A(nother) confession

After an earlier post on my (una)shamed man crush, I wanted to redress the balance: I have a woman-crush too (there you go – you can relax now, dad). It's with a woman who on our first 'meeting' showed herself to be both singer and siren; magician and mistress; wizard and witch. I am of course talking about the captivating Florence Welch, of Florence and the Machine fame.

This fateful meeting happened some 2/2 and a half years ago now, and so it is back to the days of iPhone 3 and of the iPod touch where I need to take you to express the full extent of this terrible temptress' magic...*cue mirage style fade out*...

September blue were the skies. Friends were my company. Hop Farm, Kent was the venue. The beer and the sun poured over us in those clear, long-lasting, sun-stretching hours as we sang and swayed and sighed to the sauntering summer days effortless beeps and blips and beats. Serenity.  

As anyone who’s been to Hop Farm before knows, the music had been questionable, but we weren’t there for music. We were there for fun. For each other. For stories to tell. For the exuberance of life that the summer sun sweetens for us all to savour. Eireann, Kirst-face, ‘ughesy, Stu and me…just there for kicks and anything else that might happen along the way. For ‘festival’.

Then, at the height of the afternoon heat, ‘she’ stepped on stage. Wistfully wondering wherever she pleased…gliding and floating and musing, blissfully unawares of the crowd who’s eyes were all trained and transfixed on her…a name few had heard of before, but that all would remember thereafter. And then she sang. The most angelic and haunting and echoing notes we’d heard…and were to hear…and when those notes landed, and when her voice departed her mouth, similarly we too – each and every one of us took leave of our own selves...a departure of autonomy where you're given up to something wholly more captivating than self-awareness...to the moment and to the idea of simply 'being'...and so we stood – well that is to say that we could've been standing; for all I knew we were flying...flying towards verdant, velveteen visions yet undreamed of – and when her feet danced, our bodies followed in unthinking, unquestioning synchronicity – and when her voice rose higher, our souls rose even higher still until we were watching the first mountaintop festival...and so she continued to bedazzle bamboozle and befuddle from that (insalubrious) stage – she single-handedly dictated our every move, movement or motion for that hour…and to this day I can’t hear those chiming bells without thinking about the British belle herself, sun drenched and sun smiled…and I think that anyone who can melt hearts, move feet and encourage people to lose themselves in the magic of music so unwittingly, is a true artist indeed…and I can’t say any more than this. She wooed me, and she wowed us all. And that is worthy of my admiration, at the very least…

Just a thought…

Real words from a real world adventurer (guest blogger)

Ladies and gentlemen, this is indeed an honour: For 'Well then there now…’s first guest blog, it is my (humbled) honour to bring to you the fantastically fascinating real words of a real world adventurer, Mr Stuart Beckwith…

... ... ...

Inspiration comes to me from those most life affirming fist clenching of moments: in a movement of power and beauty like that of the wild horse, of sheer creation as though from a god whose name is not yet known towards a moment not yet born.

It's the singular confrontation and conquering of my own mortality in one barbaric YAWP. In latin it's known by carpe diem, and to me an affirmation of blooming, BOOMING courage against my own fear of failure in complete floating space abandon.

I've seen it in the eyes and hearts of friends;

Felt it in the sacrifice of parents;

Read it from the minds of great men;

Tasted it on the honey dewed lips of women;

Chased it through the New York night, to the summit of stairs to serenade in a breaking dawn;

Heard it in the almighty wail of 'Well well well';

Seen it in the imagination of the child;

The breast of the naked protester;

Drank it on the snowy Angel rooftop;

Piggy-backed it down moonlit cobbled Camden streets;

And sat back and seen it set behind the edge of the Midwest world;

In this moment I love, when I at last find it or it finds me / all of Life's questions are answered for a whispered moment. So it goes, and begins as a quiet spark and catches to untamed flames / to blind rivers of fire through coursing veins / till they find form in the heart...

Fun in the sun...because (soon) we can!

Fun in the sun – ain’t it grand? I know it’s been something of a rarity of late, but there have been some faint but noticeable hints over the last two weeks that the sun might be coming back around in our direction...the hints are subtle and if we mention but a word of its return above a whispered whisper, it will vanish like a virgin on prom night…but they’re hints nonetheless…and they’re giving us optimists just enough hope that we're already flirting with the idea of ditching the heavy duty macs, and waking our spring jackets from their winter wardrobe hibernation…

Now I don’t want to be responsible for jinxing us into another few months of icy waits at the platform or ear-stinging cold walks home from the bus. but I’m just so hot-diggety, stone me!, spit in my eye and kick me in the crotch excited that the sun's thinking about paying us a visit again that I had to at least whisper it – I mean c’mon…it just lifts everyone’s spirits! You see people standing taller, walking slower and looking chirpier in the street, and if you’re anywhere in central London, then you’ll notice that every pub, bar and park are filled to the brim with friends catching up with friends and laughing long into the bluey night, and all because the days are longer and the world looks a little brighter!

Now, I daren’t say more at the moment, so instead I’ll leave with a reminder of what it looks like, and why we should all be staying out a litte longer and smiling a little broader at the prospect of some soon to be had sunshine shenanigans…because after all, what better way to spend your days than by following the sun?

Just a thought…

(some)People are awesome!

Seen the news lately? Let me guess – you saw ‘highlights’ of recent thefts, rapes, kidnappings and more than likely a dash of murder as well, right? Well I’m sorry. Sorry that you had to sit through half an hour of hearing about how the world is on a highway to hell and that we’ve all got first class tickets to the premier screening. I’m sorry. I’m not saying that the news should be a dispassionate roll-call of the day’s events in no order of size, significance or scale, but I’m just sick of hearing about how sh*t everyone is to everyone else all the time. It’s depressing.

But then there are occasions that come along, with the rarity of an inspired England international sporting performance, when we get to hear something good. We get to hear about how some people out there aren’t looking to steal from/assault/kidnap or kill each other. Wednesday 8^th Feb was one of these rare days for me.

Ryan Garcia, an ordinary guy living in Chicago, has promised to set a (future) example to his 3 month old daughter to help her to “appreciate what she has and strive to give back to those around her.” But how? Ryan has committed to performing a random act of kindness for a stranger, friend or family member every day for the entirety of 2012 and then blog (and micro blog) about what acts of kindness he performs to help inspire other people. He’s called this project 366 Random Acts Of Kindness (it’s a leap year, silly) and I think it’s awesome.

Ryan’s not claiming to be able to solve everyone’s problems – he’s not Jeremy Kyle Jesus – but he’s trying. He’s helping. And I can’t help but think that he’s inspiring.

And for those of you thinking “oh but he’s smarter than me” or “well yeah, if you’re rich it’s easy to do nice things” Not true – look at Donald Trump. But seriously, something nice doesn’t have to be huge or expensive or time consuming – some of the things Ryan’s been doing have been as simple as sending a letter to a soldier in Afghanistan; playing with older cats & dogs at The Anti-Cruelty Society; writing a "Thank You" Letter to a Former Teacher or my favourite, putting change in washing & vending machines.

Y’see? It’s not about the amount of money you spend – it’s about the thought behind it. I know this is a tired and tested cliché, but in the immortal words of another hero of mine, Jack Kerouac, in Big Sur: “all clichés are truisms and all truisms are true.” Well said, Jacky boy.

So - *hippy alert* - I think we should all take a leaf out of Ryan Garcia’s book blog, and do something nice for someone else today. And tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. And the next day. And the next day. And the nex…well, you get the idea – I think we should all just try to be nicer to those around us and maybe, just maybe, we’ll start to see a few more smiles on the way to work or on the street or in the coffee shop…y’know? Yeah? Good. Thanks. Done.

Oh, and if you’re short of inspiration or ideas, then follow his blog or follow him on Twitter and start recreating some of the acts of kindness for the people around you…

Just a thought…

A Confession

I have a confession to make. I have a man crush.

Now I’m not embarrassed about this fact. Time was when it would be taboo…but all the success of recent popular Hollywood bromances (Superbad, Sherlock Holmes and Tallageda Nights to name but a few), it’s now just as ordinary as wearing a green one-sie complete with purple top-hat and neon sequined wellies in Shoreditch.

But I digress – back to my man crush. It’s the lavishly lyrical lead singer of the Arctic Monkeys, contemporary poet, and all round cool-mother ******, Alex Turner.

               

And as luck would have it, I just so happen to be going out with a girl who knows a guy who’s friends with a dog who once slept with a duck who used to swim in the back yard pool of a guy who used to be someway involved with the Arctic Monkeys. So Alex and me are basically best mates already. But again, I digress.

Through my lil’ lady’s connections (sexist or cheeky? You decide), we managed to swindle ourselves a pair of tickets to see Mr. Turner and co. rocking - and I do mean rocking - their stuff at The O2 (VIP suite, thank you very much!) and he, and they, were...outrageous!

The entire arena was awash with such original artistry, such deserved confidence and such magnetic swagger...man...at one point, I think it was in the gap before the final barnstorming flourish of Brianstorm,  Alex and the band took a moment…the echo of the previous drumbeat still reverberating around the 23,000 seats (which were all full by the way)…and Alex paused…and paused…staring out into the audience...everyone just waiting for the emphatic exuberance of the final crescendo led by the unmistakable work of Matt Helders to signal the song's continuance...and he holds...he holds...30 seconds have gone by now...and still he holds…and he pulls out a comb from his back pocket, fixes his (impeccable Greaser style) hair...and looks out again and holds the gaze of 23,000 strangers all hanging expectantly for the next notes...and after a nice even minute of growing expectation and unbearable anticipation...he collects his pick, and with a series of almost invisible strokes, his guitar, the band, the speakers, the stage and the sweating stampeding spirit soaring crowd bursts into life as the Brianstorm finale drenched us all in the energy, exuberance and raw swagger that epitomises what Rock and Roll is all about!

I mean come on - that's balls...that's sheer, what you see is what you get, look me in the eye and I'll tell you who you are, balls! Phewee! So, my ladies, lords and gentlemen, that is why I’ve got a man crush on Alex Turner.

Care to disagree? Pah – you can’t disagree with that. The guy’s a single-handed tour de force! And there’s nothing as enviable as swagger – it’s just completely captivating. And I for one think Turner pulls it off with effortless aplomb. 

Just a thought…

Everyone's favourite - The London underground...

Everyone's favourite - The London underground...

On its loop it rolls all day round...

Filled with a host of grey and faded commuters...

Never waking from their corporate stupors...

A sea of bowed heads and bashful look a-ways...

Is this really the way we want to start our days??

Please take note: Don't speak to anyone...

Conversation here has long since gone...

Don't worry gents - chivalry's dead here...

It's only the old and pregnant who need to fear...

Averted gazes through heat mist hazes...

You CAN squeeze down into that tiniest of spaces...

Quietly we stand, plugged in to our tiny white headphones...

We look the same, but I'm individual - repeat after me: "We ain't no drones"

'Move down the aisle!' bellow today's order of suits and jackets...

"I’ve gotta pick up that all-important pay packet..."

And there it is…

But don't be put off - it's not all that bad...

We're all happy inside - it's just our faces that look sad...

And yes it might not be quick, but it'll only cost you 3 pound...

That’s everyone's favourite - The London underground...

In Your Own Skin

I’ve just seen that one of my favourite people in the world has taken part in a community project called ‘In Your Own Skin’. ‘In Your Own Skin’ is a community focused project that combines creative and therapeutic support to help rebuild individual lives and strengthen community. The vision is that men and women would love who they are, believe in their value, live out of all their potential, and thrive in healthy communities.

Fantastic. In my opinion (and let’s face it, that’s what blogs are for – indulging ourselves with the idea that people want to hear our thoughts and opinions), independent community projects like ‘In Your Own Skin’ are demonstrations that humanity exists. That we aren’t completely cut off from one another. That people still care.

As I was watching the video of Si’s story, I was thinking “But surely there are other projects like this around?” and then it dawned on me: who cares if there are 50 projects like this already set up? If ‘In Your Own Skin’ manages to reach even 1 person who need to be reached, then it’s worth it. If ‘In Your Own Skin’ manages to make even 1 person feel like they’re not alone, then it’s worth it. If ‘In Your Own Skin’ manages to raises by just 1 iota the awareness of the need to let people know they can talk to someone, then it’s worth it.

It also the opinion of my humble self, that the visionaries behind the ‘In Your Own Skin’ project - Hannah Smikle and Jennifer Mort - had not only the idea, but the motivation and the commitment to follow through on their idea to reach out to people who might just need reaching out to…and that in itself is an achievement! As I said before, projects like ‘In Your Own Skin’ fill me with hope that there are still people out there who care about other people and who want to help people…and that’s comforting, right? Right?

Well either way – I think the project is fantastic, not to mention much needed, and I think as long as people like Si are willing to talk, we should be willing to listen.

Just a thought…

A song and a video

“Ba ba black rainbow sheep, have you any wool?” (altered to fit in with UK primary schools’ politically correct code of conduct) doesn’t strike me as the usual starting point of inspiration for a 30 year old Belgian musician…but then I heard the song ‘Somebody I Used To Know’ by Gotye featuring the crushingly captivating Kiwi songstress Kimbra, and realised that maybe children’s rhymes are actually as good a place as any to start!

I have to write about this song and video, simply because I like it. A LOT. Mayhaps it’s the semi naked people featured (one of whom is actually a girl – and me being a boy likes them sort of people!), but I happen to think it’s more the combination of the painstakingly-long but simple-to-shoot-and-always-intriguing video style and the emotion evident behind the lyrics…

In ‘Somebody I Used To Know’, the fresh faced 30 year old Gotye has penned a powerfully personal outpouring of how it feels to be discarded by that **** of an ex (anyone who’s ever been rejected or dumped should be able to at least appreciate the emotions, if not resonate with where they come from), but it’s the delivery that really makes the song stand out for me…particularly on the part of Kimbra. Her screams into the turned cheek of her unflinching lover acts as a manifestation of the frustration and futility felt by the spurned and the forgotten…the ditched and the derelict…the needy and the neglected…and then as the colour washes from her back, we see two old-lovers become separated into their different worlds – ‘his’ and ‘hers’. And then they carry on much as before. Only…different. And then we click off the YouTube video and carry on with that email we were sending. These things always carry on.

So there it is, no grand conclusions or prophetic epiphanies (apologies for any disappointments), but just a few thoughts from me about a song and video that I like.

And that’s it – just a thought…

Don't like the way the story ends? Choose another one!

Now I don't want to kick things off on a b*tchy, moany tone - that's genuinely not 'how i roll' - but I've just read an article about a new digital novel that will let readers choose how the story they're reading ends. And I think about this.

And I think about it.

And I'm not sure I like it.

Take Hunter S. Thompson's 'The Rum Diary' - wouldn't we all have liked it more if Paul (Kemp) had ended up sailing off into the sunset with the icon of his lust, Chenault?

And in Kerouac's 'On The Road' - wouldn't we all have liked it more if Sal (Paradise) and the 'mad, bad and dangerous to know' (actually an enviable description of the famed poet, Lord Byron) Dean (Moriarty) had managed to find Dean's father in the streets of Denver or rolling in the alleys of Frisco??

Maybe. But these tales aren't meant to be cannon fodder for a Disney adaptation - these tales are about the real world. Do we all expect everything to end in a sea of candyfloss and sherbet flavoured rain? Well that would actually be AWESOME but ultimately, no - we all have at least a degree of realism and appreciate that there are gonna be times when things don't end up in Awesome Ville. And you know what? That's OK. As long as you (and everyone else involved) walk away upright and breathing afterwards, that's OK. It means that when we do hit a slam dunk out of the park at the Super Bowl, that we'll be even more smug about it!

And that's sort of the point to this (now quite convoluted) rant - if people are given the power to choose to hear nothing but happy endings, then how low are they gonna feel when things don't work out that way for them? But then again, maybe I'm just in a ranty mood today!

Just a thought...