Public Notice

To all those well wishers who live in the same country as me and who pat themselves on the back:-

1. for asking me for my address
2. for spending 2 hours of admin altogether
3. for spending more than £2 collectively (this usually adds up to a lot more)
4. for spending about 20 minutes (or more) in the shops finding just the right one…

WAKE UP! May I suggest instead:-

1. If you have seen me recently and you live in the same country, you could try wishing me Happy Christmas VERBALLY, or by forwarded email, telephone or text – it’s quicker, costs less, conveys the sentiment and just makes sense
2. Giving the money to charity instead (if it makes you feel better)
3. Giving the postman a break – doesn’t he deserve a holiday too? If there were less needless chores to do, then those who actually ought to receive Christmas post ie family and friends abroad, soldiers in war, the needy etc might actually get what they deserve without all the mix up caused by silly middle class (usually smug couples with a baby who sign it from the baby aswell – as if a baby knows it’s Christmas and wishes you goodwill or something – I mean a smear of diarrhoea would do instead) do gooders.

Please do not send me a card unless:-

1. It is accompanied by a present – YAY!!!
2. It’s funny or romantic
3. I live in a different country
4. You haven’t seen me in a VERY long time – I’m mean years…
5. You want to write a very appropriate and personal message

Also, some other points…

1. You CANNOT keep MILLIONS of cards in the attic – EVERYONE puts them in the bin (or pretends to recycle them) after Christmas anyway
2. If you think I'm being rude, tell me why. I'm not proud of my thoughts and maybe I need to restrain myself from thinking them.
3. Asking me for my address when you live a few miles away and you've known me since I was two does NOT make the card a surprise.

May I suggest some alternatives for future and Happier Christmas:-

1. showing Christmas goodwill less ostentatiously but more appropriately
2. spending the card admin time with an elderly relative you’ve forgotten about.
3. Making and sending Christmas ‘spice dolls’ for future decoration. This way, you will make and send to only those who should get one (and they are much better)

The Painted Veil

I couldn’t have chosen a more poignant moment in life to watch ‘The Painted Veil’. Very profound. I also find it hard not to find this picture so moving.

Described in a nutshell… Woman must flee the nest. Rich intelligent young Batchelor proposes. Despite celibacy and hopes to be ‘in love’ one day, she caves in. They marry and move to 1920s Shanghai for work. Husband realises Wife doesn’t love him so they don't ‘have relations’ (Husband’s a nice guy). Having found her ‘in relations’ with another man (James Bond), Husband offers Wife an INGENIOUS and DELICIOUS ultimatum. Husband will divorce and shame Wife, naming Wife’s affair unless Wife accompanies him to the midst of a cholera epidemic for research and work in medicine. Alternatively, Wife will be allowed to quietly divorce Husband, if she can persuade James Bond to similarly divorce HIS wife and marry her – afterall they are in love!!!… As expected, James Bond isn’t interested. Wife moves away with clever Husband facing possible death.

After seeing and proving Husband’s heart wrenching and unrelentless loyalty and love for Wife and his self-sacrificial care for those in need, Wife falls in love with Husband FINALLY (because he’s a nice guy). Some time after a night of passion, Husband falls ill, only to find Wife is preggers (possibly with James Bond’s child!!!). Husband dies (because that’s how everything always is). Widow lives a miserable life of regret and sadness admiring late Husband and dwelling on her selfish ways that consumed them both. Widow together with late Husband’s son meet James Bond on the street. James Bond is ignored (that’s what he deserves).

Despite my mother hissing at the film, I was left with a lot to think about… Why is it that we don’t naturally fall for the good guy no matter how lovely he is? James Bond is a dick - he doesn’t care about anyone really (words are cheap and fun is fleeting). Pure beautiful love may shine through in the end but only after it has been tried and destroyed by the selfish dregs of the day. After it is lost and ruined by nastiness, nothing can compare and it is mourned back. When a flower is picked and the petals are pulled out, can anything revive and return its beauty?

There is nothing like sitting on a rug in front of the fire, being brought tea. But wallowing is dangerous.

Edward Norton never disappoints as an actor and Satie's Gnossienne No.1 as the theme tune couldn't have been more appropriate.

Friends with the Chavs!!! - Honestly!

I am one of the few who had never seen a 'chav' before moving to the big smoke. Now we're best friends!... Despite having my wheels/bike stolen x2, purse stolen x1, being mugged x1 and attacked x1 I still hadn't formed a true opinion of 'chavs' until Sunday...

When I saw the 'chavs' I remembered the day I set off on my first date with Jack, walking through Beirut, passing the usual group of youths (or 'chavs'), being crowded, touched, taunted. These sorts probably thought they were picking on a unassuming child but must have been shocked by the wrath of the red head and thankfully dissipated... (Chavs don't stop me, but stiletto heels might...)

The same group still hang around. I'm convinced it was them who stole my bike. They have been spotted with bolt cutters in a plastic bag!... On Sunday I actually had a CONVERSATION with the 'chavs'. The leader was in crutches. Not sure how it started but it ended "what's a lovely girl like you doing in this horrible place? You're lovely!!!" Me - "aww, thank you, I had my bike stolen recently, it did my head in". Chavs - "Aw babe..." etc etc "Well keep an eye out for you".

Anyway, RESULTS! My bike has been outside now for a few nights and it's still happy... I also get waves and smiles from the chavs! Not sure if it's wise to risk it though?...

One problem I do have is, if they don't have the right image, they aren't a 'chav' - we need another name... (apart from "that dick") ... When people wear track suits and gym shoes in Belfast and they are NOT considered to be doing acceptable forms of 'exercise' they are called 'Steeks' or 'Spides' (or Sinn Feiners). The difference is however that Steeks or Spides are humourous in a different way than Chavs - they can be good craic.

So what's the answer to the 'Chav' situation in London?... 'Hug a Hoodie'?.... Send them to ME for sorting out?...

No! Throw them all away in jail!!! and that's what they get for stealing my bike!!!

I came across a certain Chav society in Facebook... Anti Chav Association (ACA) - clean the streets kill a chav (see below)

Ever had the misfortune of coming into close contact with a chav?

Annoyed with seeing chavs adorned with baseball caps, hoodies and bad language spoiling our streets?

Had something nicked? (Then it was probably a chav)

Do you wake up each morning thankful that your not a chav?

Then this group is for you.

Put a stop to vandalism, bad language, abuse, elder beating, stealing and many, many more!
Chavs need not apply.

Results!

My tuning mentor at music college said something quite profound today in response to my disbelief that I had done a perfectly good tuning in my final test. He said it's human condition to think we're not good enough but that doesn't mean that we aren't. Yes, apparantly I am good enough, not only that but better than some more experienced folk!

I remember beginning this blog purely as an account of motivation. For anyone who laughs at the thought of tuning a piano being so difficult - I'll play you one interval (two notes at certain distances apart) and see what YOU hear! I might also lock you in a tiny soundproof tuning booth with a really nasty piano for 3 hours and see what you come up with and what you turn into (I have images of one of those disturbing zombies running around foaming blood and stabbing your eyes!)

So was it all worth it? Having cycled to the 'office' I realised I had swapped a screen for a piano, not only that but if I play my cards right I might never need a CV again nor need undergo the relentless job interviews! Work done, I sat there with a smiley face and gentle company having a luxurious Halloumi breakfast for elevenses. I decided life can be good.

Would someone please rearrange uni/college so that more of us learn something productive or vocational? I know how it feels to be naked in the world! In the meantime, if anybody needs their piano tuned, you know who to call!...

Cheers Tony for ruining young lives.

Will someone please gag me, put me in a straight jacket and perform the necessary chinese water torture on me if I ever talk about taking any MORE classes again (that is unless it's something really cool and fun like massaging, acting, singing, wood carving, painting, gardening, wine tasting, canoeing, cooking or dancing). Thanks to our wonderful government, being at university has never been so crushing, less of an achievement nor less fruitful.

Furthermore it seems like I am a voice crying in the wilderness - 'make straight the path for young people!' No one of any authority really listens or cares about the humble university student trying to do their best whilst kicking against the pricks of an evil tyrant. We are societal scum. Thanks to our wonderful government we have too many universities and stupid degree subjects like business studies all for the sake of a piece of paper to keep government statistics up (for them to twist for their own ends like all the rest). All of this together with excessive spending elsewhere has meant the abolition of the student grant and the introduction of tuition fees - surely a bit hypocritical considering the ideal of socialists? Never before have students been less employable or more in debt. Then the scumbags have the audacity to suggest positive discrimination towards students whose parents are not graduates rather than to select students solely on merit?! (These are likely to be the type of idiot students I meet who do vote labour) How could anyone be so thick, wrong and downright evil?

How are students supposed to learn anything from a worthwhile and intense course if they have to work their asses off aswell to pay the bills? Expected to rely on mummy and daddy to sort us out are we? I once saw a woman go off on one at Tony in Public. Man she was angry. Had the red face and all! I was a bit shocked. I am a lady of course, we have grace and dignity... but when I think of it my blood boils. If I had the chance I'd probably do the same. It's not right what Tony has done to us. This will bite a future government in the bum. I might be annoyed at being a student but they have made it worse...

Good senses...

Biology is a lot cooler than I thought at school... Research has found that smokers are half as likely to produce sons
In a perfect world I would like to have a son one day (like my nephew of course) so it's pretty handy that I find smoking repellant. This is a boring subject but I have to get it off my chest. No matter how interesting, unfortunately any words directed at me by any man blowing smoke in my face have always been completely lost (no matter how gorgeous he is). In fact if I'm feeling less kindly, I find it hard to resist the urge to tell him peevishly that I'd just washed my hair and my eyes are sore because of his disgusting habit. It is nasty but if they choose to smoke I don't see why it has to go in MY face. Anyway, I don't care if I get sneered at. I'm right.

Maybe it's just a sensible woman's intuition... Do we really need research to tell us that smoking is so unforgiveably harmful to everyone and yourself?! I know it took years for people to figure it out or at least years to fight against the brainwashing of the tobacco lords, but it isn't exactly rocket science, is it?

We are equipped with all the right senses to instinctively draw the best conclusions to live in superiority - one being, if something stinks, don't go near it, it's probably really NOT good. Very simple. We don't know the reason why it's not good but we respond appropriately. Do you really feel any benefit when you take your first drag? Correct me if I'm wrong but I really don't think so. Why resist those first barfing/coughing reflexes? because most people are idiots and would rather be like everyone else instead of themselves. oh Grow up. I don't understand social smoking

Chat up lines... how are you supposed to reply?

A man stopped me on the street by saying a very contemplated 'Hello' today. He looked lost, like he wanted directions or something so I paused to see what he wanted, he obviously had something wrong with him (maybe his eyesight). Anyway, he then said 'Are you Polish'?!!!

The best one this week has to be one in Sainsburys. A guy kept looking at me funny and closely shaddowed me around the fruit section. It was a bit creepy. He then murmured a 'I saw you in the market down the road' - oh no a weirdo I thought. As I pretended to not hear (is that nasty?) and walked to the pineapples he then said 'Are you doing your shopping?!!!' lol. At this point I was trying really hard to laugh and he then proceeded to ask me out. If someone's going to ask you out, they should at least have the manners to open their mouth when they're talking to you instead of whittering in a creepy voice.

Moi

Tagged by Jackimo
A- Available or Single? What a truly nasty and stupid question
B- Best Friend: My sister
C- Cake or Pie: I'm a pie girl, cake only for those times
D- Drink of Choice: Cool freshly pressed apple juice with crushed mint leaves and vanilla sugar or a G&T of course (which I'd love right now)
E- Essential Items: Credit card, a pen and a button obviously
F- Favorite Color: Green of course
G- Gummi Bears or Worms? Worms, I used to collect them for my pet ducks
H- Hometown: Dungannon
I- Indulgence: You're not dressed properly except the underwear's right
J- January or February: January. Have never once had a nice Valentine's day :-(
K- Kids: If they're ready made and don't slabber on, bang or scratch your piano
L- Life is incomplete without: What do you think?
M- Marriage Date: Oh! Congratulations to you!
N- Number of Siblings: Four, two sisters and two brother-in-laws
O- Oranges or Apples? Oranges
P- Phobias/Fears: My mum dying, being charged by pigs
Q- Favorite Quote: Hm... Ecclesiastes 3 also not my favourite, but interesting:
'A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; even as I have loved you, that you also love one another'
R- Reasons to smile: My nephew
S- Season: Spring
T- Tag Three: Not sure how to tag
U- Unknown Fact About Me: I am a member of the Chocolate Tasting Society! Sometimes you get presents from them in the post
V – Vegetarian or Oppressor of Animals? Eating animals means they get looked after you idiot
W- Worst Habits: Self depreciating thoughts, leaving snotty tissues around (:-s)
X – X-rays or Ultrasounds? Ultrasound - watching a Doctor take a tissue sample from yourself on a screen is much more interesting. Xray means you're at the Dentist.
Y- Your Favorite Foods: My special Smokey Jo Chicken, real chocolate (i.e no liquers, mousses or creams), La Truffade, homemade soup, Colcannon, pure butter
Z- Zodiac: Leo - rarrrrrrr

I Understand...

What would your first reaction be if you walked into a concert hall alone, knowing no one's around and seing a couple of these boys standing proud? No, not me, I am a sensitive and shrewd piano tuner with enormous amounts of willpower. A glorious Neeeeeeeunggg g g g (or glissando) down the strings is NOT acceptable. We piano tuners understand that instruments are delicate babies - touch them and you're dead meat. While I'm at it (trying to educate the public), please have some respect you ignoramuses out there who think that cigarette burns on the ivories or the unforgiveable glasses of wine on the piano top create some kind of 'ambiance'. If you ask me to tune your piano, I will beat you over the head with my tuning crank before trying to revive him.

I've had a wonderful day - a 5am start to my work experience (tuning pianos before the students arrive) with a master who really knows his wwwhhas from his wwwhughs. What a good day. I wonder how long the 5am enthusiasm will last... if it does, I'm a good'un.

The Entertainer

Being deprived of theatre as a child (partly as my mum feared we would all be blown up if we went to Belfast in the 80s - no joke!... hang on, who ever takes any notice of bomb scares anyway?) I was really happy to be kindly treated to 'The Entertainer' (amongst other things) at the Old Vic last night.

Despite the fact that the entire cast (particularly Robert Lindsay and John Normington as the old grandfather) did us well and I had a few giggles, I was affronted that the writer, John Osborne and co. dared to use our money (or Jack's money) to depress us and defy us all by emphatically showing the detrimental effects of a life of sloth, greed, infidelity and general insensitivity. We all know what happens if you live your life as a selfish arsehole but I see that maybe these people need to be told (so well done, John Osborne!). The thing is though, idiots such as the 'entertainer' who ruin peoples' lives don't care so long as they come out of it alright. This man didn't have 'feelings'. I'm not going off on a rant that 'men don't have feelings' as I know many who do, but there must be a lot of arseholes like that out there to have a world as screwed up as this one.

Please note if anyone dares ask me to play the entertainer on the piano, I'll bang your head off the keys for accompaniment (unless you're Noel - to whom I'll smile sweetly and oblige in great pain)...

London's Burning...

Is it just me, or are Londoners the grumpiest so and sos I ever met? I am really stressed out with my last final months of studying (or lack thereof), I am consistently let down by my temping agency (again today), bills are coming and money is tight. Compared to previous years I have more balls to juggle, but it's ok. Having left the firm my agency sent me to (by mistake), feeling a bit pissed off, I changed my mind and decided I was happy to walk around enjoying the sunshine (daydreaming of the day I have less worries), passing the stoney faced suits, before going back to do something productive.

Apart from the psychology of it, in this society we have much more freedom than others do to change our lives if we aren't happy - that's what I did (although I'm paying for it). It breaks my heart to read stories like this one of child suicides in England. I find it devastating to think that society has sunk so low, our vulnerable children are suffering. If I ever have money and therefore more free time, I'd like to think a few peoples' lives would improve.

Although I never liked living in Northern Ireland, when I was perplexed about something trivial or not, it always made me smile to hear a cheeky passerby dare to comment in that thick Belfast accent 'Crack aw smayle, gainger' or 'Is it al that bad, gainger?'. Londoners need to get over themselves and think about the wider picture. Life will never be good unless you make it; and I don't mean money either.

Let's all Have a Ginger Day

In response to my boyfriend's post, there are some things that need to be clarified. If anyone can take a joke, it has to be a ginger! I don't mind if someone gets a laugh but if black people think they have it bad, they should try being ginger! Who would tease a black man for being black? What would happen? At least racist comments against black people is recognised. We gingers are the minority in most countries and yet nothing is done to recognise or protect us! We also stand out a lot more than black people do.

Back in the days when I spent relentless months toiling to find a 'proper' job, I consulted articles on interview tips, all of which confirmed that one should never ever wear red to an interview - 'it's threatening; the colour of danger, giving bad vibes. First impressions and appearances are vital'... After a few interviews I became accustomed to the interviewers predictable and unprofessional reaction as I eagerly walked into the room - 'my word, what red hair you have'! and from that moment, my heart would sink imagining they had already drawn the usual ridiculous conclusions about me; that I was 'bad tempered, feisty, fiery, unpredictable' and therefore unreliable. I eventually got a job in marketing, not the tacky sales stuff, but involving proper research and business strategy, being more or less my own boss in a male dominated industry seeking to increase exports in Northern Ireland. After dozens of interviews, this one took me by surprise. I sat smouldering under the glistening sun in a conservatory, not being given the chance to say one word as the interviewer told me outright that I was clearly 'set apart' and that I looked 'right' (I didn't care if he was mystic meg magically knowing I was competent - I felt completely undervalued).

To help the future generation, one day I would like to expose the extra horrors that most ginger children will inevitably have to face (and it's worse for guys) and magically reform British society. Try reading some of the stories of these guys. I once had a male ginger friend who despite being in his late 20s just could not get over the fact that he was ginger (even though he was actually better looking than most). He got a bit depressed and blamed his romantic misfortunes on being ginger - probably because of the paranoia he had from the previous incessant anti-ginger brainwashing that he still carried around (and which he still experiences in the form of 'innocent jokes' directed from team members of his sport). It was clear to me that he had no trouble wooing girls, but they left him for other reasons. Despite my own abusive experiences, as a child I was profoundly confused by why I should have to be like everyone else to be left alone to get on with my life. I valued uniqueness, saw it as an advantage and regarded the rest as sheep (although one day I did hack off my long locks, to which my new name became 'boy' for a year'). I now see that if only gingers would get over it, they could allow nature and nurture of our genotype to unleash the superior and more resilient being.

To recompense how you err and reform society, I think everyone should have a ginger day! Wear a ginger wig and record your experiences!... or maybe not. I am happy to confirm that it is not blonds, but we gingers who have all the fun!... When we go on holiday, we are the tourist attraction! We get food, drink and entry into tourist attractions all gratuit aswell as personal tours by enamoured locals (although it's really not safe to be alone). Abroad, we are elevated to a semi-celebrity status. When I lived in Brussels, I even had my own personal stalker! In Ireland I have been hunted down by rich Americans who have gone back to their roots with the romantic notion of having a trendy ginger accessory. Old people also love us! - even when they have dementia, they can still remember the 'wee funny ginger one' (so we get all their money when they pop off). Although we have to forgive the pointing, children also adore us and hence their parents too (so its not that bad). Last summer I was sitting (in the shade obviously) in Holland Park when a young mother approached me. She was clutching her brat whose gazing eyes and cheeky smile reminded me of my nephew. He made my day. She said 'I'm awfully sorry but I think my three year old son fancies you, he keeps running over to you, pointed at you and cried when I tried to drag him away! I think he wants to say hello!' (I am not joking).

When an article featured in a Northern Irish newspaper about gingers being the best in the sac, I had to practically beat men off. That week a sober stranger came up to me in broad daylight in Londonderry town inquiring if it were true that reds are the best in bed, to which I was quick to retort that he would never know (filthy man). We also instantly make friends; we are memorable (another story), people think we're good craic and we're easy to talk to (perhaps because we never had friends!). However, do beware the next time you shout 'OI GINGA' across the street at us... depending on the mood, you never know what the reaction (if any) might be....

I'm Pleased with Myself!..

I wish I had an autie like me! Although I never really liked wee brats, some of them can surprisingly make your day a hundred million times better. In response to the following dialogue that took place between my sister and her 6 year old son;

My nephew: Mummy, do you think Auntie Jessica is going to bring me a birthday present?

My sister: No, darlin' - I don't want you to be expecting anything. You know Autie Jessica has been a poor student for a few years now and she hasn't got much money.

Nephew: You mean mum, like those poor African people?

Sister: No pet, I don't think she's as badly off as that, but don't be expecting a present.

-Interlude-

Nephew: Mummy, when is Auntie Jessica's birthday?

Sister: Not away until July... Why?

Nephew: When it's Autie Jessica's birthday, can we send her a card and put a tenner in it?! I don't like to think of her being poor...! (Awww...)

I bought him a present; probably the best present he has ever had - a massive, really disgusting indonesian insect with big hairy legs set in a block of perspex. Not only will it inspire his insect collecting escapades, it might also piss my sister off! I wish I could see his (and her) face when he gets it in the post. Awww...

Reminder - Pleeeease practice early tomorrow, it's not all that bad.

What?... Piano tuning?... Why?!

I once heard a desperate student describe piano tuning as trying to split an atom (to which some smart alec replied ‘splitting an atom is not all that hard’!) Each ignoramus I meet who is confused by our vocation and assume we should be blind, I challenge simply to tune a perfect unison (i.e. two strings at exactly the same pitch). Ignoring the other 186 strings including the middle scale, perhaps the ignoramus might comprehend the pain and frustration of being locked up in a sound proof piano booth for three hours wrestling to equalize 15 tonnes of string tension to an exact decimal point of a Hertz by ear (yes, it is loud)!

After my seven years of full time education I give my envy to those who have cracked it. For me tuning is more a test of psychology and perseverance; no kind of last minute cramming will do. Why choose piano tuning though? After long wonderings and musings in music including an unrelated 4 year-waste-of-time-degree (after which I managed to get a pretty good job), my bohemian blood finally clotted. So you need money to live, but am I happy and why can’t I have a job I enjoy in this day and age?

No matter how amateur a musician is most will admit that their instrument is their pride and joy, their only relief, comfort and pleasure in life after a hard day’s work or after whatever tribulation fate has brought. What more satisfying than striking the opening and haunting pianissimo chords of Rachmaninoff’s 2nd? Tchaicovsky's 1st, Debussy or Beethoven perhaps. If I can make someone happy (including myself) by improving someone’s piano then I will have done something lovely and appreciated (which doesn't pay too badly)!