England’s Green and Not so Pleasant Land.

In the North West this summer, with no budget, a fortnight and pure determination, Paul McDonahue will play the lead and direct his controversial new film Jerusalem. With much of the country disillusioned with times today, the film’s thorough political and social commentary on the war, government and country should prove intensely satisfying, disputable, and thought provoking.

This drama relates the eventful journey of an AWOL soldier on his way home from a War when his train breaks down leaving him stranded in the quintessential English countryside. We watch this disillusioned man encounter different characters and social issues along the way, whilst thrilling the audience with the chase element as he is pursued by a mysterious policeman throughout his journey. The title of the film came about when Paul stumbled across a poem by William Blake named Jerusalem; he realised that with its emphasis on England’s green landscape, along with the acknowledgement of its ‘dark satanic mills’, the poem  was deeply fitting. Furthermore, Paul also claims that Blake’s poem, following an in depth analysis, inspired edits and extras to his film.

Despite the films ‘no budget’, McDonahue and his determined cast are thriving with confidence that this film will blow its viewers away with its controversial and well acted scenes. He believes that this somewhat contributes to its overall no fuss and real raw insight to England’s social issues and its beautiful countryside. Paul, who has directed short films in the past such as Kid Dangerous in 2008, will be producing Jerusalem with the help of North West New Wave in North Manchester which cuts out the middle man and enables budding directors to really get their teeth stuck into film-making. Paul, also a keen actor who has appeared in several of BBC’s Life on Mars episodes, is not the only member of the crew to have had past experience. Shireen Aston, who plays Anna, the feisty heroine and Paul’s love interest in the film, has a theatre background and her own Burlesque show.  She attended the Oldham Theatre Workshop along with actor Christopher Duggan who plays the policeman in the film. Chrstopher is also know for appearing in programmes such as Crime Watch. The three of them were interviewed by Andrew Edwards on the 2nd of May on his radio show Art Beat, ALLFM, where they discussed the film and their profiles. Check the podcast out online: http://www.podcasts.canstream.co.uk/allfm/audio/podcast-2010-05-22-38566.mp3. 

This film promises to be more than any other social drama. It distinguishes itself by not only addressing a huge array of interesting social issues including religion, politics, and racism, but McDonahue will provide his audience with statements about these issues, rather than merely raising the question. Shireen, Christopher and Paul told Andrew Edwards on Art Beat, ALLFM that what they hoped from this film was not only a possible cinema release and exposure, but a means by which to put the message across that we are all equal and although there may be lots of problems in our not always so green and pleasant land, life is short and so, whilst helping each other along the way, we must never fail to stand up for what we believe in.

If you want to be the first to see what Paul McDonahue promises to be the most controversial British movie ever made watch this space, as Paul hopes for a September release. You can join Jerusalem’s facebook at:  http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/group.php?gid=267407687338&ref=ts

Francesca Hubbard

Every day, always a little past noon, an elderly couple, hand in hand, carefully walk down the stone steps and onto the small pebbled beach. The first thing they will do is take a dip in the sea. He stands behind her with his hands on her shoulders as they gently saunter across the uneven seafloor with matching plastic Crocs on their feet. They never swim, but walk until they are waist deep and then sit there, silent, side by side, with such ease and sincerity that you would believe that they did this every day of their lives.

They both have similar wispy white unkempt hair, slightly wavy from the sea salt. Her breasts droop as much as his stomach swells. After edging their way back onto the beach, supporting each-other along the way, they apply sun cream to each other head to toe, similar to the way a mother thoroughly sun creams her young child. Ironically, it is then that they go and sit in the shade where they engage in light conversation, and peer through their binoculars at the same tremendous views they did the day before.They are subdued, never elated by anything in particular.

Their aura of togetherness makes me believe that they have had a lifetime together and have either not yet tired of each other, or they both have completely forgotten how to exist without the other one. Their daily beach trip seems to satisfy them, and I feel somewhat envious and touched by what they have - simple unadulterated enjoyment of not the thrills, lust and excitement of each other, but of a lifetime of companionship that they have built, and complete comfort and compliment in each other’s company.

The sun begins to fade. This hunched and half naked, crinkled, greying and forgettable couple disappear hand in hand into the distance, seeming to have no cares in the world except of each other.

The moon sighed

Wind sifted through the trees

She was sad believing she had made them hide.

Grey and glum, her sorrow beamed

Streaking the sea

She slowed down everything the harder she gleamed.

So the old moon went away

Maybe tomorrow she thought

They won’t go astray.

But today came

And the poor old moon was still glum and grey.

Dear World,

When it comes to me, everything looks good and dandy from the outside when in fact, my life is one big phony lie. I hate what I stand for. Help me. Everyone loves me, now I just need to learn to love myself…

My job description requires that I fill women with false promises. Well I say false, sometimes these promises are fulfilled…However, they often end in tears and then a whole load of the ‘resentment’ stuff humans do is held against me.

Also, the whole throwing me around thing ain’t on. I have a fear of heights okay, and even though I know its coming each time, it never fails to terrify me. Even if there’s a gentle landing in a woman’s soft young manicured hands, it only gets worse from there…The Squealing. Dear Lord these women can squeal. My poor ears. Oh, and once they have got a hold of you they hold you so incredibly tight. Painfully tight. It hurts me. They hold me so tightly because they think that I can promise them happiness. Well ladies, maybe I can, but I can’t guarantee anything.

It does help with the self confidence and all that being on the arm of she who is the centre of attention all day. Everyone tells us we are beautiful, and she, yes she, proudly clutches me like a shiny new handbag…Oh, and the fact that hundreds of women desperately want to grasp me in their hands works wonders on the ego also.

But when I go home of an evening to a bin (a box if I am lucky), that is when the guilt and the loneliness kicks in. Yes I am beautiful, desirable and important, but I am living a sorry life of lies…I just can’t take it anymore…the pressure…the expectations….I quit.

Yours sincerely,

Wedding bouquet.

Dear young gentleman,

Today I made her smile. Big, cheesy and genuine. Usually she frowns at me. Sometimes she cries. All whilst stating me hard in the face. Man, I feel guilty, but there’s not much that I can do – I never lie. Ever. I physically can’t.  Oh how I wish I could… But today, thanks to you mysterious young gentleman, I told the hard frank truth and she just smiled. Beautifully.

Confidence -she certainly lacked it. God knows why, she is gorgeous. Unfortunately however, she never felt it. But you, charming young gentleman have made her feel unbelievable today. After her date with you she burst through her bedroom door, looked at me intently and beamed away. I now feel we can at last have that long-awaited good relationship. Young gentleman, please. Please carry on working your magic and don’t go and shattering her new found confidence like many mysterious young gentlemen have done before. Would be appreciated.

I’m enjoying being the good guy at last.

Yours sincerely,

Her mirror.

Mount Vesuvius. Europe’s most dangerous volcano which can be found in Naples, Italy. Most tourists who choose to venture to the top of this lovely mountain opt for a pleasant coach journey followed by a twenty minute walk to the top. Except us. Oh the pain. Instead, we opted for a dodgy five hour hike from the bottom of the mountain with empty stomachs and wearing flip flops. As you may have already guessed we did not opt for this trek through choice. Oh no, no, no. Rather… mere disorganisation. Being the free spirited, poor, student traveller types we were at the time, we made Mount Vesuvius visiting plans off of our own backs and on a budget which meant opting for a local bus rather than a coach. Big mistake. Unknown to us, the bus only passed by the bottom of the mountain and when the snickering local bus driver dropped us in a deserted dusty pathway with tumbleweed in the distance, we realised that our day may not run as smooth as planned.

I cannot begin to explain our initial amusement at the surreal situation we had found ourselves in. Dropped off by a crazy bus driver in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by deserted run-down buildings, we were frankly completely lost. Oh dear. So our day began with us laughing and joking how concerned our mothers would be if they could see us right now and we began our jolly uphill hike full of enthusiasm and smiles….An hour later. What amazing views we commented… Two hours later. Feet begin to hurt, still no sign of civilisation. Need. Water.  All we could do was continue following the path and just pray that we would eventually encounter humans. Three hours later…Sod this.  Yes, the views are top and I saved myself fiver on coach fares, but my legs hurt and this walk has been quite sufficient thank you very much and now I just want to get to the top, take a quick snap, and go and get some dinner. Unfortunately, this was not an option for us.

What can I say. I look back on it now and think c’mon Fran a few hours walking up hill isn’t all that bad. But seriously, when you are unprepared and without water it’s a complete nightmare. Especially as we had no idea how much further we had to walk and when it started getting dark I got seriously concerned that by the time we got to the top, coaches would have stopped running to the bottom and we would be stranded at the top of this volcano (which I was now on bad terms with) all night. So, after more trekking accompanied with sweat, moaning, encountering stray dogs (I won’t even go into terrifying experience) and actually managing to fill up our water bottles, civilisation came into sight. Oh the joy. Well the joy didn’t last for long and I nearly threw myself off of the volcano when we were told that this is where the coaches drop off, and  that we had another 20 minute steep uphill walk ahead to see the crater. We had gone this far, now we must complete it. And we did. It was pretty embarrassing that we looked like panting sweating unfit British people to the other tourists who were oblivious to our previous pain staking five hour plight we had just endured. But to be honest, I had passed the point of caring by now.

I’m afraid that I have not written all of the above with the aim to crescendo up to a fantastically happy ending where I say the top of the volcano was awoke a new perception of the beauty of the world within me. It was alright. The crater was quite interesting and well, I had seen the views from every angle and in much detail, too much detail, all day long so that was old news. Nonetheless, the sense of achievement was pretty damn amazing when we reached the top, and there was nothing but a huge smile on my greasy face. I slept well that night. Okay that’s a lie; I didn’t sleep well, I just said it because it sounded good. In reality after we returned from our plight that was a visit to mount Vesuvius, we didn’t have time to shower and then our journey to Rome that evening was a disrupted and so the day ended equally as stressful and knackering… and boy, by the time we arrived in Rome we must have stunk.

My visit to Mount Vesuvius was genuinely one of the wost, yet best ideas I have ever had. Although it was pretty damn hard work at the time, I to this day consider it one of my best achievements and something I can look back on with great amusement. Now I just need to top this… hmm so, does that mean that a trip to Tanzania and a spontaneous climb up Kilimanjaro is up next?

wrote a piece on the Holocaust a while back after my Europe travels concentrating on my visit to Auschwitz, Anne Frank’s house and the monument to the murdered Jews in Berlin. Here’s a refined reminder snippet of my thoughts on Auschwitz:

Auschwitz:

I think a lot of people, I certainly did, plan a visit Auschwitz anticipating a sad and intense emotional experience. However, for me, this was not the case…

When I was young I remember being taught about WWII and the Holocaust at school. It absolutely horrified and fascinated me at the same time. I was hearing about an utterly foreign, almost inconceivable world which I now realise that I understood and absorbed in a way like one absorbs fiction. Now, a worldly adult, such stories still horrify me, but they do not fascinate like they used to. Now they just leave me feeling cold, disappointed and ashamed that fellow humans could do such things. Basically, when you are young the reality of these things you are taught do not sink in in the same way they do later in life when such things turn from just stories into past mere realities.

I’m not so keen on these dramatic reviews you read of one’s visit to Auschwitz in which they describe the what, where and how’s and the feeling of utter horror they are left with. I personally could not conjure up images in my head or fully conceive of such things as they were just too abhorrent and alien, and I wasn’t going to try to. I guess it takes courage to face the reality of what we humans are capable of.

On my visit to Auschwitz we were given a tour of where the Jews had to live, the gas chambers, rooms full of human hair, confiscated suitcases and artificial limbs etc. All of this was indeed haunting - especially minor details like name tag on a suitcase, or a small child’s hair scrunchie. But I wasn’t come over with emotion, and I did not shed a tear the entire time I was there. I wondered, am I heartless? Instead I was left feeling merely cold and empty. I felt no sense of previous life here. Why? Well, because the people that lived here probably didn’t have much life left in them -or at least they felt that way anyway. It wasn’t the usual experience you get when visiting a historical site; where one can use their imagination and feel like they are there at that time for a moment. No. I felt nothing. Despite the many tourists around It felt like the place was deserted. I felt uneasy. Although I am writing this here, I will never, and can’t understand why one would want to, write a descriptive review of Auschwitz. It’s one of those places you go and see and it leaves you with little to say. I know that me and the two other girls I went there with barley said a word to each other about the place after we had left and still haven’t up until the present day. Few words are required.

So my readers you may be disappointed and find this blog somewhat uninformative. But I want you to know that I did take something from Auschwitz, something very significant, and that’s why I would recommend everyone to go there. Don’t go there expecting to hear sad stories and be ‘moved’ - you can watch a film, or read a book for that. Go there for the mere reality. Don’t get me wrong, I never doubted that the holocaust happened, but having been there I now realise that however much you believe in something, it’s not complete true reality in your mind until you have been there, and seen it, and have that association.

The phrase ‘seeing is believing’ certainly has truth. So visit. Not to make you cry. Not to be moved. Just go to see for yourself the scale of this that happened. Learn and accept what has happened, out of mere respect to the victims if nothing else, and so that we can never let anything like this happen again. It’s just one of those things you should do.

Dear Francesca,

I think it’s time I apologised. Not too profusely because I think you fail to appreciate me as much as you should at times….Nonetheless, I am very aware of the anguish I often cause you. It’s my job to do what I do. My job 100% defines me and so there’s not much else I can do but go about my business. It does get a bit heavy at times you know. I feel like a fussy mother- always interfering, making you contemplate decisions, asserting the moral high ground, and well, always being right. So we’ve pretty much got a love-hate thing going on right? You hate it when I clear my throat, raise my hand and make a very good point, but you also often thank me for it. It annoys you how right I am hey? Ha, ah this is why I am of such influence.

Sorry I’m doing it again aren’t I? I was meant to be writing this letter as an apology, I guess I’m just so set in my ways. What I’m trying to get at is that your best interests are at my heart but I understand that it must get a little draining. Particularly when I bother you for days after you have done something like eat that slice of cake. Man, sometimes I’m overwhelmed with the temptation to shout blasphemous immoral advice you. Create a bit of drama, a bit of fun. But alas I am ever sensible. Well, maybe one or twice I have fooled you, further confused you or been wrong. Generally however, I am that shiny peace of moral authority you just cannot get out of your life and I cannot get out of yours. I’ve never neglected you for longer than a few days and you never ignore me for long when we disagree. We’re going be together forever me and you. It will be complicated but that’s just the way it is. I need you to exist, and you need me to survive this world.

Talk to you soon,

Your conscience. X.

P.s. You know I don’t need to apologise right.

All this love is eating him up. It towers high around him and he cannot see anything beyond it. Intimidated.

Comforting? I think suffocating. He does not know anything different…Yet he feels himself 

shrinking against it… Curling up, embarrassed, guilty, unsure of why. Deserved? Not knowing how to accept it, return it…  the feeling of further guilt for thinking about anything but how lucky he is.

Overwhelmed.

Learning to stand tall.

As high as it.  Next to it. Alongside it all. Shoulder to shoulder. Belief. Invigorated. Now he can see over the top of its head while its head remains close. Level. Comfort. 

And then they walked -side by side, both with their heads high and their hearts wide. Tall, exposed, accepting, returning.

Ever learning to deserve.

How do you know whether to believe someone words? Someone once expressed a high opinion of her, and she, for once, believed and accepted these kind words, and returned the affection. Maybe not enough so.  So she was not 100% happy, so things were not 100% perfect, but they could have been. The grounds were there. It needed time. However, this someone, when it came to time and consistency, was impatient and wild with their handling of it. It was almost like this someone was agitated by the concept of time; this someone was scared of it. So, they ran away, far away from she who thought this someone cared. Perhaps they never did. Perhaps it was all lies. Or, perhaps, as she secretly hopes, this someone did care, but their agitation in other warps of life exceeded this care. This someone knows, in all their arrogance that they could easily find a new ‘she’ and that their conscience would not suffer. But she is betrayed and confused. And she, only now by virtue of terrible timing, realises just how much she cared for this someone and how much better things could now be. But it is too late. She will not blame herself, even though it’s hard not to. She feels anger, hate, and then sadness. Hate goes hand in hand with love. If she didn’t care about this someone, all this time spent on her emotions positive or negative, would not have been so strong. She just wants to know what she did wrong. She deserves an explanation.

I want to tell the stranger with the mermaid hair that she deserves better. But I know that even though she knows that she does, she will never seek out ‘better’. Better is not what she knows and she is scared to venture into a place of unfamiliarity. Vulnerable, she hides behind her mermaid hair, resigned to the next inevitable heart-ache.

Beautiful mermaid stranger, you will be okay.

-

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N9sGd-JLvNA

Fitting. & my favourite song of all time.

I started on the cigarettes so I could sit on my doorstep. Sit and wait for your return.

Endless hours, dragging and blowing smoke, watching it disappear, again and again.

It gave me time to think, wonder. I would sit, cigarette in hand listening to approaching footsteps, tensing up as they neared and melting when a stranger passed by that wasn’t you.

Sitting here, I feel empowered by a sense of solitude, freedom. It’s just me, the night and a cheeky cigarette. That’s all I need.

But then I watch as that smoke dissolves into the atmosphere; it’s still there but will never be so close to me again. I’ll create myself some more smoke. But, its not quite the same as the smoke before. I squint and search for its traces in the distance, but I cannot see it any longer.

I stub my cigarette out and slowly blink, only to open my eyes to the same scene much to my disappointment. I stand. One last look, and then I smile. Why do I smile? I don’t quite know…

…I’m going to miss that doorstep when I go.

But things come and go.  I think me and my doorstep are on our way to closure.

Closure.

But you, you have only put a chip in my heart. Please come back and fully break it so it can start to mend.

Dear thief,

I don’t know what you look like. Ugly I recon. You stole some things. I don’t know why, maybe you had a drug habit to fund, maybe a family to feed.  You almost ended, and partially ruined some of the best weeks of my life. Okay, it wasn’t mass theft. You stole all my money, cards, passport, my ticket, my cameras, my jewellery, my makeup (!) and souvenirs. Ya bastard. I could replace most of the stuff following a load of inconvenience, and I was lucky to be with people at the time who allowed me to do so. My cameras though. Now that was low. Weeks of pictures, pictures that I would be showing to my grandchildren, gone.  Furthermore Mr thief, stealing a handbag from a woman’s arms in her sleep is a little pathetic. C’mon you could have at least dumped my disposable camera and postcards nearby so I had some memories left. Ha,who am I kidding, your just a thief, considerate is not in your dictionary. What would your mother say eh. Oh and finally, Karma mate. Karma.

Who wants to escape with me to some other place?

To a place full of peace, acceptance and love.

To a place where we can be sticky and excitable in the sunshine. Forget our troubles and love ourselves.

Who wants to escape with me to a place that fits around you, to people that appreciate you, to things that fulfil you?

To a place where you can realise what you want, what you need and your head is as clear and as free as its dreamy blue skies.

I will be in a foreign beautiful place. Firstly, I must wake up with a fuzzy sleepy, yet excited feeling. I will lie there for a bit. Flip my pillow over, wrap the covers around me tightly and smile. There will be no rush to get up.
When I do, a lovely outfit will fall together with little effort, my hair will be especially shiny and my skin flawless. I will then eat breakfast which will be a buffet of yoghurts, fruit, Nutella, cereal and orange juice, which I will eat outside in delicate sunshine.
With someone whose company I enjoy, we will take a stroll and end up in a park. The weather is beautiful. Nicely warm with a slight breeze. We will sit around all afternoon reminiscing on good times and laughing hard. We will drink ice cold drinks and eat ice cream. I will take the time to sit back, look at my life and the people in it and feel blessed. It is a Sunday after all.
Finally, when it begins to get dark I will wrap the blanket around me and we will eat a light picnic. When it gets too cold it’s time to stroll home. Here I will fall straight back on that bed and feel that fuzzy sleepy feeling again.

My Nan is writing a story about a group of students, these students being my cousins, the brother, sister and I.  Her story sounds very intriguing but I’m not about to reveal her plot via tumblr. However, the purpose of this post is to reflect upon some research she conducted on us yesterday that got me thinking a lot. She asked: What do you want your life to be like in seven years? (i.e career, partner, home) and how do you think in reality, it will turn out like in seven years?

As soon as she asked this I thought how an earth can I answer that.  You know what I’m like, my ideas and ambitions change drastically daily…However when I put pen to paper I found answering this question surprisingly easy:

I am not so fussed about having a respectable, proper career and be a ‘career woman’, I’m not fussed what my neighbours think. I merely want to earn money doing a fulfilling job, whatever it may be, which offers alot of variety. That, or I hope to be pursuing many different hobbies through which I can make money….Ideally my writing. I want to be a journalist, a columnist. I want to be the creative brains behind something people read and take something from. In seven years, I want to have either published, or be in the process of publishing a book. This will be fiction or travel journals. I would also love to own my own hand made jewelry shop. I will not be money motivated.

Throughout my twenties I want to have healthy relationships with men where our  personalities compliment, and who bring positive new things into my life and make me a better person. I want to delay settling down, however do not have an ideal age because I believe that I will know when the time is right. When and if I get married, I want it to be to someone I love very much, who loves me back an equal amount.  I have realised recently that I do want children, but again, when the time is right.

By 27 I want to have travelled the world. I want to have met the widest array of different people possible, and I want my travels to change me spiritually and practically. I believe that after having seen the world I will have a better idea as to where I want to settle down (which I probably will want to once I have a family). I am very open minded to living abroad. I want my house to be artistic and the walls to be littered with art produced by myself and my friends.

The reality of seven years time….When I tackled this question yesterday I was very concerned with my pessimism on the matter…Perhaps I was pessimistic as to not jinx myself…Anyway, what I said was that I probably will do some travelling but not to the extend I want due to financial troubles. I may fail as a successful writer/loose my passion for it and end up in a pretty standard career that pays the bills. Like my mother, I will probably flit through different career paths because my ideas and wants will always be changing and then eventually settle down in something suitable later in life. I think that I may settle down with a partner a little too early or too late and then regret this. Living wise, this is hard. I think that maybe I will try living all over the place but end up longing to live close to my family, so end up in London.

So my second perception of the future is an arguably more pessimistic and realistic view of my future. I look at them both and realise that the first is not unachievable. I do not wish to be a millionaire or anything like that. I can pursue the first future as long as I don’t give up or let external factors stop me. It could be hard but I will try my best to pursue my first future…However, I am not one for forward thinking (I don’t even like to buy advance tickets for events I’m that bad) and often opt for what makes me happy at the time. So, if I’m half way across the world and feeling lonely, I may choose to cut my trip short, and when I reach a writers block I may give up and find a new passion instead.

At the end of the day, I really don’t know what I want my life to be like in seven years, neither what, in reality, it will be like in seven years. What I do know is that I have a good idea today of what I want, and at least for today I am going to try and pursue that dream future the best I can.

Thanks Nan, this has been an interesting exercise.