Vinci

'As a well-spent day brings happy sleep, so a life well spent brings happy death' 

Leonardo Di Vinci 

The Lincoln Imp

I want to write something about my Grandad, about who he was, and what he has achieved. His little quirks and habits that I sometimes see echoed in my father and uncles. And about how much I admire him- and how I wish he was still here. But I'm struggling to put it into words. I don't want to be morbid about it- I want to be happy. So I have decided to do a few little posts about things he has told me, or places we have been instead.  


My favourite as a kid was about the Lincoln Imp. Grandad laughed when I asked him to recount the tale for Lizzy when she visited but I love that he told it anyway:


'The Lincoln Imp is the symbol of the City of Lincoln, the county town of Lincolnshire, England.


According to a 14th-century legend two mischievous creatures called imps were sent by Satan to do evil work on Earth. After causing mayhem in Northern England, the two imps headed to Lincoln Cathedral where they smashed tables and chairs and tripped up the Bishop. When an angel came out of a book of hymns and told them to stop, one of the imps was brave and started throwing rocks at the angel but the other imp cowered under the broken tables and chairs. The angel turned the first imp to stone giving the second imp a chance to escape'

Wiki obviously doesn't compare to his version- and it doesn't have his ending: That if the wind is blowing the right way you can hear the Imp crying. And that one day, if he's good, the angel will change the Imp back.

100 Books

So I have just witnessed one of my close friends disagree, and dismiss about roughly half of these books so I have decided to share a few of my thoughts briefly. The ones in bold are novels I have fully read. 




1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
 2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien 
 3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte (LOVE- We did this for female Gothic last year and it was one of my favourite books on the module)
 4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling (You can't go wrong with a bit of HP, How that women created a world in which every little detail was thought of, to the point where it isn't included in the book but if you ask her about it she will go into such detail astonishes me)
 5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee (Another one of my favourites, although my little brother scribbled all over my copy...)
 6 The Bible (A lovely piece of fiction)
 7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte (HATE- It is my stepdad's favourite book but for me I had to drag myself through it!)
 8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell (I own this book and I'm about halfway through it...and have been for 2 years- I will finish it!)
 9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman (Good when I was younger, but I tried to re-read the first one a couple of years ago and I just wasn't interested)
 10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens (Own, to read)
 11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott (Own, to read)
 12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy (Own, to read)
 13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller 
 14 Complete Works of Shakespeare (Own two copies of for some reason, to read)
 15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier (Great book, also the Hitchcock film is pretty good)
 16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien 
 17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk (Long but it is one of those 'once you get started you can't put down types)
 18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger (I like this book a lot, but I think I like my copy of it the most, as I 'borrowed' it from my Grandparent's house. It's a lovely edition)
 19 The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger (I personally didn't like this book, it kept me interested and it wasn't like anything I had read before but it just wasn't for me)
 20 Middlemarch - George Eliot 
 21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
 22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald 
 24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy 
 25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams 
 27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky 
 28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
 30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame  
 31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy 
 32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens (Own, to read)
 33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis (I like the first two and Caspian is ok... but after that- pretty average for me.)
 34 Emma -Jane Austen (I haven't read any other Austen apart from Northanger Abby, and that was enough)
 35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
 36 The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe - CS Lewis (Love)
 37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini 
 38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres 
 39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden (I compared this to 'The Joy Luck Club' for an A-level piece. I really enjoyed both novels. Memoirs hooked me in and I read it in 2-3 days. Long book but worth it)
 40 Winnie the Pooh - A.A. Milne (Childhood) 
 41 Animal Farm - George Orwell (Halfway through again! Maybe it's just that Orwell and myself just don't get along!)
 42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown (I personally didn't like it, I read it because everyone else recommended it and that usually puts me off because I am stubborn!)
 43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez 
 44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving 
 45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins (Got halfway through...then gave up, maybe I will revisit)
 46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery (I wasn't keen on this novel, purely because I have read better things)
 47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
 48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood (This was recommended to be by a classmate in A-levels and I thought it was great)
 49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding (Good, but I don't idolise it like my good friend Tom)
 50 Atonement - Ian McEwan  
 51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel 
 52 Dune - Frank Herbert 
 53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
 54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen 
 55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth 
 56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon 
 57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens 
 58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley 
 59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon (Maths was the thing that put me off this book. It is a very clever book and an interesting plot, but I read it when I was younger and just the sight of numbers makes my brain close down and I lose interest rapidly. It sounds pathetic but that's the reason why I don't like this book)
 60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
 61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck (I preferred seeing this on the stage)
 62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov (Own, to read)
 63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt 
 64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold 
 65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas 
 66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac 
 67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
 68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding (Read it as part of a women's writing course.  It is ok, but not for me) 
 69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie 
 70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville 
 71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens 
 72 Dracula - Bram Stoker (Great book. Van Helsing features a lot less than I thought he would- I obviously heard about this book a long time before I read it)
 73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett 
 74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
 75 Ulysses - James Joyce  
 76 The Inferno - Dante 
 77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome (EURGH. I have tried SO many times to get through this as it was a present from my mum and one of her favourite books. But no.)
 78 Germinal - Emile Zola 
 79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
 80 Possession - AS Byatt
 81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens (Love)
 82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
 83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker (Great book)
 84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro 
 85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert (Halfway through)
 86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
 87 Charlotte’s Web - E.B. White 
 88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom (I rather liked this book. My friend found it incredibly dull- he's wrong)
 89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle 
 90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
 91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad 
 92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
 93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks 
 94 Watership Down - Richard Adams 
 95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole 
 96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
 97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas 
 98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare (Love this play. Loved seeing David Tennant has Hamlet in Stratford. Love that I got a first writing my independant study on it- boom!)
 99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl (This man was my childhood- one of my favourites out of his books!)
 100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

Untitled

It's been really tough today.

I miss you so much.

How We Survive

© Mark Rickerby

If we are fortunate,
we are given a warning.

If not,
there is only the sudden horror,
the wrench of being torn apart;
of being reminded
that nothing is permanent,
not even the ones we love,
the ones our lives revolve around.

Life is a fragile affair.
We are all dancing
on the edge of a precipice,
a dizzying cliff so high
we can't see the bottom.

One by one,
we lose those we love most
into the dark ravine.

So we must cherish them
without reservation.
Now.
Today.
This minute.
We will lose them
or they will lose us
someday.
This is certain.
There is no time for bickering.
And their loss
will leave a great pit in our hearts;
a pit we struggle to avoid
during the day
and fall into at night.

Some,
unable to accept this loss,
unable to determine
the worth of life without them,
jump into that black pit
spiritually or physically,
hoping to find them there.

And some survive
the shock,
the denial,
the horror,
the bargaining,
the barren, empty aching,
the unanswered prayers,
the sleepless nights
when their breath is crushed
under the weight of silence
and all that it means.

Somehow, some survive all that and,
like a flower opening after a storm,
they slowly begin to remember
the one they lost
in a different way...

The laughter,
the irrepressible spirit,
the generous heart,
the way their smile made them feel,
the encouragement they gave
even as their own dreams were dying.

And in time, they fill the pit
with other memories
the only memories that really matter.

We will still cry.
We will always cry.
But with loving reflection
more than hopeless longing.

And that is how we survive.
That is how the story should end.
That is how they would want it to be.

Source: How We Survive, Grief Poem http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/how-we-survive#ixzz1vqAnkt9f 
www.FamilyFriendPoems.com 

- To My Grandad

To the man that taught me so much- I love you and miss you. 

Park, BBQ, Sun and Iolo

We went to the park, Iolo made friends with everyone. I got sunburnt despite wearing suncream.

Quote

Interesting quote I found in Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert:

Her will, like the veil tied to her hat by a string, flutters with every breeze; there is always some desire luring her on, some convention holding her back

Dreamer

'oh sometimes the blues is just a passing bird

and why can't that always be

tossing aside from your birches crown

just enough dark to see

how you're the light over me'

'When you go, what you leave is a work of art

On my chest, on my heart

And my love is yours but your love's not mine

So I'll go but we know I'll see you down the line

And we'll hate what we've lost but we'll love what we find

Past all the signs of the slow decline

Live like your love wasn't meant for mine

Now you've gone, now you've gone to a different life

Til the loneliest side'

Nothingness

Since finishing university last Thursday I have been wondering what I am going to do with my life for the next few months, and I suppose, in the future. The last few days has been spent in a drunken stupor, with my part time work sandwiched between the drink. (I am aware this makes me sound like an alcoholic, but we're celebrating!).

And so today was my first real day of nothingness:

I woke up late, had lunch with Elly.
Drank Home Bargins' Cosmo in a pouch (Classy).
Went to a sisha bar
watched a film
read
and now bed.

Fun and yet completely unproductive.

I vow tomorrow WILL be productive!!

The end of an era.

I practically shoved my parents and my brother out of the door on the day that I got dropped off at halls whispering "Please! I need to do this on my own!". Scared shitless and yet so excited. Meeting the people I live with that night was interesting: One northener, three welshies, one bristolian, one londoner, and one from Dorset. A cornucopia of strange accents and bizarre personalities. Having come straight from a small village where I'd been through nursery, infant, junior and secondary school as well as a-levels with the same people it was so refreshing meeting some new people- especially those who are all different from the generic mould. Three years later I live with the majority of people I met that night along with new friends. It doesn't feel like three years when I think our friendship- it's more like ten or twenty, and yet sometimes it feels like no time at all.

Getting the train to Treforest two-three times every week for three years was a great way to escape the urban concrete center. The only thing is I don't even want to think of how much that's cost me! I've always found water soothing and so, seeing the river Taff- and seeing how it changes through the seasons- always puts me in a good mood. I know Treforest isn't a thing of beauty; on a rainy day it can be more grey than the city but hey, looking out of the class windows to the mountains in the mist is rather pretty. 

I was talking to the girls I met in my classes about the first time we all remember meeting- it's weird how sometimes you can be sat right next to someone, not knowing they play such a huge role in your future. 

My first memory is walking into my poetry class and seeing some friendly looking faces and plonking myself down hoping for the best- I did well. The lecturers all have their pros and cons but I think we will all look back fondly about them- I think we all decided that Alice is our favourite. 

Anyway, I digress. 

I've learnt a lot- both in classes and out of the classroom. It's been three years of hard work (why does all the coursework all come at once!), laughter, tears, weird experiences, and far too much booze. I wouldn't change anything... well ok, one thing. I would quote how my housemates and I feel about it- but it's a bit too rude to put on the internet, let alone my blog! All in all, uni was fucking brilliant. 

   

Help

As a rule of thumb
If there are more than 5 people helping
then I do more harm than good.
But,
it doesn't stop the guilty feeling
clawing at the inside of my stomach
as I walk on by.

As you cry

Cold concrete curb

cuddles kindly 

as you cry.

Bare Feet

On the tarmac
she looks wrong. Bent.
Not much blood.
Bare feet.

Today was shit. But it makes me value what I've got. Love to you all.

I miss you

I don't remember the first time we met, but you're mom told me she saw us leaving the class together engaged in conversation. I had smiled and walked over to my mother, looking over my shoulder to see if you were looking. You were. She said that you had run over and told her that I was the prettiest girl you'd ever met and that you wanted to marry me.

A childish view of the world, so simple.

Friendship developed into first love. Over the years we grew inseparable. All the time spent leaning each other, our habits, our bodies.

Your parent's told us together. Your father's contract had expired. You had to move back to America.
Not one word was said between us as you walked me home that night, the reassuring clasp you held my hand in said it all.

It's weird how I remember with such clarity the night you left. How much it hurt.

I loved the emails and the phone calls, but it was the letters and the packages that I treasured the most. You sent me pictures, candy, books- anything to make me smile. Almost a year after you'd gone, one valentine's day you sent me a note: See you soon x My parents presented me with the plane ticket, cue crying all round. Our holiday was the best. We drove across the state and visited your grandparent's- they finally got to meet 'the English girl' from the phone. But parting again was just as hard.

Slowly the letters became less and less, then the phone calls stopped all together. But it was ok. It was time. We went to university, got new partners. Moved on.

Last year driving home in a storm you aquaplaned, off the road after clipping the edge of a truck. Your Mom rang, she thought I should know. That's when she told me the story of how we met. It just about broke my heart. I wish I could remember.

I miss you.      

Oh Hamlet

I love this play, which is probably a good thing as I'm just about to start writing my final assignment of uni on it! It's kind of fitting really, it wouldn't have felt right leaving university having not studied some of Will's work! This soliloquy is just beautiful. My favourite out of the play. I was lucky enough to see the RSC performance a couple of years ago with David Tennant (2nd row from the front- boom!) and it was the best RSC performance I've seen! Anyway, it seems fitting late at night to be thinking about this.

'and by a sleep we end 

The heartache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is to heir to: 'tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished- to die: to sleep

To sleep, perchance to dream'

Feeling Generous?

If you can spare a few pennies then please sponsor my good friend Liz :)
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/elizabethblewitt
She's raising money for a brilliant cause, every penny helps.
Thank you!

Burning the Doll

Burning the Doll by Cecilia Woloch

I am the girl who burned her doll,
who gave her father the doll to burn "
the bride doll I had been given
at six, as a Christmas gift,
by the same great uncle who once introduced me
at my blind second cousin's wedding
to a man who winced, A future Miss
America, I'm sure " while I stood there, sweating
in a prickly flowered dress,
ugly, wanting to cry.

I loved the uncle but I wanted that doll to burn
because I loved my father best
and the doll was a lie.
I hated her white gown stitched with pearls,
her blinking, mocking blue glass eyes
that closed and opened, opened and closed
when I stood her up,
when I laid her down.
Her stiff, hinged body was not like mine,
which was wild and brown,
and there was no groom "

stupid doll,
who smiled and smiled,
even when I flung her to the ground,
even when I struck her, naked, against
the pink walls of my room.
I was not sorry, then,
I would never be sorry "

not even when I was a bride, myself,
and swung down the aisle on my father's arm
toward a marriage that wouldn't last
in a heavy dress that was cut to fit,
a satin dress I didn't want,
but that my mother insisted upon "
Who gives this woman? " wondering, Who takes
the witchy child?

And that day, my father was cleaning the basement;
he'd built a fire in the black can
in the back of our backyard,
and I was seven, I wanted to help,
so I offered him the doll.
I remember he looked at me, once, hard,
asked, Are you sure?
I nodded my head.

Father, this was our deepest confession of love.
I didn't watch the plastic body melt
to soft flesh in the flames "
I watched you move from the house to the fire.
I would have given you anything. 

Why I like books

You asked me why I like to read, why I like books.

If you took me to a book shop and told me to choose just one, you're going to be in for a long wait. I'll stroll among the shelves absorbing the bright spines and admiring the fonts. The titles call to me, creating run-a-way thoughts of tales that could echo that caption. I might pause and carefully extract a copy. I read the blurb, turn it, take in the cover. I feel the book, playing with gravity as I assess its weightiness, feeling the smooth paperback or the thick bumpy hardback. Opening it I read the middle of the book. No beginnings or ends- I like to see the font and it's size and see if any words jump at me, signalling me to read on. Please don't make the mistake that all books are as dull as the books you were made to pour over at school. The ones you dissected and destroyed for grades. They can be anything you want them to be. Books offer an escape from the droll, rainy day outside, they let you relax. They can make you happy or sad. Leave you feeling drained or frightened. The power of the written word is greater than you think. The way a blank canvas can be filled with characters or places you end up knowing more intimately than your friends is extraordinary. Whole worlds, creatures and feelings so alive to you, you'd think you were there- all present within those ordinary covers.

I love it when books are old, with yellowing paper- green or red velvet covers with gold lettering. The history of the book thrills me. Seeing dates scratched in the first few pages in light blue faded fountain pen, perhaps a message or a name. For Sally, Love Greg- Christmas 1901. Perhaps a newspaper clipping or picture remains inside; a bookmark? A memento? The truth is I will never know, but the idea that someone has enjoyed this book before me, and someone before that whether they are kids or adults makes me happy. The book has a soul and it has been loved. The smell is usually comforting, slightly musty. It reminds me of sitting on the floor in my grandparent's library surrounded by open books I had pulled from their homes to examine in my childish glee. These are the only books I manage to open at the front searching for those few lines a man or woman wrote years and years ago that have stood the test of time: Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.