tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80740142682397502432024-02-07T17:21:57.135-08:00all in a days workAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-80850677983803177092014-07-16T06:14:00.003-07:002014-07-16T06:14:31.820-07:00"A Falling Man" - my first published book on Amazon!Please support my quest to become a successful author by purchasing my first attempt at self publishing through Amazon - "A Falling Man". Anyone familiar to my blog will know the story, it is about a young couple involved in 9/11. It is a very short story, only 38 pages and takes you through the events of that day and how it changes the future of this couple. Even if you have read it before, I would really appreciate if you could purchase a copy just to get my name out there!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00LSRIWKY?*Version*=1&*entries*=0">http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00LSRIWKY?*Version*=1&*entries*=0</a><br />
<br />
Thank you to you all!<br />
<br />
M<br />
xAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-34967327580107536562014-04-22T14:57:00.001-07:002014-04-22T14:57:50.240-07:00Made In Chelsea: S7E3 Review
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF2ZrkOjCXe5qng881mY_KroC3p02n2wYiEgmhC7BJ2avilSVNB0c4iJQ5X5tBkxSpeIWOdPH7AzcA3KnvO4T8rHQ2epYrsk6UYqD5wUuTIB3CCehcbL40B3xoe3eb4kPpGQMb19w8u5Y/s1600/MIC.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF2ZrkOjCXe5qng881mY_KroC3p02n2wYiEgmhC7BJ2avilSVNB0c4iJQ5X5tBkxSpeIWOdPH7AzcA3KnvO4T8rHQ2epYrsk6UYqD5wUuTIB3CCehcbL40B3xoe3eb4kPpGQMb19w8u5Y/s1600/MIC.png" height="178" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Episode 3 starts with Jamie and
Spencer not so subtly lurking around fashion week in the vain hope of picking
up some models. Even Victoria is smart enough to recognise this, but then again
they didn’t exactly make any attempt to deny what they were up to. One has to
assume they like to look like desperate perverts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Alex meets up with Mummy Binky
and she asks to meet his parents – awkward is not even the right word! Mummy
Binky quickly cuts to the chase by surprisingly telling Alex that she believes
he hasn’t been unfaithful to her daughter which makes her single handily the
most naïve person since Louise took Spenny back for the millionth time. Rob
then rocks up after Louise and Binky were conveniently chatting about him.
Apparently Louise really likes him – clearly just a way of trying to make
Spencer jealous: we all know your game you teeny tiny human! With this, Binky
decides to phone Alex and suss out Rob’s feelings towards Louise, who nervously
chews on a napkin and makes herself look like even more of a tit than she
already is. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Spencer confesses that he is
slightly sceptical of any relationship at the moment. I am so lost for words at
this deluded statement that I can’t even comment on it for the time being.
Anyone would think he was the one whose adulterous other half cheated on them in
their own bed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Binky proves she is as big of a
mug as her mother by feeling sorry for Alex due to all of the rumours flying
around about his philandering ways. Poor him, it must be so horrible to finally
have the truth catch up with you! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Elsewhere, Jamie and Spenny have
actually ventured of out SW and headed over to the City. They must be coming
down with something – that or they have slept with every single woman in
Chelsea and now have to find a different kind of London girl prey. Jamie once
again proves that his expensive education was literally wasted on him by being
unable to communicate in a coherent and respectable way. And then he says he
looks like Karl Lagerfield. I am not sure who should be more insulted at this
point. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Louise decides to wear a bright
red cape in order to attract Spencer once again. Much like how a baboon exposes
their red bottom in order to get a mate. She then proceeds to subtly slag off
Emma<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- I suppose we are meant to believe
this means she does not care, but unfortunately for Miss Thompson it has the
completely opposite effect. As always.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Why the actual fuck is Alex in a
turtle neck jumper? Is it not bad enough that he always wears eyeliner, now he
has to offend us with this ridiculousness?! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Proudlock and Stevie leave Louise
and Rob to talk by themselves and we can see her brain ticking over wondering
how much longer she has to put up with him before Spencer comes running back
out of sheer fear he could lose another easy lay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Emma proves she is as easy a
conquest as Lucy Watson was by agreeing to go out with Spencer once more, even
though he has just admitted he really fancied her whilst he was in a serious,
long-term relationship. That’s another brainless knob Spencer can add to his
bed post. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The boys struggle their way
through an assault course shouting out “yeah boi” – unfortunately they all
survived this test, much to my bitter disappointment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Lucy professes that she believes
Alex is innocent of all charges against him and she should know, right? Being
the author of a dating book I would imagine she is the ultimate voice of wisdom
on the matter. Let’s hope that opinion doesn’t blow up in her face, goodness
knows what that will do to the sales of her book! Jokes. She then has a bitch
fit over the fact that Jamie has brought another girl to her birthday party and
awkwardly asks if he has told her he loves her yet. Because you don’t stink of
bitterness or anything, do you Lucy?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I was thinking Louise and Rob’s
date was one of the most awkward things I have ever seen, but then her brother Sam
comes along and takes the cake as he tries to chat up a couple of ladies. Oh my
god, it’s actually hilarious. There is no either way to describe what I am
seeing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I would also like to retract my
earlier comment about Emma – apparently she does have more than 2 brain cells
to rub together: she said NO to Spencer! Despite his best efforts, she turns
him down point blank and I have never been more proud of a fellow female. Well
done Emma, you have made the best decision of your life thus far (although she
did still agree to go out on dates with him – I wouldn’t even dignify him with
that). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Finally, Alex decides to come
clean(ish) after being put on the spot by Cheska. He admits that he has
suffered from “black-outs” where he cannot remember what he did, or who he did
if we are going to be technical. As much as I would like to have a huge rant at
this point about cheaters, I think the best punishment for Alex was seeing how
distraught his selfish and careless actions had made Binky who pretty much has
always deserved happiness over anyone in the entire show. Hope you can live
with yourself Alex, because no one else will now!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">See you next week </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">M<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-72900195254914009772014-04-16T13:32:00.004-07:002014-04-17T09:56:08.561-07:00Made In Chelsea: S7E2 Review<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNBdkHWOwYd0j5757IX48rI-LmGPCAn-KferXA0WiGNmUUpSYRr3AfnfAPZweUR50w3N-44iI_IgLoVo2DJXjJri6TSnkTbsmkdGmxeACNJBWw3DEx0tIwBVeVzDk9Rst6SBuMlJu4_d8/s1600/MIC.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNBdkHWOwYd0j5757IX48rI-LmGPCAn-KferXA0WiGNmUUpSYRr3AfnfAPZweUR50w3N-44iI_IgLoVo2DJXjJri6TSnkTbsmkdGmxeACNJBWw3DEx0tIwBVeVzDk9Rst6SBuMlJu4_d8/s1600/MIC.png" height="178" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Here we go again. Round 2: 5
seconds in and I have already pressed pause to catch my breath from laughing
like a loon over Spenny and Jamie + boxing gloves + the gym. They are such
jokes. Spencer states that Jamie is lucky he wouldn’t be in the same weight
class as him – yes he is lucky, the sheer magnitude of your enormous ego would
almost certainly squash that scrawny little bugger half to death….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">…and by the by – is Alex wearing
left over eye liner from last week’s party or is this some kind of new fashion
statement in the Sloanie circle? I am genuinely horrified. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">There is a new girl on the block –
so obviously she is Spencer’s love interest – a model called Emma who
apparently dated Leo DiCaprio, which means she probably tried to kiss him like
most of us opportunist Leo-crazed women would and he was drunk enough or
Victoria’s Secret model-less enough to respond momentarily. Spencer declares he
really likes her because they have not slept together yet. Caggie syndrome or
what?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Alex is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">definitely </i>wearing eye liner. I…I just…I just can’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">even. </i>I can’t. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Binky and Alex set up an awkward
double date between Lucy and his housemate – unbeknownst to Lucy, and she
quickly makes it clear that she prefers the company of her dog to most people.
Well I don’t blame you, Miss Watson – from what I have been watching for the
last few years it’s certainly slim pickings in the borough of Chelsea! I have
no doubt in my mind that your dog is more riveting than most of your “friends”.
Speaking of Lucy Watson did you know she is releasing a £12.99 book called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Dating Game? </i>How on God’s good earth
did that happen? Didn’t realise all you had to do was be a senseless Blair Waldorf
wannabe in order to get a book deal these days. They must have left that out of
the Writers & Artists Yearbook. And how is it possible for someone who fell
for Spencer Matthew’s drivel only to be cheated on by him weeks later to write
a dating advise book? She is probably the last person I would take love advise
from. I’d sooner ask my cat’s opinion, and my cat we call Thicky at that…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Whilst I am on the topic of the senseless…Emma
walks in on Spencer kissing another girl at the bar in a horrifically awkward
encounter and yet she still agrees to go for brunch with him the next day. You
can’t make this stuff up!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Meanwhile Spencer denies the fact
that he is a playboy even though that it seems to be the “general consensus”.
Yes it is Spenny, but only because you have tried to make it so due to the fact
that you are desperate to be known as a Lothario when really you cannot play
the game to save your sad little life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elsewhere
in the land of the perpetually delusional, Jamie says that he is too creative –
yes your Candy Kittens idea <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really </i>proved
that to the world, didn’t it biscuits?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Call the paramedics, get me a
diazepam – Mark Francis is in the gym. What is this black magic?! I can only
assume that it is an ultra-uber-glamorous-private gym as he cannot possibly be
seen to be in a confined space with sweaty peasants – that would be positively
ghastly! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">In a bid to get herself more than
5 minutes of air time, Louise hosts a singles party. And I was sure she couldn’t
possibly look more desperate if she tried. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I assume everyone would like to
know my thoughts on Stevie’s poem: I was half expecting to be grimacing
throughout the entire performance but I actually didn’t find it too painful…it
was the conversation between him and Proudlock afterwards that sealed it as yet
another cringe-worthy MIC scene. Do <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">any </i>of
the men in Chelsea possess balls?! <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Any?! </i>Poor
Stevie, he is never going to have much going for him and is now delving into
the world of poetry to lure in females. Run ladies, run for your lives!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I would, however, like to see
Stevie write a poem about the exchange of words between Emma and Louise (with
Lucy sulking on the side) about the 2 loves of Spencer’s life: Caggie and Emma.
Louise has never heard him mention Emma. Emma doesn’t seem too phased. Lucy
looks pissed off. Louise blatantly still loves Spenny. When will his power over
women cease to exist? And when will Lucy realise that Andy is the one to go
for? He is by far the best guy on the show and yet he is always left picking up
the pieces of Jamie and Spencer’s failed relationships. What a waste. The girls
of TOWIE would eat him alive – in a good way. Wit-woo. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Binky is still feeling sorry for
herself over the rumours of Alex cheating on her, which is starting to get a
little boring now – a wet blanket allegedly cheating on a soft touch does not
make for good television. The outcome is predictable: he cheated, she is
broken-hearted and yet they remain friends for the good of the show. Or
something along those lines. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">To wrap up the episode we are
given a preview of next week where Louise predictably finds something about
Spencer’s new love interest that she doesn’t like and Cheska once again is the bearer
of bad news. How delicious! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Ciao,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">M<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-34278269796063311092014-04-10T14:19:00.003-07:002014-04-17T10:09:35.705-07:00Made In Chelsea: S7E1 Review<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0EabjVDuKWyjST6tzCwDPqDSFYTKWbBcbC51vMDfpd8CmG3ZbhYUn2c4GLzdDhUYBPMyCqmEPSXlZ3JQUHglqbuYZwnHaunFyumIotTAoo3wZrr-8eQOHq1RJS5940GPAqgHiQlVvus/s1600/MIC.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0EabjVDuKWyjST6tzCwDPqDSFYTKWbBcbC51vMDfpd8CmG3ZbhYUn2c4GLzdDhUYBPMyCqmEPSXlZ3JQUHglqbuYZwnHaunFyumIotTAoo3wZrr-8eQOHq1RJS5940GPAqgHiQlVvus/s1600/MIC.png" height="178" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Ah, Made In Chelsea, how I have
missed thee. Whenever I worry that I am becoming a completely incompetent,
brainless waste of space I just wait for you lot to grace my TV screen again
and it makes me feel so much better about myself. I love you all dearly, I must
admit, for being such a pillar of everything that is wrong with modern day
society!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">But anyway, now that you are back
I feel like it’s time to start putting my thoughts on your ridiculously
over-the-top opulent antics into words, because I just find you all so
painfully amusing that I cannot convey the depth of my entertainment by any
other means!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Series 7 kicked off with Lucy
Watson in a superbly lavish bathroom – how fabulous. Then she walks through the
streets of Chelsea in slow motion - as does her bleached and balding ex-love
Jamie Laing – so that we all know they are about to meet up and shit is going to
hit the fan. As if that wasn’t cringe enough, Jamie actually tries to worm his
way out of the crap he is in. Does he even know Lucy? And does he know that we
all know what he did as he documented every single minute of it on social
media? Oh yes, that’s right I forgot – Jamie is as thick as two short planks
and actually believes he can convince us he is a humble and loyal man of good
ethics, principles and morals. When really we all know he is just a wannabe
Spencer minus the good(ish) chat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Anyway, as can be expected she
told him where to go – but I was a little disappointed, as I find myself always
being by Miss Watson these days. She really isn’t the bitch everyone gives her
credit for. She tries <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">very </i>hard to
be, I will give her that, but she always falls short of being truly cruel. I
guess it’s because she isn’t actually smart enough to be that cutting because
she focuses the few brain cells she has on posing for lad’s mag’s and telling
us all what she gets up to in bed. Nice one, Lucy, you have officially become
as desperate and brain-dead as Louise. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">So she walks out leaving Jamie
bewildered and dumfounded – which really isn’t anything new to be honest as he
perpetually looks like that. Which I guess is part of his charm? Or part of his
act but then we have to consider the possibility that he may be intelligent in
real life and that is just too much to fathom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Obviously rumours of infidelity
are flying around as you just cannot have a reality TV show without some kind
of cheating going on in almost every relationship. But this time it’s from a
rather unexpected place – and by unexpected place I mean the perpetrator for
once is not Spencer Matthews. Hopefully the good women of the world have woken
up and realised he is nothing other than a lazy, googly-eyed twit with a rather
small package. Yes Spenny, we have all seen the leaked photos! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">No, this time it was Alex….what’s
his surname? I’m not sure, but it’s Alex with the stupidly big bouffant hair
who has been dating Binky. Fran and Cheska expressed their concern during a
yoga class, with Fran saying the thought of her ex-love interest cheating on
one of her best friends made her “feel sick” and Cheska admitting that she
believed the rumours to be true. It was almost well scripted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Meanwhile, Victoria decides she
is going to take Cheska off her black list. How lovely of her – has she finally
realised that every single viewer of MIC that hadn’t already turned against her
definitely had by the end of the last season after her mindless and petty
attack on Cheska over what should have been a merry Christmas dinner? Mark
Francis and Rosie seemed to have jumped on the bandwagon by disassociating
(Rosie in particular) themselves from Victoria and her poor behaviour. They
wouldn’t want to tarnish their reputation by association, after all! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Jamie and Andy came to
loggerheads over his treatment of Lucy and his inability to not throw the L
word around as loosely as he does. He was his typical ignorant self and refused
to take responsibility for the fact that he confessed his undying love for one
woman, then a week later was off shagging </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">every single thing he saw with a
vagina that moved. And telling them that he loved them too. Shakespeare would
be proud.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">And I have decided to not even
dignify that Victorias friend (still haven't bothered to learn her name) and her ridiculous party with a comment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">As always Mark Francis is the
voice of wisdom and sheer class, charisma and intelligence. So I am not sure
why he is wasting his time and talent on MIC?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Finally, Jamie realises that it’s
time to start grovelling and strolls over to Lucy’s looking surprisingly smug
and vaguely like a rabbit. In a hat. She accepts his apology but makes it clear
they will only ever be friends, if that. I find myself constantly thinking “It’s
neeeeever gona happen mate!” – I wonder if that’s because she keeps telling him
it’s never going to happen? Go figure, because he certainly can’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The episode ends with what I can
only describe as the biggest evasion tactic I have ever witnessed: Alex telling
Binky he loves her. What marvellous timing, what a fantastic distraction
method. Well done Alex, you really have upped your game – but you haven’t
fooled me and by the looks of next week’s episode, you haven’t even fooled the
most dim-witted person in Chelsea!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">To finish this review, here is a
list of things Spencer did during the episode to annoy me:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">He states
that he was actually rooting for best friend and ex-girlfriend Lucy and Jamie.
He continuously makes me wonder why he takes us all for fools? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">He said “samesies”
with Andy. Oh my Christ. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">And then he gave
Jamie love advise. Lord help us all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">He said “lots
of love” to another man. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">He breathed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Until next week!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">M<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-2808294710530792742014-03-21T03:24:00.000-07:002014-03-21T03:28:36.713-07:00Why Sex Shouldn't Sell<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxyoIjNHZe9eFPQOgroGS_Pm26aa3qGxFvPAOv4Ss_Z0VryNC-Ylhum1gT-3ql1USYbuDW2TSzQbCKc5GO5_QMwdzcKwzggbc2vrVIxx3jyKr7c1m-H1sufDJU806zLEFN6h7UfleNDEY/s1600/erlakc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxyoIjNHZe9eFPQOgroGS_Pm26aa3qGxFvPAOv4Ss_Z0VryNC-Ylhum1gT-3ql1USYbuDW2TSzQbCKc5GO5_QMwdzcKwzggbc2vrVIxx3jyKr7c1m-H1sufDJU806zLEFN6h7UfleNDEY/s1600/erlakc.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a>It’s not unrealistic to say that 2013 was the year of Miley
Cyrus, of even raunchier music videos and performances, of it officially
becoming acceptable to have near enough completely naked women in almost
everything. Heck, I have seen more of celebrity’s tits and bums than I have of
my own over the past year. The aforementioned Miley Cyrus was the leader of the
pack in 2013, followed by the unquestionably creepy Robin (is) Thicke and as
always, the perpetually semi-nude Rihanna. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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I have seen a lot of naked women, a lot of crass and overtly
sexual performances, but what I have not come across much this year is actual
talent and truly fantastic music. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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Beyoncé came close after surprising the world by releasing a
new album – but even she, a highly talented and seemingly intelligent
individual has now completely bowed to the pressure of getting as much kit off
as possible, to sell as much as possible. She was always a bit of a
skin-shower, but her latest music videos - and not to mention that horrific Grammys performance with Jay Z - have really sealed her status as just
another woman who has given into the pressures of baring all to sell. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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For most of 2013 I spent the year complaining to my fiancé
about how it wasn’t just the men in the music industry trying to sell
sex in their videos by use of naked, vacuous models, but it was the women as
well. Since when did female artists decide that their talent and intelligence
had become entirely irrelevant, and all that mattered was that they satisfied
the industry and their male fans by making everything about their sex appeal?
Have they just given up on themselves and their integrity?<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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They say “sex sells” and evidently it does – how else can
you explain Miley Cyrus reaching number one? (Though I struggle to find
anything sexy about a girl that looks like a sexually confused pre-pubescent
boy). Her Wrecking Ball video not only highlighted her crass taste, lack of
talent and originality, but also the fact that as long as a woman is showing a
sufficient amount of skin, she can make money. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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When did this happen and why? The last time I actually paid
attention to the music scene, the likes of Adele and Florence and The Machine
were laughing all the way to the bank – not because they exposed themselves all
of the time and made it all about sex, but because they have raw, unequalled
talent and creativity, and the ability to make millions solely because of it.
Not only is their music much more impressive than Miley’s, Katy Perry’s, Robin
Thicke’s and all of those other desperate, lazy and untalented “celebrities”
(even that of Rihanna who has plenty of talent, but has cheapened herself to
the lowest standard and has forgotten about her music), but they are also
extremely likeable and respected people because they have not sold themselves
cheap and have every inch of their dignity intact. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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So why did this drastic swing from having to have talent to
make music to just having to be naked happen? I have absolutely no idea; the
music industry will have to answer for that. I am guessing it’s from the fact
that we live in a rather shallow and superficial world, and music moguls
believe that a beautiful, sexy woman without talent will sell more records than
an average, modest women with talent in abundance. Why is that? As a woman I
would certainly rather listen to someone who can <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">actually sing</i> and make good music, than watch another half naked
girl prance around, shaking her ass (and then some) who cannot sing for toffee.
And so would most of the men I know, but I can only assume there are a lot of
men out there who buy records and watch music videos because of beautiful, nude
women who are willing to flash it all in the name of their “art”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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To these men (or even women) I say this: stop ruining it for
the truly talented women out there. Beauty is skin deep, it fades, we grow old,
things start to go south but real talent, intelligence and self-respect are the
things that will never go away. A woman is worth so much more than what she has
beneath her clothes, and funding these so called celebrities who are only good
for exposing themselves as much as possible, and only worry about their sex
appeal is taking up too much room and creating a stereotype. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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We are not all beautiful, or skinny. We do not all like to
act like glorified porn stars just to get attention and recognition. We are not
all worth only what we can provide sexually. The majority of us are smart,
grounded, interesting and unique people – who care more about using our brains
to get us places. We care about people respecting us for our intelligence and
personalities, not sexual appeal. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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I would like to round this piece up by quoting a man I once
worked with, just as a demonstration to how much we have regressed:<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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Upon looking up a woman at a rival company who had gone from
Associate to Vice President in the space of year, he said: “She must have
sucked a lot of cock to get there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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To say this man is a chauvinistic, arrogant pig is obvious,
but I fear that the men and particularly women in the music industry are
setting a precedence and demonstrating that women have next to no value, and
cannot do anything in life without the help of their bodies. That the only way
they can have a successful career, make money or sell records is by exposing
themselves for the gratification of fickle men who are too dumb to appreciate
real talent and intellect, and only care about what a woman looks like, how big
her breasts are, what she would be like in bed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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But this is simply not true. Adele is where she is because
she is a sensational singer, song writer and altogether savvy businesswoman.
The aforementioned woman who shot to Vice President got to where she is because
she is clever, and worked her ass off as much as any man ever has. These are
just a couple in millions of women who have proved that sex appeal means
nothing and that the days are numbered for the women who are selling their
bodies for the sake of their music - because they are boring and have nothing
substantial to offer to the world, and they know it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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We need to go back to the days when it was the music, the
lyrics and the voice that truly mattered and we need to go back there soon,
before the next generation of girls are taught to believe that they are only
worth what they can offer sexually, when really it’s our brains that make us
truly beautiful. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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Yours truly,<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">M<o:p></o:p></b></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-37060570233054231572013-05-20T08:58:00.001-07:002013-05-22T02:48:29.566-07:00'Fallen in Love: The Secret Heart of Anne Boleyn' - What I said.... <br />
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Yesterday I had the pleasure of visiting the Tower of London on a truly memorable day of the year - the anniversary of the execution of Queen Anne Boleyn. Anyone who knows me, or has the misfortune of reading my many posts on Facebook, knows that I am a very big Tudor history and in particular, Anne Boleyn fan, so for me, the chance to go to the Tower on the day of her death, 477 years later, was sensational. And to add to that, in the New Armouries banqueting hall was a 2-person play on the lady herself. <br />
<br />
This play is by a lesser known theatre company called The Red Rose Chain and is titled <i>'Fallen in Love: The Secret Heart of Anne Boleyn'</i>. I had been looking forward to this play with much anticipation but I was also anxious. As the play only depicted Anne and her brother George, Lord Rochford, I was a little nervous about the actors. I have watched many films, TV programs and documentaries and can only recall ever watching 2 actresses that I truly thought captured Anne in all of her charisma and glory - Natalie Dormer of <i>The Tudors</i> and Geneviève Bujold of <i>Anne of the Thousand Days.</i><br />
<br />
Neither may have looked very much like her, in fact when I first saw Natalie Dormer and saw her intense blue eyes I immediately wondered why on earth they had cast her for the part of Anne whose infamous brown "almost black" eyes were what made her extremely appealing to men, especially the King, despite her being "not one of the most handsomest women in the world". But she soon proved herself worthy of playing such a woman and immediately set the bar very high for that role. It also goes a long way that Natalie Dormer was already very passionate about Anne Boleyn and she endeavoured to not only act her as true to character as she could but also to insist that the script writers ceased in portraying her as a calculating and ruthless vixen, but as a woman who was just a pawn in the games and advancement of men. Bujold possessed a lot more je ne sais quoi than Dormer in the sense that she was a Frenchwoman and immediately had the accent of Anne down pat. As Anne grew up in the French court, she spoke fluent French and is said to have had quite a thick French accent, blended with her English accent, which also added to her allure and sex appeal. She was witty, temperate but whilst she may have had the same air about her as Dormer's Anne, she also portrayed her as having been a very cold and hard woman in her early courtship of Henry VIII. <br />
<br />
Dormer showed Anne to be clever and level headed but she also showed a side to Anne that is often swept under the carpet - her love for the King. It's not hard to act as though you are falling in love with Jonathan Rhys Meyers (Henry VIII in <i>The Tudors</i>) but we had never seen Anne like this before, and many people think of her as an ambitious, ruthless woman who had no love for the king and above all else desired the be queen. For me, it was refreshing to see Anne as a human, as a woman, and that she was in fact susceptible to the charm of a king who, for his time, was extremely good looking and quite a catch. Bujold's Anne was the very opposite, only ever showing contempt for Henry and only ever admitting that she loved him after years of frustrating courtship. Both portrayals of Anne were excellent, but Natalie Dormer's has always been my favourite as it showed Anne in many different lights in such a way that the viewer really felt like they could relate to her. <br />
<br />
So, going into the play I had high expectations of the girl who would play Anne - but not high hopes. The scene was set around an old four-poster bed and started off with George Boleyn laying down, reciting a song to himself. After about 15 minutes I found that I was pleasantly surprised. Not only that, but I was laughing in almost every scene - both actors were enormously talented and very humorous indeed. <br />
<br />
I had never developed much of an opinion of George Boleyn and reports of him are quite contradicting. Some say he was a closet homosexual (<i>The Tudors</i> heavily implies this), others say he was a great womaniser but all reports point to him being as ambitious as his father and uncles, the Duke of Norfolk, but not quite as callous. He did, however, have a very close and loving relationship with Anne - which later gave credence to the charges fabricated by Master Secretary, Thomas Cromwell, when he "thought up and plotted the death of the concubine" - and was often in her bedchambers and a rock for Anne during hard times, and there were many of those.<br />
<br />
Given that I was unsure of how I felt about George, I was not sure what to expect from him in the play but I have to say that the actor they cast as him did a fantastic job. He was extremely funny, charismatic and seemed to have a lot more of a conscience and moral compass than his sister in the play - and most of the members of the Boleyn faction. His impressions of King Henry VIII are of particular note as you can only imagine the fun he must have made of the tyrannical, irrational and arrogant King during his sisters courtship and marriage to him. It was highly amusing to say the least.<br />
<br />
As for Anne, the actress who played her was delightful but I did feel that she overacted quite a lot throughout the play, as though playing Anne did not come naturally to her. She seemed to put on a very deep, strong and masculine voice which made me wonder if she was trying her hardest to mimic Natalie Dormers Anne as she had quite the same manner of speaking. The play also showed her to be very hard-hearted, very cruel and very calculating which I did not appreciate at all. But other than that she was very good, also extremely amusing and it seemed like she had a passion for her role which is always nice - unlike Natalie Portman whose lack of wit, charisma and understanding of her character was one of the many great fails of <i>The Other Boleyn Girl. </i><br />
<br />
As much as I enjoyed the play and feel like it was £27 very well spent, I cannot help but agree with many critics when it comes to the incestuous undertone of the performance. <br />
<br />
Anne and George died under trumped up charges of adultery and incest. Anne was accused of "inciting her own natural brother to violate her" and records of the trial state that she had "tempted her brother with her tongue in the said George's mouth and the said George's tongue in hers." They both suffered the highest price for these allegations and were put to death for treason and incest. Since this particular charge is so sensitive in Anne Boleyn's case - as recognised by her in her execution speech when she pleaded that "if any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judge it the best" - many, many years have been spent trying to clear her name, and Lord Rochford's. <br />
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What we know of Anne and her brother is that they were very close, as many brothers and sisters have been and are, and that there was nothing untoward about their behaviour. They had loved and supported each other their whole lives, through unhappy marriage matches, to courting the King of England, to the miscarriages of the Queens - in a family of ambitious and ruthless adults, they only had one another. Neither of them, but especially Anne, wanted to go the way of their sister, Mary and they clung to each other throughout their trials and their celebrations. They were family after all. All of this would have gone unnoticed had it not been for the hatred both Thomas Cromwell was harbouring for the queen and for the resentment Lady Rochford (Jane Parker, George's wife) had for her husband. <br />
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Anne had always been a religious woman; she had, after all, brought about the reformation that has made our country what it is today. She may have turned her back on the corrupt doctrines of papal authority, but she never turned her back on God and held a steadfast faith until the day she died. Cromwell, who Anne had once described as "my man", was a Lutheran and a secret heretic. For quite some time he was able to help and advance Anne's cause and the "great matter" of the King - his annulment to Katherine of Aragon. But after her marriage to the King, Anne had started to resent how Cromwell, who now held a great deal of power at court, was destroying all of the monasteries and abbeys, transferring their wealth and riches straight into the Privy Purse. This would have only benefited Anne and added to her own wealth, but she was a woman of faith and did not believe that this was the correct way to use the money of the churches. <br />
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She wanted the riches to be distributed to the poor and to charities and because of their conflicting interests, she and Cromwell came to blows many times with Anne even threatening to have his head cut off. She was known to be an ill-tempered and fiery woman whose influence over the King was so great that even a man of Cromwell's power could be reduced to the scaffold had she wished it. Cromwell would have watched what had happened to Thomas More, a very close and beloved friend of the Kings who was executed for refusing the acknowledge Henry as the Supreme Head of the Church of England. Even More was not safe from Anne's overwhelming hold over the King and Cromwell knew that, even though Henry's love for his wife had waned due to her inability to provide him with a male heir, she still held a considerable amount of power over him and not even he "dared to question her". <br />
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Knowing all of this, and fearing for his own life, Thomas Cromwell got to work on bringing down his onetime ally. He was helped in his cause by the Lady Rochford who had become insanely jealous of the relationship between her husband and the queen. This was the perfect time for Cromwell to strike. Charges of adultery would be bad enough by themselves but a charge of incest would seal Anne's fate and prevent her from ever being able to regain her power over the King and destroy the Master Secretary. <br />
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Since we are all very aware of how malicious and and fallacious the charges against Anne and her brother were, I would have sincerely hoped that the <i>Fallen in Love</i> would err on the side of caution when depicting the two of them together. However, it did not. The sexual tension and chemistry was there from the start. The flirting was always very suspicious and quite often the pair would kiss on the lips. This was quite a common practice for siblings in the middle ages, but in this particular instance, the kisses were far too passionate, far too lingering and did not give help to Anne's cause at all. Unfortunately, as good as the play was, that left a rather bitter taste in my mouth and I couldn't help but feel like the director had let Anne down a little. <br />
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So, despite the very obvious incestuous undertones of the play, and the regular misplaced historical quote, I most heartily recommend unto you all this production and ask anyone who has a passion for Anne Boleyn, the Tudors, or just history in general to please go to see it – it is very worth it and certainly was a great way to commemorate the day of her execution and to remember such an amazing, courageous and strong woman who will never be forgotten. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-7174348285442782022013-03-26T08:01:00.000-07:002013-05-21T05:35:51.758-07:00In The End: Anna Bolina, Part II<div>
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<b><i>A little story I have been working on about Anne Boleyn, her last days in the Tower and what I would like to imagine happened...</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Enjoy,</i></b><br />
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<b><i>M</i></b></div>
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I wondered now, how life was dealing with my Father. Uncle would not be the slightest phased by his, what had proved to be through speculation, troublesome niece, but Father had already lost Mary after forcing her in and out of the Kings bed, and now it seemed he could be losing another child. He always had George, but my brother showed more of a talent for winning over the ladies of court rather than the King and other men of noble birth and importance.<br />
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I had not heard word from any one of my family, for the first time in my life it seemed I had been spared their judgement and harsh words. Though now, under so much disgrace and worry, I never so much longed for the embrace of my brother and a few small, comforting words and perhaps a little humour to lighten these most dire of times.</div>
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It was around this time that a knock on the door broke my thoughts and forced me to push my pitiful letter to one side. One of my ladies stepped in accompanied by a guard, he spoke, "Another maid for your services, m'Lady."<br />
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"Your Majesty." I was quick to correct him and in no hurry to forsake my place and position. </div>
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He bowed ever so slightly, as if he were not bowing at all and took his leave of us.</div>
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I turned to the new lady that had been given unto me, "Speak, Kate, tell me all what you know, spare no details but please tell me you bare good news for your Queen."<br />
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"Ma'am, I wish for nothing more than to put your mind at ease and to bring forth good news, but I'm afraid the situation at present has much worsened." <br />
"What is it? What have they said now?" I pleaded, surely, just surely it could get no worse than being locked in the Tower under charges of treason and adultery.<br />
"It's George, your brother. He has been arrested." Kate looked to the floor in despair.<br />
"Whatever for? What could George possibly have done wrong in all of this?"<br />
"They say, you and Lord Rochford had an improper relationship, and that you touched each other, unnaturally, in such a way that you did so commit incest with each other and often had incestuous relations with one another, even, one occasion, after your Majesty's great loss of his Majesty's child so that you may conceive in secret your brothers own son."<br />
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I could not help but drop to floor, "Oh God help me, dear God deliver me from this. God, God, God, help me." <br />
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Kate ran to me and knelt down at my side. I looked up to meet her large, hazel eyes, full of sorrow for me, knowing that now there certainly was no hope. <br />
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"Your Majesty," she spoke softly, "you must stay calm, you must keep your most admirable dignity." <br />
"What will become of George?"<br />
"He has been found guilty, Ma'am, he is to be executed at dawn."<br />
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I began to weep, "My dear, sweet brother, even if the axe did not claim him, the very thought of actually committing the crimes he has been thus charged with would cause him to perish. My poor brother, how I have failed him. It is incredulous to me that any respectable man could believe such lies, such loosely based stories, no one could ever confirm them to be true and lay down any sort of evidence against us. How can this be happening, Kate?" <br />
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"It was the Lady Rochford." <br />
"That snake of a girl? What could she possibly have to do with all of this apart from being the unfortunate widow of my beloved brother?"<br />
"She was the eye-witness, she told Cromwell she saw the two of you, in bed, touching one another and - "<br />
"That's enough, I cannot bare to hear anymore. Jane Parker ought to hope that my brother and I do not somehow get pardoned, it will be her head on a stick before she even has the chance to beg for our forgiveness."<br />
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I could not fathom it, I so wanted to fall asleep, hoping that I would wake up in the Kings arms with the rest of our lives ahead of us. Me, the Queen, unchallenged for Henry's affections and Elizabeth, surrounded by her brothers and all the love in the world. <br />
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“Your Majesty,” Kate implored after quite some time had passed in silence, “what will you do?” <br />
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I fixed my gaze on her but didn’t see her; I did not see a thing, “What can be done? I can write to the King, but I cannot see what good that will do me. I fear things are already too far gone.” <br />
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“Would you like a confessor?” <br />
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She did not ask me in a way as to say that I had to confess my sins, confess the crimes I had been charged with, but to say that it might be one small thing left that may help my cause or, failing that, put my mind and my conscience at ease. <br />
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“I think that may be my last hope, Kate. Fetch Cranmer, make haste and make clear the urgent nature of my matter.” <br />
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One hour later, still having not finished my letter to Henry, Archbishop Cranmer arrived at my cell, carrying with him nothing but a morbid expression and eyes full of sorrow. <br />
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Before I even had the chance to stand, he was at my feet. <br />
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“My Lady, my good and gracious Lady. How is it that you do?” <br />
“Considering my situation, I am quite well. Never before have I so longed for sleep, to sleep eternally, even.”<br />
“Oh,” he sighed heavily, “do not say such things, to see you so defeated is a thing that breaks my heart.”<br />
“It should not! Besides, I am in no way defeated, I am just tired – the end is in sight and it comes as a relief to me. Please do not fear for me, or ache for me for I do not fear for myself.” <br />
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He nodded gingerly, “Yes my child. Now, tell me all you have to say. Spare nothing.” <br />
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“I shall not”. <br />
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I let him take a seat next to me and he started at me intently. <br />
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“I must confess that not only did I fail to commit the crimes I have been unlawfully charged with in deed but also in thought. My eyes never touched another man, nor did my hands and sir, I most ardently must tell you that I never had relations with my brother, George. My supposed sins are so disgusting and vile to me that you must know I would never even think such things, let alone do them. <br />
The pain I feel at my brothers’ imminent execution is such that I cannot speak of. He is an innocent man and I an innocent woman. The love I bear for his Majesty is so great that no other man exists in my eyes; he is the moon and the sun, the sunrise and sunset. I cannot express enough the ways in which I love him and that I would never betray him or forsake his princely love.<br />
But it is my understanding that I am to die because of such misgivings and in truth, I am willing to accept this as my fate.”<br />
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My Chaplin already had tears in his eyes, but he knew as well as I that now was no time for weeping. <br />
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“My lady,” he began, “is there anything else you wish to say?” <br />
“Yes, I want you to tell the King that he knows the truth and my blood is on his hands, my death hangs over his head. I am his wife and no other and he should be in no hurry to forget this.”<br />
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He nodded, “I shall do my best to get this message to his Majesty.” <br />
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“No, you must. Whether it is before my death or not, you must tell him what I have said.” <br />
“Ma’am, how are you so certain that you will die? You doubt the Kings good graces and mercy.”<br />
“I do not doubt the Kings mercy, I just know Henry. He knows there is no other way to lawfully leave me and marry another, to which he would hope to father sons with, and that is what is most important to him. After years of knowing and loving the King, all I have learnt is that a Queen must keep quiet and endure, she must never question the King and above all, she must provide a male heir. I have not done any these things and so I fear mercy is not a quality Henry will bear towards me now.”<br />
“Very well, I shall take my leave of you now, having heard your final and most honest confession and will pass on your message to his Majesty.”<br />
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He took my hand, gently pressing his cold lips against it, “God bless you, Anne.” <br />
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As he reached the door to leave, I called to him, “Do you think it will hurt?” Holding my neck, I needn’t have said what I was referring to. <br />
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“I think not, Ma’am, it will all be over very quickly.” He tried to smile but I could see in his eyes he was forcing it, after all, there was not much to smile about and he was not one for pretending. <br />
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I bowed my head and he left. I watched him walk down the hall through the bars in the door, knowing that this was the last I would see of him, thinking maybe I should have said more, or perhaps less? <br />
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That night I had a mind to finish off my letter, but exhaustion crept over me and I lay in my bed, hoping that when I woke things would be as there were, but, being no fool, I did not keep my hopes up for long.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-20641331089024351822013-02-14T04:54:00.002-08:002013-02-14T13:26:04.587-08:00Richard III: King & Usurper - where to now? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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He was buried in a car park after a brutal and humiliating defeat and death at the hands of Henry Tudor, but the question on everyone’s minds now is where should King Richard III be laid to rest?<br />
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King Richard III – a title that I still believe he should never have acquired, and certainly not have kept. He was the brother of Kind Edward IV and when he passed away Richard was left as Lord Protector and ultimately, the protector of his nephew and the successor to the throne – 12 year old Edward V. We all know the story of the Princes in the Tower and we all know who we like to imagine committed/ordered the murder of the two young princes.<br />
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Who we imagine it to be is probably who it actually was, a brother who felt like he had the dynastic right to the throne and was not satisfied with letting it pass to the rightful ruler, his nephew. It was a common tale of greed, hunger for power and betrayal. Edward V and his 9 year old brother, Richard of Shrewsbury, the Duke of York, were placed in the tower awaiting coronation of Edward as king. It was this pretence that has aroused the greatest suspicion in Richard and given historians and the public alike enough cause to blame him for the untimely deaths of the two princes. <br />
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It is said neither of the princes were seen after 1483 – the same year that Richard was crowned King. Their fate remained a mystery for many years until, in 1674, the skeletal remains of two children were found under the staircase to leading to chapel in the White Tower. For those who believed that Richard had something to do with the young princes disappearance, this was quite definitive proof he had been the one to have them murdered (it was unlikely that a man of his stature would have dirtied his own hands when there were always people to do his bidding).<br />
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Richard III had a seemingly strong argument to back up his claim to the throne: he had been told on good authority that the marriage between his brother, Edward IV, and his wife Elizabeth Woodville was invalid due to Edward’s relations and supposed pre-contract with Eleanor Butler, the daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury. This pre-contract would be damming to the offspring of Edward IV’s marriage and cast doubt over the legitimacy of the two princes and in Richard III’s mind it would have brought into question his nephews claim to the throne. He did, I suppose, what any man of his time would – accept the claims to be true and declare the children to be bastards, making him the rightful king.<br />
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This was a questionable move, for it was only a clergyman that had informed Richard III of his late brothers pre-contract and therefore, even if the source had been reliable, there was no proof and nothing was ever given a clear and just judgment. Neither the courts nor papal authority denounced the young prince’s claim to the throne, nor was he ever legally declared illegitimate so for Richard III to make this move himself and usurp the throne of England was a seemingly deceitful move.<br />
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In truth, Richard III’s bad reputation probably originated from there, long before the Tudor stories of his tyrannical ways and deformity, before the Shakespearian legends and myths. Whether it can be proven or not, most people – the exception being the members of the Richard III society who defend him through rose coloured glasses – believe that Richard III was solely responsible for the death of his nephews. Perhaps he knew his claim to the throne was weak, perhaps he never really believed the princes were illegitimate and worried that one day, when Edward V came of age and had enough people to throw their weight behind his cause, he would be dismantled and his nephew would take back his birth right. Perhaps the only way for him to ever fully attain what he had desired his whole life, to keep it and to never have it question, was to get rid of the two people he had sworn to protect. I believe that Richard III knew he could never properly lay claim to the English throne, that the people would never accept him whilst the rightful heir still lived, so for a man like him in those times, there was only one thing that could be done.<br />
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Richard III failed to open an investigation to the death of his nephews, which caused even more suspicion and to the modern day eye it is quite easy for us to see who the culprit was. But back then, many a tongue would have been bitten. For Richard was the new king, and no one dared to question the king.<br />
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Richard’s reign would be short lived though. After two years on the throne he was usurped by Henry Tudor at the Battle of Bosworth Field which subsequently ended the War of the Roses and marked the beginning of the infamous Tudor dynasty. Accounts note that Richard fought bravely and admirably until his horse became stuck in swampy grounds and he was surrounded. It is at this moment of Shakespeare’s famous line, all too aware of his imminent death, Richard cries out: “A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!” He battled until the very end, but Henry’s men were too much for him and he suffered a violent and brutal death, with further humiliation to come when his naked body was paraded on horseback through the streets and he was stabbed in the buttocks. </div>
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An honourable, yet grizzly death but also a deserved one some might say. Richard III had many enemies and, contradicting accounts made by Richardians, was not loved by his subjects. Even his allies were hated and soon after seeing the fate of their usurper king they fled and surrendered their cause. Henry Tudor was then crowned king at the top of Crown Hill and a new monarchy was established.<br />
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Over the years, the legend of Richard III began to take form and thanks to the Tudors and Shakespeare we establish an image of the last Plantagenet King. The True Tragedy of Richard III states that he was "A man ill shaped, crooked backed, lame armed" adding that he was "valiantly minded, but tyrannous in authority." He has always been portrayed as a very ambitious and self serving man, intent on getting what he wants and willing to do so by any means. He was said to have had a hunchback, and a withered arm. In Shakespearean play The Tragedy of King Richard the Third he is described as an ugly hunchback who is "rudely stamp'd", "deformed, unfinish'd", and cannot "strut before a wanton ambling nymph."<br />
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Thomas More, Lord Chancellor and councillor to Henry VIII, described the king as "little of stature, ill-featured of limbs, crook-backed ... hard-favoured of visage." To add to this image, Polydore Vergil, an Italian priest and diplomat, said that he was "deformed of body ... one shoulder higher than the right". Statements like this would only enhance the physical reputation of the king and give way for even more myths and conspiracies as to the usurper kings appearance.<br />
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This description of the king would transpire through history, in plays and films alike, giving us all a pretty harsh image of what he would have looked like and an insight into the kind of man and ruler that he was. It is much disputed by Richardians that he had any of the aforementioned deformities but when his remains were found a severe curve in his spinal cord was immediately identified, shattering the beliefs that he was not a hunchback and in a way solidifying the claims made by his enemies about his appearance.<br />
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Richard III was the last (and only second) king of England to die on the battlefield and his place of burial has been the subject of much speculation for hundreds of years. Legend has it that he was cast into a river, but the more likely story is that he was buried in the graveyard at Greyfriars Church, Leicester. The site of the graveyard is now a car park and as we all know, Richard’s remains were found there in September of last year. But now that the king’s remains have been discovered and identified, the question is: where will he be laid to rest?<br />
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Many people believe he should be given the honours of a king of England, and appropriately should be laid to rest in Westminster Abbey as is the custom for English monarchs. But should Richard III be buried in accordance with his former status and given the proper honours that he supposedly deserves? In my opinion: no.<br />
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Richard III, as well known as he is, was never the rightful king. His brother had sons, those sons were heirs, and Richard had them eliminated so that he could take the throne for himself. For all of Richard’s sins and discrepancies I do not believe that he has the right to take his place with former great kings and queens of England by being buried at Westminster Abbey. He was a usurper, a murderer. He betrayed his nephews, the memory of his brother and ultimately, he betrayed England. He committed treason and was able to rule unpunished, until his enemies put an end to his life and reign.<br />
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So why should such a man be buried in Westminster Abbey? So many agree that he should be, and so many believe he should be given a state funeral but they are not looking at the bigger picture – that is, that Richard III would have been nothing if not for his crimes and in today’s world, he would be hated and despised for his actions.<br />
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But for now, the legend of the sometime king lives on and the dispute over his rightful burial place continues. His discovery has reignited a lost interest in history and the fascinating characters that hath been before us; it has captivated people across the world and given a lot of truth to the myths and legends surrounding Richard III. And I am sure we will only continue to learn more.<br />
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Richard III: The King in the car park – and that, I believe, is where he should remain. </div>
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<strong>M.</strong></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-82947999012874499322013-02-13T05:04:00.000-08:002013-03-26T07:55:08.455-07:00In The End: Anna Bolina, Part I<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><em>A little story I have been working on about Anne Boleyn, her last days in the Tower and what I would like to imagine happened...</em></strong></div>
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<strong><em>Enjoy,</em></strong></div>
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I took a seat - if you could even call it that - on the stone cold floor, willing myself to write. It had been a plan of mine to pour out my heart to the King and now it came to it, I couldn't help but wonder if such an outpouring, such a plea for mercy would even matter to Henry.<br />
He seemed, by the encouragement of his men and Master Cromwell, bent on my destruction. He had not asked for an explanation, nor had he sent any word of his final judgment on me, the Queen - his wife.<br />
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His most loving, humble wife, a wife who had never betrayed his trust or committed the vile acts she was therefore accused of. Yes, I had been a good wife, temperamental at times, envious and volatile as well, but always a good wife, never forsaking my lord, never purposefully setting out to displease my husband, the King.<br />
I have provided the King with an heir, albeit a little girl, but an heir nonetheless and there was still time, we were but young in the eyes of God and through Gods good graces, sons would come.<br />
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And yet here I was, shut away in the Tower, awaiting my death, my release, awaiting anything that would end the misery of my most dreadful situation.<br />
My thoughts turned to Elizabeth, my beautiful little princess, who would be stripped of all her titles. All the privileges of her household and the rights of her birth would all be removed, and would count for nothing.<br />
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How I had failed her. What would she think of me when she came of age? Would she believe the charges to be true? I prayed she would know better and not think ill of her Mother. In that moment, I began to regret the time I had not spent with my daughter, the months I had let pass by before I realized how much she needed me, how much she had changed and how beautiful she was becoming even at her young age. She was her father’s daughter, but by all means was she mine as well, it shone through her eyes. I feared for her because of it, though. I did not want her to end up as I, ill-tempered and emotional, it had left me vulnerable and open to attack and, I knew this to be true, in many people’s most honest of opinions, my downfall.<br />
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I gently touched my pen to the paper I had been given later that morning, having waited all day to compose my letter.<br />
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<strong><em>Your grace's displeasure and my imprisonment are things so strange to me, that what to write, or what to excuse, I am altogether ignorant.</em></strong></div>
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Much to my disadvantage, I no longer had the slightest idea of how to write the King. I had once wrote to him with love and uncharted affection, without fear of how he would take my words. But now, in my most delicate and fragile time, my most uneasy and dangerous situation, I could hardly think of what to say, for fear of displeasing Henry even further. If that were even a possibility.<br />
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<em><strong>Whereas you send to me (willing me to confess a truth and so obtain your favor), by such a one, whom you know to be mine ancient professed enemy, I no sooner received this message by him, than I rightly conceived your meaning, and if, as you say, confessing a truth indeed may procure my safety, I shall with all willingness and duty, perform your duty.</strong></em><br />
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All I had to confess was my undying love for his Majesty and my subjection to him, of which was endless. But surely, I had hoped, he was well aware of this fact and would not profess to know, think or believe otherwise. God only knew what Cromwell had fed to his Majesty, the lies he had spoken through his vile, unyielding and merciless tongue. Was there any hope? I knew the charges that had been brought against me but knew not of how such stories had come to light, who had told them, who had thought them up? It seemed to me that the blame lay wholly with Cromwell, a master fabricator, a class manipulator. Why had he so suddenly sought my downfall? He was an intolerable man and I had, on more than one or two occasions, made known my disdain for him and the action I could take if he persisted in disrespecting his Queen. Perhaps such a small indiscretion had made him desire to seek revenge upon me, and what better way to ruin a Queen than to turn her King against her?<br />
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<strong><em>But let not your grace ever imagine that your poor wife will be brought to acknowledge a fault,</em></strong><br />
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There was no fault to be guilty of, unless loving a man too much was now considered a fault. But I knew better than that, my love for the King was considered no great fault, not one that had been brought into question, anyway. My fault was that of well thought up lies conceived by men whose high positions made them over reach themselves. And for all their vices and discretion's, it was I who would pay the highest price and one day, unbeknownst to them, so would the King.<br />
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<strong><em>where not so much as a thought ever proceeded. And to speak a truth, never a prince had wife more loyal in all duty, and in all true affection, than you have ever found in Anne Bulen - with which name and place I could willingly have contented myself, if God and your grace's pleasure had been so pleased.</em></strong><br />
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I sighed heavily in defeat - was there any point to this? I could be sure that my letter would never even reach the eyes of the King nor would it grace his ears. Cromwell would do his utmost to keep it between just him and I, and unknowingly, I was writing a plea that would most certainly fall on deaf and merciless ears.<br />
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<strong><em>Neither did I at any time so far forget myself in my exaltation or received queenship, but that I always looked for such alteration as I now find; for the ground of my preferment being on no surer foundation than your grace's fancy, the least alteration was fit and sufficient (I knew) to draw that fancy to some other subject.<br /><br /> You have chosen me from low estate to be your queen and companion, far beyond my desert or desire; if, then, you found me worthy of such honor, good your grace, let not any light fancy or bad counsel of my enemies withdraw your princely favor from me; neither let that stain - that unworthy stain - of a disloyal heart towards your good grace ever cast so foul a blot on me, and on the infant princess your daughter.</em></strong><br />
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If I had even slightly pitied myself, it was nothing to how I pitied Elizabeth. I couldn't help but think of how her own father, her own sovereign Lord would soon disown and disinherit her due to the lies and stories of men. Long ago, I could not have ever imagined a time where my word, my truth was not the final word, the final truth for Henry on any matter that rose in regards to myself. He had never doubted me, nor distrusted me, not even his closest companion, the Duke of Suffolk could cause the King to hold any air of doubt over my head. And, to my most saddened self, his Grace, Charles Brandon had a few times spoke up against me and attempted to turn the King from me and therefore unto another lady, and as of late, that had been the Lady Jane Seymour. I resented her not, how could I when her actions towards me where once mine towards Katherine of Aragon, the late Queen? It was assumed that I despised Mistress Seymour but truthfully, I envied her position and favor with the King, something I had slowly but surely lost and only despised her for bearing the love and the affection of my most beloved Lord and husband.<br />
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She was but a young girl and I saw her families hand behind every move she made. Everything she said, everything she did, every gesture towards the King was a carefully set up ploy by her kinsmen, especially her over ambitious brother, Sir Edward Seymour. I had once been the same, a puppet of men, my Father and Uncle, but it did not take long for a change in power and those whom I once knelt to where soon ruled over by me, the Queen of England.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-79613512664472193692013-02-13T03:07:00.003-08:002013-02-13T03:07:58.690-08:00RMS Titanic: A Recollection, Resurrected<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /><strong>For this week, I want to share with you something that has been of high interest to me for many years. It has played on my mind, taken over my thoughts and impacted my heart in many, many ways. Since I was young and watched the film for the first time, I have been hooked. But this obsession was enhanced when I visited an exhibition in America - an experience that enriched me with knowledge and broke my heart.</strong> <br /><br /> <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMnf7r9Cqr-0S6M9KzXAFAmmuj66R8CJMebYpGDIWgij_RDlPpefgvBnmgiJ564mCBvbVHnn8rjA3mBNgbgoafmL_3Ez9u6c7cpB9FIN9EyKOfPIcoF2AMLIqypMKAU06HHVuPtEjUNVM/s1600/t11.png"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMnf7r9Cqr-0S6M9KzXAFAmmuj66R8CJMebYpGDIWgij_RDlPpefgvBnmgiJ564mCBvbVHnn8rjA3mBNgbgoafmL_3Ez9u6c7cpB9FIN9EyKOfPIcoF2AMLIqypMKAU06HHVuPtEjUNVM/s1600/t11.png" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The Titanic is heading towards its centenary anniversary this week and on Sunday 15th April the world will remember this great ship and the brave souls that lost their lives on the most famous - and most tragic - cruise liner in maritime history. 100 years ago, the worlds most luxurious ship sunk in the middle of the Atlantic on its maiden voyage to New York. For years, the story of the Titanic has gripped and captivated generations and its seems that her tale will never cease to be told.<br /> <br /> When James Cameron epic blockbuster "Titanic" hit our screens in 1997, I was only young. I still remember my mother and sister heading off to the cinemas to watch it (my sister was completely besotted with Leonardo DiCaprio) but, as a child, I was not phased by it. It wasn't until some years later when I watched the movie for myself that my fascination with the Titanic began to evolve. At first, I cried for the dogs who drowned on board the ship, and then my tears were for the young children who lost their fathers due to the "women and children only" protocol enforced by Titanic’s crew. After a few times of watching it/growing up a bit and experiencing my first love, it was the love story between Jack and Rose that made me sob like a baby - and who can blame me? I cannot imagine a single heart that did not break as a result of getting wrapped up and lost in such a tragic love story. But, after a trip to a Titanic exhibition in America, it was the tragedy itself and the massive loss of life that broke my heart the most.<br /> <br /> RMS Titanic was to be, along with her sister ships Olympic and Britannic, the biggest and supposedly fastest ocean liner the world had ever seen. No one had ever deemed the ship "unsinkable" as legend often states. It was, however, suggested that because of her watertight compartments, she was virtually unsinkable. The press, of course, blew this out of proportion and it was widely believed that sailing on Titanic was safer than dry land. This would render her fate an ironic and cruel twist. Her construction began in 1909 and from that time until 1911 Titanic would already claim 8 lives. The workers who slaved away on her for years in appalling conditions and on a miserable salary risked their own lives to create a ship that would rule the waves for years to come. It is sad to think now that all of that work, sweat and death would all be in vain and would only pave the way for more disaster and loss of life.<br /><br /> <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiQuypkpNyJc1Kl42f7TZWz5fu0RZsi1UjNVxNaFd1z1I7Y0wHtcPgLndCVrd6X0bentb9NGtDKHZRHH0GAKu_tzYsBURtnfF_M-5IfQPos1Nd3fPHsILJgJSY8JsN0rgyitw4p8obess/s1600/t10.png"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiQuypkpNyJc1Kl42f7TZWz5fu0RZsi1UjNVxNaFd1z1I7Y0wHtcPgLndCVrd6X0bentb9NGtDKHZRHH0GAKu_tzYsBURtnfF_M-5IfQPos1Nd3fPHsILJgJSY8JsN0rgyitw4p8obess/s1600/t10.png" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgydh4_UjLlWYr9-DSLxFxvdxoP2I4nDItW_JaFdHN79QbPvTtJCC4v3Kqk8rgM_vH8wkatfyPu9ppiP-YsDPxpa5-bpBIb7oqJNBKUgV1aZIc0ClOFsdNx46lECosPxPsdhdA_91B2ttE/s1600/Titanic_Under_Construction.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br />As I understand, Titanic’s grand maiden voyage was to launch in March of 1912, but troubles with Titanic’s sister ship, Olympic, delayed plans and her launch was rescheduled for April 10th 1912. Had such delays not occurred, history might well read a very different story and the Titanic would not rest at the bottom of the Atlantic, a tortured and tormented shell of her former self. A ghost ship in every way.<br /> <br /> But nevertheless, Titanic set sail from Southampton, New York bound on April 10th 1912 and the world celebrated her glory. She was the ships of dreams, a chance for the rich to flaunt their extravagant lifestyles in the most luxurious and expensive way possible, an opportunity for the poor and underprivileged to sail on the world’s grandest liner and to make a new life for themselves overseas. I can only imagine what it must have been like to sail aboard the Titanic, to walk her decks in the fresh sea air and then in the evenings to gaze upon the endless night sky, to set foot on her grand staircase, to experience the luxury of her first class menu or to even "do a Jack" and stand at the end of her ostentatious bow. In truth, I have many times dreamt that I am walking through the Titanic, her promenade, her sumptuous rooms, through steerage and into the boiler rooms. I can smell the ocean, the sweat of men hard at work, the new bed linen and the rich food emanating from the first class restaurant. I can hear men laughing, women gossiping, china clinking and the band playing the songs that they played until the very end. All of these things made up the Titanic - but it was not to last.<br /><br /> <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibo8wsx2f4mZJEFGIqQDjAyowFaxrepWu2NHIkxZrMT6rKhMWS-Gep2NXyQqj9Ys0HDLpTtLb80U2EvbTiE_4yexD1GG8rh2TUa2GB_2VuHZcXBncBlzI3974VvU09aeMIH6-H-KdBsHs/s1600/t9.png"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibo8wsx2f4mZJEFGIqQDjAyowFaxrepWu2NHIkxZrMT6rKhMWS-Gep2NXyQqj9Ys0HDLpTtLb80U2EvbTiE_4yexD1GG8rh2TUa2GB_2VuHZcXBncBlzI3974VvU09aeMIH6-H-KdBsHs/s1600/t9.png" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWESU4VARODjpIVkV0gNnIkwjdXRAEuIiYeqPO0o9xnUQ5ta6V38zwaWXer8pkbjpHcK7ZUw3AerjTtrJcqw30VM5bvjQaD7rfmO-JICu-nokpHEGvmC6zWJ8SB8FJU6O_ZVKcPFk-Y2o/s1600/t7.png"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWESU4VARODjpIVkV0gNnIkwjdXRAEuIiYeqPO0o9xnUQ5ta6V38zwaWXer8pkbjpHcK7ZUw3AerjTtrJcqw30VM5bvjQaD7rfmO-JICu-nokpHEGvmC6zWJ8SB8FJU6O_ZVKcPFk-Y2o/s320/t7.png" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9AlgXDj8Q7x6UAlEi40mGKdCefQFqKL4hQaHE5spb0SoUH-lParyMkfYtjObQ7IsJn4Y-NxNnrOW27QtFnfS-BvQns2w-f_bpobYkJs6h_alAm4y_3fjd_r8dBQTwtyv7omgM6YMtv3I/s1600/t8.png"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9AlgXDj8Q7x6UAlEi40mGKdCefQFqKL4hQaHE5spb0SoUH-lParyMkfYtjObQ7IsJn4Y-NxNnrOW27QtFnfS-BvQns2w-f_bpobYkJs6h_alAm4y_3fjd_r8dBQTwtyv7omgM6YMtv3I/s320/t8.png" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3wGtj2nukft5xAvka_PPHmP0l-Rg9vIwcoixL8DcATluYPh_3DrScHgNI0t4qmPGG_N7vUmn36xgm7tUscFLQfU4UqU8AWCM5rzPw8uIxut0mlxZwLPcPsYqWMHbHNKAZTxKQCOO1c0k/s1600/Titanic12.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /> On the night of April 14th 1912, Titanic had received a handful of ice warnings, plenty to forewarn them of the dangers that lay ahead of them. But this did not deter the great ship. She continued at full speed ahead. Despite these warnings, Captain Smith was quoted saying that he could not "imagine any condition which would cause a ship to founder. Modern shipbuilding has gone beyond that." Years of captaincy had done him no service. Titanic did not slow down - it is largely speculated that J. Bruce Ismay wanted to show the world Titanic’s magnificence, and even under words of warnings and icebergs from the Captain, Ismay could not be swayed. He wanted his ship to arrive before she was expected, to make the morning papers and for the world to marvel at her brilliance and her speed. This order would prove to be fatal. As much as we all think that Captain Edward Smith should have known better than the chairman and managing director of the White Star Line, it would seem that pressure to impress was far greater than pressure to avoid a mass loss of life. He gave no orders to slow down and at approximately 11.40pm on the ill-fated night of April 14th, an iceberg was spotted by a lookout by the name of Frederick Fleet and soon, after an unsuccessful attempt to steer the ship away from the massive berg, Titanic was struck and dealt a massive blow to her starboard side.<br /> <br /> We all the know the events of that night, the stories of bravery by many men who sacrificed their own lives so that strangers could live, the cowardice of others who perhaps should have gone down with the ship, the devastation of those who were carted off safely in lifeboats and had no choice but to sit and watch the mighty Titanic flounder and the screams and cries of those unfortunate plenty who were left on her, and most of all the tragedy of the souls whose lives were cut short.<br /> <br /> 20 lifeboats were on the Titanic, 4 of which were collapsible boats. Amazingly - but sadly - enough, she had the capacity for 64 lifeboats - enough for 4,000 people. The White Star Line opted for the required amount of 16 which, as we well know, was only enough to take one-third of Titanic’s passengers - 1,178 people. As a result, 1,517 people out of the 2,224 on board lost their lives in the epic clash between a highly technological man-made wonder and a weapon of nature. As the great and now ghostly bow of the Titanic flooded and slipped under the surface, her stern rose higher and higher into the air, causing thousands of people to make a quick panic decision. Would they stay on with the ship and risk being suctioned down with her or would they jump? Ultimately, both outcomes resulted in death only. Those who did not go down with the ship froze to death in the freezing ocean and many of those who jumped died before they even hit the water. The life jackets were made of cork and when a passenger jumped from the sinking ship, their life jacket would rise up and break their necks. Even now, it is hard to see a way out. There she was, the Titanic, the greatest ship sailing the seas, and she was going down rapidly and there was no one coming to her rescue in a hurry. The situation was dire and many resigned themselves to the fact that there was no hope. Imagine all of the countless number of untold stories of bravery. We already know of the richest man on board, J.J. Astor, who was a gentlemen to the very end and died with dignity, of the remarkable Isidor and Ida Straus who could not bare to be parted in life and died together on the sinking ship, of the Marconi operators who stayed at their posts until the very last minute, desperately calling out for help. As more time goes on from the death of the Titanic, more stories of survival, courage and heroism surface and we continue to be touched by the people that lost their lives on the ship of dreams.<br /><br /> <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfvPCAxLmSge50tJpwJgF6cWwPFnGPni2kwLrQ1TT7F2ee6DKtWOgs4qIKOcY9szgeU18fhit-myw7kxWvifQ2HPZTJcj-CR_k1mt2erBwKSHwXpgazz0i5L_PkjHazq5G5iTqSZ_ZawI/s1600/t6.png"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfvPCAxLmSge50tJpwJgF6cWwPFnGPni2kwLrQ1TT7F2ee6DKtWOgs4qIKOcY9szgeU18fhit-myw7kxWvifQ2HPZTJcj-CR_k1mt2erBwKSHwXpgazz0i5L_PkjHazq5G5iTqSZ_ZawI/s320/t6.png" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHNyZ_txeTb0yGcbVzjJ6Lx-dlaN9SE58cxJZj5bvHWuHcQW0URPmLy7D-gt_INa-HPTxL9qxQb25C-5hKb3ZMzrPfGE6MFsdqduQ_iMZ8tkPHMGFEipI2pbeRlnAwjQZ5UxBSZ9JGJJ4/s1600/t5.png"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHNyZ_txeTb0yGcbVzjJ6Lx-dlaN9SE58cxJZj5bvHWuHcQW0URPmLy7D-gt_INa-HPTxL9qxQb25C-5hKb3ZMzrPfGE6MFsdqduQ_iMZ8tkPHMGFEipI2pbeRlnAwjQZ5UxBSZ9JGJJ4/s1600/t5.png" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhehdE8-a6uFJIlHPOAokrp0a2Ti86eyCjyspk2cNEyC9eM7H69XzqZkKW5Lb2Uyxbz8QIUXZLefYqTDxY6CT1GGvBnU8pIEoctr2WQ4Fxn0w4MlU5Bv3QfyyYSl2Bxx-mV3QMYbxHG9tA/s1600/t4.png"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhehdE8-a6uFJIlHPOAokrp0a2Ti86eyCjyspk2cNEyC9eM7H69XzqZkKW5Lb2Uyxbz8QIUXZLefYqTDxY6CT1GGvBnU8pIEoctr2WQ4Fxn0w4MlU5Bv3QfyyYSl2Bxx-mV3QMYbxHG9tA/s1600/t4.png" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8NFpneHJAvZKEnF7evY8U7zS_tkABdRGNo_jo5sB3tSGKXT8p6QV-yeSZ6cBdnChkyhq1qvp1-7ih4el3_SZeklTfd14bZYchhNj2p_uD9XkVAp3NjHdoWh6Pffy3S5PMLKSTdWNtLBA/s1600/t3.png"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8NFpneHJAvZKEnF7evY8U7zS_tkABdRGNo_jo5sB3tSGKXT8p6QV-yeSZ6cBdnChkyhq1qvp1-7ih4el3_SZeklTfd14bZYchhNj2p_uD9XkVAp3NjHdoWh6Pffy3S5PMLKSTdWNtLBA/s320/t3.png" /></a><br /><u><em>Drawings by Ken Marschall</em></u><br /><br /><br /> <br />At 2.20am on April 15th, the stern of the Titanic dramatically and famously detached from the bow under massive amounts of pressure. The bow sunk first, the stern stayed afloat upright for a couple of minutes before it corkscrewed 2.5 miles down to the ocean floor. Titanic, once the ship of dreams is now a ghost ship. But despite the shocking amounts of lives she claimed, there is still so much life within her wreckage. So much remains in tact, the heart and soul of the Titanic and the dreams of her passengers still survive in the darkest depths of the Atlantic. Whilst her mangled and battered stern is almost unrecognizable, her bow still holds onto her majesty and reminds us all of her grandeur. She is now more of a legend than she ever would have been and the lives of those who died with her have touched and moved generations of people. Her legacy means that even 100 years later, the Titanic still lives in the memories and hearts of all those that she has impacted since the time she was constructed until the present day. She was a beautiful disaster, a legendary tale of both brilliance, opulence and ultimate tragedy. <br /><br /> <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXk5VfXMEV9_5wyOPU_K0IC33t76QMBaFXTfD3LP4Knh2TQpWs3Mfj8KUq7_F_nWrk3iIqqSlbY4OoVPAoQ7zGUDZid4UE8Ky1Y-Qjxy4xJQg8CDfIeIReNtV9PWeyiD2FTLRC_nCKvFM/s1600/t2.png"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXk5VfXMEV9_5wyOPU_K0IC33t76QMBaFXTfD3LP4Knh2TQpWs3Mfj8KUq7_F_nWrk3iIqqSlbY4OoVPAoQ7zGUDZid4UE8Ky1Y-Qjxy4xJQg8CDfIeIReNtV9PWeyiD2FTLRC_nCKvFM/s320/t2.png" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdvZefxr_KFaf2Tpt5e214H_QiO-x2AzaS0_iFRy7XlVE1KgJ4BNfBk06VrnJednuY6jxxsCs3wCjz46DDWXOHQfBucsv26sY06v533oOLbQaTvN-XLEuXWWIgQ9LM8SqcbQuoMQZdprA/s1600/t1.png"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdvZefxr_KFaf2Tpt5e214H_QiO-x2AzaS0_iFRy7XlVE1KgJ4BNfBk06VrnJednuY6jxxsCs3wCjz46DDWXOHQfBucsv26sY06v533oOLbQaTvN-XLEuXWWIgQ9LM8SqcbQuoMQZdprA/s320/t1.png" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj92fsZdNSpwVt0dWsk_fQgl6lK1MsDazInCCopFQuzOuEE7bKsXX3Q-UJ6E9vPtwpekiMRD794Xj9t5vV8HV8kBfx2RwQh-EIEh4RMt4mL4Q3xqYlvU9DQKMaGxvoEareAvy3_fJxd_wI/s1600/titanic-bow.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> Titanic, will always have a story to tell.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-50501403361265753792013-02-13T00:57:00.000-08:002014-04-04T04:30:38.922-07:00The Dark Knight Rises - But Not High Enough <div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>THE DARK KNIGHT RISES - But Not High Enough</strong></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCWqhW0trVqCYeqDaurAk-aHyuayEkwC_P6cyv8KzYUea4G_wGvRRg6Op2Q-jUTIFE-blIxugggiA5zlYsEwW1o5692yDGX-paVSD_PHSSq-FRIdk_DgQw7hWArmw6nQlpx7MTHyEhMXE/s1600/The-Dark-Knight-Rises.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCWqhW0trVqCYeqDaurAk-aHyuayEkwC_P6cyv8KzYUea4G_wGvRRg6Op2Q-jUTIFE-blIxugggiA5zlYsEwW1o5692yDGX-paVSD_PHSSq-FRIdk_DgQw7hWArmw6nQlpx7MTHyEhMXE/s320/The-Dark-Knight-Rises.jpg" /></a><br />
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I know it has been a while since The Dark Knight Rises hit our screens after months of anticipation, but it has taken me quite some time to write this review. First of all, I would like to state that I am a huge Marvel and DC Comics fan - always have been and always will be - and the first two instalments of the rebooted Batman franchise were absolutely exceptional. <br />
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Batman Begins was amazing, but The Dark Knight just fulfilled all comic book fantasies. It was always going to be hard to surpass The Dark Knight and Heath Ledgers hauntingly marvellous performance, but I had high hopes for the third movie considering that Christopher Nolan had decided to end it there instead of dragging it out and had cast the captivating, albeit a bit crazy, Tom Hardy as the villain Bane. <br />
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Every time I saw a trailer for The Dark Knight Rises, I would quite literally stop breathing for a minute and a half and tightly squeeze the hand of the person who had the misfortune of sitting next to me. I was anticipating seeing a respectable Bane who was not controlled by a woman, who gave Batman a serious run for his money. I had my concerns about Anne Hathaway as Cat Woman as I had never been a big fan of her look or her acting. But after watching a brief glimpse of her performance in a Les Misérables trailer I decided it was only fair to give the woman a chance. Christian Bale was, of course, always going to be great in my eyes. He is Batman, along with Nolan he breathed a complete new life into the Batman series and I knew he would do no wrong.<br />
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By the time The Dark Knight Rises had premiered, I was experiencing a rather rough patch in my life so the importance of the third and final Batman being mind blowing was pretty imperative to my mental and emotional stability. Without sounding too melodramatic, all I had in my life was the prospect of watching a good Batman film and having a nice little perve on Bale and Hardy, so my exceptions were sky high as you can imagine.<br />
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Now, I understand we all have our own opinions and granted, my opinions are often like Marmite – you either love them or you hate them. They are very blunt, very dramatic and not at all open to reason. So I will try to be as reasonable as I can whilst I give my verdict on The Dark Knight Rises, but I can assure you that some of you will not like it. Not, one, bit. <br />
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To put it quite simply, my disappointment cannot be conveyed.<br />
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I had wished for so many things in the final Batman and none of those things came true. The one thing I came away with was shock that the only part of the film I actually enjoyed was Anne Hathaway’s portrayal of Cat Woman. How could this be? I just sat through a Christopher Nolan Batman film with some of the most brilliant actors around at the moment -Christian Bale, Tom Hardy and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. I had a good 2 hours’ worth of staring at Tom Hardy’s muscles, observing gritty fight scenes and listening to the fantastic musical score and yet I felt so deflated when I left the cinemas.<br />
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To be fair, the film didn’t start to go severely downhill for me until right near the end. The death of Bane, or rather the revelation of the fact that he was controlled by a manipulative woman the whole time. Here was me thinking that Bane was just a crazy, slightly disturbed maniac who wanted to bring chaos and anarchy to Gotham, to challenge Batman and take control of the city. A character worthy of taking over the position of villain after Heath Ledgers nightmarishly beautiful Joker captivated millions of people all over the world. <br />
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But no, it was not to be. For all of his strength, greed and hunger for power, all he really turned out to be was a whipped little boy, not a crazy mentalist who caused shit for his own enjoyment, but a suppressed shell of a man who was doing the bidding of the woman he had loved for years. Brilliant, how original. Because we hadn’t seen enough of him being Poison Ivy’s lap dog in the flop film Batman & Robin, had we?<br />
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For me, it was such a slap across the face. The one character I had anticipated the most, turned out to be the biggest disappointment of the entire trilogy. It wasn’t Tom Hardy’s fault that his character could have been played by anyone, or that for the majority of the film I had no idea what the hell he was trying to say, or that the writers had turned his character into little pussy cat who was killed off quite suddenly by Cat Woman in the least satisfying comeuppance and death of a baddy I had seen in a film, ever. And to be honest, if I was Hardy I would be doing some serious Bronson shit on the writers and producers of The Dark Knight Rises for ruining his beloved Bane.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ2wkuaxZpNGEPFnpKmtwy353cFRrKo3-aIKhGDYkmDZHlu8COaDx6iyfhXh8pnVosaCmhRLbdL1FFjx0zdUZvjYUvhJZxRSuyo567FomNU3V5NAW8SSWTDaYQGkHTgiX14m3Aozv9iGE/s1600/Bane-Batman-The-Dark-Knight-Rises.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ2wkuaxZpNGEPFnpKmtwy353cFRrKo3-aIKhGDYkmDZHlu8COaDx6iyfhXh8pnVosaCmhRLbdL1FFjx0zdUZvjYUvhJZxRSuyo567FomNU3V5NAW8SSWTDaYQGkHTgiX14m3Aozv9iGE/s320/Bane-Batman-The-Dark-Knight-Rises.jpg" /></a><br />
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Moving on to the next flop before have a mental breakdown over Bane, what was with the ending? I did not seriously just watch the beginning of Robin, did I?<br />
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I feel uncomfortable just thinking about the possibility of the launch of a new Batman & Robin series after Del Boy & Rodney did a far better job of being the crime fighting super duo than George Clooney and Chris O’Donnell could ever even dream of. So why was this thrown into The Dark Knight Rises? What was the need for it? Had Nolan had a midlife crisis and decided to completely destroy an already weak and sporadic storyline?<br />
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I just didn’t know what to make of it all. The minute Miranda Tate was revealed to be the instigator behind Bane’s mission to bring Gotham to ashes and the begrudged child of Ra's al Ghul<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ra%27s_al_Ghul">,</a> I am sure I tuned out a little, then again when John Blake found the Bat cave, and then again when Batman came “back from the dead” with his new girlfriend, – wait for it, surprise, surprise – Selina Kyle! Oh it was just all too good to be true. Not.<br />
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What the hell does Nolan think this is? A Disney film? For Christ sake man, get a hold of yourself! The one thing I loved about the new Batman series is that it was dark, haunting and never ended on a particularly good note. The very core of it was moving and deep, creepy and intriguing, daring and heartfelt. But watching The Dark Knight Rises was like watching a completely different film all together. This may be unfathomable to the majority of you, but I had hoped to see the death of Batman, now that would have been an ending. If Bane had been driven by his own madness and managed to kill Batman, it would have left us all on the edge of our seats, completely unsettled and stunned. Which is what had I expected from the Dark Knight trilogy. I did not expect a happy ending, a fairy tale romance and future bromance lurking on the horizon to round off an amazingly irking series. <br />
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But what can you do? It is what it is.<br />
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Out of 10, I would give The Dark Knight Rises 6 stars and this can only really be contributed to Tom Hardy’s physique and bulging muscles, because in the end, that was certainly all I cared about and the only thing that held my concentration throughout a boring, confusing and disappointing finale. Boo – freaking – hoo. <br />
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<strong>Yours most untruly,<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />M.</strong><br />
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A little treat to make us (well, mainly me) feel better. Enjoy ;) <br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-77128179745485569572013-02-13T00:53:00.003-08:002013-05-17T06:35:00.971-07:00Fifty Shades of Even More Drivel <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">Fifty Shades<br /> of Even More Drivel</span></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="color: red;">***Please note that this review contains spoilers***</span></em></strong><br />
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Right, so it has been a few days since I shattered the dreams of every woman in the world who believes that she is too dignified to watch porn, but will happily read it if it has a “story line” of some sort, and I have since finished Fifty Shades of Grey.<br />
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What I would love to do now is tell you all how brilliant the remainder of the book was, how the writing became George R.R. Martin like, and how the lead characters impressed me with their depth and intricate personalities. I want to tell you that I have been so aroused by this exquisite onslaught of erotica that I have marched myself down to Ann Summers to invest in some whips and bondage material. But I am afraid I have been left with the bitter taste of continued disappointment in my mouth. And it tastes awful.<br />
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It took me a few days to polish Fifty Shades off, but I finally managed to by subjecting myself to reading it before I went to bed (when my mind was already switching off) and by taking late lunches to read it so as to avoid getting strange and suggestive looks by any male colleague who just so happened to pass through the kitchen and catch me reading a book with a very recognisable cover. By the end I was doing more reading and less skimming because it seemed the filthy sex scenes had picked up the pace a bit. But only a by a bit. Perhaps I just have an extraordinarily filthy mind and found the contents of this book to be closer to Disney than S&M, but I wasn’t shocked by anything that was thrown at me.<br />
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Only yesterday I was travelling to work on the train and happened to glance over at a woman reading Fifty Shades. Behind her was another woman standing with her boyfriend, and I watched as she subtly read the pages of the book and gasped in horror. She turned to her boyfriend and mouthed, “Wow”. Really? Wow? What book was she reading?As you all know, the only thing that has left me stunned and opened mouthed is the horrific writing which only seems to get worse.<br />
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Anastasia, or Miss Steele as Christian Grey bloody well insists on calling her, is single handily the most repetitive and annoying woman I have ever had the misfortune of reading. We all know the phrases she uses throughout the book, in almost every single page and if I didn't already want to shoot her stupid inner goddess dead before, I certainly do now. I also want to tell her to grow a pair. She makes out to be bravely defiant and promises to put up a good fight with Christian in an attempt to delve into his psyche and understand why he is such a tortured soul, but she gives up after a minute of persuasion. Get it together woman! This man wants to physically punish you, cause you pain and yet he can’t tell you why? Oh no, sorry, I know why: because he needs it. Yeah alright, pull the other one mate. I need Alexander Skarsgard but you don’t see me kidnapping him and hand cuffing him to my bed (I must err on the side of caution here, because I cannot deny that I have not contemplated doing this and have revelled in the sweet majesty of having such a fine specimen tied to my bed for me to do with as I see fit). She gives him everything, but that’s not nearly as frustrating as how quickly he has decided he does want “more” from his leading lady. Given the fact that he puts up such a fight in the war against letting Ana understand the ins and outs of his complicated personality, you would have thought it would have taken him at least a few books to fall for her. They have ultimately switched roles. Ana may be the submissive in the “Red Room of Pain”(God, how I hate that name) but he is the submissive where it counts – in real life. For the most part, Ana loves being dominated in the bedroom but other than that she has complete control, she is the one who has Christian firmly pressed under that thumb.<br />
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What’s more is that I cannot for the life of me understand why E.L. James tries to make Mr Grey romantic – he is a sadomasochist, for crying out loud. He wants to cause pain, he wants to be in control. He doesn’t care about love, according to him he is incapable of love (ha!) so why bother pretending he is romantic? He isn’t meant to give a damn about that side of his relationship with Ana, and clearly the most important thing to him is sex. Not love, sex. In his own words, his romantic, gushy gestures and speeches are all “moot”.<br />
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And then there are the emails. The ridiculous, nonsensical emails between Ana and Christian. They make me want to rip my own eyes out. Beyond cringe worthy and the ultimate display of how E.L. James is trying too hard to sound like a competent, intelligent and witty writer when all she really is is a bored, middle aged housewife who should probably just stick to fan fiction of the Twilight kind. The only reason her books have been such a success is because apparently they push the boundaries and are the perfect erotica for women. I beg to differ. I’msure there are plenty of women out there who would find that a lot of online porn has more of an intriguing story line than Fifty Shades. No shame in that, I’d rather subject myself to five minutes of raunchy shagging than have to endure another 500 pages of Christian Grey and his kinky perspective of life, his degrading image of women and lack of respect for the beauty of making love.<br />
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Which leads me to the question that I have been asking myself for the last few hours - Will I be reading the sequels?<br />
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Well, I highly doubt it. The ending of Fifty Shades of Grey was perhaps the biggest anti-climax of my life. It was rushed, confusing and instead of leaving me on the edge of my seat, it left me on the brink of literal insanity, wishing there was a way to regain my lost intelligence and good taste. I guess that the ending has had the desired effect – it was so abrupt and inconclusive that it has drawn women into reading the next edition, to see what happens to Ana and Christian. But to be honest, I couldn’t give a flying rats arse what happens to them. I don’t care if he turns into Edward bloody Cullen (which he clearly is, just a touch on the saucy side) and they get married and live happily ever after.<br />
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But you know what? This is just one woman’s view, one woman’s interpretation. I can surmise that the majority of Fifty Shades readers would completely disagree with me. They argue it has given them sexual liberation, a sense of freedom to go out there and go crazy. To experiment and push those bedroom boundaries, to release their inner goddess who has been knocking at the surface of suppression for years, dying to be set free.<br />
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But for this woman, nothing has changed. No new world has been opened up to me, my inner goddess is still encaged (or maybe she had already escaped?) and I have no interest in being flogged until my bottom stings and I cannot sit down for love nor money. So, as stated in my previous post – I will try my best to forget Fifty Shades. I will pass it on to my sister (don’t ask) and let her suffer. I will watch as she dies a slow, painful literacy death whilst I read a real book and try to rebuild my competence.<br />
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<strong>Thanks for nothing, Fifty Shades of Grey.<br /><br /><br />M.</strong><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-45108264287015889522013-02-13T00:52:00.002-08:002013-05-17T06:35:40.034-07:00Fifty Shades of Drivel <div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_xIGw0YBhv9KHIPZOEjL9TLuuwY5VeB7G7DKjjON0r7FLnbWOIZfKAKAiQM1NriM21uYwUT-qy70GmKVqK_2QHc1HSWk_wfdkCENJ8aDM_ZyUh3kilXYuE7zO5wULMQa6z2W7LPv6bh8/s1600/220px-50ShadesofGreyCoverArt.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_xIGw0YBhv9KHIPZOEjL9TLuuwY5VeB7G7DKjjON0r7FLnbWOIZfKAKAiQM1NriM21uYwUT-qy70GmKVqK_2QHc1HSWk_wfdkCENJ8aDM_ZyUh3kilXYuE7zO5wULMQa6z2W7LPv6bh8/s320/220px-50ShadesofGreyCoverArt.jpg" /></a><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">Fifty Shades<br /> of Drivel</span></strong> <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIvwijcjUcKfk0Yx6JEFyAbhdUnV0hEMbtsvQk_Ft5zfgq6pVrRo6tP9INjWuB0zL2daZ9uDZnnfcp-tEarAtW5Kg9bH4Yc_749vUrG9ncHcBKzuT8Jsf7-QIC3-Ch2ZhRzr446QVMQ_M/s1600/220px-50ShadesofGreyCoverArt.jpg"> </a><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong><em>***Please note that this review contains spoilers***</em></strong></span></span><br />
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It has been a few months since I first heard about the sexually explicit wonder that is Fifty Shades of Grey and for that time, I have put up a very brave and noble fight to avoid succumbing to what millions of women have succumbed to – to actually spend £8 of my hard earned money and subject myself to reading a novel filled from page to page with graphic, S&M sex. This appeals to a lot of women, and I am not going to lie, it does spark my interest a little. But after learning the author, E.L. James was once a Twilight fan fiction writer, I just couldn’t bring myself to sit down and seriously read a book that I was convinced would mirror Twilight and the poor writing of Stephanie Meyer in every way.<br />
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Fifty Shades has featured quite heavily on almost every single day time chat show, especially those ones specifically aimed at women/mothers. It became a focal talking point on social networking sites, it filled the shelves in every book store, my friends had started to read it – even my own mother had read it. I was starting to crack under the severe pressure society was piling on top of me. The hype around the book has been ridiculous, this isn’t the first book with gratuitous sex and it certainly will not be the last. So why is Fifty Shades an exception? Why is it on a totally different level to all the other books of its kind?<br />
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Well, in the end I wanted answers to these questions so badly that I caved. With a gentle nudge from a friend and a spontaneous decision to run into Waterstones and shamelessly buy the book, whilst asking the checkout man not to judge me, I had started my journey into a sadomasochistic nightmare that promised erotica beyond my wildest dreams. To say I had high hopes would be an understatement. I was expecting my world to be rocked, my head to spin, and my eyes to be opened to new and thrilling adventures that would allow me to explore my inner deviant who I had never unleashed into the world.<br />
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With all of this in mind, I braced myself and got stuck in.<br />
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Now, I have never written a review before, for a book or a movie. I dare not after I raved about Prometheus being one of the best films I have ever seen in my entire life only for the majority of my friends and family to find it to be a complete flop, much to my disappointment. So, as I am sure my taste in both film and novel is quite questionable, I have refrained from putting my opinions and reviews out there. But, in this particular instance I just cannot stay silent.<br />
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I have yet to finish Fifty Shades but have already read/skimmed my way through 200 painful pages of illiterate nonsense that has left my mind considerably numb. I intend to write this review over a matter of days as I am making my way through the book and to keep you up to date with how I am finding it. But so far, as I feared deep down, I am beyond disappointed. Fifty Shades doesn’t start off too well; it is unfortunate that the protagonist - a very withdrawn, introverted Miss Anastasia Steele - meets the antagonist - a wealthy, attractive, arrogant and seemingly enigmatic Christian Grey – far too quickly for the reader to be able to form any real connection with the lead character. I don’t know about anyone else, but I could not understand her. For those very few paragraphs before she meets Mr Grey she seems shy and quiet, but the minute she gets into the presence of her leading man she becomes clumsy (much like Bella Swan, one of the many similarities with Twilight that I will highlight in this review) and then suddenly very feisty, patronising and sarcastic. I didn’t understand this, surely if anything it would be the other way round? For most of my life I have become more introverted around attractive men rather than more extroverted like Miss Steele. But this is just the start of it.<br />
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About an hour into my reading (okay I lie, it was about 20 minutes considering I was just zooming through trying to end my literal torture) I had just about had enough of the already apparent repetitive nature of the book. If I had to read “His long fingers”, or “He ran his hands through his hair” or “His grey eyes” or “Stop biting your bottom lip, it’s very distracting” or, and this one is a particular favourite “Oh…please” (anyone familiar with the book knows exactly where that little nugget is heavily featured) or anything to do with her flipping “inner goddess” one more time, I might have just considered smashing my head through a brick wall in the hope that my memory would be wiped clean and I would have no recollection of ever reading the strenuously tedious Fifty Shades of Grey. I frequently found myself huffing and puffing throughout the first 50 odd pages, slamming the book shut and throwing it to the other end of the bed, hoping that it would grow legs and piss off out of my life.<br />
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In the books defence, I was informed by a close friend whose opinions and judgements I would rely quite heavily on when it comes to books, especially of the sexy kind, that the writing in Fifty Shades is appalling to say the least and yet I still made the conscious decision to read it. I had prepared myself for an exasperatingly bad read, but somehow I am still not sure that I can handle it. As I am about 200 pages into the erotic novel I haven’t yet stumbled across a truly filthy sex scene, but I have witnessed the intense and incredibly unrealistic loss of Ana’s virginity. This threw me off. I had expected Ana to be an already well experienced woman of the world who was up for a bit of rough and tumble, not a 21 year old virgin who had never even experienced a penis, let alone kinky sex toys and floggings. That one little revelation made it very hard for me to come to terms with the storyline or accept it as realistic. Think about it ladies, the last thing you can think of doing after losing your virginity is embarking on a loveless relationship with a sadistic man who wants to beat you, whip you, dominate you, punish you and just generally inflict pain on you during sex. A man who does not “make love” but, and pardon my French, “fucks hard”. As a considerably wholesome, sexually disadvantaged and inexperienced young woman with two brain cells to rub together, would you really even have a passing thought about consenting to being a sex slave in Christian Greys “Red Room of Pain”?<br />
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Hell no, is what I would say to that. No way, not straight after losing my virginity and not ever. You could make an exception if you were in a loving relationship with a partner who worshipped the ground you walked on and if you were both interested in experimenting a little in the bedroom, but with some stranger who has made it clear he wants you for one thing and one thing only? And what’s more, Mr Grey is practically emotionally blackmailing Ana into submitting to him as he has made it very clear this would be the only way she could ever have a relationship with him, in the full knowledge of how much she likes him (already). What is with that? Anastasia Steele is meant to be an intelligent university student and yet she is going to be a willing participant in Mr Grey’s inexplicable S&M fantasies? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I find this all extremely difficult to buy into, thus making the book even harder for me to read.<br />
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It could be said that I am picking a lot of holes here, but that is because I am. So far, Fifty Shades of Grey has left me frustrated (and not in a good way), annoyed and seriously bored. One would have hoped that the sex scenes would make up for E.L. James’ complete lack of literacy and storytelling skills, but even they have exasperated me and left me feeling turned off rather than turned on. The constant nonsensical ramblings of Christian Grey during the sex scenes, which I can only imagine is meant to be his dirty talk, make me want to rip out his tongue, slap him about with it (although I am sure he would love that, the dirty bastard) and let him watch as I fed it to my dogs. And yet Ana loves it so much that she actually consents to becoming his dirty little sex slave. I don’t get it, I just don’t get it. If a man was telling me to “taste myself” during sex I am fairly sure I would have him out of my bed, house and life quicker than he could blink.<br />
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Perhaps I will start to enjoy Fifty Shades more and more with each page, with each sex scene - but I am not holding out any hope. The immature and repetitive writing only adds to the fact that the storyline is very weak, a bit of a kinky take off of Twilight and that the characters have no substance to them, there is nothing to differentiate one character from the next. There is no depth to Ana or Christian, to their story (so far) and to their lives before they even met one another. A good book is one that you cannot put down; a bad book is one that you cannot wait to put down. And then there is Fifty Shades of Grey, a book so bad that I will be taking it to my local vets to make sure it is properly put down and disposed of immediately before it can cause any more damage. No funeral, no mourning period for my loss, no wishing I could unread it all just so I could read it again. None of that nonsense. I just want to get through it in one piece, rebuild my intelligence with a real book and pretend that this never happened.<br />
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<strong>Until next time, unhappy reading.<br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br />M.</strong><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-5940728760646656802013-02-13T00:49:00.002-08:002013-02-13T01:54:26.356-08:00A Falling Man, Part 5<strong>Helen.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />New Years Eve, 1998.</strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />This man, standing in front of me, telling me his life story, rambling on about how he works out for 5 hours every day - oh, sorry, even on the weekends - and pursing his lips to try and give him the smouldering look was getting on my very last nerve. I hadn't invited him over, far from it. I had accidentally glanced in his direction and, as with all men, that was clearly the invitation he thought he needed to come and pester me for the better part of the night. <br /><br />He had been going on for a while now, and me being me I continued to smile and nod and pretend I was even listening to what he was saying, let alone giving a damn. He had his arm spread across the bar and was gradually getting closer to me. I could feel his breath on my face - he stunk of Jack Daniels and it put me off him even more.<br /><br />"Where you going after this?" He asked inadvertently.<br /><br />God, was this my invitation?<br /><br />"Home, probably." I replied bluntly.<br /><br />"So you haven't got any plans?"<br />
<br />"Well, not as such. Plans with my bed, perhaps."<br /><br />He raised his eyebrows and whispered in my ear, "What about plans with my bed?"<br /><br />Oh no, he hadn't just said that. I was at war with myself, one part of me wanted to punch him in the nose whilst the other part wanted to laugh in his face. I had heard some pick up lines in my life, but that may have just usurped the number 1 spot from "Did it hurt when you fell? Because you must be an angel". That one knocked me dead. <br /><br />I leaned in closer to him and, just as he had done to me, I whispered in his ear: "Does your mummy not mind you having girls over late at night?"<br /><br />His eyes narrowed, I could see his brain working in over time trying to come up with a kick ass come back, "No, I'm sure she wouldn't mind joining in once she got a good look at you."<br /><br />This had just gone from laughable to considerably perverse in a very short space of time. If I hadn't been fidgety and dying to leave before, I certainly was now. <br /><br />"And how would we all fit in your single, batman bed?" I laughed. <br /><br />"Well - " Suddenly, he was cut off by someone who it seemed he had never seen in his life and someone that I certainly did not know.<br /><br />The man who had cut my mommy's boy off was ridiculously tall. He towered over the both of us and I was a little intimidated. He cupped his hand on my shoulder and said, "Sorry I'm late, baby, I got held up at work. Who is this?" He pointed his chin towards the man who had been chatting me up for what seemed like years. <br /><br />At first I was a little scared, a little concerned, and a little confused. But then I realised what this man was doing. He was saving me. If I was going to make my great escape, now was the time. I decided to play along with this stranger.<br /><br />"Just someone who I have befriended, darling, and he is eager for me to meet his mother."<br /><br />"Oh," he laughed to himself, "how sweet."<br /><br />Mommy's boy quickly shuffled his stuff together and made his apologies for having to head off so suddenly, and I felt a huge wave of relief come over me.<br /><br />Although, now I felt like I had another loser on my hands. What kind of guy pretends to be a woman's boyfriend just so the man hitting on her does a runner? He must want something. <br />
<br />"And you are?" I asked.<br /><br />"Robbie." He sat down in front of me and looked awfully cocky.<br /><br />"Robbie who?"<br /><br />"Do you even care?"<br /><br />I was shocked by this, not because it wasn't true, but because I didn't realise I was so easy to read. <br /><br />"Well, not entirely, but you did just save me from the clutches of New York's creepiest scrub." <br /><br />He laughed, flashing a perfect set of white teeth, a perfect smile. My heart pounded slightly, unexpectedly and I suddenly felt quite uncomfortable as if I had to put on my game face to try and impress this man. <br /><br />"You could do worse." He said, as he rose from his bar stool.<br /><br />"You're leaving?" I felt a little disappointed.<br /><br />"Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't seem terribly thrilled that I am trying to talk to you. So why bother?"<br /><br />And all of a sudden, I was very interested in him, very thrilled that he was talking to me.<br /><br />"Maybe I could get you a drink? It's the least I can do."<br /><br />He smiled sweetly and took his seat again.<br /><br />"So," I began, "what's your story?"<br /><br />"Excuse me?"<br /><br />"Well, you're not from around here, are you? I picked up on the English accent as soon as you opened your mouth."<br /><br />"My, aren't we the observant one?" He laughed to himself again, as if he had an ongoing joke about me that only he found funny. <br /><br />"Pretty hard to miss."<br /><br />"Well you're not wrong. I moved over from London a few months ago. Got sponsored here."<br /><br />"Oh yeah? Where are you working now?"<br /><br />"The World Trade Centre." He smirked, as if he was trying not to sound impressive but was perfectly aware of how impressing it was to work in such a place. <br /><br />"Nice. Very nice." I said, pretending not to be bothered. <br /><br />"And you?" He asked.<br />
<br />"I'm psychology teacher in secondary school, not quite as fancy."<br /><br />I felt a little embarrassed, even though I still did not know what he did for a living, by default it had to be better than me. <br /><br />"That's really cool, you must have a lot of patience to teach secondary school kids." Was he genuine or was he just trying to be nice? I studied his face for a little bit, looking for a patronising glimmer in his eyes or a tiny sarcastic curl to his mouth. Nothing. I think he was actually being genuine. <br /><br />"I have an unlimited storage of patience. But yes, it does get quite testing at times." I admitted.<br /><br />There was an awkward silence for a couple of minutes, in some strange way the whole room had shifted, the atmosphere had changed and something in me felt very different. I didn't like it. Robbie was ordering another drink for the two of us and I felt bad, but I couldn't stay.<br /> <br />"I'm really sorry but I think I am going to take off." <br /><br />He looked at me in shock as I gathered my things together and held my hand out to his. I shook it, quite aggressively, and thanked him once again for saving me.<br /><br />"Really, I owe you." I said as I hurried myself to the the door. <br /><br />I didn't look twice at him as I rushed out, but instead came face to glass with the door to the bar and fell straight to the floor.<br /> <br />The impact hadn't knocked me out, but it had knocked me for six. Robbie came rushing over to me and held my head off the ground. "Just stay still," he whispered, "wait for the room to stop spinning."<br /><br />It stopped spinning soon enough, and all I could see was him. Yes, something had changed in me and I knew that I had absolutely no control over what was going to happen in my life after this moment.<br /> <br />I looked up at him and mumbled, "I'm Helen, by the way."<br /><br />He smiled, "Nice to meet you, Helen."<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>Helen.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />September 11th, 2001. <br />11.30am</strong><br /><br /><br /><br />I had watched along with the whole country, the whole world, as the North Tower collapsed. It went down so graciously and I thought of the hard work that had gone into making the tower, only for it to be completely destroyed within a matter of minutes. The power and the skills of mankind were so futile, I thought to myself. Nothing could save the tower, and ultimately nothing could save Robbie.<br /> <br /> I thought back to that New Years night, the first moment I heard his voice, the first time I saw his face. He had saved me that night, and now I was powerless to save him.<br /><br />After a while, I dragged myself off the sofa and waddled to the bathroom. <br /> My heart was pounding so fast I feared it was going to burst through my chest. I felt physically sick, I felt alone. I kept telling myself that this wasn't real, it wasn't really happening. It was all just a dream, a very prolonged, agonising dream that felt like it would never end.<br /> <br /> But then I realised that I had to stop pretending this pain was going to go away, that in a couple of seconds I might have to be strong for someone else, I might have to put another life before my own and that life needed me to be brave, to accept the facts and to move on with my life. If I didn't move on, I would never stop longing for the past and would ultimately take for granted what was right in front of me, what was my future.<br /><br /> I crept into the bathroom and took a deep breath as I stared down to see what the little stick read.<br /><br /> My heart stopped pounding, it stopped aching. It just stopped all together. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <em><u>Positive. </u></em><br /><br /><br /><br /> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-48880486174653042592013-02-13T00:48:00.004-08:002013-02-13T01:57:59.388-08:00A Falling Man, Part 4<strong>Helen<br /> 9:43am</strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The line went dead and I worried I would pass out again – I hoped I would, it was the only way I could imagine the pain easing. People were all around me sobbing and running around like lunatics escaping from an asylum. It was an awful sight, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. I looked to the towers one last time, as if I were looking at Robbie for the last time, turned my back and walked away. I kept walking for as long as my feet would allow me. I walked past our house, past our local supermarket and then back again until I was on our doorstep. <br />
<br />When I stepped inside the house Rowdy came bounding up to me immediately. I kneeled down to him, he looked sad – or was it just me? He followed me up to bed. I sat there for a bit with him in my lap and stared into space. How could I just be sitting here when the city was coming to a standstill, when the man I loved was sailing on a sinking ship? I felt heartless; I felt cold and longed to have Robbie with me.<br /><br />I reached for the TV remote and thought for a long time about turning it on – I had promised I wouldn’t, but Robbie knew me, I was stubborn and I told myself I needed to see this. I turned it on. As I suspected the incident with the twin towers was all over the news. The camera was showing was live footage of the burning buildings as smoke poured out of its offices and people screamed for their lives and their loved ones. It was like how I imagined the end of the world; it’s what it felt like to me.<br /><br />I pulled the covers over me and Rowdy lay down next to me. We both sat and watched the TV, and I wondered if he understood what was going on, if he could sense my pain. I felt so numb and so helpless – only a few minutes ago I was talking to Rob, hearing his voice for what I knew was probably the last time and all I could think of was that the house was a mess. If he were to come home, he wouldn’t want to come home to a rubbish tip. No, he would want a tidy house, clean bed sheets and a nice warm dinner on the table. <br /><br />So that’s what I did, I cleaned every single room in the house from top to bottom, every single corner. I cleaned our sheets with the fabric conditioner Robbie had picked out, the one that he loved, it smelt like mango's and every time I wrapped myself up in bed I thought of him. It was too early to start dinner, but that didn’t stop me. I figured he wouldn’t be coming home at his normal time – considering, you know, what had happened. <br /><br />I set up the kitchen and the food, turned the TV on by habit and the news flashed on. This time, I couldn’t try and push it out of my mind; there was nothing that would distract me and no chore that would keep me going on in denial. People were jumping out of the twin towers and the camera caught them falling the entire length of the building until they were out of sight. It was horrific, I didn’t want to watch it but I couldn’t look away. <br /><br />Would Robbie jump? Or would he stay in the building until the very end? I tried not to think about it, but the more I pushed other thoughts into my head the more I dwelled on him. This couldn’t be happening, could it? How was I going to live? What was I going to do? My whole life was about to go down with that building and I was helpless to stop it. Everything I had known for years, everything that I had loved for every minute of the day was about to be gone from me and what would I be left with? An empty house with a dog and bed sheets that reminded me of what I had lost. My heart started to sink and I couldn’t fight it anymore. I sunk to the floor and cried. I didn’t plan to ever stop crying, I wanted to carry on until I had no more life left in me. <br /><br />I thought about Robbie’s face and wondered if I would remember it in 50 years. I wondered if I could still hear the sound of his voice and feel his touch and embrace from time to time. I wondered if I would ever find someone else, and if, even then, I would be constantly pining after Robbie and wishing I was with him instead. He would be underneath my skin every day for the rest of my life. In fact, I couldn’t even imagine life without him. Who would tell me that they loved me? Who would cuddle me when I was feeling so down I could not even get out of bed? Who would pick me up when I fell so hard I could not get back up? Who would be there for me in hours so dark I couldn’t even see the end of the tunnel? <br /><br />I could feel my heart stopping, like it had decided all by itself that life wasn’t going to be worth living anymore. What was life worth if I couldn’t tell Robbie that I loved him, if I couldn’t marry him, if we couldn’t have children? All of these thoughts and questions were swimming around in my head and I just wanted it to stop. I wanted it all to stop but no one was there to answer me, no one was there to stop it for me and cry with me.<br /><br />All I could do was pick up the phone and dial a number.<br /><br />“Hello?” said the groggy voice on the other end of the line.<br /> I took a deep breath, tried to compose myself and failed into tears “Dad…”<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><strong>Robbie<br />9:57am</strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />When I was a kid, I wanted to grow up to be a lot of things. My ultimate dream was to be a rock star, of course, but then again almost every young boy had that ambition on the very top of his list of unreachable goals. I considered for some time during high school about becoming a doctor, but I hated blood - I hated blood more than I loved money so that went out of the window pretty quickly. I was always pretty good at tennis, and my parents reckoned that if I really put in the time and dedication, I could have made a name for myself. I'm not saying I was as good as Becker, but I was good enough. My dad used to take me down to the tennis courts every Saturday morning and we would play for hours on end, even when my feet were killing me and my brain was telling me that I wanted to go home, I would not stop until my Dad eventually caved and told me he was too tired to continue. <br /><br />It wasn't until I got my first proper job that tennis started to fade out of my life. I stopped playing on the weekends, I didn't watch it on the TV because I was too busy at work, I lost track of which tournaments were where. In the end, I just grew out of it and now, hanging casually out of a broken window of north tower, I couldn't help but regret my decision to quit tennis. I wasn't phased about the whole rock star thing as I was under no illusion that would ever actually happen, but I had a real chance to play the sport that I loved. I had the chance and I wasted it. Helen was always getting on my case about taking it up again, about doing something for me, something that I loved. But I always shrugged it off with a "Yeah I will at some point". I never for once thought that the day would come where I would wish I had stopped being such a procrastinator and started doing someone pro active with my life.<br /> <br />I had heard though, that when your time is up you get an overwhelming sense of regret for the things you did not achieve in life, for the things that you let slip away. And that moment had just crept up on me. I felt like the only thing for it was to jump. But then I remembered something that I could still do, something that would make up for all of the things that I had let pass me by.<br /> <br />I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called Helen, but her line was busy. I imagined she was frantically calling around to see if I had managed to get out of the building safely. I kept calling, but there was no answer. Eventually, I decided to call my mother.<br /> <br />She picked up, of course. "Robert, oh my God, are you safe?"<br />
<br />"Mum, you've heard then?"<br /><br />"Of course, we are in England not on Jupiter. Now, tell me where you are - you need to put my mind at ease." <br /><br />I couldn't say I was at home, but I couldn't tell her where I really was. No child wants to break the news to their own mother that they were in a pretty life threatening situation. No child wants to tell their mother that this would be the last time they spoke. <br /><br />"Oh no." She breathed. "Oh God no."<br /><br />"I don't think God has much to do with it, Mum."<br /><br />"Why are you still in there? Why? You do know that building is coming down, don't you?" She sounded frantic now.<br /><br />"Yes, I know. I am trapped up here, there's no way down."<br /><br />"So what are you saying to me, Robert? Are you saying that this is the last time I will talk to my son?"<br /><br />"Well, I am sure you will constantly have conversations with me in your head like you always do. You know, those conversations where I say things that I don't remember?"<br /><br />"Do you think that's funny?" She spat angrily. <br /><br />"No Mum, I think you're funny. Lighten up, what do you want me to say? When have we ever been all doom and gloom with one another?"<br /><br />She remained silent.<br /><br />"You want the honest truth? Fine, yes, this is probably the last time we will talk, but I am sure as hell not going to waste it on being negative and upsetting you."<br /><br />"Robert," I could hear her sniffling now, it was utterly heartbreaking to hear my mother cry - she really knew how to pull on the old heartstrings, "I don't know what to say to you."<br /><br />"Wow, never thought I would hear those words." I laughed.<br /><br />"Are you happy?" She asked.<br /><br />That took me back. Was I happy? I was probably about to die and leave the woman and family I love without me and she wanted to know if I was happy?<br /><br />But then I started to think about it. Was I happy when I woke up this morning? And the day before? And the week before? Was I happy before a plane flew out of the sky and cut my life short?<br /><br />"Yes," I said confidently, "yes I am so happy, Mum."<br /><br />"Good, that's all I need to know."<br /><br />"Can you do me a favour?" I asked, knowing that our conversation was near an end.<br /><br />"Of course sweetie, what is it?"<br /><br />"Can you tell Helen that I was going to ask her."<br /><br />"Ask her what?" She seemed confused.<br /><br />"She will know." I smiled. <br /><br />"Okay, I'll tell her, don't you worry."<br /><br />"Thanks Mum, I love you. And tell Dad I love him too, if he can hear you."<br /><br />She laughed quietly, "I love you too. Don't forget that, okay? You're my son - you will always be a part of me."<br /><br />I had to hang up, it was the only way to say goodbye. I wiped away tears from my eyes and tried to get myself together. I could feel the building rumble beneath me. A cracking sound sent shivers up and down my spine and I felt an uneasy sense of tilting. The tower was about to go down and there was no way I was going down with it.<br /><br /> <br /><strong>10:04am</strong><br /><br /><br />The South tower had collapsed. <br /><br />I didn't have a lot of options, that was the one thing I was sure of. Among the things I was not sure of was whether or not Helen had turned the news off, I begged her to but I knew better than anyone how stubborn she is and at a time like this, anything constructive I said would just fall on deaf ears. I also was not sure of what was going on in my head, why I was hanging out of a window on the 100th floor looking down at the chaos erupting below me. There was a good possibility that between the time the plane hit us and now, my legs dangling from a window so high up I may as well have not been on the same planet as the people on the ground, that I had gone completely stark raving mad. And that was okay with me, I had always wanted to go that way - cheering myself on and laughing off the improbable doom that lay in wait for me. It was the best way to leave the world, it may not be the most dignified, but it was the most ignorant and that was all I could ask for. <br /><br />The wind was strong and smoke was blowing around everywhere. There were papers flying out of the building, floating in the air and I realised all the work I had done every day of my life that was so important to be me meant absolutely nothing now and it never really did. All those hours wasted in front of a computer, in meetings, in paperwork were all for nothing as it all gushed out of the tower and disappeared forever. <br /><br />I laughed, quite loudly, and couldn't stop laughing until I felt a tugged on my arm.<br /><br />I turned around, it was Josh Isaacs, he was trying to pull me back in.<br /><br />"No Josh." I pulled my arm out of his grip.<br /><br />"Mate, c'mon, you don't have to do this, I'm sure there is another way." He begged me, but we both knew he was wrong.<br /><br />"Another way to die?" I replied calmly.<br /><br />"No, another way out, you can't just let it end like this."<br />
<br />"Josh, I hate to be a downer but there is no way out. And I have always wanted to fly." I looked below me, to say it was a long way down was an understatement. <br /><br />"Rob, seriously, don't do this mate." He held out his hand.<br /><br />"Do you think you'll see your wife again Josh?" I asked randomly.<br /><br />He almost said yes, but then he stopped in his tracks and I could see the hopelessness in his eyes. "No."<br /><br />"What is there to live for then?" I asked simply. <br /><br />"Because it's more time to live, Rob. Whether it be a couple of minutes or a couple of hours. It's more time to enjoy this world and everything it has given us. Don't you want just a little bit more time to be alive in the same world as Helen?"<br /><br />I stared at Josh, I had known him and worked with him for years and I had never even heard him talk so deeply or appear so emotional. I wanted to stay alive just for him, but it wasn't enough.<br /><br />"Your Maggie is a very lucky woman." I smiled.<br /><br />"Not for much longer." He said tearfully.<br /><br />"Hey, I think you should spare me the inspirational speeches and save them for yourself."<br /><br />Josh half smiled and held out his hand, but this time it wasn't to pull me back in.<br /><br />I grabbed his hand and shook it, "It's been nice man."<br /><br />He let go and walked off into the smoke. That would be the last time I ever saw him, I knew he wouldn't make it out but deep down I told myself he would, that there would be some happiness at the end of the day.<br /><br />I looked at my watch - Rolex - what a complete rip off. <br /><br /><br /><strong>10:10.</strong> I unstrapped my watch and let it slip out of my hand, falling to the world below. I only brought it and kept it because of the name, at the end of the day a watch is a watch and that name never got me anywhere and certainly wasn't going to get me out of the mess I was in now.<br /><br />I couldn't see the ground for the life of me, the smoke consumed everything and anything, thankfully.<br /><br />This was it. Time to fly.<br /><br /> I pictured Helen one last time. I pictured her smile, her eyes, the way she danced around as she got ready for work. I could smell her perfume, hear the funny little noises she made as she drifted off to sleep. I could hear her telling me not to do it, to stay alive for her, to at least try. I wanted to tell her that this was the only way, that one day everything would be okay. I eased myself a little closer to the edge and looked down below me. I was scared, I could not deny it, but as I saw the smoke from the demolished South tower spread through the city, I took a deep breath, counted to three and finally let myself go.<br /><br /><br /> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-61101046189605983382013-02-13T00:48:00.001-08:002013-02-13T02:00:15.777-08:00A Falling Man, Part 3<strong>Robbie.<br />9:03am</strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Fuck. The staircase was blocked off by debris – there was no way out. The screams returned and this time they were even more frightening. The screams held in them people’s fears of never seeing their families again, of leaving their children without a mother or a father, of leaving their partner widowed. And of course, the fear of death itself. But we could smell it in the air, sense it all around us. <br /><br />The lifts were down, the stairs were blocked and that was it.We had exhausted all of the options and were left with nothing. I looked at the faces of the people that I had led to a dead end, they looked defeated and tired and ill. The smoke was getting thick and heavy and my eyes felt like they were burning.<br /><br />“There must be another way.” A lady said, her voice sounding weak and less than convinced. <br />
<br />I tried to think, I tried to see another way out, but I couldn’t. <br />
<br />The lifts were down, the stairs were blocked. There was no way out.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><strong>Helen.<br />9:10am.</strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />At that very moment, standing in the park surrounded by screaming, crying people who couldn’t believe what they were witnessing, I thought I myself was going to die. I fell to the floor and watched. It was all I could do. Both buildings were on fire now, smoke was rising up into the sky and I wondered how the long the towers could hold out. <br /><br />Robbie was in there, he was actually in one of the buildings that had been hit by a plane, I just couldn’t believe it. This couldn’t be happening. My head spun and spun until it came to the point where I had to lie down. <br /><br />I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed I was going to wake up in my bed and none of this had happened. Rob hadn’t left for work yet, I was still lazing in bed with no intentions of getting up and going for a jog, things were as they should be. Yes, it would all be okay when I opened my eyes. Rob would be snoring away, having a twitching fit like he always did when he had just dropped off and when he was in a deep, heavy sleep. It was so cute, I loved it. I would watched him and laugh to myself, I couldn’t understand why he would twitch. Maybe when he was in a deep sleep he was having a nightmare, but why just as he drifted off? It was so strange, but it was him. <br /><br />When I woke up I would make him stay at home, chuck a sickie, take a personal day, anything. But he would be at home, there was no way I was letting him go into work today after this nightmare. It was so vivid it scared me. I was a strong believer in fate and all such things, so I didn’t care if I was being over the top, at least I would have some peace of mind. <br /><br />We would go to the park together, a nice long walk. We would take Rowdy with us, he loved the park but not the other dogs, he was still only a puppy and needed to be trained. Today would be as good a day as any to start integrating him with other dogs. Even if it meant he would terrorise them and their owners, we would apologise profusely of course, but we had to get him used to it somehow.<br /><br />And, when we were done at the park, we would go bowling or something. Or go out for dinner, and maybe see a movie afterwards. Anything, he just wasn’t going into work and when the planes hit the twin towers, he would be far away and safe with me.<br /><br />I squeezed my eyes even tighter, begging myself to let me drift off and wake up in bed. <br /><br />I opened my eyes. People were gathered around, not looking at me but looking at the burning buildings in the distance. It wasn’t a dream. It was all real. I got to my feet again and cried. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>Robbie.<br />9:30am</strong><br /><br /><br /><br />I was sitting now. Sitting on the floor staring at nothing. Or maybe I was staring at everything. Everything that was happening around me, people madly looking for a way out, frantically calling their husbands, wives, kids and that’s when the first person jumped.<br /><br />I saw her prepare herself, I wondered what on earth she was doing. Out of everyone there, she was the most calm, the most composed. It didn’t take her long to build up the courage. The windows had shattered and it was a clear, easy jump. She ran and leapt out, everyone screamed.<br /><br />It took my breathe away, her jumping like that, I couldn’t believe she had given up hope so quickly. Everyone ran to the window to watch her fall. I didn’t and I couldn’t for the life of me think why anyone else would want to see that.<br /><br />Elizabeth Dean walked past me, she had been at the window and had seen everything.<br /><br />“Who was that?” I asked.<br /><br />“Tori Martin, she was an asthmatic.” That was all Elizabeth needed to say. Tori must have thought there was no hope, and I assumed it would have been her worst nightmare to die in all of this smoke, to be consumed like that. I sure as hell didn’t want to go this way, but I was sure we would be rescued, the entire country must have known what was going on by now. Hell, maybe the entire world knew. Surely there was something that could be done.<br /><br />Elizabeth spoke up again, “I spoke to my husband, on the phone. He said the south tower has been hit by a plane too, just like us.”<br /><br />I felt like crying.<br /><br />“He said it must be terrorists, he said there are rescue teams coming in, firefighters, I think we will be okay y’know.” She didn’t sound too convinced, and I wasn’t too convinced either. Elizabeth always seemed like an overly positive person. I had never once heard her criticise someone or demean someone. She was always happy, always kind to others and tried to make the best out of the worst situation. And this was the worst it could get. I was surprised she was still so optimistic, but the passion just wasn’t there. I did not think that she honestly believed we were going to get out of here.<br /><br />People were dead – that much was obvious – and we had already seen someone on our floor kill themselves, who knew how many more people were throwing themselves out of the windows? On the floors below the impact zone, people were probably able to escape but for those above, what were we to do? Everything was blocked, there was no way down except to jump, and surely everyone in the building was smart enough to know that if you jumped from the world trade centre you weren’t going to be escaping death. <br /><br />It all seemed so hopeless, I could sense the desperation in the air and the smoke, constantly getting thicker, was going to start driving more and more people to jump to a quick death. <br /><br />I fished through my pockets and found my phone. Full bars, how bloody funny. My phone never had full bars but now it did. I took it as a sign. Helen had always believed in signs and fate and karma, it had been one of her most endearing qualities, even though sometimes it pissed me off to no end. <br /><br />“Hello?” It was good to hear her voice, it was like all of the fright and the worry had vanished.<br /><br />“Helen, it’s me.”<br /><br />“Oh my god, Robbie, where are you? Please tell me you’re not in the building, please.” She begged, it killed me.<br /><br />“I’m sorry baby.”<br /><br />I could hear her crying. Usually when Helen would cry I would comfort her, telling her things like: she definitely was a bitch about that or quit your job then, find a new one – a better one or the classic your dad will come around, just give it time but rarely ever did I have to comfort her because of me. It was horrible, I didn’t know what to say or how to handle her. <br /><br />“It’s okay though, I’m fine.” I assured her.<br /><br />“No, you’re not fine. A plane just flew into your building.” She sobbed, “Wait, did it hit above you or below you? Tell me it hit below you and the only reason you’re still in the building is because you’re being some sort of hero and are saving people.”<br /><br />“Hel, I’m on the 100th floor. It hit just below me, it’s right underneath me.”<br /><br />“Jesus Christ.” She breathed. <br /><br />“Don’t worry okay? Listen to me, do not worry about me. I am going to get out, it will all be fine.”<br /><br />“Would you stop saying it is going to be fine and your fine? You are not fine, it is not fine. You have been fucking attacked and your standing on the 100th floor of a time bomb, Rob. That building is coming down and you need to get out.”<br /><br />She was freaking me out now, suddenly all of the fear and panic came back to me and I couldn’t breathe.<br /><br />“Helen, I’m scared.” <br /><br />“No,” she started crying again, “don’t be. I’m sorry, I’m sorry for saying that. You will be fine, I know you will.”<br /><br />“The building is shaking, a lot. You’re right, I don’t know how much longer the building has left – how much longer I have left.”<br /><br />“Don’t talk like that. I’m trying to stay calm here, can you just humour me?”<br /><br />“Don’t watch the news.” I stated.<br /><br />“Why?”<br /><br />“I suspect this is all over the news, I don’t want you to see it.”<br /><br />“I can see it Rob, I am at the park, I have seen everything.”<br /><br />For some reason, it made me feel sick to think of Helen watching all of this, I certainly didn’t want her to be watching when the tower collapsed as it was inevitable now. <br /><br />“Go home then, please. Go home and get in bed with Rowdy and whatever you do, do not watch the news. Okay?”<br /><br />“Rob…”<br /><br />“Promise me.” I said, I wasn’t taking no for an answer.<br /><br />“Rob, please – “<br /><br />“God damn it Helen, just say yes that is all you have to do is say yes.” I snapped."Okay, yes, I promise.”"Wasn't so hard, was it?"<br />
<br /> Helen laughed, but her laugh was full of despair. She sounded like how I felt. <br />
<br /> "What now?" She asked. I would have given anything to have known the answer to that question, but how could I? We both knew what was going to happen, what was coming next but neither of us wanted to admit it. <br />
<br /> "Go home, and I'll be there as soon as I can. " I lied. She knew I was lying, but what harm would it do? Why couldn't we pretend that the day was going to end like any other and that I would be home after work just like any other day? <br />
<br /> "I have to go now." I said.<br />
<br /> "Okay. I'll see you soon, yeah?"<br />
<br /> "Of course." <br />
<br /> "I love you."<br />
<br /> "You never say that."<br />
<br /> "Well I'm saying it now, so you better say it back otherwise I'll be embarrassed." She laughed and cried all at once.<br />
<br /> "I love you too, very much." I said tenderly. Would this be the last time I would tell Helen that I love her?<br />
<br /> "I'm going to hang up now, Hel, I'll see you soon. Okay?" I continued, wanting to get this over and done with but dreading putting the phone down on her voice.<br />
<br /> "Okay," she said softly, "bye."<br /><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-60828731515952877022013-02-13T00:47:00.003-08:002013-02-13T02:02:18.029-08:00A Falling Man, Part 2<strong>Robbie</strong><br />
<strong>8:28am.</strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />What a shit day. What a well and truly shit day. It was already half eight and I had absolutely none of my own work done. All I had done for an hour and half was run around for other people trying to help them with their paper work. And I was pissed, oh boy was I pissed. By this rate I wouldn’t be leaving work early and having enough time to mentally and physically prepare myself for the night’s events…that still left me feeling a little queasy when I thought about them. <br /><br />I finally had a chance to sit down at my desk and was close to going back to sleep. I sat there with my head in my hands, wondering how I was going to get everything done in time considering I still had a 10 o’clock meeting with my boss. Life would have been a lot easier if I didn’t have to attend that meeting, but I had to, it wasn’t compulsory, but I had to. <br /><br />The minutes rolled by as I sat at my desk staring at a blank computer screen. I couldn’t even be motivated to turn it on. <br /><br />God, when would it be home time? I was making it worse for myself by sitting around on my ass instead of actually getting some work done. All I wanted to do was get home and see Helen, take her to the park…<br /><br />People all around me started to rise out of their seats, staring at something outside of the building. I looked at all of them, trying to figure out what was going on and then looked to the window. I etched closer to the window and squinted, finally seeing what everyone else was seeing.<br /><br />“What is that?” One woman breathed, there was a hint of panic in her voice and it sparked a spread of worry throughout the office.<br /><br />“It looks like a plane…” No, it’s Superman, I thought to myself and immediately wished I hadn’t.<br /><br />Josh was next to me in an instant, “It is a plane.”<br /><br />My heart skipped a beat as I, along with everyone else, realised how painfully close it was getting. It showed no sign of slowing down, stopping or turning, it just carried on cruising straight towards us. The entire room became full with terror and someone shouted, “It’s going to hit, it’s going to hit!”<br /><br />I didn’t know who the hell had shouted that out, but I yelled back, “Shut up! Stop panicking, I’m sure it’s going to turn. I’m sure.”<br /><br />But I wasn’t. I was scared and my stomach turned on itself.<br /><br />The plane wasn’t going to turn and a minute after I had first noticed it floating in the skies ahead, it hit.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>8:46am</strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It hit directly below us and the entire building shuddered under the impact. It took everyone in the office a couple of seconds to realise what was happening and to start running. They ran in all directions, but the explosion underneath us was like an earthquake. Not one person managed to hold their ground and the next thing I knew I was on the floor. <br /><br />Almost immediately smoke started to fill up the room and it was near enough impossible to see what was happening. That’s when the screams started. Screams so high pitched and frightening it made my blood curdle. <br /><br />Screams, screams, screams. It was all I could hear and I so desperately didn’t want to hear them. I clamped my hands over my ears and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to think about Helen and home and the future. I needed to stay calm. I needed to do something to get us all out of the building. Then I thought about what a long way down it was and if we even had time to get out. <br /><br />The room was shaking and I could hardly see a thing. I couldn’t see people, but I could hear them screaming, shouting out for help.<br /><br />“We need – “ With all the smoke, it was hard to talk. I coughed and spluttered until my throat cleared. “We need to make our way to the elevators, everyone needs to get up and head to the elevators.”<br /><br />The only responses I got were groans.<br /><br />“Come on, the sooner we get in a lift the quicker we will be out of here.”<br /><br />I could see people moving towards me, all of them trying to pull themselves together.<br /><br />“Okay,” I said gingerly, I didn’t expect to play the leader in all of this, “just follow me and stick together. Hold your ground.”<br /><br />Trying to work my way through the smoke, I really wished I hadn’t opted to lead all these people to the lifts, I would rather just follow the leader. I couldn’t see for shit. And the worse bit about this was that I knew time was of the essence. I didn’t know how much time we had to get out but I knew the building was going to go down. A plane had just flown into it – there was no way in hell it was going to stay up. And for those people on the floors above the impact zone, there was only so much time.<br /><br />I had no idea where I was going, the smoke was too thick so I went on basic instinct. I had been up to that office every day for 2 years so by now I surely could have made my way around with my eyes closed. So that’s what I did. I closed my eyes and tried to visualise where I was going. I was in the front offices, so I was close. To my left was the boardrooms where my 10 o’clock meeting with Russell was now definitely not taking place. Straight ahead was the staff kitchen, which led to a set of stairs that the fitness enthusiasts used instead of the lifts – although I did not know anyone who was neither mad nor fit enough to take those stairs. <br /><br />To my right there were more offices, I bumped into cubicles, fallen bins, tipped over desks on my way to the lifts. I reached out and found the lifts. I hit the down button over and over again. Nothing. I hit it again and waited. More nothing. No sound of the lift making its way up to us, no ding to alert us that it had arrived, no sign of the doors opening – I would know because I thought I had heard it arrive and tried to get in, only to find myself walking into the closed doors.<br /><br />I panicked, and everyone started to sense my panic.<br /><br />“What’s happening, Rob?” Someone asked.<br /><br />I kept pressing the up button, it had to work, it just had to. <br /><br />“It’s not working is it?” Someone else yelled out.<br /><br />“Oh my god we are stuck here!” For Christ sake, people really did not know how to calm down the situation. <br /><br />“Everyone just settle.” I shouted out. “If the lifts aren’t working, we have to take the stairs.” People started mumbling, talking under their breaths. No one wanted to traipse all the way down those stairs and I certainly did not want to. “If that is the case, we need to go now as it will take a lot more time.”<br /><br />The worry spread like the fires below us. I could see people shooting off in all directions.<br /><br />“We all need to stick together.” I repeated. “If we don’t…”<br /><br />“What?” This person sounded very frightened and all I wanted to do was tell her it was all going to be okay and that soon she was going to be safe at home with her husband and kids. I wanted to tell myself that, but I couldn’t. I had never been one to lie to myself or to lie to others, not even to pacify them. I wasn’t about to kid anyone or give anybody false hope. <br /><br />“What?” The woman asked again. It was Anna Conroy. I had dined with Anna and her husband, Antonio, once and both Helen and I could not believe how lovely they were. They were considerably older than us, with three children, and all the love in the world. They had plans, so many plans. Plans to go here and there, to see this and that, and they were going to do it all, together as a family. <br /><br />I didn’t believe in god, but at that moment, thinking about Anna Conroy and her family and her plans, I prayed that she would be able to do everything she had hoped to do in her life. I prayed that her last adventure in life wouldn’t be coming into work on a Tuesday morning and never leaving. <br /><br />“The stairs.” I finally said – fear was starting to mess with my mind. “It’s the only way down.”<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>Helen.<br />9:00am.</strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It was a beautiful day, the perfect day for a jog. The sun was out – I was praying for a bit of a tan – it was warm, but not warm enough to have me sweating buckets. I was surprised with myself, actually. One, that I had even managed to get myself out of bed and two, that I had thought a quick run to the park would be a good idea. It had never occurred to me before to go for a run, but I loved it and I made a mental promise to myself that I would do this every day, even if I was sick, even if I was hung over. Although I suspected my little self-made pact would last no more than a week, two if I was really dedicated. Three if I wanted to kid myself.<br /><br />The weather had me in such a good mood that I even contemplated phoning up my father, just to see how he was. Doing that though would probably dampen my day. On days like this, when everything seemed right with the world and all was peaceful, I couldn’t help but think of him – a bitter, old man who could dish it out but never take it. I hadn’t talked to him in a year, which may not seem that long but after living with him and only him for 20 years of my life, it was like a decade. <br /><br />I used to idolise my father, he was, of course, my hero. Every girl’s hero is their father and it was no different with me. My whole life revolved around trying to make him proud of me, which left me in constant fear of disappointing him. Whenever I would come home from school with anything less than an A, I would be petrified. He would never lose it with me or saying anything harsh, it was just the look on his face, the high hopes he had were shattered and I could see it in his eyes. It devastated me every time and pushed me to work harder, which meant I had few friends and no time for boyfriends. It benefited me though, in the end, all that hard work. Even in college, dad’s subtle ways pushed me to pass with flying colours – at the expense of my social life – and I graduated first in my class. A psychologist. That was dads dream for me, and it became my own dream as well. People had always fascinated me, I always observed them, studied them and scrutinised them, which – along with my reclusive nature– was probably why I never had a lot of friends, why people used to get scared of me or fed up with me. Hell, I would have been fed up with me too. There was nothing I hated more than being scrutinised. Having someone give me reasons as to why I acted in a certain way or did certain things made my blood boil. And yet, I just loved to do it to others.<br /><br />So, you could say I was very similar to my father. I could sure as hell dish it out, but I couldn’t take anything back. <br /><br />Maybe that is why we clashed so bad, because we were so alike. We used to argue almost every week. Not about silly little things like cleaning my bedroom or doing the dishes or taking the dog out for a walk, but big things. The hot topic was my mother. Where she had gone, why she had left, what she was like. And somehow he would always manage to work his way around such questions and in the end I never really got a straight answer. <br /><br />It all came to a head when I met Robbie Johanssen. Dad did not like him and Rob did not like dad. Rob worked in claims, insurance – in Dad’s world that meant Rob was all about the money. Money, money, money, he used to say, superficial and shallow. To dad, Robbie was a material guy and it would get him nowhere. In reality, Rob didn’t care about money, it was just his job, and he landed in his job fresh from high school so he stuck to it until something better came along. He didn’t care what, as long as it happened. <br /><br />Robbie was never a quiet guy. He was opinionated, sarcastic and my father could not stand it. So you could be sure that whenever my father would make a quick, sharp remark about Rob, there was going to be an argument. Rob didn’t take any shit, he didn’t care if it was my father, he wasn’t going to be treated like that and eventually there had been one fight too many. Now, my father, always the diplomat, handed me an ultimatum. Him or Rob. Well, from where I was sitting Rob had never set a foot wrong and my father’s only problem with him was his job and the fact that he stood up for himself, so I wasn’t about to give up the man I had fallen in love with. I told my father what I thought of him and then I told him where he could stick his ultimatum. I refused to talk to him until he apologised, until he was groveling at my feet for forgiveness. He never did. Which was no surprise, but it was a surprise he chose not to fight for his daughter and to me that meant he didn’t care enough. And that was the end of it, a year on and still no word from him and I wasn’t about to make the first move. My whole life I had always been the one to swallow my pride and say sorry, even when I was convinced I had done no wrong and was completely in the right. I apologised because he was my father and I loved him, I didn’t want to be at war with him, but clearly he had no qualms about being at war with me. So he could lie in the lonely bed he had made for himself.<br /><br />I thought about the day at hand, the sun warming my back as I lay on my front in the park, the sound of kids laughing, leaves being gently tickled by the wind as it brushed through the trees, the dogs running after their toys, barking at their owners as if they were telling them to hurry up and throw the damn ball. And all of this made me sentimental, and when I got sentimental I wanted to contact my dad. On the odd occasion I had dialled his number but hung up at the second ring, or driven past his house and almost let myself knock on the door. If I am going to be honest, I had knocked on his door once – I missed him, I missed the house, I missed my dog – but he wasn’t home and I saw it as a blessing in disguise. I stared at my phone, should I, shouldn’t I? I didn’t. <br /><br />Instead, my attention turned to what was going on in the distance. From the park, I could see World Trade Centre. Robbie worked in the north tower and sometimes I would call him from the park, me looking at him, him looking at me. But now people were gathering around and gasping. I stood up and took off my sunglasses. I saw it in that moment, the tower, it was on fire. It was Rob’s tower, and it was on fire. <br /><br />I turned to the nearest person, “What’s happened?”<br /><br />“Didn’t you see it?” The man looked puzzled, “A plane, it went straight into one of the twin towers. It flew straight into it.”<br /><br />My stomach dropped. My heart felt like it had crawled up into my throat and I was about to choke on it.<br /><br />Hundreds of people had gathered around now and we all stared at the burning building in the distance, which meant we were all watching as a second plane flew into the south tower. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-49995894692125175422013-02-13T00:47:00.000-08:002013-02-13T02:09:05.109-08:00A Falling Man, Part 1<strong>PREFACE<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Robbie. <br />10:04am</strong> <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I didn't have a lot of options, that was the one thing I was sure of. Among the things I was not sure of was whether or not Helen had turned the news off, I begged her to but I knew better than anyone how stubborn she is and at a time like this, anything constructive I said would just fall on deaf ears. I also was not sure of what was going on in my head, why I was hanging out of a window on the 100th floor looking down at the chaos erupting below me. There was a good possibility that between the time the plane hit us and now, my legs dangling from a window so high up I may as well have not been on the same planet as the people on the ground, that I had gone completely stark raving mad. And that was okay with me, I had always wanted to go that way - cheering myself on and laughing off the improbable doom that lay in wait for me. It was the best way to leave the world, it may not be the most dignified, but it was the most ignorant and that was all I could ask for. <br /><br />The wind was strong and smoke was blowing around everywhere. There were papers flying out of the building, floating in the air and I realised all the work I had done every day of my life that was so important to be me meant absolutely nothing now and it never really did. All those hours wasted in front of a computer, in meetings, in paperwork were all for nothing as it all gushed out of the tower and disappeared forever. <br /><br />I laughed, quite loudly, and couldn't stop laughing until I felt a tugged on my arm.<br /><br />I turned around, it was Josh Isaacs, he was trying to pull me back in.<br /><br />"No Josh." I pulled my arm out of his grip.<br /><br />"Mate, c'mon, you don't have to do this, I'm sure there is another way." He begged me, but we both knew he was wrong.<br /><br />"Another way to die?" I replied calmly.<br /><br />"No, another way out, you can't just let it end like this."<br /><br />"Josh, I hate to be a downer but there is no way out. And I have always wanted to fly." I looked below me, to say it was a long way down was an understatement. <br /><br />"Rob, seriously, don't do this mate." He held out his hand.<br /><br />"Do you think you'll see your wife again Josh?" I asked randomly.<br /><br />He almost said yes, but then he stopped in his tracks and I could see the hopelessness in his eyes. "No."<br />
<br />"What is there to live for then?" I asked simply. <br /><br />"Because it's more time to live, Rob. Whether it be a couple of minutes or a couple of hours. It's more time to enjoy this world and everything it has given us. Don't you want just a little bit more time to be alive in the same world as Helen?"<br /><br />I stared at Josh, I had known him and worked with him for years and I had never even heard him talk so deeply or appear so emotional. I wanted to stay alive just for him, but it wasn't enough.<br /><br />"Your Maggie is a very lucky woman." I smiled.<br /><br />"Not for much longer." He said tearfully.<br /><br />"Hey, I think you should spare me the inspirational speeches and save them for yourself."<br />
<br />Josh half smiled and held out his hand, but this time it wasn't to pull me back in.<br /><br />I grabbed his hand and shook it, "It's been nice man."<br /><br />He let go and walked off into the smoke. That would be the last time I ever saw him, I knew he wouldn't make it out but deep down I told myself he would, that there would be some happiness at the end of the day.<br /><br />I looked at my watch - Rolex - what a complete rip off. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>10:10</strong> I unstrapped my watch and let it slip out of my hand, falling to the world below. I only brought it and kept it because of the name, at the end of the day a watch is a watch and that name never got me anywhere and certainly wasn't going to get me out of the mess I was in now.<br /><br />I couldn't see the ground for the life of me, the smoke consumed everything and anything, thankfully.<br /><br />This was it. Time to fly.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>ONE. <br /><br />Helen. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Tuesday September 11th, 2011.<br />6:00am.</strong><br /><br /><br /><br />Damn alarm, it wasn't even for me and yet it still managed to wake me up every morning, at the same time, in the same way. That stupid tuneless melody, it was starting to become the bane of my life. But unfortunately for me, it was either put up with the alarm every damned day or suffer sleeping alone. Where ever Robbie slept there would always be an alarm to get him up for work and one day I would accept it, but not today. Today I just wanted to sleep through to 1 o'clock, 2 o'clock or any ridiculous time in the afternoon, without being disturbed once. <br /><br />The alarm was still going, when was he going to wake up and switch it off?<br /><br />I kicked him in the leg, "Turn it off." I groaned.<br /><br />He gingerly got out of bed and hit the alarm aggressively to make it stop.<br /><br />"You know, I'm starting to warm to the idea of having the bed to myself all the time." I stated.<br /><br />"Oh ha ha. Sorry love, not going to happen." He threw himself on me and tangled me with his legs.<br /><br />"God you're on oath. Get off me and go to work." <br /><br />"That's a bit mean." He whispered in my ear.<br /><br />"You know what they say, treat 'em mean keep 'em keen." I giggled.<br /><br />"Doesn't work I'm afraid!"<br /><br />"Exhibit A." I gestured to him being all over me.<br /><br />"Ah yes," he slowly backed away and slithered out of the bed, "I see what has happened here, you have tricked me with your ways again."<br /><br />"You let yourself be tricked, love." <br /><br />He rolled his eyes and pulled some pants on, slipped into a shirt and finished his ensemble with a grey jumper.<br /><br />"Done."<br /><br />"Ha! Oh to be a man." I sighed. <br /><br />"It is a blessing, I feel for you and all that slap you have to put on your face."<br /><br />"Have to?" I raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that I have to put make up on because I need it?"<br /><br />"Of course n - " he paused and looked deep in thought, "hold the phone, you're doing it again, you have managed to trick me twice in the space of a minute!"<br /><br />"I repeat, you let yourself be tricked."<br /><br />"Blah blah blah." He pulled a funny face and threw the bed sheet over my head.<br /><br />He leaned across the bed, inches away from my face. "I'm off, kiss?"<br /><br />"Hmm," I pretended to contemplate the offer but we both knew a kiss was on the cards. I puckered up, rather enthusiastically - Robbie's kisses made the early mornings a lot easier to handle - and he gently pressed his lips against mine. Even before he brushed his teeth or washed, he still smelt and tasted like vanilla, it was intoxicating.<br /><br />"Do you have to go work? I'm sure you would rather stay here with me..." I said suggestively.<br /><br />He grinned cheekily, "Nah, I'd rather go to work."<br /><br />I gasped and hit him on the arm as hard as I could, which in reality was not very hard. "Get out of here then!"<br /><br />"Ha ha, love you." He winked.<br /><br />I couldn't help but blush, even after two years together he still gave me butterflies, he still made me feel like a love struck teenager. <br /><br />"Likewise." And I winked back. I flopped back into the bed and snuggled my face into the pillow as he left for work. Finally, a bit of peace and quiet.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>TWO.</strong><br />
<strong><br />Robbie. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />6:47am.</strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Early starts were not my thing. They never had been and they never would be. But for some reason I found myself up at the same ungodly time every single day so I could get a head start in the office. It wasn't ideal by any means, but considering those early mornings got me so far ahead with my work I always got home a lot earlier than most. So in a way I couldn't complain, but I was knackered and stressed so I would complain until I was blue in the face. It was my prerogative. <br /><br />When I got to work, it didn't surprise me that the place was already swarming with early birds like myself, waddling around like zombies with their coffees and newspapers. Their thoughts were written all over their faces. Or maybe it was just because I was unfortunately feeling the exact same way - groggy, grumpy and just generally pissed off with the world. I tried to wear a smile but the motivation just wasn't there and it didn't seem like anyone else would pay me the same courtesy, so what the hell, stuff 'em. I would be well shot of them when 3 o'clock rolled round. <br /><br />I heard fast paced footsteps coming up behind me and prayed that whoever it was was late for an important meeting and not after a chat with me.<br /><br />"Robert! Robert!" Bloody brilliant. I turned around to see Allan Howell rushing over to me, juggling a mountain of paper work and a tall Starbucks cup. The coffee was going everywhere, splashing onto the floor causing Allan to slip and slide on his way over to me.<br /><br />"Robert," he caught his breath and I cringed at the sweat dripping down his face, "Hi Robert."<br /><br />"Al, please, call me Rob." Allan looked shocked to his very core, as if shortening someones name was like blaspheming in the Vatican. "It's not going to kill you."<br /><br />"Right, right, sorry Rob." Oh good heavens. Why did the nutty ones always want to talk to me? I was a magnet for them.<br /><br />"What's up Allan?" I asked impatiently. By the rate Allan was stammering about I would be so far behind in my work that I may as well have set up camp at my desk for the night.<br />
<br />"I wanted to ask if you could look at some claims for me, it w-w-won't take long, I swear it."<br /><br />"Mate, I would, but I have a pile of work to get through. Can't you ask Peter? I know for a fact his work load is shrinking by the minute."<br /><br />Allan looked confused. "He is going on holiday this weekend," I explained, "we all get a bit slack when our well-deserved break is on the horizon."<br /><br />"Oh he is off on vacation? Sorry Robert," good grief, "still trying to adjust to your English w-w-words...holiday, ha ha."<br /><br />I stared at him blankly, not knowing whether to walk away from this loon or laugh in his face. "Okay, well, I'm off now Al. Sorry I can't help, hope you manage to track down Peter, poor bastard."<br /><br />Allan tried to ramble something else but I was already running for dear life into the lifts. Oh no sorry, the escalators. <br /><br />It was a long journey up to the 100th floor, in fact it was so long I probably could have had a quick nap on the way up there. Everyone else seemed to have a little time for the old shut eye whilst they stood and waited to arrive at their floors. <br />
<br />All I could think about was the evening I had planned. Well, actually, there was no plan. Plans made everything fall apart, spontaneity with a bit of organisation was the way to go. Tonight was definitely the night. I would take Helen out to central park with a picnic ready to go and at some point in the evening I would ask her to marry me. I wasn't sure when I would ask, or how I would ask but I would ask, and that was all that mattered. God, I hoped she said yes, what if she didn't? What if I proposed in the middle of the most famous park in the world, poured my entire heart out to the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with and she said no? I couldn't see myself recovering from that, it was too brutal. But she wasn't going to say no. I had to keep telling myself that otherwise I would never work up the courage to ask her. And that wouldn't benefit anyone, except from my nerves.<br /><br />When I got to my floor, it was packed. I wanted to scream. What the hell was everyone doing here so early? They were all as sad as I. I wanted to yell at them all to clear off, I needed peace and quiet not a million stock brokers and claims adjusters scurrying round like mad men. I was tempted to turn back around into the lift and get the hell out of there but then I thought about the immense trouble I would get in with my boss and it just wasn't worth it. I valued my head too much. <br /><br />"Rob!" Speak of the devil. Russell Tatum, my boss, not the boss, strolled over to me with all the confidence in the world. He was probably the one person in this building I would never ask to call me Rob. But he already did and I didn't really have the guts or the ranking to request that he call me Robert.<br /><br />"Russell, how's it going?" I asked, trying to avoid sounding like I was groaning. <br /><br />"Great now you're here."<br /><br />Oh perfect, what did he want now? Did no one care that I had a mountain of my own work to do and wasn't anyone’s P/A?<br /><br />"Why is that?" <br /><br />"Because, I have a meeting with some soul sucking stock brokers at 10 and I need a few bodies in there to help with some insurance matters. You up for it Johanssen?" Now he was calling me by my surname, as if we were mates! Christ help me.<br /><br />I couldn't refuse him, helping him out would impress him and support my cause to work my way up in this company. So what if it was a bit of brown nosing, it wouldn't hurt anyone - apart from my pride - and it may even be interesting. <br /><br />"Sure, of course."<br /><br />"Great!" He whacked me on the arm enthusiastically, "I'll email you over the details." He started walking off and then turned around, "See you at 10!" He pointed to me and winked. How embarrassing.<br /><br />“I bet you loved every second of that.” Josh Isaacs casually put his arm around my shoulder and laughed at his own joke.<br /><br />“Am I that transparent?”<br /><br />“Only a little bit. I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”<br /><br />“Why’s that?”<br /><br />“Because it’s highly entertaining for the rest of us!” He laughed again, a typical blokes laugh – loud and roaring.<br /><br />“Who needs friends…” <br /><br />“So, tonight’s the night, huh mate? Tonight is the night.” He winked.<br /><br />“Josh, I will ask one thing of you today and one thing only…do not at any point mention tonight, I feel sick to the stomach about it.”<br /><br />“I would too if I had to get married all over again, it’s a mistake.” <br /><br />“Not because of that moron, because I am nervous she will say no.” Sometimes I couldn’t believe this guy, he was a complete jerk, but what I really couldn’t believe is why I spent my time with him and actually enjoyed myself. I could tell there was more to him than the persona he wore, so I just settled with the side of him that I knew and waited patiently for the real him to come out. It would one day, I would bet my life on it.<br /><br />“Why would she say no? You might not be the best looking guy in the world but you’re one of the nicest…that I know, anyways.”<br /><br />“Gee, thanks Josh, thanks a bunch.” I said sarcastically. He really was a total mug, and I loved it.<br /><br />“But seriously man, there is no way Helen will say no and if she does then is she really worth it?”<br /><br />I must have looked a little stunned because I sure was shocked by what he has just said, it was almost intelligent. “Wow, deep.”<br /><br />“I’m being serious, Rob.”<br /><br />“I gathered that, Josh.”<br /><br />He knew I was pissing around with him, “I’m just saying man, she won’t say no.”<br /><br />“Thanks Josh, but if she does I’m crying on your shoulder.”<br /><br />“Ha! I don’t even offer my wife a shoulder to cry on!”<br /><br />“Josh, your whole ass hole act is getting very dated, we can all see through it you know.” <br /><br />Josh rolled his eyes, he knew I was right but like any respectable man with a large ego, he wasn’t about to admit it.<br /><br />“I wonder what Maggie would say if she heard you talking like this.” <br /><br />He tried to look like he couldn’t give a stuff about what Maggie thought, “She wouldn’t say anything, because she doesn’t wear the pants.”<br /><br />“You do know I have seen you around Maggie? Numerous amounts of times and there is no way in hell that you wear the pants, you practically live under the thumb.” <br /><br />He wasn’t happy by this, I could tell when he was insulted because his lips became a hard line and his face was dead serious.<br /><br />“Mate, I just say it how I see it.” I shrugged.<br /><br />He stormed off dramatically and I burst out laughing, he would be back and as arrogant as ever.<br /><br /> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17059102475822161828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8074014268239750243.post-43532892536877487222013-02-12T00:28:00.004-08:002013-02-13T02:03:00.983-08:00They Flee From Me - A poem by Thomas Wyatt<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /><br /><strong>Today I find that I am quite in the mood for poetry, so I would like to share this one with you by a famous Tudor poet called Thomas Wyatt. Have a guess who it is about...<br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br />M</strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />“<br /><br /><br />They flee from me that sometime did me seek, <br /><br />With naked foot stalking in my chamber. <br /><br />I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek <br /><br />That are now wild and do not remember <br /><br />That sometime they put themselves in danger <br /><br />To take bread at my hand; and now they range <br /><br />Busily seeking with a continual change. <br /><br /><br /><br />Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise <br /><br />Twenty times better; but once in special, <br /><br />In thin array after a pleasant guise, <br /><br />When her loose gown did from her shoulders did fall, <br /><br />And she me caught in her arms long and small, <br /><br />Therewithall sweetly did me kiss, <br /><br />And softly said, "Dear heart, how like you this?" <br /><br /><br /><br />It was no dream, I lay broad waking. <br /><br />But all is turned thorough my gentleness, <br /><br />Into a strange fashion of forsaking; <br /><br />And I have leave to go of her goodness, <br /><br />And she also to use newfangleness. <br /><br />But since that I so kindly am served, <br /><br />I would fain know what she hath deserved.<br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /> ”</div>
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