some places around here are so pretty, i wonder that i'm not more in love with the place. just down the road is a small village with a stream running through it. we stood on a small wooden bridge and watched the overgrown plants dangle in the water, listened to the sound of pigeons calling and everything was so peaceful and ridiculously pretty. a white flower came floating under the bridge, and got caught in some grass at the edge of the stream.
england is always going to be my home. not because i feel any pride in it, i don't think where i come from makes me any better or worse than anywhere else, i don't think england is any better or worse than anywhere else. but it'll always be the place i think of as home because it's the only place in the world where the people speak without an accent to my ears; because the letterboxes are red and sometimes inbuilt into walls and houses; because i know the way the hills roll, the temperature of the sea, and i can recognise the birds and plants. i like living on an island, because the sea is freedom, and because if i lived on a huge expanse of land, i would feel like an ant in the middle of a huge piece of paper, no matter how far i walk i'll never get off it. and i like this country because it's the place where i've grown up, it's the place i've had all my thoughts and emotions in so far, and when i go for walks to try and sort out my muddled head, it's england's sky and scenery that provide the backdrop. thats as far as my patriotism goes for this place.

but then again, there's always been a wanderlust inside of me. it was raging a few years ago, but i learnt to subdue it and to hide it, and now it's just steadily simmering under the surface. but thats not to say it doesn't floor me at times, just today i saw some pictures of scotland, and it was all i could do to restrain my frustration and disappointment by shaking my head and sighing. i want to go north. scotland. ireland. norway. canada. iceland. i want to see more sky. i want to be rescued and i want to be taken away, if only for a little while. if only for a day.

i can't help it, i'm a romantic fool

this morning i was in the bathroom, lazily stretching my arms out of front of me, then to the sides, then behind, and looking at myself in the mirror as i did so , trying to work out exactly how foreshortening effected my arms as they moved, and vainly trying to remember the weird shapes they made, in order to help me next time i tried drawing. i walked a couple of steps, froze, and felt myself take a sharp breath, before my body, of it's own accord, propelled me a couple of steps backwards. the reason for all this? a spider in the bath. i'm just glad my dad was there to trap it under a glass and a postcard and let it go in the garden. for some reason insects and spiders scare me, and i don't know why. i don't have it as bad as some people, but i can't pretend it's not there. it's nothing rational either. i can think about it all i like, and reason that there is nothing to be scared of in a spider, but this doesn't cure me. because the feeling of fear doesn't come from my mind, it's like a bodily reaction. i didn't choose to gasp and step back when i saw that one in the bath this morning, but i did. and i know if i tried to pick it up myself, i'd have to really put "mind over matter" into practice and literally force my body to remain under my command. but for all that i may be scared of them, i don't hate them like some people. and i would want nothing less than for the spider to be carefully released back outside, theres enough death and pain in the world already, i don't see the point in giving it out so freely as some people, no matter how small the recipiant is. i cringe when i hear someone swotting a fly.
a few months ago, i was sat on the bus, and a few minutes after getting on i realised that right in front of me, clinging onto the seat in front was a bumblebee. it wasn't moving, but it was alive. i was a little shocked, because when they get lazy, they sometimes sting, but i figured if i didn't provoke it, it wouldn't harm me, and it was really pretty to see up close. it started to get more lively as the journey went on, and started to crawl around the headrest of the seat in front, i was a little worried it would accidentally fall into my lap, but it seemed to have pretty good grip. having spent about 20 minutes in the company of this bee, despite being a little wary of it, i suppose i was getting quite fond of it. then, suddenly, it decided it felt much better, and off it flew, centimetres away from my head, with a speed i wasn't expecting from such a lazy bee. it circled around the bus a few times, and i could map it's flight path by tracking the little gasps and screams of my fellow passengers. it made me smile to think they were all so scared of my little friend, who had accompanied me for the first half of the journey. but when the bee started circling around 2 women and a girl at the front of the bus, i grew a little uncomfortable, as they started to talk about killing it. the women complained they had nothing to hit it with (for which i was glad) but the girl offered them her water bottle. i tried to block out their voices, not wanting to hear. luckily they laughed it off, neither of the seemingly wanting to actually perform the deed. but i was nervous for the rest of the journey in case they changed their minds, i would have felt sick if i had had to sit there and listen to them crush that bee to death.

it's a good job that time is so soft and invisible, otherwise i would have noticed it so boldy striding past me. why is it that it seems impossible to ever get anything done? and why is it that waiting takes up so much time? and why is it that i always have such grand intentions and they always melt away in the cool english summer sun? until i get to the end of the holidays and all i seem to have is a puddle, and wet feet.

but then again, every now and again, the world crystalizes into a jewel. i was walking along the canal, thinking about the nature of beauty, and doubting the existence of uglyness, and trying to prove that beauty is at once good and indestructable and the bringer of hope and proof of a god. and then a flash of metallic gleaming turquoise interrupted my thoughts as a kingfisher sped down the water in front of me, it had a kind of weight and speed about it like a train, and the colours, blue and orange were so bright and so shining in the afternoon sun i could all but stand staring after it. luckily, i saw it 3 other times after this first one, each one amazed me as much as the last. such beauty.
sitting on a bench a little further down, i was descended upon by a whole host of housemartins. they seemed to come out of nowhere, and suddenly they were all around. just a few metres in front of me they were skimming the water of the canal, some just touching the water, leaving fine ripples behind them, in order to drink, others seemed to (without breaking the speed and agility of their flight) drop almost straight into the water, and out again, i presume they were bathing. they were soaring all around, in between diving down to the water, riding the air currents and gliding just centimetres away from me, over my head. there were so many and they were so fast that my eyes felt slow and stiff trying to turn quick enough to watch them. in the end i gave up, and just sat there, being aware of being within something of a tornado of small birds, listening to the sound of their wings as they passed. i felt as though they were my thoughts, spiralling around my head in the air.

jonathan richman. genius.

take the chewing gum wrapper song. this never fails to make me laugh because it's just so close to the truth... and here was me thinking i was the only person in the world had a slightly worrying habit of picking things up in the street.
"it was full of dirt and it was full of grit
but colours like that you can't get"
too true, jonny.

i bought a little green bible from a secondhand bookshop the other day, for 50p. it has illustrations, and the spine is falling off, the paper is soft and brown with age, and inside the front cover, written in blue ink are the words "to Faith, with granny's love". i've started reading it, hopefully i will read it from cover to cover, i think it will do me good. something's kicking up inside me, reading 'a portrait of the artist as a young man' by james joyce struck a chord and... well... yes... i think it'll be good for me.

films i have seen recently:
hedwig and the angry inch - pretty darn good! fabulous make up and costumes, great songs. a spunky, entertaining musical.
the virgin suicides - struck a chord somewhere. beautifully filmed, heartwarming characters that remain real, tragic storyline without being melodramatic. i was impressed.
dogville - started interesting, turned gloomy, then depressing, then downright horrible. i can see what he was trying to do, but it was very serious stuff, and i wasn't in the mood for the darkness. (nice to see nicole kidman doing something different though)
american splendor - i was hoping it would be better than it actually was. however, still miles better than most things around. definately worth watching.
lost in translation - the micky-taking of the japanese wasn't necessary and was a bit distasteful. the storyline was obvious (and can someone tell me why the beautiful young woman always falls for the older man?) it was trying to be different but it didn't do it very well. didn't live up to the hype.

i bought a green silk headscarf today for £1.25 (extortionate price... but it is nice) from a charity shop. it smells like old ladies. i bought 2 t shirts, a shirt and a pair of mens jeans from various other charity shops. one had a changing room that smelt so pungently of medicine that i had to breathe through my mouth.

and then the world turned powder-blue, the pink people on the beach looked like a martin parr photo, the sailing boats on the horizon were almost sickeningly picturesque, the cliffs sang jonathan richman, banksy spray-painted the sky, and as the sea stole my breath i asked the seagull "is my life a film?"