7JnnZnGOK-KCSLPfFgCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_lifehook%2B%25281%2529.JPG" /></a></div>
There are at least three occasions in my childhood where they could have deployed a Lifehook.<br />
<br />
At least three.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Where you can take a break:</span></b><br />
And, after all that walking, watching, ducking out of the rain and feeling the sun, wind <i>and</i> rain on our faces all in the space of 4 hours (as a British summertime will regularly offer) ... we were ready for lunch.<br />
<br />
And when I say 'ready' I mean ... the 'give me the homemade beef chilli and rice AND a slice of lemon cake, right now, thanks, OK, great' kind of ready. I know you know that kind of 'ready'.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XoCbCyT_gXM/WWx7SXxfTYI/AAAAAAAATr0/gpqNKbPn3-URAuZROaEHCiyvMYuUBil9ACKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_lifehook%2B%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XoCbCyT_gXM/WWx7SXxfTYI/AAAAAAAATr0/gpqNKbPn3-URAuZROaEHCiyvMYuUBil9ACKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_lifehook%2B%25282%2529.JPG" /></a></div>
Fortunately the Saltholme visitor centre has a lovely cafe upstairs so there's no need leave the site to find sustenance. And, once you've finished your cake and had a glance around the gift shop you're either good to go back out for another wander, or head home feeling smug about all the wholesome activity you've enjoyed.<br />
<br />
Oh, and tired. You'll be feeling <i>tired</i> too; that proper, healthy 'fresh air' kind of tired. So it's bye for now Saltholme. See you again sometime! I'm just off for a nap ...<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B6_0xB_fG6A/WWx7SYnxVII/AAAAAAAATr0/cNc4CkSp99gh28kDOmDS3PPBw-nRlk1RwCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Building_entrance.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B6_0xB_fG6A/WWx7SYnxVII/AAAAAAAATr0/cNc4CkSp99gh28kDOmDS3PPBw-nRlk1RwCKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Building_entrance.JPG" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>Further Information:</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lp4T8HdjICE/WWx7STLVJZI/AAAAAAAATr0/kILkLJ0SVmUf9Mwq_6qAld2J5ArCuPPbACKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Building_details.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lp4T8HdjICE/WWx7STLVJZI/AAAAAAAATr0/kILkLJ0SVmUf9Mwq_6qAld2J5ArCuPPbACKgBGAs/s1600/BLOG_07_July_17_Saltholme_Building_details.JPG" /></a></div>
To find out more and keep up-to-date on their special events:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Visit <a href="https://www.facebook.com/rspbsaltholmeandnortheast" target="_blank">the RSPB Saltholme and North East Facebook page</a>.</li>
<li>And <a href="http://www.rspb.org.uk/reserves-and-events/find-a-reserve/reserves-a-z/reserves-by-name/s/saltholme/index.aspx" target="_blank">their official web page</a>.</li>
</ul>
<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">********</span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Right, you can kick off your walking shoes now, I want to hear from you ...</span></b><br />
<ul>
<li><b>Have you been to Saltholme already? </b>What did you see? Did you have cake?</li>
<li><b>Maybe you've visited your own local RSPB reserve? </b>American friends - maybe the <i>American Bird Conservancy </i>organisation is your equivalent. What kinds of things do you do there?</li>
<li><b>Maybe you too are looking for dog-free spaces to enjoy the great outdoors</b>, if so, I hear you. Ask at your local reserve to check the dog situation there.</li>
</ul>
Also, I've been told recently that <b>I appear to do weekends well </b>plus<b> there seems to be lots of exciting things happening near where I live. </b>If either of those things are true - it's only down to:<br />
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<ul>
<li>Putting in a <i>little bit</i> of extra effort, when all I often want to do on Saturdays is sit still and maybe, at a push, throw an M&S meal deal in the oven. </li>
<li>Following all my favourite local-ish galleries, museums etc on social media to be in with a chance of spotting their new exhibitions/events etc.</li>
<li>Using the planner app on my phone, with reminders, to keep track of key dates. </li>
</ul>
And, honestly, there really isn't <i>anything</i> unique about where we live, if anything, there's a distinct <i>lack</i> of cultural activities to be had in the immediate area; but we're willing to regularly travel anything up to around an hour or so away from home to see the interesting stuff. </div>
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And perhaps where we are particularly fortunate, it's in living somewhere that sits happily within a comfortable half-hour to an hour's drive away from a wide variety of town, country, and coastal locations to choose from for a visit. Turns out it's not all grim 'oop North' you know. (At this rate my next gig should be with Teesside tourist board!)</div>
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Don't forget to check out RSPB Saltholme if you're in the area ... or even if you're an hour away. And if you're further afield, then I hope you enjoyed walking alongside me on our virtual visit.</div>
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Julie </div>
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Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-11968750919603409362017-07-11T14:23:00.001+01:002017-07-11T14:23:10.882+01:00I've been exhibited! Snipped Tales at the 'Blimey!' pop-up exhibition<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Well, hang me on a wall and call me art! I've had one of my Snipped Tales featured in a pop-up mini-art exhibition.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">On Sunday James and I went to Darlington (about 30mins from home) to visit postcard No.29, in an exhibition of 200 postcard sized works of art. </span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Wt_YzMDZops/WWOLux_Yk1I/AAAAAAAAToU/_AeuVvDGkz8G8HLJz8BQEh6Vn1n8b8bAgCKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_Mine_James.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Wt_YzMDZops/WWOLux_Yk1I/AAAAAAAAToU/_AeuVvDGkz8G8HLJz8BQEh6Vn1n8b8bAgCKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_Mine_James.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hosted as part of the 10th birthday celebrations of the Darlington-based arts group <a href="https://www.facebook.com/blimeydarlo" target="_blank">Blimey!</a>, the 2 day exhibition was held in an empty unit in the main shopping centre: </span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Mg-GLthI6Qg/WWOLuz4yd5I/AAAAAAAAToU/4khntSe-YUU1P4wOqj338KYKPsx2lBCsQCKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_shop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Mg-GLthI6Qg/WWOLuz4yd5I/AAAAAAAAToU/4khntSe-YUU1P4wOqj338KYKPsx2lBCsQCKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_shop.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Earlier in the year I saw the call they put out for small, 10x15cm, works and thought ... 'Mmmm ... what do I do that would fit on a small card like that ... ?' and the answer was pretty clear. Happily the new snipped tale I wrote for the occasion, was accepted and so off we went to see it amongst 199 of of its peers: </span></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mF_tS3K8TjU/WWOLu9TbBfI/AAAAAAAAToU/do4yAgPmW3svb8cDp6ImtHwhsaTa6SYcgCKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_me_mine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mF_tS3K8TjU/WWOLu9TbBfI/AAAAAAAAToU/do4yAgPmW3svb8cDp6ImtHwhsaTa6SYcgCKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_me_mine.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I began with the idea that it was <i>Blimey!'s </i>birthday and sifted, browsed and snipped until a full festive tale emerged, titled 'Warm Glitter' (which, makes me feel slightly queasy for some reason, like ... <i>how</i>/<i>why </i>- exactly is it <i>warm</i>?) Here's a closer look: </span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YErCNkx7700/WWSkCxEyP0I/AAAAAAAATpg/TRZlldVYA4wihOddrhA4CMDbWmLafWh8gCKgBGAs/s1600/Snipped_Tales_Warm_Glitter_Blimey_Postcard_close_.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YErCNkx7700/WWSkCxEyP0I/AAAAAAAATpg/TRZlldVYA4wihOddrhA4CMDbWmLafWh8gCKgBGAs/s1600/Snipped_Tales_Warm_Glitter_Blimey_Postcard_close_.JPG" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And here's the whole thing, complete with a splatter of warm glitter ... </span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kAaa_A_Youg/WWSkC7Bh9fI/AAAAAAAATpg/5Z1IrkRyoYMdHw0U2kGLXduogrFzk7gNwCKgBGAs/s1600/Snipped_Tales_Warm_Glitter_Blimey_Postcard_blog.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kAaa_A_Youg/WWSkC7Bh9fI/AAAAAAAATpg/5Z1IrkRyoYMdHw0U2kGLXduogrFzk7gNwCKgBGAs/s1600/Snipped_Tales_Warm_Glitter_Blimey_Postcard_blog.JPG" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There was a public vote element to the exhibition - which I didn't win - (not that I expected to!) ... but I did enjoy browsing the work to find a favourite to vote for. Here are a few that caught my eye ...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I liked the geometric shapes and the dark figures on these: </span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kr-Fo5ssXt8/WWOLu7dmqMI/AAAAAAAAToU/sCn9taQYjlcjBxx21FtPfg7Z9a99oyAKgCKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_cards1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kr-Fo5ssXt8/WWOLu7dmqMI/AAAAAAAAToU/sCn9taQYjlcjBxx21FtPfg7Z9a99oyAKgCKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_cards1.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And I <i>loved </i>the little people on this one titled 'My Family': </span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mWYuupJ9SCg/WWOLu-2019I/AAAAAAAAToU/2CxhtHFklDkTshzz8oSVNo67QkQtyGbGACKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_cards2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mWYuupJ9SCg/WWOLu-2019I/AAAAAAAAToU/2CxhtHFklDkTshzz8oSVNo67QkQtyGbGACKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_cards2.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This one - featuring a mirror - caught my eye:</span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2DMK1BuPwvg/WWOLu7BCtCI/AAAAAAAAToU/fWCWUKqP72EQj8Gh4UnvT1aFj9_owljXgCKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_cards4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2DMK1BuPwvg/WWOLu7BCtCI/AAAAAAAAToU/fWCWUKqP72EQj8Gh4UnvT1aFj9_owljXgCKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_cards4.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I enjoyed the colours of the smudged paint on this: </span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hM04Hp1YlSk/WWOLu9IYN8I/AAAAAAAAToU/jEbK-4noP9Y8dZekxRnk_-0Y-seWRJIQACKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_cards5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hM04Hp1YlSk/WWOLu9IYN8I/AAAAAAAAToU/jEbK-4noP9Y8dZekxRnk_-0Y-seWRJIQACKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_cards5.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And these rich shades are just gorgeous: </span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OF1E3gweB9s/WWOLu8GVFSI/AAAAAAAAToU/iWcKqqIFb30t6iqIhCo2rrP1Sa7jqCJBwCKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_cards3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OF1E3gweB9s/WWOLu8GVFSI/AAAAAAAAToU/iWcKqqIFb30t6iqIhCo2rrP1Sa7jqCJBwCKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_cards3.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Strangely though, I forgot to photograph the one I voted for - which, no, <i>wasn't </i>my own! But it was another text-based piece though.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As I was placing my vote I saw James take his voting slip over to the wall, where I assumed he was getting the name of the artist he was voting for. And I felt a little pang that - OK, so there was no way I was going to win the public vote, but I thought I could have counted on his! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hours later, when we were back home, while folding laundry I couldn't keep it to myself any longer: "You know," I said, not heartbroken, just a bit surprised, "I can't believe we went all that way and you didn't vote for me!" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Well ... he wasn't amused. "What makes you think I didn't vote for you? Of course I did!" ... and it turned out it was just the number of my piece he was looking for on the wall (which you had to write on the voting slip). Oops.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In long-term relationships there are few times you don't mind being the one in the wrong. But this time round, I was OK with it!</span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2fdfoVoPw5Q/WWOLu4Cp7KI/AAAAAAAAToU/I92p29IgBmks7c_BF3EQ7Du1onM2sWPEACKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2fdfoVoPw5Q/WWOLu4Cp7KI/AAAAAAAAToU/I92p29IgBmks7c_BF3EQ7Du1onM2sWPEACKgBGAs/s1600/07_July_Blimey_.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Thanks to everyone at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/blimeydarlo/?fref=ts" target="_blank"><i>Blimey!</i> Darlington</a> for inviting my '<i>Warm Glitter'</i> to your birthday party! It was fun to see my work on a wall for the first time since school! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As for my snipped tales in general, I've submitted various other pieces here and there this year and next week I've got an interesting snipped-project coming up as part of my MIMA 'Writer in Residence' residency ... but I'll be able to share more on that once it's done. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And - apart from <a href="https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/498265029/snipped-tales-a-book-of-collaged-stories?ref=shop_home_feat_1" target="_blank">the book full of them </a>- I'll no doubt continue to find new ways to spread my strange little papery philosophies from here on in. I'll keep you up-to-date with any developments! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">See you soon, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Julie </span></div>
Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-68565984509101059682017-06-28T12:17:00.001+01:002017-06-28T12:17:02.908+01:00Time Machines exhibition: Palace Green Library, Durham.<br />
Hello time travellers!<br />
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Well, you <i>are </i>time travellers, kind of. You're certainly not reading this over my shoulder, in real-time, as I type (I just turned round to check).<br />
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You're reading this in the future. Well it's <i>my </i>future, which is <i>your </i>present. And now ... that last sentence is in the <i>past </i>for <i>both of us</i>. And all of this baffling time-switching is <i>exactly </i>why I usually avoid time travel talk; getting my head around the nitty-gritty technicalities is my Kryptonite.<br />
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And yet I was drawn to the <b><i>Time Machines</i> exhibition at Palace Green Library, Durham </b>(ends 3rd September 2017) because its subtitle is: <b>"<i>The past, the future, and how stories take us there</i>"; </b>because <i>stories </i>... <i>stories </i>I can do ...<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wrXzCPsc2wQ/WVKRh2X8ibI/AAAAAAAATmg/QuPm0GrXPUAMp_2GA_VIigRpVEzrP5OSgCKgBGAs/s1600/06_June_Durham_%2B%25286%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wrXzCPsc2wQ/WVKRh2X8ibI/AAAAAAAATmg/QuPm0GrXPUAMp_2GA_VIigRpVEzrP5OSgCKgBGAs/s1600/06_June_Durham_%2B%25286%2529.JPG" /></a></div>
<b>Disclaimer:</b> As usual (because no one ever pays me to do these things!) this is in <i>no way</i> a sponsored post. I (and by "I" I mean <i>James</i>) paid for the tickets to the exhibition from my/his own pocket.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Exhibition location:</span></b></h2>
If, like me, the only thing you really know, or can remember, about Durham is the location of the Cathedral then, you're in luck! Because Palace Green Library is - funnily enough - on 'Palace Green', the area in front of Cathedral's front door. And if you can't find the Cathedral in Durham ... you're really not trying hard enough!<br />
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Here's the library which, at the risk of sounding cretinous, is rather delightfully Hogwartian:<br />
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Once inside you can browse the Time Machines exhibition (which has a £7.50 entry fee) across two main rooms plus a linking room where you can sit and read some of the time-travel themed books they have on hand. It even contains an unexpected, but hugely welcome, discussion of racial and gender diversity in time-travel which impressed me no end. Plus you can also make your own contribution to the exhibition using sticky-notes ... but more on all of that in a minute!<br />
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If you're up for it you're welcome to buckle yourself into the time machine and I'll take you back in time to my visit to the exhibition ... or maybe it's just a leap <i>forward </i>to a time when you find yourself visiting there yourself ... either way, let's go ...<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Exhibition contents:</span></b></h2>
The exhibition begins in a space decorated with intriguing suspended clock-faces with an audio soundtrack of ticking and themed music setting the atmosphere:<br />
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Here you'll find a display of old timepieces alongside texts about time, some of which date back to the 1490s. The <i>1490</i>s! They're incredible specimens, exquisitely made, and preserved, and are useful in illustration the way religions and philosophers have tried to interpret and understand time across the last 500 years. </div>
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It's from here that we get to pass though our first <a href="https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=wibbly+wobbly+timey+wimey+quote&oq=wibbl&aqs=chrome.2.69i57j0l5.4850j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8" target="_blank">wibbly-wobbly timey wimey</a> portal ... hold on to your hats ...<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8JR8NpSroo0/WVFb7Q5b21I/AAAAAAAATl0/vcHHpKI4XuwDN-uVAME-a3clJ5gNCnFsgCKgBGAs/s1600/06_June_Durham_%2BTime-Machines_%2B%252831%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8JR8NpSroo0/WVFb7Q5b21I/AAAAAAAATl0/vcHHpKI4XuwDN-uVAME-a3clJ5gNCnFsgCKgBGAs/s1600/06_June_Durham_%2BTime-Machines_%2B%252831%2529.JPG" /></a></div>
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You OK? Make it in one piece? Can you still feel all your extremities? Well stop it. We haven't got time for that! </div>
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I like this photo I grabbed of James passing through the portal because - even though it's entirely our of focus - no - <i>because </i>it's entirely out of focus, it looks like Scotty's beaming him up:</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-caH-bqNFaG0/WVFbhv8FzCI/AAAAAAAATlo/BceTBBA3LW4SsQvZZAc1DcALaKDNzDeSgCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_Beam-me-up.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-caH-bqNFaG0/WVFbhv8FzCI/AAAAAAAATlo/BceTBBA3LW4SsQvZZAc1DcALaKDNzDeSgCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_Beam-me-up.JPG" /></a></div>
Yes, yes, feel free to *insert your own 'Kirk' related joke here*.<br />
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Now we find ourselves in the main body of the exhibition which houses various time-travel themed texts, including H.G Wells's original manuscript for <i>The Time Machine</i>.<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZLywjn9i9A/WVFbhkOxbcI/AAAAAAAATlo/znqLdbYZLdsuiENQS8SgNsZlNpgnufUCgCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_gallery_.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZLywjn9i9A/WVFbhkOxbcI/AAAAAAAATlo/znqLdbYZLdsuiENQS8SgNsZlNpgnufUCgCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_gallery_.JPG" /></a></div>
Now, I'm no great sci-fi / fantasy reader, but James is so I was mainly expecting to enjoy the exhibits on his behalf. However, the curators have clearly put in an effort to appeal to a<i> wider audience.</i><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MiWocLiSkDg/WVFbhmMMeeI/AAAAAAAATlo/vHw1bvW3M6ktkElnqUAqkoUS0KHZYAuyACKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_playing_blackboard.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MiWocLiSkDg/WVFbhmMMeeI/AAAAAAAATlo/vHw1bvW3M6ktkElnqUAqkoUS0KHZYAuyACKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_playing_blackboard.JPG" /></a></div>
There are discussions about the general paradoxes of time travel, but please don't ask me to explain them ... it hurts my head; along with time-related experiences that I <i>could </i>relate to like precognition and <i>de ja vu</i>:<br />
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Along with time-related experiences that I <i>could </i>relate to like precognition and <i>de ja vu. </i><br />
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(Did you see what I did there? ... Ah, I'm such a wag.) Anyway ...<br />
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There are also some fun interactive elements to keep visitors engaged including an old phone you can pick up, and dial, to hear book excerpts read aloud:<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aqcMF38gEI8/WVFbhnEsrPI/AAAAAAAATlo/X_dRQCd9-MotT_Cr9V5v-X6la6-oLiHWgCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_phone_.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aqcMF38gEI8/WVFbhnEsrPI/AAAAAAAATlo/X_dRQCd9-MotT_Cr9V5v-X6la6-oLiHWgCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_phone_.JPG" /></a></div>
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Plus there's also an app you can download which provides you with additional audio and video. We didn't read about that element until we'd finished looking around, but if we were to visit again I'd definitely give it a go. </div>
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After browsing all the displays in that area it's time to head through another portal:</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-geVqJvQjtvU/WVFbhuFLTsI/AAAAAAAATlo/LI3kzFse74cUlVkzX2QRXYGIz-M8LxDGQCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_time-travel-james.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-geVqJvQjtvU/WVFbhuFLTsI/AAAAAAAATlo/LI3kzFse74cUlVkzX2QRXYGIz-M8LxDGQCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_time-travel-james.JPG" /></a></div>
And this time we're heading back ... waaaaaay back ... to the start of the universe ...<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_zgQVovy2Kk/WVFbhrx9g_I/AAAAAAAATlo/1zYKYmhqw_AGEEHkI74foLx-GVq7w8h-QCKgBGAs/s1600/06_June_Durham_%2BTime-Machines_%2B%252829%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_zgQVovy2Kk/WVFbhrx9g_I/AAAAAAAATlo/1zYKYmhqw_AGEEHkI74foLx-GVq7w8h-QCKgBGAs/s1600/06_June_Durham_%2BTime-Machines_%2B%252829%2529.JPG" /></a></div>
In a darkened room with a cosmological theme you'll find an intriguing wrap-around film and sound experience. Here we experiencing the dawn of time:<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tGgGC9hrh9E/WVFbhlSHe2I/AAAAAAAATlo/hQ3lt0arfn8qMrdadlcHe9o9DFG9iVkHACKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_dawn-of-time.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tGgGC9hrh9E/WVFbhlSHe2I/AAAAAAAATlo/hQ3lt0arfn8qMrdadlcHe9o9DFG9iVkHACKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_dawn-of-time.JPG" /></a></div>
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And here's a book that tried to explain it all ... the book which contained Einstein's <i>Theory of Relativity:</i></div>
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And if all that high-mindedness has has overly taxed you ... how about we go and let off some steam with the help of a Post-It?<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Audience participation:</span></b></h2>
Around three walls of the next exhibition space runs a timeline pointing out key dates in fictional and non-fictional history; as well as questions such as 'Who would you like to go back in time to meet?' or 'What would you go back in time to see?'. And you're welcome to add your own contribution using the sticky-notes provided:</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FMCr3yK-Rmk/WVFbhmWFiaI/AAAAAAAATlo/nJ3pUOeoRcsEr1iaQV1myUoozMUC1-EeACKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_james-timeline.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FMCr3yK-Rmk/WVFbhmWFiaI/AAAAAAAATlo/nJ3pUOeoRcsEr1iaQV1myUoozMUC1-EeACKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_james-timeline.JPG" /></a></div>
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And, seriously, I could have photographed <i>hundreds </i>of those little notes! It was such a <i>rich seam </i>of both comedy -intentional and unintentional. (Like the kid who wanted to go back in time to see <i>turtles</i>. We reckoned his parents just don't fancy a zoo trip and would rather keep him ignorant!)</div>
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Along the timeline some people took this as an excuse to speculate on - and give the definitive answer to - the idea of time-travel in general ... </div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8E8pdSq-utw/WVFbhmbF2pI/AAAAAAAATlo/xI6OmeUiCgsvt4XtE13ZtWLZ_zfHUGLfQCKgBGAs/s1600/06_June_Durham_%2BTime-Machines_%2B%252812%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8E8pdSq-utw/WVFbhmbF2pI/AAAAAAAATlo/xI6OmeUiCgsvt4XtE13ZtWLZ_zfHUGLfQCKgBGAs/s1600/06_June_Durham_%2BTime-Machines_%2B%252812%2529.JPG" /></a></div>
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(Text reads: "If backwards time travel were invented ... where are they?" "I'm one"). They walk amongst us! </div>
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As do Bill and Ted fans: </div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4kNSNYrHtbk/WVFbhoTvUNI/AAAAAAAATlo/A0iUZNWlpOoroSzZZbZSAVscqjt7bZM8ACKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_Exhibition_Bill_Ted_.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4kNSNYrHtbk/WVFbhoTvUNI/AAAAAAAATlo/A0iUZNWlpOoroSzZZbZSAVscqjt7bZM8ACKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_Exhibition_Bill_Ted_.JPG" /></a></div>
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... and competitive Whovians: </div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OT-ii46Tug0/WVFbhgFx-bI/AAAAAAAATlo/CP7OzmMGyIUY7haFn2nLVIQlDB_e_doOgCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_Exhibition_DR-Who_.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OT-ii46Tug0/WVFbhgFx-bI/AAAAAAAATlo/CP7OzmMGyIUY7haFn2nLVIQlDB_e_doOgCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_Exhibition_DR-Who_.JPG" /></a></div>
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And ... as we move along the timeline and into predictions for <i>the future</i> we discover ... </div>
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... a jaded Game of Thrones viewer:<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yy5kIfKzMlY/WVFbhq6eeZI/AAAAAAAATlo/QIe2IjdWBvYKBM3i_NZCjNCbYw0ZOGXAACKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_Game-of-Thrones.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yy5kIfKzMlY/WVFbhq6eeZI/AAAAAAAATlo/QIe2IjdWBvYKBM3i_NZCjNCbYw0ZOGXAACKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_Game-of-Thrones.JPG" /></a></div>
... and even more jaded house-sellers:<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oBpEzJyeSuM/WVFbhiWCjXI/AAAAAAAATlo/zgDwSwaSvRkvB5MdVNJz4r9UCJ2rZMfFgCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_Thanet_.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oBpEzJyeSuM/WVFbhiWCjXI/AAAAAAAATlo/zgDwSwaSvRkvB5MdVNJz4r9UCJ2rZMfFgCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_Thanet_.JPG" /></a></div>
(Text reads: "We will, at last, have found a buyer for our house and will not be doomed to die in Thanet. Although it <i>is </i>sunny there".)<br />
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... and - is it just me or - do you get the feeling Jane wrote this herself in an act of wishful thinking?<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NsodaCEiCi0/WVFbhjoi-gI/AAAAAAAATlo/AVxXTe5oGRQBpUHGD9i7yH_Dh88VUyj3wCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_marry.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NsodaCEiCi0/WVFbhjoi-gI/AAAAAAAATlo/AVxXTe5oGRQBpUHGD9i7yH_Dh88VUyj3wCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_marry.JPG" /></a></div>
And finally, I don't want to upset anyone but, someone has predicted ... dun dun dun ...<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-itPIeTwvg6A/WVFbhklV5kI/AAAAAAAATlo/JJy1cvkXwsUH4_vamSTugaGLfOGKWjregCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_avocado.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-itPIeTwvg6A/WVFbhklV5kI/AAAAAAAATlo/JJy1cvkXwsUH4_vamSTugaGLfOGKWjregCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_avocado.JPG" /></a></div>
Surely not? Say it aint so!<br />
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But, before we get too disheartened, the final room of the exhibition really is something to be happy about.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Diversity in time travel: </span></h2>
Once upon a time, at any other given point in history, (embracing the puns) an exhibition such as this - hosting iconic, well known, lauded texts on a given subject - would usually be populated purely by works by <i>dead white men. </i><br />
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And, quite naturally, such pieces <i>do </i>feature here with works from H.G Wells, Plato, Dickens, Einstein etc. But, it's by no means another case of 'pale, male and stale' culture-hogging here as there's been a <i>clear effort</i> to include works by women and people of colour. <br />
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Because now, in 2017, it really is time that <i>representation </i>matters to cultural curators, and fortunately here, it does. The final room of the exhibition asks 'who owns the future':<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XblEXPGsCxQ/WVFcG2x5wUI/AAAAAAAATl4/WiKYcbgCxK8-bw8PLC6eSK2W9jGU509WACKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_mirror_future.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XblEXPGsCxQ/WVFcG2x5wUI/AAAAAAAATl4/WiKYcbgCxK8-bw8PLC6eSK2W9jGU509WACKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_mirror_future.JPG" /></a></div>
In this room you'll find works by black and women writers on display and a serious look at the role of time-travelling storytelling within the feminist and racial equality movements. This is accompanied by and a fabulous short video installation about how black creatives (writers, graphic artists, musicians such as Beyonce) have incorporated time travel and futurism in their works in order to look to a brave new world. My favourite line from the film - the one which made me want to cheer and punch the air when it splashed across the screen - read: <b>"The masters of the present are not always the masters of the future". </b><br />
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I think I need to see that on a T-shirt, like, yesterday. (Which should be possible now we know there <i>is</i> such a thing as time travel. There is. It's <i>true</i>. I read it on a Post-It.).<br />
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But, seriously, those are the kind of conversations I'm looking for in my cultural consumption these days. I'm interested in hearing about, and seeing work from, a diverse range of perspectives across gender and race and - if curators, directors, producers, editors etc can't find a way to include people other than straight white men in the topics they've chosen to explore, or the stories they've chosen to tell, well ... then they should be looking for a different story.<br />
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<i>The Time Machines</i> exhibition could easily have been another collection that limited itself to documenting the activities of 'important' white men, but it didn't. It made the effort to tell a new tale ... and it's all the more interesting for doing so.<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yAXXYf7qMp8/WVFcG6BFCRI/AAAAAAAATl4/1Cs2Pm4AAjw3LIHAIdeSA_45m2Fg9GVSgCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_Mirror_ticking.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yAXXYf7qMp8/WVFcG6BFCRI/AAAAAAAATl4/1Cs2Pm4AAjw3LIHAIdeSA_45m2Fg9GVSgCKgBGAs/s1600/Time-Machines_Mirror_ticking.JPG" /></a></div>
BTW: the mirrors in this final room are simply <i>begging </i>you to Instagram them! And I won't let them down on that front, although ... it <i>is</i> a pity that in this particular one, the phrase <i>'The clock is ticking' </i>stretches right across my groin area ... jeez ... alright, alright, keep your opinions to yourself please! ;-)<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Further details:</span></b></h2>
If our virtual TARDIS-spin of a tour around the <b>Time Machines exhibition</b> has sparked your imagination then here's where you can find out more:<br />
<ul>
<li>Visit <b>Palace Green Library</b> on Twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/PalaceGreenLib" target="_blank"><b>@PalaceGreenLib</b></a></li>
<li>Search the hashtag <b><a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/PGLTimeTraveller?src=hash" target="_blank">#PGLTimeTraveller</a> </b>to read other people's perspectives </li>
<li>Or visit the <a href="https://www.dur.ac.uk/palace.green/whatson/details/?id=34147" target="_blank">Palace Green Library website</a> for all the official details. </li>
</ul>
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<b>Note: </b>if the £7.50 the entry fee feels a little steep, then you might like to know that the cost does include 2 return visits before the end of the exhibition. I would advise, that to make the most of your time there, download the app (we didn't!), use the interactive phone, sit and linger with some time travel books, write a sticky note (and feel free to tag me in it if you share a photo of it on social media), watch the film ... and take Instagram-worthy shots in the mirrors.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">So tell me </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">time-hopping friends </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">... what do you think?</span></b></h2>
<ul>
<li>Now you've had a general overview of the experience do you fancy visiting the exhibition in 'real life'? </li>
<li>Have you already been? Or have you just enjoyed me dragging you around the exhibition from the comfort of your sofa?</li>
<li>Where/who would YOU want to visit from the <i>past</i>? </li>
<li>What do you predict for the <i>future</i>?</li>
<li>Have you recently visited an exhibition which made an effort to be inclusive (without being tokenistic)?</li>
<li>And ... do time travel storylines baffle you too? I think the last one I tried to get my head around was the Ethan Hawke movie '<i>Predestination</i>' ... I just can't get that looping of time thing, like the events which happen that change the future - or is it the past - and which bits have to have happened in which order to make the next things happen. Nope, I give up. I'm putting on a romcom instead. ;-) </li>
</ul>
<b>As always we can continue this conversation via any of my online homes:</b><br />
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And I'll see you here or there, soon, or later on, or maybe even in the past ... I don't know ... I might need to read up on those time-travel paradoxes again ...<br />
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Julie<br />
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Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-34340598252680057272017-06-19T17:47:00.003+01:002017-06-23T13:26:04.869+01:00The Summertime Jane Austen Book Club: welcome to the Sanditon-along!<br />
Hello hello.<br />
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How do you fancy sitting back, people-watching, and maybe falling in love Jane Austen-style this summer?<br />
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If that sounds like how you'd like to spend July then come and join in with an impromptu, informal, summer book club hosted by me (hello!) and Ruth from <a href="http://suburbansahm.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank"><i>Everyday Life of a Suburban SAHM</i></a>.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">*WHAT WE'RE READING* </span></b></div>
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<i style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;"><i style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-large;">Sanditon </i><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">- an unfinished novel by Jane Austen (completed by other authors)</span></i><br />
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When Jane Austen died, 200 years ago next month, only 4 of the books we know and love her for - Sense & Sensibility, Pride & Prejudice, Mansfield Park and, my personal favourite, Emma - had been published.</div>
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Two further works - <i>Northanger Abbey</i> and <i>Persuasion</i>, were published posthumously ... and then there was <i>Sandition. </i>Austen had only written 12 chapters of <i>Sanditon </i>when she died on July 18th 1817 and, since then it's been released into the world after being completed by several different authors. </div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">*WHY WE'RE READING IT*</span></b></div>
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Last week Ruth posted on Instagram (where she's <a href="https://www.instagram.com/thestreetsofw5/">@thestreetsofw5</a>) about how she rescued an abandoned copy of Sanditon from the jaws of death* at a recycling centre. (OK, I may have exaggerated ... but she <i>did </i>rescue it from a recycling centre where it was surely only a few collections and deliveries away from being pulped!)<br />
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And her post leapt out at me because I have a copy of the <i>exact same edition</i>, which I rescued from a charity shop, and - like Ruth - I had never read it. So I suggested we join forces for a communal read-along: or - more precisely - a<i> Sanditon-along</i>!<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">*WHEN WE'RE READING IT*</span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">We're opening the covers on <i>Sanditon </i>on July 1st 2017, and taking our reading at a leisurely pace throughout the month.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Grab yourself a copy of Sanditon by Jane Austen by any which way you fancy before July 1st*.</span></div>
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<li><b>*</b>Actually ... don't worry if you don't get it by that date - that's just when we're starting to read it, and chat about it in occasional blog/Instagram posts. Feel free to join in whenever you can, but if you'd like the communal element try to get into it before the end of July. </li>
<li>Check your local library catalogue - because good books are good, but <i>free </i>books are even better! </li>
<li>I've had a quick look on Amazon (UK) and there are actually a few copies available of the same edition we're using. </li>
<li>Dip into eBay, charity/thrift shops and - apparently recycling centres are a good sourse of abandoned novels! </li>
<li>And of course there are ebook versions available out there too. Basically ... however you can get <i>Sanditon </i>under your nose is fine with us! </li>
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It's almost <i>guaranteed </i>that we will end up reading different versions as it seems several other authors have completed what Jane Austen started. But that's no problem ... it'll probably lead us to interesting conversations about the various ways the story is taken by its different writers!<br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">Throughout the month share your <i>Sanditon </i>reading experiences with us on social media / blogs:</span><br />
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<li>eg. Share photos of your copy, or your where you're reading it.</li>
<li>Let us know how / if you're enjoying it.</li>
<li>Use the hashtag <b>#sanditonalong </b>if you'd like us to easily find your post - and to find posts by others.</li>
<li>Feel free to tag me on Instagram <b><a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/" target="_blank">@withjuliekirk</a> </b> and/or Ruth <a href="https://www.instagram.com/thestreetsofw5/" target="_blank"><b>@thestreetsofw5</b></a> if you'd like to make sure we see your posts!</li>
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<b>You can also join in by:</b><br />
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<li>Tweeting me <a href="https://twitter.com/notesonpaper" target="_blank"><b>@notesonpaper</b></a><span id="goog_1863857742"></span><a href="https://draft.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1863857743"></span></li>
<li>OR leaving a blog comment on this post, or any future blog posts I create during the #sanditonalong</li>
<li>OR posting on your own blog and letting me know;</li>
<li>OR swinging by my<a href="https://www.facebook.com/withjuliekirk" target="_blank"> 'With Julie Kirk' Facebook Page</a>.</li>
<li>And Ruth has shared her own version of events <a href="http://suburbansahm.blogspot.co.uk/2017/06/the-summertime-jane-austen-book-club.html" target="_blank">on her blog here</a>. </li>
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So, how about it? Are you in?</div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;">It's such a wonderfully serendipitous chain of events that's led us, including you, here, now ... </span></b></div>
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Firstly, someone chose to leave that book in the recycling centre. Then Ruth just happened to notice it, decide to take it home and post about it on Instagram. Where I just happened to see it and recognise it as exactly the same edition as the one lounging on my shelf. And now, just days later, here we are planning to read Jane Austen's final, unfinished novel, during the 200th anniversary of her death ... and beyond. And encouraging others - <i>you </i>- to join us in doing the same. </div>
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<b>I've been meaning all year to find an appropriate, meaningful way to mark her anniversary</b> not merely because it was an important one of 200 years, but also because of her age when she died: she was 41 and 7 months. On her anniversary I'll be 41 and 6 months ... and I've felt somehow obliged to <i>consciously </i>mark the occasion. And now, almost accidentally, I know what I'll be doing! </div>
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I'll be reading her final book alongside a network of readers who, like me, might well be encountering it for the first time. </div>
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<b>The whole occasion, of our pop-up Sanditon-along book club, is almost perfectly Austenian in itself! </b>What with its themes of coincidences, the 'almost-didn't-happen'-ness, the love of books and reading, the sharing of stories between female friends ... it fits happily within the Austen universe. </div>
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And Ruth and I hope you'll get chance to join us there! </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>So tell me ...</b><b> are you going to go find/dust-off a copy and get ready to start reading with us on July 1st 2017?!! </b></span></div>
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Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-89586023587577839702017-06-14T17:17:00.001+01:002017-06-14T17:17:33.254+01:00Notes from the Notebook: "The wheel turns. And you lose".<div class="MsoNormal">
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<b>Hey you. </b></div>
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So, I've turned the tombola that is my collection of scribbled-in notebooks and plucked out this snippet from nearly a decade ago. </div>
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Funnily enough, I paraphrased this exact piece to someone in an email just last week. I think the Universe is dropping me a hint ... </div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">Notes from: 24<sup>th</sup>
October 2008</span></b></div>
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Never admit that you are getting over something which the
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It doesn’t like it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It resents that its whirling dealings could be so easily
overwritten, and conspires to prove to you just who is in charge of this whole
game. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The wheel turns. </div>
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And you lose. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">***</span></div>
Thanks for turning a page with me today.<div>
<br />Julie x</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Do keep in touch either here on the blog or through any of my online homes:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/" style="color: #c17575; text-decoration-line: none;">Instagram</a> ~~ <a href="https://twitter.com/notesonpaper" style="color: #c17575; text-decoration-line: none;">Twitter </a>~~ <a href="https://www.facebook.com/withjuliekirk/" style="color: #c17575; text-decoration-line: none;">Facebook </a>~~ <a href="http://withjuliekirk.com/" style="color: #c17575; text-decoration-line: none;">Website</a></span></div>
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Catch up on previous notebook delving <a href="https://uk.pinterest.com/notesonpaper/notes-from-the-notebook/" target="_blank">here via my Pinterest board</a>.</div>
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Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-18779122612897608142017-06-09T14:56:00.003+01:002017-06-09T14:56:18.774+01:00York Art Gallery: 2017 Aesthetica Prize exhibition <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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(BTW: This is <i>NOT, in any way,</i> sponsored post, I paid for my National Art Pass myself!)</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Calling all art-lovers! See if any of this grabs you ...</span></b> </div>
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If you're going to be in or around York this summer then hang around for photos of what you'll find if you drop by to visit the <a href="https://www.yorkartgallery.org.uk/exhibition/aesthetica-art-prize-exhibition-2017/" target="_blank">Aesthetica Art Prize exhibition at York Art Gallery</a> (until Sept 10 2017). </div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w4rJeOY1Skk/WTf3cgMarLI/AAAAAAAATfk/oouqiVrtwCEC9BCscMa5aM4O86ydDmC9gCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_Doorway.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w4rJeOY1Skk/WTf3cgMarLI/AAAAAAAATfk/oouqiVrtwCEC9BCscMa5aM4O86ydDmC9gCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_Doorway.JPG" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">If you're not going to be near York ...</span></b> hang around anyway and have a <i>virtual</i> visit!</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">And ... if you're </span></b><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">anywhere in the UK:</span></b></i><span style="font-size: large;"> <b></b><b></b>make sure you check out the </span><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.artfund.org/national-art-pass" target="_blank">National Art Pass summertime 3 months for £10 offer.</a></span> </b></div>
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The £10 card gains you free entry to over 240 museums, galleries and historic houses across the UK as well as 50% off entry to major exhibitions. (Offer ends July 7th - so get a move on!)</div>
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<b>FYI:</b> adult entry to York Art Gallery is £7.50, and there are several other places you can use the card while you're in York, making it definitely worth the £10 up front! And then you can continue to use it for the remainder of the 3 months anywhere you like! </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Ready for the tour? OK then ... </b></span>(try to keep up or I'll have to make you all wear coloured baseball caps so I can keep count and make sure no one's wandered off ...)</div>
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Last summer James and I both signed up for the 3 month £10 National Art Pass deal after a friend shared it on Twitter ... consider this me paying it forward! After the 3 months, when the card ran out, we decided to subscribe for the full year, full price, as we'd become used to having a good excuse to get out and have a wander around a gallery or museum. Now, each time we visit York we pay the gallery a visit, <i>no matter what's on</i>; as we get in free with the Art Pass, we don't need to check or worry if an exhibition is not our 'thing' ... we can just let serendipity lead us (and you know how much I like a bit of serendipity!) </div>
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Which is why we didn't know anything about the <b>Aesthetica Art Prize Exhibition</b> currently running on the first floor of York Art Gallery, before we found ourselves standing in it! And, for anyone else as oblivious to it - here's the official description from the gallery website:</div>
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<span style="color: #666666;">"A platform for innovation and originality, the Aesthetica Art Prize Exhibition invites audiences to engage with captivating projects from some of today’s leading artists, both established and emerging. From individual narratives to global concerns, the artworks comment on contemporary culture and explore themes such as globalisation, perceptions of space and alienation in the digital age."</span></div>
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And it <i>really was</i> original and captivating (and filled with photo-opportunities which perfectly pandered to my Instagram fixation!) photo-, here are a few of my favourite pieces ... </div>
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most photo-worthy was this rainbow beauty ... </div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0RQVWhrnq7Y/WTf3co-jGNI/AAAAAAAATfk/FtY1rSL8NSkC5ctJBWRyMnB9xlCoXD0hACKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_I_Am_Here_full.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="I Am Here by Emmanuelle Moureaux" border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0RQVWhrnq7Y/WTf3co-jGNI/AAAAAAAATfk/FtY1rSL8NSkC5ctJBWRyMnB9xlCoXD0hACKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_I_Am_Here_full.JPG" title="I Am Here by Emmanuelle Moureaux" /></a></div>
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This delicate, swaying, multi-coloured piece is <i>'I Am Here'</i> by <b>Emmanuelle Moureaux</b>. (The more sturdy, bearded, piece in shorts is James ... in case there was any confusion there).</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z6MfNebTYfI/WTf3cmslJcI/AAAAAAAATfk/-LRcLp_sMRAj537H6b5LsmBsh8dFmrAgACKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_I-Am_Here_Red.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Aesthetica Art Prize Exhibition " border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z6MfNebTYfI/WTf3cmslJcI/AAAAAAAATfk/-LRcLp_sMRAj537H6b5LsmBsh8dFmrAgACKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_I-Am_Here_Red.JPG" title="Aesthetica Art Prize Exhibition " /></a></div>
What you can't quite see from that distance is that this ombre monolith is made up from <i>18,000</i> individual cut-outs of a female figure:<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pLYXwSnI6DU/WTqNHFfP09I/AAAAAAAATgo/Y6KfhHE8EQ4_m2X91MhZj3CFWVwBdK2_QCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_I_Am_Here_yellow.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="100 Colours Emmanuelle Moureaux" border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pLYXwSnI6DU/WTqNHFfP09I/AAAAAAAATgo/Y6KfhHE8EQ4_m2X91MhZj3CFWVwBdK2_QCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_I_Am_Here_yellow.JPG" title="100 Colours Emmanuelle Moureaux" /></a></div>
Here's some more info on it:<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hSq_HigYz0M/WTqRD2h9vLI/AAAAAAAATg0/tRp3EXrcDqYAIqTbWErVfXjJljUlziH5wCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_I_Am_Here_Label.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="100 Colours Emmanuelle Moureaux" border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hSq_HigYz0M/WTqRD2h9vLI/AAAAAAAATg0/tRp3EXrcDqYAIqTbWErVfXjJljUlziH5wCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_I_Am_Here_Label.JPG" title="100 Colours Emmanuelle Moureaux" /></a></div>
There was even a sign on the wall that encourages you to spot - in amongst those 18,000 figures - a single cat, and two girls, one with a balloon, one an umbrella, somewhere amid the crowd!! So we gave it a go. We tried. James thought it would be fairly easy.<br />
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It was not fairly easy. We did not spot any. We gave up! <br />
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Could you fare any better?<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q2QMvkg3VAU/WTf3cq-j_ZI/AAAAAAAATfk/o-aWWhek8bMuVNg2HfZVhdIb7TsNIqZIQCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_I_Am_Here_pink.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q2QMvkg3VAU/WTf3cq-j_ZI/AAAAAAAATfk/o-aWWhek8bMuVNg2HfZVhdIb7TsNIqZIQCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_I_Am_Here_pink.JPG" /></a></div>
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Despite that ... it was a fascinating installation that threw up questions of identity and individuality, and our place in a crowd ... not to mention: how on earth do they transport it between locations??? (imagine the tangling!!) And where does Moureaux buy her supplies?! </div>
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Because - crafty friends - that's <i>a lot</i> of pizza-box deliveries of coloured cardstock right there, isn't it? A<i> lot</i>. 18,000 silhouettes! 100 colours! </div>
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I mean I think it must be close to, I don't know ... what would you say? Close to maybe, almost, <i>50%</i> of the card stash you've got lurking in your cupboards there ... wouldn't you say? </div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TE3zK63hMvI/WTqIGVPw8yI/AAAAAAAATgQ/FYhk6H-rMRADS-VR9p0if38HYjLfZG3uACKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_I_Am_Here_blue.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TE3zK63hMvI/WTqIGVPw8yI/AAAAAAAATgQ/FYhk6H-rMRADS-VR9p0if38HYjLfZG3uACKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_I_Am_Here_blue.JPG" /></a></div>
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And see that outdoor exhibit there? Also by Emmanuelle Moureaux? That's your ribbon collection that is ... <br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IZLdcl-cg5k/WTf3cneGRMI/AAAAAAAATfk/ixh5BLKuU_ImPJXK-gtfw_4T78OVukpAgCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_fabric_.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IZLdcl-cg5k/WTf3cneGRMI/AAAAAAAATfk/ixh5BLKuU_ImPJXK-gtfw_4T78OVukpAgCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_fabric_.JPG" /></a></div>
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It's another in Moureax's '100 colours' series, this time made from 100 shades of fabric suspended above tatami mats which you can lay on to experience the work from beneath: </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='550' height='457' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dypIQt8jPOvz2kZX_XAPPHT74o_woGyQOS0-Gg9CgfCdpxXIkoU1M6WxJxnzaQ8ag8NsmS2BQ-SN24iUPXhTQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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(In case this video doesn't display properly - it has been known - I'll put it on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/withjuliekirk/" target="_blank">my Facebook page</a> and you can see if it works better for you over there!)</div>
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Before lying down I had double checked the sign that said it was OK to do and carefully, respectfully curled myself under and began recording. The children who came along once we were done didn't share the same hesitancy ... they were straight in there enjoying the rainbow from the inside! And who can blame them? It's a really simple but magnetic, <i>dreamy</i>, piece - if you get a chance to, then - no matter your age - go and see it face to face! </div>
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Back inside another piece you can experience close-up is <b>Adam Basanta's</b> <i>'Curtain', </i>which consists of a 3m long curtain of ear buds! <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9WZbmANCmV8/WTf3cpvDcKI/AAAAAAAATfk/4CHabJmEu_0JoaQIUs9G8upuODINhjbeACKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_Earbuds_.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9WZbmANCmV8/WTf3cpvDcKI/AAAAAAAATfk/4CHabJmEu_0JoaQIUs9G8upuODINhjbeACKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_Earbuds_.JPG" /></a></div>
"Looks like the inside of your car" I joked to James when I first saw it and, to be fair, that's not too far from the intention of the piece! It is about the ubiquity of these funny little bobbly creatures in our everyday lives, how they can be used to keep in touch with people ... but also as a sign for others to leave you alone and <i>not</i> speak to you. <br />
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They emitted a crackling, white noise, chirruping, sound ..... as if dozens of cicadas were talking to you on hands-free. I really liked this piece ... I'm not quite sure this gent felt the same ... <br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EZp0I4CIXUw/WTf3cugZQ_I/AAAAAAAATfk/_KlWLdjEq9ckIwyi2oVcrKUI3S-D2Lt7ACKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_Adam_Basanta_Curtain.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="370" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EZp0I4CIXUw/WTf3cugZQ_I/AAAAAAAATfk/_KlWLdjEq9ckIwyi2oVcrKUI3S-D2Lt7ACKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_Adam_Basanta_Curtain.JPG" /></a></div>
And here's yet another piece with which you can get up-close-and-personal: 'Shadow Play' by an artist known as <b>breadedEscalope </b>...<b></b><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z2kgcKcViLA/WTf3cjA47_I/AAAAAAAATfk/1GliDYG_cvQC952tpS3fgQjvw-5M8kZkgCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_%2BShadowPLay.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z2kgcKcViLA/WTf3cjA47_I/AAAAAAAATfk/1GliDYG_cvQC952tpS3fgQjvw-5M8kZkgCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_%2BShadowPLay.JPG" /></a></div>
In fact, without you, the viewer, the audience, this is only half a piece. It's not until you place your finger in the centre that the shadows change and the piece becomes a clock. One of my favourite things about this one was the grubby little spot - made by successive fingertips - on the otherwise pristine white walls! <br />
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And finally ... my other favourite exhibits were these multi-layered, complex, wooden assemblage structures by <b>Lesley Hilling</b>: <br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Tw7ME2m4i2g/WTf3cudnEyI/AAAAAAAATfk/H8NeMV05hswAJhuSC5OQdZYYOWOklgv1ACKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_Lesley_Hilling_blue.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Tw7ME2m4i2g/WTf3cudnEyI/AAAAAAAATfk/H8NeMV05hswAJhuSC5OQdZYYOWOklgv1ACKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_Lesley_Hilling_blue.JPG" /></a></div>
As someone who collects vintage bits and bobs, who picks up flotsam and jetsam, who saves things dug up from the garden ... these were <i>fascinating</i> treasure troves of reclaimed wonder:<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-teCXXLerUSg/WTf3cnI36II/AAAAAAAATfk/OvC0XyWfE4MR1SEWOQU0cxcbX64t0IP-wCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_Lesley_Hilling_cu.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-teCXXLerUSg/WTf3cnI36II/AAAAAAAATfk/OvC0XyWfE4MR1SEWOQU0cxcbX64t0IP-wCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_Lesley_Hilling_cu.JPG" /></a></div>
I spent a long while in front of these, just scouring for insights into what she'd used. (Gail - if you're reading this - she used lots of wooden school rulers ... so <i>that's</i> what you can do with your collection!)<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qBRn2rFcglc/WTf3cut-3WI/AAAAAAAATfk/Q4uwPDGcjHg7jeXfv7yHkxft-Eplh1qdQCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_Lessley_Hilling_full.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qBRn2rFcglc/WTf3cut-3WI/AAAAAAAATfk/Q4uwPDGcjHg7jeXfv7yHkxft-Eplh1qdQCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_Lessley_Hilling_full.JPG" /></a></div>
And - not wishing to take anything away from the artistry in the design, and I'm sure it wasn't her intention - but ... their square shape truly did appeal to my Instagrammer's square eyes! But hey, it can't hurt to be both harmoniously balanced and <i>infinitely </i><i>Instagrammable</i> at the same time, can it?<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gq7SYWnWw8E/WTf3ckZMXUI/AAAAAAAATfk/MQ0LnH4hI001ff3y8oS5aOK3lzvFTGJ5QCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_Lesley_Hilling.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gq7SYWnWw8E/WTf3ckZMXUI/AAAAAAAATfk/MQ0LnH4hI001ff3y8oS5aOK3lzvFTGJ5QCKgB/s1600/York-Art-Gallery_Lesley_Hilling.JPG" /></a></div>
So, there you have it, my top picks from the selected pieces form the Aesthetica Art Prize exhibition longlist running in York Art Gallery until September 10th. <br />
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If it's colour, texture and interaction you're looking for ... then get yourself there. There were all age ranges in attendance when we went - from the old chap looking sceptically, but thoughtfully, at the pieces, to the half-term tribes clambering amongst the 100 colours, and all the 40-something Instagrammers and smartphone photographers in between! It's a great one to catch and - if more traditional art is more your thing - <a href="https://www.yorkartgallery.org.uk/exhibition/albert-moore-of-beauty-and-aesthetics/" target="_blank">the very decorative and romantic Albert Moore exhibition</a> on the ground floor will be a real treat too. <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I hope you enjoyed your virtual tour around the exhibition with me ... which bit did you like best? </span></b><br />
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<li><b><span style="font-size: small;"></span></b>was it the reclaimed wood?</li>
<li>the sizzling ear buds?</li>
<li>getting to poke a gallery wall leaving behind your mucky fingerprints?</li>
<li>was it the glorious swishing and swaying of both of the '100 colours' pieces? </li>
<li>or was it ... feeling a little better about your mountain of cardstock after you saw how much Emmanuelle Moureaux can get through? </li>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Now then ... </span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">where'd you fancy going next?</span></b><br />
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As always we can keep in touch either here in the comments or via any of my online homes:</div>
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/withjuliekirk/" style="color: #c17575; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Instagram</b></span></a><span style="font-size: large;"><b> ~~ </b></span><a href="https://twitter.com/notesonpaper" style="color: #c17575; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Twitter </b></span></a><span style="font-size: large;"><b>~~ </b></span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/withjuliekirk/" style="color: #c17575; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Facebook </b></span></a><span style="font-size: large;"><b>~~ </b></span><a href="http://withjuliekirk.com/" style="color: #c17575; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Website</b></span></a><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Julie x</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><u>Useful links:</u></span></b><br />
<ul>
<li>Here's <a href="https://www.artfund.org/national-art-pass" target="_blank">the information you'll need to sign-up for the </a><b><a href="https://www.artfund.org/national-art-pass" target="_blank">3 Months for £10 National Art Pass</a></b><a href="https://www.artfund.org/national-art-pass" target="_blank"> offer</a> (ends July 7th 2017) </li>
<li>BTW - <b>Attention</b> <b>local-ish folks</b> - if you plan to visit the Bowes Museum in the next few months (I'm really looking forward to their <a href="http://thebowesmuseum.org.uk/Exhibitions/2017/Turkish-Tulips" target="_blank">upcoming exhibition about tulips</a>!) then their current adult entry price is £10.50 so ... if you bought yourself a £10 Art Pass ... you'd be saving 50p right away. Then you can head to York Gallery for £0! </li>
<li><a href="https://www.yorkartgallery.org.uk/" target="_blank"><b>York Art Gallery</b></a> </li>
<li>And here's a post I wrote about<a href="http://notesonpaper.blogspot.co.uk/2016/03/it-actually-feels-like-they-dont-mind.html" target="_blank"> an earlier visit to the gallery</a>.</li>
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<b>Artists mentioned:</b><br />
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<li><b><a href="http://www.lesleyhilling.co.uk/about/" target="_blank">Lesley Hilling</a></b></li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.breadedescalope.com/" target="_blank">breadedEscalope</a></b></li>
<li><b><a href="http://adambasanta.com/" target="_blank">Adam Basanta</a></b></li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.emmanuellemoureaux.com/all" target="_blank">Emmanuelle Moureaux</a></b></li>
</ul>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>*All photos are my own, taken on my Fuji XM1.Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6789689551731499139.post-3944323366310244432017-05-29T14:34:00.002+01:002017-05-29T14:43:24.875+01:005 Lessons I Learned from Self-Publishing - a guest post at Book And Brew <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hello hello. </div>
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This month (May 2017) marks <i>12 months</i> since I made the decision to indie-publish my book of <b><i>Snipped Tales</i></b> (<a href="https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/JulieKirk" target="_blank">available here</a>). </div>
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One small year; one whole lot of paper shuffling, designing, decision-making and self-promotion. </div>
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And I'm far enough away from the thick of it, to be able to pause, reflect and synthesis some of the thoughts and experiences I had during the process, and offer up some advice to anyone hoping to do the same.</div>
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<a href="https://bookandbrew.net/5-tips-for-self-publishing/" target="_blank"><img alt="https://bookandbrew.net/5-tips-for-self-publishing/" border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kb-omH9OqM4/WSWC3MomUaI/AAAAAAAATWc/7m6FOhaHoYUWtgPbnSG9inR_Uf0sBkFDACKgB/s1600/5_Lessons_Guest_Post_Book_and_Brew.JPG" /></a></div>
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To read my 5 snippets of advice (actually 'snippet' is an understatement. It's almost a book chapter. A book about writing a book ... mmmmmm ... food for thought ...) where was I??? Oh yes ...<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">...<a href="https://bookandbrew.net/5-tips-for-self-publishing/" target="_blank">to read my 5 snippets of advice head over to </a><b><a href="https://bookandbrew.net/5-tips-for-self-publishing/" target="_blank">Book & Brew </a></b><a href="https://bookandbrew.net/5-tips-for-self-publishing/" target="_blank">where you'll</a> <a href="https://bookandbrew.net/5-tips-for-self-publishing/" target="_blank">find the full article</a>.</span><br />
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Throughout the publishing process alongside the details, the finances, the design choices, the structural ideas, all the nitty-gritty - I occasionally scribbled notes on what was happening and how I was feeling:<br />
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All in this notebook in fact:<br />
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<i>Create Your Own Story</i> huh? I guess I really took the cover slogan to heart didn't I?<br />
<br />
(Hey, that could be another top tip for newbies: 'Do all your planning in a notebook with an appropriately motivational phrase' ... can't hurt anything, can it?)<br />
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So -<br />
<ul>
<li>if you're contemplating self-publishing a <i>print </i>book (I haven't yet published an e-book), </li>
<li>or you're <i>thinking about</i> thinking about, maybe, perhaps, one day, possibly, potentially, self-publishing a print book ...</li>
<li>or even if you're absolutely certain that you <i>won't</i>, or <i>can't</i>, self-publish a print book ... </li>
</ul>
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... <a href="https://bookandbrew.net/5-tips-for-self-publishing/" target="_blank">do head on over to read through the </a><b><a href="https://bookandbrew.net/5-tips-for-self-publishing/" target="_blank">5 Lessons I Learned from Self-Publishing over at Book & Brew</a> </b>... and who knows where you'll be this time next year ...<br />
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<div>
Julie</div>
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<br />Julie Kirkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02606220227331834682noreply@blogger.com0