Frustrated. This song reminds me of Germany. Trier, in the summer. Fluffy white clouds, plates clattering on the table next to me. Warm sunshine stroking my face. Children laughing. It was so easy back then. Carefree. But life is complicated. It's a journey, long and twisting. Ups and downs. It's an adventure, wild and free. Or at least it should be. Life these days is too restrained. Parents worry about their children being abducted from the street by some mad psycho. Adverts glaring at us from billboards tell us what shampoo to buy, where to go on holiday, how to get out of debt. Children scream at teachers, not the other way round. We have so much choice, too much choice, and no choice. We are constantly being told what to do, what to wear, what to say, even if we don't want to admit it. A bee bumbles its way past my face and lands on my apple strudel, an aeroplane glides silently above. The girls weren't very talkative today. It's not easy getting them to talk. You'd think, put a bunch of girls in a room, you couldn't get a word in edgeways. 'So, what have you girls got planned for the weekend?' Silence. 'Anyone going to the movies? Shopping?' Admittedly I was expecting a group of German girls to converse with me in English, but it can't be that hard, can it? Teaching English in a private all-girls Catholic school is harder than I thought. But that's what life is all about. Taking on a challenge, stepping out of your comfort zone. That's how you grow, build character. Maybe that's too much to ask of some. This is an immediate generation. Want it now, get it now. No saving, no deliberating. Now, now, now. Hear a song, download it. Want a girlfriend, go to a bar and take your pick. See a spangly dress, buy it on the card. Buy now, pay later. Don't even have to get out of your chair if you don't want to. It's scary. This world is moving fast. I want to go back to the days when life was simpler, slower. The days when you actually had to handwrite a letter, go to the post office, buy a stamp and put it in the postbox. None of this email malarky. We've grown impatient. Honking horns, temper-tantrums, and impulsive behaviour, all indicative of impatience. The waiter clears my plate away, it's time to go. It's a scenic walk home through town, passing brightly lit shops, old cathedrals and bustling restaurants. There is one dodgy park I have to pass, which instead of being filled with parents and five-year-olds playing gleefully on roundabouts, is filled with drunken yobos shouting abuse as you walk past. Needless to say, I quicken my pace. The four walls of my new apartment offer the security and silence I need after that shot of adrenalin. I quickly rustle up a meal of spaghetti and meatballs and sit myself in front of the TV, only to be absorbed by bright flashing lights and thoughtless garbage.
09 January 2011
01 January 2011
white stuff
27th November 2010 marked the beginning of the disruption. Sian was doing her usual shift, while mom and dad were making their way to the other side of the country to visit friends. Come 10am, and the first snowflake had made its appearance. It wasn't long before it was followed by another one... and another one... and, yes a few more. I had been meaning to take Shep for a run, but thicker and thicker flakes meant the roads were soon covered in a blanket of white stuff. It just so happened that Blown was launching Issue 2 in Cardiff today, and a panicked mass exodus in Carmarthen, meant people were sliding everywhere, causing a massive bottleneck. Now, did travelling to Cardiff for a few official speeches, a couple of drinks and a bit of fun count as an absolutely necessary journey? I tried to convince myself it did, but if the weather forecasters were correct (for once), it was probably a wise decision not to travel. Alas, a quick trip into town to collect Sian's overnight bag and a brief walk into town to see the lights being switched on was deemed as necessary, and so out we ventured. Having snow on the ground and Mr 'Go Compare' singing Christmas carols did make it a rather special occasion.
The next day was a craft day at mine. Sian and I busied ourselves preparing a Christmassy atmosphere, complete with spiced apple aroma and tealights creating a warm glow. Adverse weather conditions meant some weren't able to make it, but fun was had by all who came. It had slipped my mind just how much work hosting is; this was evident by the meager two Christmas cards I managed to make all day! Knitting needles clicking away, decorations littering the dining room table, and laughter filling the room, I ensured glasses were filled and the mulled wine didn't set light in the kitchen. The party ran late into the night, but as the temperature dropped well below freezing, people realised their cars were icing up outside and decided to make a hasty (or not so hasty) exit.
A week and the snow was thawing again. With only a few weeks left before Christmas, the question everyone was asking: Will we have a white Christmas? And boy, were we about to find out. It wasn't long before the temperature started its rather rapid descent, where it would quite happily settle for the next couple of weeks. The skies once again grew dark, the streets once again grew eerily quiet, and yes, you guessed it, the first flakes were falling gently from the sky. It wasn't long before they were coming down thick and fast. You would have thought the clouds hadn't snowed in years and had decided it was about high time to release the full power of Mother Nature on our land. Day after day it kept coming. 5cm... 10cm... 15cm... 17.6cm... 20cm... 25cm... Out came my dad's monster of a camera, and off he went. Of course I had to follow suit, so out came my (not so monster of a) camera. I think secretly we like to watch each other taking shots, so that we can steal ideas and learn what the best angles are. We now have several photos of a ruler stuck into the thick snow encapsulating my little car - a rather bizarre photo in any other circumstance (i.e. minus the snow), but a rather ingenious way of recording the depth of snow.
As much as we were enjoying the snow, we were all secretly wishing it to stop. The 19th December was fast approaching and the last thing we wanted was for some silly white stuff preventing us from spending Christmas with our family on the mainland. Then there it was; the dreaded moment. Heathrow had begun cancelling flights. Alas, not wanting the mayhem across the country to dampen our spirit, we went about all the necessary preparation rituals for the following day. We were adamant to get across whatever the cost. 11pm saw us all snuggled up in bed, excited about our journey the next day. I slept like a baby. 5am wake-up call. 7.20 departure. So far, so good. After a bit of wheel spinning (due to our rather heavily laden car - I knew I shouldn't have bought so many presents), we exited the driveway. The main road was a bit slushy, but nothing to write home about. Village after village, we kept going. Next town: Carmarthen. Excited that all was well so far, we settled down for the long trip. Then it came; the moment we'd all been dreading, but had pushed out of our minds and tried instead to fill the space with happy thoughts. A text message: Flight 964 to Hamburg - cancelled. Noooooo! It just couldn't be true. That was it. One little text message and our day was ruined. The only option on the table now was to drive the 15 miles back home; this time in stoney silence. Convinced that if we at least showed up at the airport, I tried to persuade the others that the staff would have pity on us and simply pop us on a flight. I had no takers. Probably just as well, as we would undoubtedly be sleeping on a cold airport floor that night, with thousands of other unhappy travellers. Instead, our clever planning meant we were sleeping in a warm bed. The rest of the day was spent sulking in front of the TV and sitting on the phone for hours trying to rebook our flight. Tuesday 21st December was agreed.
21st December came and went, and still we were in Wales. Needless to say, it had been cancelled a second time. Incompetent does not even begin to describe the way the airport authorities at Heathrow dealt with the snow, which by the way, weather forecasters had been predicting for weeks. How is it that Gatwick managed to stay open and have hundreds of flights land and take off, and Heathrow (the busiest international airport) managed only a measly seven flights? Grrr...
Hopefully my mid-January flight will have better luck in reaching its destination on schedule.
The next day was a craft day at mine. Sian and I busied ourselves preparing a Christmassy atmosphere, complete with spiced apple aroma and tealights creating a warm glow. Adverse weather conditions meant some weren't able to make it, but fun was had by all who came. It had slipped my mind just how much work hosting is; this was evident by the meager two Christmas cards I managed to make all day! Knitting needles clicking away, decorations littering the dining room table, and laughter filling the room, I ensured glasses were filled and the mulled wine didn't set light in the kitchen. The party ran late into the night, but as the temperature dropped well below freezing, people realised their cars were icing up outside and decided to make a hasty (or not so hasty) exit.
A week and the snow was thawing again. With only a few weeks left before Christmas, the question everyone was asking: Will we have a white Christmas? And boy, were we about to find out. It wasn't long before the temperature started its rather rapid descent, where it would quite happily settle for the next couple of weeks. The skies once again grew dark, the streets once again grew eerily quiet, and yes, you guessed it, the first flakes were falling gently from the sky. It wasn't long before they were coming down thick and fast. You would have thought the clouds hadn't snowed in years and had decided it was about high time to release the full power of Mother Nature on our land. Day after day it kept coming. 5cm... 10cm... 15cm... 17.6cm... 20cm... 25cm... Out came my dad's monster of a camera, and off he went. Of course I had to follow suit, so out came my (not so monster of a) camera. I think secretly we like to watch each other taking shots, so that we can steal ideas and learn what the best angles are. We now have several photos of a ruler stuck into the thick snow encapsulating my little car - a rather bizarre photo in any other circumstance (i.e. minus the snow), but a rather ingenious way of recording the depth of snow.
As much as we were enjoying the snow, we were all secretly wishing it to stop. The 19th December was fast approaching and the last thing we wanted was for some silly white stuff preventing us from spending Christmas with our family on the mainland. Then there it was; the dreaded moment. Heathrow had begun cancelling flights. Alas, not wanting the mayhem across the country to dampen our spirit, we went about all the necessary preparation rituals for the following day. We were adamant to get across whatever the cost. 11pm saw us all snuggled up in bed, excited about our journey the next day. I slept like a baby. 5am wake-up call. 7.20 departure. So far, so good. After a bit of wheel spinning (due to our rather heavily laden car - I knew I shouldn't have bought so many presents), we exited the driveway. The main road was a bit slushy, but nothing to write home about. Village after village, we kept going. Next town: Carmarthen. Excited that all was well so far, we settled down for the long trip. Then it came; the moment we'd all been dreading, but had pushed out of our minds and tried instead to fill the space with happy thoughts. A text message: Flight 964 to Hamburg - cancelled. Noooooo! It just couldn't be true. That was it. One little text message and our day was ruined. The only option on the table now was to drive the 15 miles back home; this time in stoney silence. Convinced that if we at least showed up at the airport, I tried to persuade the others that the staff would have pity on us and simply pop us on a flight. I had no takers. Probably just as well, as we would undoubtedly be sleeping on a cold airport floor that night, with thousands of other unhappy travellers. Instead, our clever planning meant we were sleeping in a warm bed. The rest of the day was spent sulking in front of the TV and sitting on the phone for hours trying to rebook our flight. Tuesday 21st December was agreed.
21st December came and went, and still we were in Wales. Needless to say, it had been cancelled a second time. Incompetent does not even begin to describe the way the airport authorities at Heathrow dealt with the snow, which by the way, weather forecasters had been predicting for weeks. How is it that Gatwick managed to stay open and have hundreds of flights land and take off, and Heathrow (the busiest international airport) managed only a measly seven flights? Grrr...
Hopefully my mid-January flight will have better luck in reaching its destination on schedule.
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