Tuesday, 26 June 2012

"If a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance." ~Bern Williams


Well, most of June has sped by at a rate of knots, and I haven't got all that much to show for it, except a couple of pictures... I'm trying to take photos on my disposable camera, mostly because waiting for them to be developed is so fun.
Some Aussies have just arrived, and although we couldn't have one (we had other guests) it has been rather nice to have a little chat with them. Australians have a reputation for looking like this:


















(I am aware that's Matthew McConaughey on a surfboard)
Sadly, they didn't quite live up to my standards, but their accents were still endearing.













I re-gingered my hair! Its lovely to be back as a redhead, people do look at you differently, I think. This is my bath after I first washed my hair... yummy.













I went to see Razorlight! Briiiiilliant band, they sound absolutely flawless live, however although I do like them, I was annoyed that:
a) They didn't play Fall, Fall, Fall
b) Johnny Borrell didn't smile
c) Johnny Borrell didn't take his clothes off


















I saw my very lovely and very gay friend Jordan for a shopping trip involving many shoes... this isn't really relevant, I just wanted to include a ginger picture of myself.













I've had many cooking urges this month, one of my many creations being this gorgeous-looking pea soup. Recipe on request *winks*


I have resorted to frankly rather shocking emotional blackmail tactics in order to get my friends/family/bloke to take me crabbing. If you've never been, get down to Norfolk immediately. God knows we need the tourism.



After a horrific day of being ignored by bus drivers several time, I decided to make a giant chocolate fudge brownie to cheer myself up.
I succeeded.

Megan's go-to tracks of this month are as follows:
Alex Clare - Too Close (horrifically catchy, please forgive me)
The Only Ones - Another Girl, Another Planet
House of Pain - Jump Around
Jeff Buckley (the man, the LEGEND) - Yard of Blond Girls

Mx


Sunday, 3 June 2012

People who say Coldplay are boring, have never seen them live...

"You know how I know you're gay? You listen to Coldplay."


This is a popular quote amongst my crew, (I can't even remember what film it was originally from!) used to describe someone who likes Coldplay.
Coldplay, for anyone who doesn't know, are a British band made up of Chris Martin (who's married to Gwyneth Paltrow) (also, when I went to a really posh pre-wedding party a few weeks ago (I couldn't go to the actual wedding, because Pippa Middleton went to that), the bride-to-be said that she used to go to school with Chris Martin, and that he was a super-musical, super-religious boy with white blond hair) Chris Martin's friend, a hairy guy, and a hot guitarist. They're commonly liked by Mums, homosexuals and Guardian-readers - in short, they are a boring band.
HOWEVER that said, Mr Megan is a massive, massive fan (what this says about my taste in men, I wouldn't like to say.) So massive, in fact, that not only did I have to buy him a Keep calm and listen to Coldplay t-shirt for Christmas, (he was mobbed my a group of girls last night, begging to take a picture with the t-shirt) but he also got a Coldplay tattoo. I know what you're thinking, oh my word Megan, why are you dating this guy, he sounds like a bell-end, but it actually doesn't look TOO bad...

It says "DREAMING PARADISE" if you can't read it.
Don't copy it, he'll kill me.











So, as he is a massive fan, all the albums, t-shirts, tattoos, naturally he wanted to see them live... having said that, when he told me he'd bought me a ticket, I was not excited in the least. I didn't tell anyone, the shame and embarrassment (and ensuing abuse) would have been too much to bear.
Yesterday, we arrived at the Emirates stadium in London - two true country bumpkins in the big city was not as disastrous as I thought it would be, however I did see Mr M looking a bit confused at the lack of tractors on the roads, and our short walk through King's Cross was accompanied by "would you look at that ceiling structure! Incredible!" (he's a carpenter.)
We queued up for EVER AND EVER outside the Stadium, then a bit longer for the loo, then loads longer once we were in before the support acts came on. We were neither impressed by Rita Ora nor Robyn, whatsoever, however as soon as Coldplay came on, the atmosphere completely changed!


























Since I can't really explain why it was so good, apart from ALL THE LIGHTS AND THE FIREWORKS AND WRISTBANDS IN THE CROWD AND ALL THE TINY PAPER BUTTERFLIES THAT SHOT OUT, AND THE RAIN, WHICH KIND OF MADE IT BETTER, oh it was really, really good, so you can just look at the pictures... the first half are Mr M's, second half are from the Coldplay website, creds and dat.
If you haven't seen them and you get the chance, don't be a fool, go!

Love, Peace, and Viva La Vida,
Mx

Sunday, 27 May 2012

Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me...

Seriously, if you have ever read my blog, favourited it, followed it (hello, 5 followers!) or a post just made who smile (even just the corner of your mouth) then this is me, begging you all: please leave a comment!! My view count is pretty high for petty musings, but I have a sneaking suspicion they may all be my own, or Aleks', or even Mr. Megan secretly reading (if so, stop reading now before you realise your girlfriend is a misanthrope) so if anyone, ANYONE could comment on a post, it would make me quite happy.
THIS IS A CRY FOR ATTENTION, Y'ALL!
We'll finish with some Elvis, thank you and goodnight.
Mx


Thursday, 24 May 2012

Feminism: an outdated idea?

















I've been a feminist for as long as I can remember, "feminist" here meaning a person who believes men are dominant and powerful in society, whilst women are oppressed and controlled.
However, looking at some feminist blogs, I can see why some people attach negative connotations to the word "feminist," because of statements like these:


1. "As long as women’s natural body hair is called disgusting and inappropriate while men’s isn't, I am a feminist."
Whilst I agree that nobody's natural state should be called "disgusting," as that's a full-on insult and more than anything else, rather rude, I can't bring myself to look at a hairy woman and think its attractive. Women have been removing their body hair for hundreds of years, and men don't - that's the way it is. Men and women don't have the same description of attractive; women that look like men aren't attractive, and men that look like women aren't attractive - there's no inequality in that. Men that remove their body hair (I'm talking leg or armpit hair here, as not all men grown hair on their chest) get just as much abuse for it as a hairy woman, trust me - I've been inside a footballer's changing room.

2. "As long as misogyny exists in any country in this world, I am a feminist."
This is so much bigger than inequality in gender. This is about religion, poverty and general cultural differences. You cannot profess to going to a foreign country, "teaching" the ways of feminism to the women there and changing their culture without doing more harm than good. By asking these women to put their head above the parapet and rebel, you are, in some cases, asking them to put themselves in a very great danger. The ideas concerning gender roles should be modernised thoroughly, through all aspects of a society, and this sort of change is going to take time. Reblogging a stupid phrase on tumblr isn't going to make that happen.

3. "As long as there are places where women have to pay more for health insurance than men, I am a feminist."
Of course women are going to have to pay more for health insurance. WOMEN HAVE BABIES. It's not a nice thought, but it's true! Just console yourself in the knowledge that in most countries, women are going to live longer.

4. "Oh, you're a feminist? So you're a dyke then?"
It's not just some men who think this! Radical feminists believe that in order to move towards an gender-equal society, women should dominate relationships... and the only way to make sure of this, is to isolate them form men. This is all well and good, and I have no problem with lesbian feminists, but I do think it would be refreshing to find a man, or a radical feminist, who doesn't expect "feminist" to be synonymous with "lesbian."

5. "I'm a feminist, therefore I love football, rugby, Guinness/pink, sparkles, bunnies and loadsa fucking hairslides."
It seems to me most feminists presents themselves as either butch, or super-girly (the super-girly ones are usually the one's just waiting to scream "WHY DID YOU GIVE ME A BARBIE?! GENDER-ROLL TOYS ARE DISGUSTING!!") Think outside the box, for fucks' sake.

However, the following things keep remind me that feminism is actually a good cause:

1. When you scroll through Twitter/Facebook, and see comments like these:
 boys fuck things up, girls are fucked up.
 if they int lesbians they swing both ways haha ;P
What is it will all the girls turning into lesbians!!
Girls and football just no! No no no no no. They should just advertise teams with there thong and tiny tight top on
Girls moan at football but you would all love to be married to a footballer so please give it a rest.
Could use a girlfriend asap ... Any offers?
"All the boys around here are knobend's" No love, just nobody wants to shag a girl who's had more cock than they've had hot dinners.
...which actually makes me feel a bit sicky. I once saw a boy tweet "girls wonder why lads knock them about, its because they're all slags, you make us this way!" and I had to say something, I don't care if he thought I was a twat. It's that sort of attitude that can make me lose my temper in a second.

2. When even the most liberal lad says things like this...
"You like cars and rock music... you'd be quite a good butch lesbian, right?"
"I know marriage is outdated, but I'd like to do it, it would just make me feel like you were mine, there was no getting out of it."
"Girls can't play football."
...and laughed when you told them about your childhood ambition to be a builder.


"Why are you wearing that rugby shirt when its not a game? You look like a lesbian."
"Let's talk about sexism or racism, she gets to wound up!" < Dad.

3. When you ask the careers advisor about how to go about getting into Journalism, and they tell you it's a man's game... go for something like secretary jobs instead, if you like typing.



Friday, 18 May 2012

Sometimes, I wonder why I am going to get up after writing this and turn of my light and walk to the shower and brush my hair and shower and wash my hair so that I can go to bed and sleep to have energy for tomorrow, and also clean hair, so that I can then get the bus into town and buy my dad a birthday present to uphold traditions and routine, and then I wonder why dad will drive me home so that I can get changed to go to work, so that I can earn money to spend to support a failing economy and an unethical global network that I will one day become part of by getting a full time job to support myself and possibly my family, and why am I doing all this and what gives me motivation, and do I really think it will make me happy one day?

Tuesday, 8 May 2012

Drip drip drop, little April showers

I have been shit at blogging this month. However, my stats are at an all-time high... are you trying to tell me something?!
I am currently living on 4 hours sleep and 7 expressos a day, so please excuse me if this post is a little bit wank, I'm trying to fit April into one post, the lazy way.













It rained. Lots.














I became obsessed with my current art project, a 1960's spanner advert featuring, shock horror, a woman. I shot this photo, featuring my rather gorgeous friend Steve.














The tickets for Coldplay arrived, which is one of the many things getting me through the horrific revision period at the moment...














...which causes me to feel like this. These are my Intelligent Revising Spectacles.














Mr Megan also took me out many many places, including this little fjord thing during a rare sunny spell. It was quite cute, but he'd say "coot" because we're from Naaarfolk.


















I managed to have a wild illegal party, where loads of things, including my house and my friends, got trashed. The 'rents weren't very happy, so Mr M bought me some flowers to cheer me up. They are sunflowers, so you know, kudos to him there.













Made this lovely-looking cake for my friends birthday, because I am skint, too busy saving up for Reading (woop an' holler!) It's got rainbow drops on the top and gay bacon around the edges, but I don't know if you know what gay bacon is... it's like bacon only multicoloured and made of sugar. Regular feed for the average poor student, at 38p a packet, or 3 for £1.
Why am I so poor?


















We went to see One Night Only for the fella's birthday... credit where credits due, they weren't bad, but I was confused as to where the mosh pit was, until I was informed there wasn't one. What do you do at gigs with no pit???? Nod your head, I found out.













And lastly, two of my favourite men, Salvador Dali and Andy Warhol. Didn't that just make your day?

Love, Peace, and Mother-fucking A Levels,
Mx

P.S. Megan's songs of the month...
Fall, Fall, Fall by Razorlight
You Wish You Were Red by Trailer Trash Tracys
Sheila by Jamie T
Time to Pretend by MGMT
Cherry Cola by Eagles of Death Metal
High Five, Swan Dive, Nose Dive by Pulled Apart By Horses

That'll put hairs on your chest.

Wednesday, 21 March 2012

What's in a kiss?

CUE SOPPY POST
So today I've had a day off, and stayed at home due to my near-fatal strain of man-flu I have contracted. Being confined pretty much to my room alone, I started flicking through coffee table photography books, and I rediscovered a photo that I have always loved.

The Kiss at the City Hall, by Robert Doisneau
This photo has always held a kind of fascination to me. I know it was staged, but it somehow doesn't matter - the way the man just takes the woman for an impromptu, spontaneous kiss... to me, this is just absolute definition of romance. Call me old-fashioned, but this is how it should be.
So I started looking at some more Doisneau photographs. He took lots of photos of couples kissing in Paris (some might say cliche,) but they proved to be incredibly popular. Just what is it about a kiss that fascinates us so intensely? 



The blurred people in the background on this are lovely - the shutter speed must have been so slow!

They even hold an almost sacred place in films - for what would Spiderman be without MJ's upside-downy kiss, or Lady and the Tramp without the spaghetti shenanigans? I put together a wee shortlist of the best kisses in film (not exhaustive.)

Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961)
A kiss in the rain never fails. Definite brownie points for that trench coat, too.

Spiderman (2002)
Well, it solved the "where do I put my nose?" question. If you have a big nose. Like me.

The Notebook (2004)
I'm a girl, ok? I'm allowed to like this. I'm allowed to like a muscular, sodden Ryan Gosling holding his childhood sweetheart in the rain. I am.

Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (2003)
Yay! Elf love!

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 (2011)
Everyone knew it was coming. Everyone knew it would be awkward. It did not disappoint!

Whilst searching for the pictures, I came across a series of photos taken by a photographer in Central Park... I'll let you fill in the gaps yourselves.




That's the money shot, right there.



Oh, God. Am I going all soft?! What a worrying prospect.
Mx


Friday, 16 March 2012

Things that men should know

I apologise in advance - this post will be a little bit Owl-flavoured. The Obnoxious Owl (she's good, have a butchers) does little posts to her male readers occaisonally, instructing them, generally on matters involving their appearance, manners, sexual health and/or relationship ettiquette. Some of these points would be helpful for Mr. Megan, but he will never read this blog... never!

1. IF YOU SMELL NICE, GIRLS WILL LIKE YOU
I honestly do not think it is too much to ask for a lad to shower daily, apply deodorant (but don't give me any of this Lynx overdosage) and maybe a bit of aftershave... if you shave. If you don't shave, please go back to whatever cave you came from until you can grow a beard.

2. STUBBLE IS NICE
But bear in mind, if you're a little rougher around the face, you're going to have to go a bit gentler, or your bird is going to wake up looking like she tried to drink Cherryade and missed her mouth.

3. THE STATE OF YOUR BED/BEDROOM DIRECTLY LINKS TO YOUR SEXUAL PROWESS
If you can't make your bed, there's no way you can make babies. Also, you know that feeling you get when you're freshly showered and slip into fresh sheets? Yeah, we like that too. So you know... fresh sheets + fresh smelling fella = happy lady.

4. WEARING MORE THAN THREE BRACELETS AT A TIME WILL NOT MAKE YOU JASON MRAZ.
Nor will it make you attractive. Unless you are Jason Mraz.

5. IT'S KIND OF HOT TO BE A BIT JEALOUS
Ok, this one is directly stolen from the Owl herself. But seriously - a LITTLE bit of jealousy means you'll probably be getting laid that night.

6. THIS IS A TEXT THAT WOULD PRODUCE AN INSTANT FLACCID
hi babe :) saw you the other day! :P looking good ;) haven't seen you in ages! :( meet up sometime? <3 xxx
Oh look, I can see the exact facial expressions you're pulling from your emoticons. It looks like you just had a facial spasm in my inbox.

7. NEVER COMMENT ON A LADY GARDEN
You cannot crush pride in a more spectacular way. Don't even say you like it. Especially don't say you don't like it. Don't even comment - if you're significant other is British, she will appreciate your sense of decorum in the face of what is most likely a carefully-manicured garden.

8. NEVER REFER TO THE FEMALE GENITALIA USING ANY OF THE FOLLOWING WORDS:
Cunt. Fanny. Poonany. Axe-wound. Pussy. Winkie.

9. IF YOUR FAVOURITE BAND IS ALL TIME LOW/ENTER SHIKARI/SNOW PATROL, YOU CAN NEVER BE SEXY
But if I've seen you in a mosh-pit, it's hard for you not to be.

10. JUST BECAUSE A GIRL HAS HAD OTHER MEN, IT DOES NOT MEAN SHE IS A SLAG
And under no circumstances can you refer to the time she was seeing more than one man as "the slag phase."

11. TREATING ME LIKE I AM 3 YEARS OLD WHEN I'M DRUNK WILL NOT WIN YOU ANY BROWNIE POINTS
It might get you a pint in the face though.

Mx

Tuesday, 6 March 2012

06.03.11

So, today came around all too soon, I guess. I can't believe it's been a year, I still feel just as much of a mess as I did this time last year, I've just learnt to contain it better. It makes me really sad to look back on what I've done in the year since, how royally I have screwed up and how close I came to just losing it, but it also makes me a little bit proud to see that somehow, in some areas, I've managed to pull it back. It's also comforting to know that I do have some friends that really care about me, no matter how unexpected that seemed, I know that they're the ones I should hold onto. I suppose I've really known that all along.
Anyway, today isn't about me.
I tried really hard to find a good poem that could express loss properly, but they were all to religious and figurative, so in the end I thought I'd go with this. He really loved this song, well before Adele covered it, and he was absolutely mad on Dylan, so I thought this was appropriate.

When the rain is blowin' in your face
And the whole world is on your case
I could offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love.

When the evening shadows and the stars appear
And there is no one there to dry your tears
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love.

I know you haven't made your mind up yet
But I would never do you wrong
I've known it from the moment that we met
No doubt in my mind where you belong.

I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue
I'd go crawlin' down the avenue
No, there's nothin' that I wouldn't do
To make you feel my love.

Though storms are raging on the rollin' sea
And on the highway of regrets
Though winds of change are throwing wild and free
You ain't seen nothin' like me yet.

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true
Nothing that I wouldn't do
Go to the ends of the Earth for you
To make you feel my love.

Hope I'm not depressing you too much of late. I'll be back on form soon.
Mx

Saturday, 25 February 2012

Today is a Saturday

Sometimes, I marvel at how lucky I am. Today was one of those days.
I woke up to every teenage girls dream; sunlight shining through the curtains, birds singing, big muscly arms around me, to be followed by unlimited cups of coffee and breakfast in bed. Empty house, hot shower, more coffee, and then back into bed with Mr Megan to hide under the covers for a while. I then went home to my family; my sister has just learnt to swim underwater, my dad has just been invited to a second interview for his new job. Then I made pancakes and watched the rugby. Little things like these make me happy.
Not just cliche moments like this morning, just the fact that my family is all happy and healthy, even if they're not quite right in the head, sometimes irritatingly Tory, and embarrassingly racist. My friends might not be flawlessly supportive, or without their own annoying quirks, but I love them to pieces and I think (and hope!) that they care about me too. I have a house to live in and financially, we might not be cracking but at least we're fairly solid now.
It's times like these, when we feel as though we should be truly thankful, that our minds automatically drift to the best times we can remember. It might seem strange, but is it not so? When we go to a good party, do you not compare it to the best one you can remember (or the better ones you can't?) When we're on a first date, do we not compare the poor fella to that One That Got Away?
I know I always think back to a time when life seemed (GAYYYCRINGECLICHE) a bit magical, when I first realised that I was lucky and had pretty much the whole world open to me, when I first tested the waters of what was to come. I think of the crazy times, the times I can hardly remember, and the moments I will remember forever, because they seemed to stretch out seconds into little pockets of nostalgia.
This is a seemingly unrelated introduction to my main point; that the loved ones that we lose can seem all the more lovable for what more they could have shared. You'll always remember the one you couldn't have for the love you'll never know - for the depths you never knew it could reach, and the things you never knew they could teach you. The truth is, the people we lose in life teach us the more about ourselves than anyone else, and yet this is the love that is the most pure and unselfish. The moments we share with them become the most treasured, and the ones that you replay over and over again in your mind, fighting with your memory to recall the smallest details, and keep them tattooed in your mind forever. They are the conversations that you will kick yourself for having, or worse, for not having. They are the goodbyes that will seem the most callous and unfeeling on your part, and the remarks the most flippant and stupid. Stupid.
You could torture yourself with "what if I had said this?" and "why didn't I just tell him that?" and no, it probably wouldn't have driven him away and yes, you are the reason the goodbye was so painful. But at the end of the day, the worst pain is knowing that they're not there, and never will be.
If you have time today, do something for somebody else. Donate some money to the Leukaemia and Lymphoma Society. Donate blood. Tell that person you love them. Stop being afraid, and too proud, and stubborn, and cold. Yeah, you'll seem like a cock, but I know I wish I had.

Mx
http://www.mariecurie.org.uk/en-gb/who-we-are/services/?gclid=CMvYw_Gduq4CFUsMtAodimYR_Q
http://leukaemialymphomaresearch.org.uk/
http://www.cancerresearchuk.org/




This post is dedicated to Emma Donald, whom I did not know well enough. She triggered, but did not inspire, this post. R.I.P. x

Wednesday, 22 February 2012

Flamehead

So, I finally dyed my hair, after realising my roots were actually horrific, as pointed out lovingly by my younger sister - "Megan, you're hair is black at the top!"
A la my new years resolutions, I had a strange and "bad taste" dye job, just, you know, to build character!


It's sort of red at the top, fading to strawberry blond, rocking that whole "ombre effect" thing - it is much, MUCH, brighter than it appears here, but I can't get good sunlight in February at a time when I feel awake!
Also, as promised, here is a picture of my tattoo...


YES, THESE ARE MY BOOBIES. However, I am not flashing them, or pushing them together with a wry little pout, it is purely for the illustration of da tat, init. So don't judge me, please.

Love, Peace and Silly Little Things,
Mx

Sunday, 19 February 2012

“To change one’s life: Start Immediately. Do it Flamboyantly. No Exceptions.” – William James

Recently, I've been thinking. And you know what? More than anything, I think I am sick of fitting in. I'm quite fed up of living my life one way, a certain way, because that's how you're supposed to do it. It might well be the best way, but I'd rather find that out for myself.
This is how life for a person like me goes: you go to school. You learn to work. You do sixth form, go to university, get in incredible amounts of unneccesary debt, go into a low paid, unfulfilling job straight away to start paying them off, holiday in Majorca, get married, have babies, holiday in Menorca. Die.
I'm sorry, but fuck that. This is what everyone expects me to do, and what everyone wants me to do. Insane amounts of hard work and effort seem to go into producing a standard of living which is frankly morbidly average, and it depresses the hell out of me.
Maybe there are other ways. Maybe you can take a massive jump outside your comfort zone and - and this is hugely corny - carve your own path out. I don't want to have the same experiences, same values, same life as my mother, my grandmother, and my great-grandmother before me. I see no fulfilment in that. Its just that kicking out on my own seems like such a frightening and lonely prospect - but I don't want fear to keep me stuck to this shitty path to disenchantment.
I don't know if you've ever heard of Yes Man. It was an experiment by Danny Wallace, who said yes to every opportunity that came his way, everything, and it enriched his life. Lately, I've been saying yes. Yes to a tattoo, yes to crazy hair, yes to a free 60's makeover. I was asked to a ball the other night, and I said no. Everyone else went, and seemed to have a fantastic night. What would have happened if I'd have said yes? What would happen if I said yes to every opportunity, however remote and far-flung? What if I said yes to the Australian work placement scheme laying at the bottom of my bed, or the lone trip to Ireland that's been forming in my mind all year?
Urgh, I feel horribly neurotic and teen, moaning about how humdrum my life is, and I do apologise. It's been almost a year since I lost someone who taught me everything I know about "carving my own path," doing whatever I want to do and having the self-belief to think, "you know what? Fuck you and your entire existence." And to be perfectly honest, I'm still as lost as my first day without him.

Wednesday, 8 February 2012

C-c-countdown


Days until my tattoo... only a tiny one, but I'm still nervous! I've watched youtube videos of people basically blacking out, vomitting and DYING on encountering their first.


Days until my "valentine's day surprise." Yep, that's right. Me. Celebrating Valentine's Day. Bring it.


Days until I see the Kabeedies live... if you haven't heard them, have a cheeky little browse on YouTube, Spotify orrrr http://thekabeedies.bandcamp.com/ have a butchers on there.


...and who knows how many days until I get busted for just generally failing at Sixth Form. Yeah, so I'm getting A's, but who the fuck cares about my grades when oh my gosh will you just look at the girls attendance?! HOW SHOCKING. 86% people. And I am in NON-COMPULSORY EDUCATION. I'm not asking for the Earth hey, just a bit of slack. Je suis humane.

Love, Peace, and For Christ's Sake's don't go do A-Levels,
Mx