Word of the Week...

Emblem

–noun

1.	an object or its representation, symbolizing a quality, state, class of persons, etc.; symbol: The olive branch is an emblem of peace.

2.	a sign, design, or figure that identifies or represents something: the emblem of a school.

3.	an allegorical picture, often inscribed with a motto supplemental to the visual image with which it forms a single unit of meaning.

4.	Obsolete. an inlaid or tessellated ornament.

–verb (used with object)

5.	to represent with an emblem.

When Should a Celebration not be a Celebration?

Three events this year have forced me to worry about the state of the world. You may be thinking things like the credit crunch, or the terrorist attack in India, but you would be wrong. We will always have terror and we will always have economic slumps. These aren't news and so they don't make me worry.

No, instead, these are the three events:

• Mamma Mia makes more money at the box office than The Dark Knight in the UK, and is probably going to beat it in DVD sales too.
• The Tales of Beedle the Bard, the latest book that is mildly related to Harry Potter, sells a ridiculous amount in the week it is released.
• I finish watching Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip and am faced with the fact that another well-written, intelligent show has been cancelled WAY too soon.

Now let me state now that this isn't some hate rant on various media that I don't like. I didn't mind Mamma Mia and I have read and enjoyed the Harry Potter books. So, this isn't a rant on the quality, it is a rant on the celebrated status they have achieved.

Why, oh world, must we celebrate mediocrity?!

Mamma Mia will never go down in the history books as an amazing film. It isn't even the best musical made. It is made up of crowbarred Abba songs on a loose plot. And yet, when asked to pick the year's best actress, the British public voted Meryl Streep and nominated Piece Brosnan.

You might like the cheese, or the songs. But there is no way any logical person could honestly tell me with a straight face that the film contained even the remotest trace of a good performance.

And here we are, giving out rewards to something that isn't smart, or well-made, but just fun.

Harry Potter seems to have been given some kind of special treatment too. First, the series has somehow managed to find its way onto the regular fiction shelf, as opposed to the Fantasy section it belongs in. Then, people seem to have ignored the fact that the last few books are extremely overwritten; The Goblet of Fire's first act lasts for 450-odd pages. Also, nothing even happens in the sixth book!

The series is formulaic and written in a very workman-like way. I can give her credit and say that she picked up on childhood dreams and created a fairly convincing world, but this does not entitle the books to be treated like the gold that they are.

And I can forgive people for this. The series ended (rather anti-climatically) a while ago, so I could just forget it all.

So why am I now selling hundreds of copies of a new Harry Potter based book!? The thing is tiny, yet is going for the same price as a normal book. People are paying too, and to read what? A collection of short stories, which are just retellings of older myths and legends!

It is nothing amazing and nothing new and yet, with the tag of Harry Potter stamped onto it, people flock.

These are two recent examples, but there are many more. People are gravitating towards the mindless entertainment. This, in itself, is fine, as long as people can acknowledge what they are consuming for what it is: Mindless!

Madness ensues when people reward the mindless and the banal.

And then a show comes along that challenges. The scripts are razor-sharp, and the plot balances humour and drama perfectly. It requires you to think, and doesn't hand you everything on a shiny, silver exposition plate.

And no-one watches it.

Come on people! Stop being happy with mediocrity and challenge yourselves once in a little while. Read something which won prizes or watch a raved-about indie! As a society, we can't numb our brains on the average. And we certainly shouldn't celebrate it.

That way, Armageddon lies.

:D

Word of the Week...

Enteric

–adjective

1.	of or pertaining to the enteron; intestinal.

–noun

2.	enterics, Bacteriology.

Overheard I

Customer (To her friend): How can John Lennon bring out a biography when he's dead?

:D

Cense and Censorbility

I'm continually amazed by the sheer lunacy of the human race. We live in a fabulous planet; full of beauty and spectacle and life; and we spend so much of our time deciding what is allowed, what is normal and what age people should be to handle certain aspects.

The government is going to and/or has already started stickering books with age recommendations.

We have a long tradition of protecting children from the media, and I am all for it. You can argue where the lines are, but I believe it right that small children shouldn't be able to watch violence or sex on film, because it can seem like real life to them. They'd get scarred and we'd have one more slightly warped individual in the world.

But, and this is a capital-letter BUT, a book is a book is a book! Words are indistinguishable symbols to anyone who does know the semantics. We're talking science here. A child can read the word penis and would have no image to call to mind. And so, the world is blunt. Harmless. A word!

However, let us imagine for a moment that a book isn't a collection of harmless symbols. Let us say, for example, that a book called Book X contains lexical choices that may scar poor little ten-year old Jimmy.

We'd also have to imagine that this book has been placed in the children's section of a bookstore and that Jimmy had parents stupid enough to not look at the dust cover before making their purchase. Let us imagine all this to be true.

So, now, what age does Jimmy have to be? Let's say it contains a character dying; how old does Jimmy have to be to truly understand that people sometimes die and sometimes it isn't fair. I'm 21, and I still haven't come to terms with this.

At the moment it is age guidelines, but we are steps away from books being restricted by laws. So now, we're banning The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe because people die. We ban The Hobbit. People croak it in Harry Potter and A Series of Unfortunate Events, and Goodnight Mister Tom is all about war. All classics, all found in the 8-11 section at Waterstones, and all under threat of having high age restrictions placed on them because children might be moved by them.

Since when has a book making someone sad been a bad thing? Since when have we tried to stop children learning more about the world?

A book provides a safe place for a child to explore the world. A fictional character dying, whilst sad, provides a nice starting place for discussion about the nature of death. I would rather that a child of mine was sad for a week than ignorant for a lifetime.

It is also quite intriguing to see that the chief things that any government tries to censor are the things most natural to human existence: sex and death. To hide any of this is to make it seem unnatural and wrong, and children grow up with a skewed perception.

And since when, as these guidelines seem to be suggesting, have all children been at the same stage of intelligence? It is false that there is a universal age in which to talk about some things and not others. One twelve-year-old might be able to grasp adult plots, whilst a second has trouble understanding the dilemmas of Billy Blue Hat.

To group them all pulls the bright children back and puts pressure on the ones with difficulties. The only children that become unaffected are the average ones, and why are we trying to build a society around being average?

But, you may cry, no-one cares about the restrictions on books. They're just guidelines. And with the latter point you are right.

But I work in a bookstore and I see that people DO care. They DO look at the age guidelines and make decisions based on them, as opposed to the more sensible option of asking any of the very knowledgeable staff members. Because, hey, we're just trying to sell them a book; what do we know?

We have had people who have complained that a book contains the word dead on the front cover in a children's section. This would be funny if it wasn't a daily occurrence.

These parents will choose not to buy a book two years above their child's reading age, and so that child suffers.

Reversely, an older child, or the parents of one, will decide that a book with a younger sticker is just too childish for them. This closes off more options to them, including some of the best books ever written. I am, of course, speaking of Winnie the Pooh. No-one grows out of that book.

I feel it is time to try and conclude this cluster of vaguely connected thoughts. Censorship is wrong. I guess that the point has been made, even if it isn't as eloquent as I would have liked. Children, nah, EVERYBODY should have the right to explore their world, and books are the easiest and safest way to do so.

The idea of cordoning off some words and some worlds until you reach a certain age is not only insane, it is regression. As a society, a country, and a human race, we should be providing access to the tools to learn, to explore and to grow and not hiding them in a cupboard marked "For 18 year olds only".

And it's good to know I'm not the only one who thinks so.

:D

http://arventur.deviantart.com/art/Fairy-book-69740802

Ghost Town

What's It All About?
Ricky Gervais is a dentist who hates people (like the Greg House for dental hygiene). When he dies briefly during an operation he finds that he can see ghosts. Oh, and they want his help.

To get rid of the nagging undead, Ricky makes a deal with Greg Kinear: if he can stop Greg's wife marrying a do-good fiancée, then the dead will leave him alone.

Cue romantic comedy sickliness.

Pre-Thoughts
The trailer did nothing for me. The idea was nice, but it seemed all cute and sickly and predictable. We knew how the story was going to play out by the end of the two minutes, and the jokes didn't look good enough to negate this fact.

Oh well, with Bond already out and seen, there wasn't much more choice. Beggars can't be choosers and all that.

Post-Thoughts
Repeat after me: Ricky Gervais is not a romantic lead. Got it?

Because at least a dozen people in Hollywood never got this memo. No-one, from executive producer down to director, questioned the logic of putting a portly Brit in the main role in a rom-com. Not one of them sat down and really thought "David Brent? Really?!"

Don't get me wrong here, I like Ricky Gervais. He is quite the funny fellow, when writing his own part or in fitted roles. He has the bit-too-arrogant-but-sweet character down pat, but falls short here when playing disgruntled. His grumpiness never comes across as a real character trait, but more an illness that he will cure during the course of the film.

So, even with an interesting premise, the film can never reaches the heights it should. It tries. Heaven knows that it tries. It plays jokes left, right and centre; from slapstick to sophisticated. Some land, others are played wrongly and some just aren't funny. And in this hailstorm of jokes, the film forgets what it has going for it.

The film is sweet. Occasionally to the point of sickness, but predominantly just on the right side of the line. Watching the ghost's storylines get solved, or seeing the inevitable relationship form tugs on heartstrings. When the film gets melancholic, it gets good.

Greg Kinear plays the funny sidekick with skill and ease, slipping from jokey to serious within the blink of an eye. I would argue that his was the more interesting arch in the film.

Most other roles with so-so, with exceptions to a few cast members from Knocked Up.

But the script never rises above the premise. Everything unfolds like you expect it to, up to (and including) the horrid, happy ending that these type of films feel the need to nail on, despite the events previous to it.

An important plot point is wrong, which sort-of negates half the film; the main character is mostly insufferable; and the whole thing takes an age to start being anything.

So I hated it, right?

Maybe.

But it was sweet. Somehow, the sum was more than the parts and I walked out without feeling I'd wasted money. It was romantic trash, but it was romantic trash with heart. And ghosts!

And I'd already watched Bond. Beggars can't be choosers!

The Little Girl in the Daisies

A while back now, I lost a close friend in a car accident. A lorry had pulled out at twice the speed limit, slammed into the side of her, killing her almost instantly. I didn't cry when I heard the news. I didn't cry at her funeral. It wasn't until two weeks later that I let her death affect me.

I was miles away from home, and alone, in the countryside. I had found a field of daisies and sat myself down in the middle of them. I began to think about the good times gone, and the ones never had. I picked at some of the flowers around me, bright white in the sunshine. I close my eyes and let the tears fall, and I forgot about everything else.

"Are you okay?" were the words that brought be back to the real world. I opened my eyes to find them looking at a young girl. She wore a pink dress, and her hazel hair fell long down her back. She held her hands behind her back like she held a secret I wasn't allowed to see.

"I'm not sure." I replied. It was a moment of honestly I would have usually hidden. It felt wrong.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

And I told her. And as I did, I discovered why I had been crying at the same time the little girl did.

I had her look at the huge field, filled with millions of daisies, and I told her to imagine that they were all people. I had lost a friend, and it should be a terrible loss. But if I removed one daisy from the field, it wouldn't change anything. The field would still be beautiful, and anyone coming tomorrow would have no idea that a flower was even missing.

The girl listened quietly as I explained this, nodding occasionally. When I finished, she took out a handkerchief and handed it to me.

"That's a sad way to look at life."

I wiped my eyes, before questioning her logic.

"All these daisies look the same to the sky.' she explained, 'but you are down amongst them. There are millions of them, but only a few count."

She pointed to one flower. "That one is missing half of its petals."

She pointed down to my leg. "And those ones are tickling the bottom of your leg."

She sniffed the air "And that sweet smell isn't coming from the flowers all the way over there. It is coming from here, the daisies around you."

"Those daisies are important to you. They are the ones that touch you, brighten your day, and make a difference to you. The only people that don't care about the daisies are the ones with none around them. And they are lonely people. Or, the sky."

She only said one more thing. She curtsied and said "You're allowed to cry."

Then she ran away before I could thank her or return her handkerchief.

I sat for a while and thought about the little girl's words. When the world started making sense again, I picked a handful of daisies and took them with me.

When I got home, I took a drive to the church and laid them on my friend's grave. I crouched down and closed my eyes, hoping that my words would mean something.

"You were my favourite daisy."

:D

http://iceytina.deviantart.com/art/Daisy-a-Commision-for-me-30010172

Burn After Reading

What's It All About?
John Malcovich quits (read: is fired) from the CIA and decides to write a memoir. His wife is cheating on him with George Clooney (Well, who wouldn't?).

He is also cheating on her with a woman who works in a gym with Brad Pitt. They find a CD in the locker room containing John's memoir and decide to blackmail him.

It gets hard to explain what happens after that.

Pre-Thoughts
It's the Cohan brothers back on comedy form after the good, but depressing, No Country For Old Men. My favourite film of theirs is the underated The Hudsucker Proxy, and this seems to follow suit. And with George Clooney and Brad Pitt no less!

Post-Thoughts
Let me tell you a little story.

Once upon a time, I was told that the film Magnolia was very good, and deserving of a watch. So, being the trusting type, I borrowed the DVD and sat myself down at midnight to watch it. Three hours later (It's a long bloody film!) I came away thinking "That was a waste of three hours of my life!"

I have mellowed since, but the fact still remains that I didn't enjoy it. I should have. Tom Cruise acts his little button socks off, as do the rest of a surprising amazing cast. The reason I didn't like it was that throughout the whole three hour running time, there wasn't a point.

People did stuff and things happened it, but at no point did the sum of the parts become greater than the whole. It was meant to be about coincidence, but the only thing that connected everybody together was the fact that frogs rained down on them all!

But I'm not reviewing Magnolia here, as the title may have cleverly told you. I mention the story because Burn After Reading reminded me of Magnolia so much, it was creepy.

But whereas the latter was about things being connected, BFR is meant to be about nothing. It is basically a tale of much ado about nothing. That is the point. It is a film about nothing.

Did it work? No.

George Clooney, Brad Pitt, et al deliver fine performances across the board, relishing characters that the wouldn't usually get to play. Pitt is specifically outstanding as the enthusatic, idiotic gym trainer. Most of the big laughs come from him, and his fate becomes even more heartbreaking because of this.

The scenes are fun too. There are nice subtle moments, including a running gag about running and little lines that reveal how little the characters really know.

But it goes nowhere. The film follows all six of the characters at various points and it works against it. No-one grows and there is no arc. Things happen, followed by other things, until we reach the credits. It is wanders aimlessly around when they should have chosen to stick with one character.

I'd go as far as saying that it was two drafts short of being a good film. Because the ingredients were there. They had some interesting characters and a nice plot hidden amongst the things that happened. It's just a shame that it was still buried with the film they released.

Lastly, the Cohen brothers seemed to have lost the ability to end a film. No Country's ending lost it a point when I saw it during a film festival, and this time round, they just shove a dialogue scene in to recap everything that has happened.

A well-acted, but shapeless mess.

:D

Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo

I am always amazed at the nature of words. Because in essence, all we are doing is combining 26 different symbols, and the end results are communication and emotion. Letters, that have no significance on their own, gain meaning when placed next to other letters.

Okay, now I sound like a simpleton, but really think about it. These very words you read on this page right now, they don't mean anything! They are squiggles, given definition by our schooling and our experiences in life.

Take, for a quick example, these two sentences: "I got wet running through the rain" and "I got soaked running through the rain". Both are saying the same thing, yet both contain different imagery. One word, with almost exactly the same meaning, makes it seem like it is raining heavier on our character.

And those random squiggles can change the world. America voted for the word 'change' (Okay, not solely, but it was damn important). The Harry Potter series affected childhoods all over the world.

Words have power. And...

Wait.

I started this whole thing to argue the case of swearwords. I was going to say that people need to lighten up on swearing because, when it all comes down to it, a word is only a word. It seems that instead I've been building the case for my opposition.

So, let me pretend that what is written above is one argument. Let it end at 'Words have power.'

And now let me argue the opposite. Starting...now!

Sure, I say words have power, but it is a fake power. Words are like the Wizard of Oz: all big and flashy on the outside, but the truth is that they are weedy old men (Who hates talking animals, for those who've read/seen Wicked) when the curtain is removed. It is our expectations that make a word, nothing in the word itself.

Take 'Fuck' for example. A word so foul that it has The Daily Express petitioning to remove it from our television screens. But all it is made up of is four symbols. That's it. Are you offended by Uckf, or Ckfu, or Kfuc, or Fkuc? Because they contain exactly the same letters. It's like being offended by pancakes, and not Yorkshire pudding!

The offence you feel is inside of you, or inside the sentence. It isn't in the word. You can say "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck" till the cows come home, the chickens roost, and other farmyard animals do what they do best, it will NOT be offensive. I would even argue, despite the fact that it plagiarises Stephen Fry a little, that fuck is one of the most curious words in the whole of the English language.

It has so many meanings, yet none that all. Alone, it means nothing. After "I want to...", it means 'to have sex' and before "...this", it means that you don't want to do 'this' anymore.

And we haven't even approached the ramifications of banning such words. Where do we stop? I know people who find the word 'moist' unnerving. Should we ban that? How many people need to find a word vulgar before we can't use it any more?

I'm taking back swear words. They aren't vulgar and they are not a sign of ignorance, nor a sign of a limited vocabulary. They are part of a rich selection of English words that can be used beautifully by anyone who gives a damn about what they are saying or writing.

Rise up with me brothers, and stick a big middle finger up to the world of prudes!

:P

http://lphybrid18.deviantart.com/art/Fuck-Shoes-42835024

Help a Virgin Out

Exactly what it says on the tin.

Go here, and be counted!

:D

Quantum of Solace

What's It All About?
Looking for revenge after Vesper's death, James Bond uncovers a secret evil organisation who are making dodgy deals with third-world governments and the like. But are his feelings getting in the way of his ability as a double-o? M certainly thinks so.

Pre-Thoughts
This was the follow-up to my favourite Bond film, and it promised more of everything. This was going to be twice as action-packed and twice as gritty. What more could you wish for?

Post-Thoughts
A real case of 'be careful what you wish for'. It is twice as action-packed, but to the point of action for action's sake. It is twice as gritty, but to a point where the lightness has been vacuumed out.

So the film is dark. Understandable, really. Bond is heartless and on a mission for revenge. He's allowed to be dark. The problem is that the film-makers haven't embraced this darkness. Perhaps to avoid comparisons to the Bourne franchise, glimmers of the old, quippy Bond can be seen.

Notable amongst these are the frequent trips back to M and her assistant and a second Bond girl played by Gemma Arterton. The first recalls every police chief in every 'cop on the edge' movie, cursing the heavens that they ever let such a maverick on the force. They even find time to include the requisite 'fired from the case' scene, just before he manages to solve the whole thing.

Gemma Arterton, as Agent Strawberry Fields, is a whole other level of cliché. The prissy, straight-laced, Fields has stepped right out of an older, camper Bond that I'm surprised her names wasn't more of a rude double entendre. And well all just know that Bond would bed her from the moment she uttered her first perfectly formed syllable.

Let us not blame Miss Arterton though. She plays the role with style and skill, and perhaps seven years ago she would have been welcome amongst Bond's ensemble. But in this age of no-frills Bond, she stands out like a three-piece suit at a nudist convention.

Thank the heavens then, for Olga Kurylenko as the feisty Camilla. Like Vesper before her, Camilla isn't just a girl for Bond to use and abuse. She is his equal, with a story and a personality to boot. It'd have been great to see more sparring and banter between the two of them, but the little that exists is sparky and well-written.

The film would have been amazing if not released when it was. Because it is when held up to Casino Royale that Quantum falls. The story feels more schizophrenic, thanks to the plot's tenancy to only stay in one country long enough for a chat and a fight. Casino Royale was leaner and held an arc.

And perhaps my biggest gripe is the lack of any low-point. Again, the comparisons to Casino Royale don't flatter. Bond fails in that film: he loses, he gets poisoned, he gets tortured, and he gets betrayed. Here, he hardly breaks a sweat. It robs the film of jeopardy and leaves it feeling rather flat.

But...

I feel bad leaving it at that, on a negative note. The film delivers, when the chips are down. Daniel Craig once again proves doubters wrong, and is well on his way to being the best Bond ever. The fights are kinetic and brutal. And it is still Bond done well.

And what more could you wish for?

A-Z of Film

Another list. But then, I WAS challenged. And boy was this whole thing challenging.

It is currently early in the morning, so there are still links to put on this post. I'll do them later. If, however, you are reading this later, well, you won't be reading this bit. Does that make ANY sense?!

Anyway...

The Rules

1. Pick one film (your favorite film) to represent each letter of the alphabet.

2. The letter "A" and the word "The" do not count as the beginning of a film's title, unless the film is simply titled A or The, and I don't know of any films with those titles.

3. Return of the Jedi belongs under "R," not "S" as in Star Wars Episode IV: Return of the Jedi. This rule applies to all films in the original Star Wars trilogy; all that followed start with "S." Similarly, Raiders of the Lost Ark belongs under "R," not "I" as in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. In other words, movies are stuck with the titles their owners gave them at the time of their theatrical release. Conversely, all films in the LOTR series belong under "L" and all films in the Chronicles of Narnia series belong under "C," as that's what those filmmakers called their films from the start. Use your better judgement to apply the above rule to any series/films not mentioned.

4. Films that start with a number are filed under the first letter of their number's word. 12 Monkeys would be filed under "T."

5. Link back to Blog Cabins in your post so that I can eventually type "alphabet meme" into Google and come up #1, then make a post where I declare that I am the King of Google.

6. If you're selected, you have to then select 5 more people.

So here goes...

Almost Famous (Because the main character is like me)
Brick (Because he takes his shoes off!)
Casino Royale (Because this is how Bond should have always been done)
Death to Smoochy (Because Ed Norton hasn't played a better character)
Etre et Avoir (For the cute kids)
Finding Neverland (Because Johnny Depp. That is all.)
Good Will Hunting (Because Matt Damon and Ben Affleck can write! Who knew?)
Horton Hears a Who (Because I left the cinema with a smile)
In America (For heartbreaking little Irish girls)
Jesus Camp (Because it scared me)
Knocked Up (Because I forgot about Kiss Kiss Bang Bang)
Lord of the Rings: Two Towers (Because I couldn't vote for the whole trilogy)
Monsters Inc. (Because Boo is awesome!)
Notebook, The (Because they kiss in the rain)
Once upon a time in Mexico (For getting me into Robert Rodriguez)
Prestige, The (For being smarter than the average bear)
Quantum of Solace (Because I haven't seen any other films beginning with Q)
Romeo + Juliet (Because Shakespeare will never age)
Shaun of the Dead, Spirited Away, Spiderman 2, Serenity (Because all my favourite films begin with S)
Twelve Monkeys (Because the ending made it all make sense.)
Usual Suspects (For repeated viewings and amazing twists)
V for Vendetta (Because I can't think of any more films beginning with this letter)
Wall-E (Because of the robot love)
X-Men 2 (Because it was just like the comics)
You, Me and Dupree (Because *See V*)
Zoolander (Because *See Y*)

I'm meant to tag people in this, but I'm not really sure who reads this and who cares enough to do it themselves. If you do one of those two things, feel free to play. Let me know too.

Enjoy.

:D

51 Things To Do Before You Die

If you wanted them to, books can tell you 1001 amazing places to travel to. They can give you a list of 1001 films to see before you die, or 1001 songs to listen to. They can suggest 1001 meals to try, and 1001 cocktails to sip. They can tell you the buildings to see, the paintings to admire, and tell you all the exciting things you would ever need to do in your life.

And your life would be hollow.

The market for these books are growing. Some kind of 'Carpe Diem' movement is sweeping the nation, and this faux-mid-life-crisis means that people want to read about where to swim with dolphins or which beer is best.

And yet, every one of these books is missing the point. Living life in the moment isn't about living big. It is about noticing the small things, and cherishing them. It is about finding the extra in the ordinary, and rooting it out.

I'm sure the 1001 suggestions may be entertaining, but nothing can beat laying in bed with a pretty girl, or drinking a pint with your friends.

So, in honour of being hypocritical, let me present 51 things to do before you die (because I don't have the time for 1001):

1. Stay up all night for no reason at all.
2. Give a stranger money for the fare home.
3. Kiss someone in the rain.
4. Buy the whole pub a round of drinks.
5. Down a pint.
6. Throw up after downing too many pints.
7. Invent your own sandwich.
8. Cry at a film.
9. Go a different way home.
10. Pee outdoors.
11. Dance in the street.
12. Get the wrong train.
13. Go on a journey just for the sake of it.
14. Play footsie with someone.
15. Stay in bed all day, without the excuse of being ill.
16. Tell someone your worst secret.
17. Break the speed limit.
18. Walk down the street with your eyes closed.
19. Win something.
20. Lose something, and be happy about it.
21. Ring a friend to say hi.
22. Break a bone.
23. Make a speech.
24. Read a book that changes your life.
25. Meet a hero of yours.
26. Kiss a stranger.
27. Trash a hotel room.
28. Share an in-joke.
29. Sing karaoke.
30. Text someone whilst drunk.
31. Pet an animal.
32. Find money on the floor.
33. Make drink go up your nose whilst laughing.
34. Eat spaghetti.
35. Cook a huge meal for friends.
36. Lose a phone.
37. Walk through a scary, dark place.
38. Go on a roller-coaster.
39. Go to the funfair.
40. Receive a postcard.
41. Walk into a lamppost.
42. Go on a plane.
43. Spoon.
44. Wear a suit or a lovely dress.
45. Ride in a limo.
46. Talk to someone for over twelve hours, without getting bored.
47. Swim a length underwater.
48. Get sunburned.
49. Play truth or dare.
50. Walk around naked.
51. Make a list of 51 things to do before you die.

:D

http://iici-ieii.deviantart.com/art/Carpe-diem-25681620

Don't Vote!

Sex, Death and Imaginary Things

I learnt something interesting about myself the other day.

It all began with a stroke to my ego. A friend of a friend needed a script and I was recommended by said-friend. It's always nice when something like this happens, that I've made an impression on someone well enough for them to recommend me to others. But that isn't part of the story.

I sent a script, all about a guy who can click his fingers and control anyone. He uses it to sleep with, and later abandon, lots of gorgeous women, until he falls in love with one of them.

She liked it, but it wasn't within their budget to make. Did I have anything else she could look at?

Well, I did. Sort of. My computer is filled with half finished, or rough first draft, scripts. I couldn't send her a completed script, but I listed the ideas I had that I'd be happy for someone else to make.

There's the story of a group of friends reuniting a year after their friend's death, and telling stories about what life was like when he was alive.

And one about a person writing a story in a costume shop, about a murder.

Another about a couple falling in love, and the girl being a muse.

And another about a boy meeting death at a party, and talking about love and sex with her.

And one about a girl about to die, who takes one last trip to live the life that she'll never have.

I had lots of half-written ideas, and I sent her the list via Facebook. Then I looked back at it.

There were patterns there. Some of these scripts were written years apart. The muse one was written four years ago! But themes were emerging.

There seems to be an obsession with imaginary things: muses, tooth fairies, stories.

Love and sex appear enough to create a pattern.

But almost every single script seems to play with the idea of death and dying. I think back to other scripts I have written, and they all seem to follow the same trend. Sex, death, imaginary things, or a combination of two or three. My scripts and my themes.

Also, the title of my autobiography.

:P

http://hapycow.deviantart.com/art/Playing-with-Death-57162711

Saturday Night's Alright For Television (NOT For Fighting!)

I stand up (well, I'm sitting down) and say this (well, type this) without a tinge of embarrassment (well, maybe just a tinge): I like cheesy Saturday night television.

Stuff like X-Factor and Strictly Come Dancing. Sure, they're cheesy and filled with enough ego to inflate several hot-air balloons, but they are fun. You pick someone. You cheer them on. The fact that it is just the same programme as last year is forgotten.

Anyhow, here is my "team"; the two people that I'm rooting for on Saturday nights.





:D

Points for Smiling (Or 'Why the Queen Shouldn't Have a Goatee')

"Last week's takings were just over last week's budget."

This was good, I thought, without much knowledge of what it really meant.

"This is good.' My new boss said 'but we need to work harder today. The budget is low today, but it looks miserable outside."

It did, I thought. She was right. Do people not read in the rain?

"We've also had another fake twenty-pound note accepted. You look at it, and it's really obvious to see. The paper feels thicker. The ink has smudges. And the face of the queen watermark, it's so bad that it looks like the queen has a goatee. The queen has a goatee guys! We have to be more careful!"

I would try, damn it! I hadn't been at all careful, since I hadn't been taking twenty-pound notes, so it wouldn't be hard to be more careful than that.

I certainly wouldn't allow any bearded ladies on my shift.

"And lastly, I'd just like to introduce everyone to Chris, the new guy. I really should have said that first, shouldn't I?"

And with that, the room of people turned to wave and tell me their names. There was blonde girl, and what's-her-face, and that guy and...

...yeah, I wasn't too good at remembering names. I remember there was an Alice and two Daves, but the rest are just nameless faces to me.

My new working life had begun.

* * *

Dave turned to me. At least, I think his name was Dave. I tried extra hard to not say his name, just in case.

"I think you'll be fine trying this on your own now."

I'd been watching him work the till for the last fifteen minutes. He'd talked fast, and pressed buttons faster.

But the next customer looked easy enough. She was a small weedy woman, shrunk into herself. I could help her with whatever she wanted. I WOULD help her!

"Hi. How may I help you?"

"Do you have any books on domestic abuse? Because my husband commits domestic abuse and I want to understand him."

You can't make this up.

I froze. I ummed and ahhed until Dave strode right in and took the reigns from me. He was confident and smiley and he ordered her the book that she was after.

I just watched and thought about slipping her the phone number of a charity or something. Was she serious? She said it with such straight-forwardness, that I was looking for a hidden camera or something.

My first customer, and I'd failed her.

* * *

"Do you have one of our points cards?" I said with all the smiles a question like that deserves.
"Um...no?" the customer said, with the unnecessary question mark included.

Earlier, this would have been the end. I would have run the total and asked for the money and sent them on their merry way. Not this time. Not on my watch!

"Would you like one?"

They thought for a moment. They looked at me. I smiled a 'You should really get a points card' smile.

"Sure. Yeah. Why not?"

Success!

I had convinced a customer to trust us enough to accept a piece of plastic. That meant they were more likely to shop here again, which earns the company more money which means I was finally doing my job well.

The customer looked at me quizzically whilst I thought this. Then: "So, um, what do I need to do?"

Ah.

"Dave? How do I give a customer a points card?"

So, maybe there are still things I need to learn.

:P

http://krecha.deviantart.com/art/BOOK-SHOP-63585746

Presidential Candidates

So let us talk about politics.

I'm from the UK, but I'm not interested in the political issues over here. It is all boring people, in old rooms, talking in unexciting ways about stuff I don't care about. It's small and sneaky.

American politics, on the other hand, is a BIG event! It's rallies and picking sides; it's slander and image; it's grander, and more entertaining, than anything we can hope for.

Also, a very important election will be taking place and whilst I can't vote in it, I'd like to throw my hat into the opinion ring.

Vote Obama!

I'm going to make several points in the coming paragraphs, but it all comes down to that simple statement.

Vote Obama!

Seriously, you should say that sentence after each point, just to reinforce the theme.

Vote Obama!

That will be the last time I say that.

The current situation, as I see it, is this. One side is all about hope. They are preaching a better future, retreating out of Iraq, and freedom of choice in regard to sex, love androck'n'roll.

The second side is running on a campaign of staying the same, clamping down on that pesky sex education that's getting taught in schools nowadays, and dirtying the name of the opposite side.

McCain has called Obama 'elitist' on several occasions, in a derogatory fashion. That's right, the rich white guy, with several houses, is calling the other side 'elitist'.

What he really means is that Obama is too smart for his own good. 'Elite', in this case, means that Obama thinks he is better than the common man. Good! I want someone smarter than me running a country. I don't want someone who is an every-man, because it is the every-man that went to see Mamma Mia more than The Dark Knight over here. The every-man are idiots!

I want someone in office that knows big words and isn't afraid to use them. I want someone who isn't afraid to look smart because they might alienate stupid people.

Another criticism against Obama, one which can be seen advertised here, complains that he wants to teach sex education to kindergarten children. Which, in a very skewed way, is true. It is true that Obama signed a bill that decreed that children from kindergarten upwards would be taught, and this bit is very important, "age-appropriate" sex education.

We're not talking the whole condom-on-cucumber, or the videos of naked people with arrows pointing at bits. Not yet anyway. We're talking about introducing young children to the idea of sex and sexuality.

But even if that wasn't the case, what is the problem with small children learning about sex? How would it possibly affect them? Do the Republicans think that suddenly there will be an outbreak of children sleeping together?

The reality of it is that children will dismiss the whole thing as "yucky" and stick with the belief that all girls have cooties. Hell, I STILL believe this!

By introducing children to sex early, you give the (correct) impression that sex is a natural part of life. It is what humans are born to do, and drives many decisions in life. Also, it's fun! Plain and simple.

Without going off on too much of a tangent, the American sex education system fails when teaching abstinence only. It is outdated to teach children that not having sex is the only option. It doesn't stop them doing it, and just leaves them open to unplanned pregnancies and deceases out of ignorant practises.

So, even if the bill really meant Obama wanted to teach kidergarten kids all about sex, this extreme is much better than the alternative.

And maybe that is what this election is about: Obama is better than the alternative.

Because let me have a moment of honesty here: Obama isn't perfect. He could be described as a balloon: really good at lifting people up, but ultimately full of hot air. And he's very young for the job.

But the alternative is someone who would choose to keep America the same. Someone who would choose to keep fighting a war that was lost as soon as we entered it. And someone who is so old, chances are high that he wouldn't even reach the end of his first term.

And if and when McCain croaks it, who do we have to take over? A hockey-mum stunt casting who is pro-hunting, anti-abortion and believes the world was created by design and that the earth is only 6,000 years old.

Let me get the latter out of the way first. Whilst a lot of humour can be garnered from the way she believes was made, it doesn't serve as much of an arguement. So, sure, let her keep her idiotic views that go against centuries of scientific evidence. Just don't let those opinions make it to the White House.

And certainly don't demand that schools teach it as a proper alternative to Evolution. As a myth, maybe, but don't dumb down the next generation because a group of people don't understand the difference between fact and a good story.

Anyway, that was off-topic.

Palin, McCain's running mate, has also spoken out about abortion. She believes that even if the baby is the sprog of someone who raped the girl, she still doesn't have the right to have it aborted.

Rubbish!

Look, have that opinion if you like. Believe that feotus are tiny pieces of God and that they shouldn't be harmed. But DON'T make it illegal for the whole country to disagree with you.

In the current system, you are free to choose. You think abortion is murder, you are free to not do it and free to teach your kids the same. You disagree, than go down to your local abortion clinic and deal with it that way.

Making it illegal to make that second choice is taking away the freedom to choose. Am I the only one that thinks this would be a HUGE step backwards for any country?

And don't get me started on the hypocricy of being pro life and hunting. I take it that God loves unborn children more than he loves moose?

Sarah Palin is a terrible choice for vice-president. She was a knee-jerk reaction to Obama not picking Clinton. McCain's team must have believed that by simply choosing a woman, they would win over the votes that Obama lost by not doing so.

This just sums up his campaign. Don't offer discussion about the important issues, just knock the other guy. Hell, why not call him out as Muslim? His middle name is Hussain, and we know how much the American public hate that name.

It is infantile, and certainly not the way you want the leader of a country to act. Obama may be floating by on speeches about hope and a new America, but at least he's offering more than insults to the other party.

Come November, the choice seems easy. A man of hope and opportunity, or a man of old-fashioned values? The change America needs, or the same problems for another five years?

Vote Obama in 2008! (Yeah, I lied when I said I wouldn't mention it again.)

:D

http://brothervirgil.deviantart.com/art/McCain-Magic-Card-78831592
http://brothervirgil.deviantart.com/art/Obama-Magic-Card-78831704

Word of the Week...

Concur

–verb (used without object), -curred, -cur·ring.

1.	to accord in opinion; agree: Do you concur with his statement?

2.	to cooperate; work together; combine; be associated: Members of both parties concurred.

3.	to coincide; occur at the same time: His graduation concurred with his birthday.

4.	Obsolete. to run or come together; converge.

Dumb-day Tuesday

I'm not a grade-A student. I don't know pi past 3 decimal places, or know the capital of Kazakhstan, or know the chemical equation to turn lead into gold. Any achievement I manage in my time here on earth will not be the result of a shining, academic intellect.

I'm not an idiot either, despite what some "witty" comments might say if they weren't put off by this very message. I know where to put a semi-colon in a sentence; and I know how to add, divide, subtract and multiply; and I know never to trust a drunk man with a sandwich whilst you take a toilet break.

I'm good at the inane facts. For example, I can tell you that a cat will survive being dropped from any floor above the seventh. I can quote a Shakespearean monologue. Also, I can name all of the colours in Joseph's technicolour coat. This is useless knowledge.

Which, you would think, would tide me well in a pub quiz type scenario. You'd be wrong.

Every week, a couple of friends and I take part in the pub quiz at our local. It involves questions on celebrities and music and film and general knowledge. Our average position: second to last.

Sure, we're about forty years younger than the rest of the competitors, which puts us at a disadvantage when asked the number 2 hit in the summer of '69.

But every time we lose, I die a little inside. I should be smarter than this. I should know the five countries with a population greater than China!

Yet, I do nothing about this. I don't revise and I just head back in for the humiliating defeat.

But never again. I've read wikipedia, you see. And I'm watching the news and listening out for new songs by bands I haven't heard of.

Soon, victory shall be mine!

Mwhahaha!

:D

http://heile.deviantart.com/art/thirst-for-knowledge-78556782

How To Lose Friends And Alienate People

What’s It About?
Simon Pegg, a nasty English writer, gets a job at a high-end celebrity magazine. His dreams include writing biting articles, dating supermodels and getting access to the fancy parties.

The reality is that none of his articles are accepted, due to celebrity pandering; he scares or insults all the women he comes into contact with; and he gets access to the fancy parties. Well, at least he got that bit right.

My Thoughts Going In…
I had a vague knowledge of this a while back, and thought it seemed like a good idea. Also, Simon Pegg tends to be a sign of quality.

However, the trailer made me think twice. It was filled with lame slapstick, including a whole set-piece which may just be the oldest joke in the comedy film book: the bumbling protagonist accidentally killing someone important's pet. Oh dear.

But with Death Race and Taken vetoed by Emma*, this was the only vaguely tolerable choice left.

Looks Like…
The visuals were adequate but didn't push any boundaries. This is a comedy, so it just looks okay.

There was also a vague feeling that I've seen all the locations before. The office looked like a magazine office from any other film. The bar looked like the same bars we've seen time and again. The garden party was a cliché: a way to make everything look grander.

Sounds Like…
The music was good here, with some classics and rather likeable covers. There is often a case that the film seems like a commercial for the soundtrack, but not here. Instead, it duetted nicely with the story.

Feels Like…
The trailer didn't do this film justice in the slightest.

What I watched wasn't a lame 'seen-it-before', slapstick comedy about a Brit overseas. It was a touching, charming film about sticking to your values.

So, in turn, the film didn't do the book any justice.

The original book of How to Lose Friends and Alienate People was a memoir about life at a gossip magazine. That much the film got. But the book's author, the star, is a nasty piece of work. He's insulting, vain and prone to put his foot in his mouth.

Simon Pegg, on the other hand, is rude, but in a charming, Mr Bean way. He is vain, but he's really sticking up for real values. Any time his foot enters his mouth vicinity, it is only out of good intentions.

I haven't read the book, so have no idea how it ends. However, I'm willing to bet my bank balance that it didn't end in the neat Hollywood way that the film does.

However, it is a fool's game to compare book to film. They have to make differences. What the film lost was its bite. What it gained was heart.

Simon Pegg plays the main role perfectly. He remains blunt, but likeable. He reveals his vulnerability slowly too, so we feel for him when he falls. Oh, and he falls big.

Jeff Bridges brings presence, Kirsten Dunst brings a down-to-earth charm, and Megan Fox brings her breasts. The cast are all on top of their game, seeming to have fun with the film.

For a film revolving around celebrities, there were no cameos, which was nice. It could have quite easily nodded and winked itself to comedy death with too much self-referencial humour.

The script contains a good number of one-liners worth adding to your favourite quotes on Facebook, and when the film veers into predictable territory, the writer keeps it seeming fresh and fun.

But, it isn't perfect. There are no good belly-laughs, instead it is happy to keep a healthy chuckle. You can see the story's path from the first step. And there wasn't enough Jeff Bridges.

It just falls short of having punch, a real feeling that you can take with you and treasure and play with and discuss. It'll be forgotten tomorrow. But, whilst it lasts, it'll keep you smiling.

Verdict…
A fun effort, with a bouncy script and an on-form cast. Not going to set the world alight, but worth a trip to the cinema for.







*She actually said "I don't mind, you decide". Of course, any sensible person will see through this clever ruse and realise that it really means "You choose, but if I don't enjoy it then expect me to be grumpy with you and possibly withdraw 'nudity privilages' for a month".

A Long and Complicated Story of Parties, Kisses and Misunderstandings: Part Three

Ok, so where was I?

There was almost kisses, then there were drunken kisses, and then there was the first sober kiss.

It happened after the Enchanted evening, the next morning. Faye had left for work in the early hours (9.30am) and Emma and I were left on the sofa. So, we did what all young people of opposite sex do when they were kissing the night before and now find themselves sat on a sofa: We kissed more.

That day, I had arranged to cook steak for Emma, a non-steak lover. It meant that we had more time to kiss, and that they became steak-flavoured at some point. We also shared our first chocolate kiss, after a fairly successful attempt at soufflé.

Anyway, despite the fun that was had that day, it left me a little confused. Did the sober kisses mean she was liking me more, or was it just a bit of fun? The answer was the second, but I didn't find this out till later.

First, there was Emma's birthday.

During the day, we went to see Horton Hears a Who and to all casual observers (which include me) nothing had ever gone on between us the day before. I looked for it too, as a potential ease of the confusion mentioned before.

But nope. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. We watched a (admittedly good) film and went on our merry way to the pub.

It was there, after a drink, that anything began again. It started with a foot under the table, just interlocking with mine. Ever the cautious type, I made sure that I pulled away enough to see that it wasn't an accident. If she move her foot back to mine, I figured, she wanted it there.

She moved her foot back.

We ate and drank and we were merry, all the while playing a very cosy game of footsy under the table.

Towards the end, I took a trip to the little boy's room and upon my return I found that a good percentage of my drink had disappeared. A guilty grin put the blame on Emma. Also, Faye was driving so unlikely to drink cider.

That part would have been edited out but for the fact that it illuminates the conversation that then took place in the car on the journey home.

"I can't believe you drank my cider. That was my cider and I was treasuring it. I had JUST enough to get me till kicking out time and you drank it. You even had your own!"

This was me, sat in the back of the car and moaning. Because I'm a boy, the subtext here was "I can't believe you drank my cider?!"

"I think I've got some drink in my house. You can have some of that."

This was Emma, seemingly offering me some alcoholic drink at her house. But because she is a girl, this meant "You can always come back to mine for some drink...and more kisses!"

But I couldn't, could I. For one, the cautious me wasn't sure whether he was picking up the subtext correctly. It'd just be awkward if the whole thing was said as a joke, and I thought otherwise.

And even if it was a genuine subtextual offer, there was still the matter of Faye. It wasn't like we were deliberately hiding it from her, but telling her that we'd shared a few nights of drunken kisses when we were both quite tipsy certainly wasn't the way I wanted her to find out.

(She actually ended up finding out accidentally, via a lighting mistake on a beach in Poole. This also wasn't the ideal situation either, but at least our intentions were noble.)

So anyway, I laughed it off and that was the end of that. I was gutted of course. I was heading back up to Leeds the next day, and my last chance to spend time with Emma was spent giving her a hug and wishing to do much more than that.

When I got home, she was online.

"I'm sorry I didn't accept your offer for drinks", I typed.

I went on to explain why I couldn't, and she understood. The conversation eventually led to this point. (All sentences have been cleared up from the drunken MSN speak that they originally existed in)

Me: I'm gutted though.
Emma: What do you mean?
Me: Well, every time I go back up to Leeds, you end up confusing me.
Me: At New Years, you almost kissed me after Andy's party.
Me: You kissed me before I went back to Leeds for a week.
Me: But this time, nothing is going to happen.

The next bit, I SWEAR, is what she said.

Emma: You could always walk round mine and I'll confuse you again.

How could I refuse?! After checking that she wasn't kidding, and that she wouldn't fall asleep, I put my shoes back on and I headed round to hers.

It's a 30 minute walk to Emma's house. I did it in just over 15.

In her defence, she actually had drinks made up as she had promised before. So instead of my romantic notions of grabbing her as soon as she opened the door, we sat on her sofa and drank rather strong vodka and coke.

Then we kissed. Then we moved it up to her bedroom. Then, for the first time, I saw Emma naked (with the lights turned off). And now I was definitely confused.

I stayed at hers the whole night, which required staying very quite when her mum was getting ready for work, and left around midday. I travelled back to Leeds and we didn't speak about the events until a few days later.

I asked her where we stood. Did the sober kissing mean that she liked me more? It was here that I found out that no, it didn't, and that she just wanted to be friends. And I got annoyed.

Friends don't kiss each other! Friends don't invite each other for late night "drinks"!

I explained a day later, after examining why I got so annoyed at the whole thing, that she didn't mean "just friends". She still wanted to kiss me (heaven knows why) and didn't regret what had happened in the past. This wasn't "just friends". This was "friends with benefits".

I could do that.

We spoke regularly for the next few months we both had left of uni. The first day we saw each other again was a gorgeous sunny day. We cycled and we ate a picnic. We laid in the grass and discussed clouds.

And all I wanted to do was kiss her. I did, eventually. We were back in the same place we had been back at Easter.

We met more and kissed more. It was all very secretive because we weren't sure what it was so we had no idea how to describe it to anyone.

Then we went on holiday in Poole. We were caught kissing, which was both a rubbish way for friends to find out, but also a huge relief. We could cuddle in public. We weren't hiding anything.

Poole was the first time I ever felt like a couple with Emma.

I got the feeling more and more over the coming weeks. We made a make-shift bed on her living room floor (because her single bed is rubbish). We ate lunch and laid in the park. We were doing all the couple stuff, but without the recognition.

But how could I ask Emma whether things had changed? She'd say no, that this was all fun, and I wouldn't know what to say. Yeah, I'm a wimp. I even started asking the question once, but changed my question halfway in.

But, you know what? Despite the confusion and misadventure of the above story, the whole thing ends simply (some may say anti-climatically).

The final scene takes place in my bedroom. We were cuddling, and talking about life. This whole story came up, and we spoke about the weirdness of it all. Just eight months ago, we'd hardly spoken to each other. Now, we were lying in the same bed, sans clothes.

And I asked the question: "Why aren't we boyfriend and girlfriend?"

Beat.

"That's the boy's job."
"What? To ask if you want to be boyfriend and girlfriend?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. Do you want to be boyfriend and girlfriend?"
"Yeah."

And that was how it ended, a casual conversation in a bed, eight months after we first almost kissed.

:D

P.S. - A rather freaky epilogue to this whole affair is this story. For my birthday, Emma bought me a copy of Cosmopolitan as a joke, since I had stated that I enjoyed reading it. In the horoscope section, it said this under Aries:

A friend who confuses you will set a chain of events in motion that will lead to a relationship by August.

This was in the April edition of the magazine, the same month Emma first kissed me. I have stated on several occasions how much she confused me. And the whole thing became a real relationship in August.

Creepy, no?

A Long and Complicated Story of Parties, Kisses and Misunderstandings: Part Two

I first kissed Emma on my sofa, whilst we were both suitably intoxicated. I remember the kiss perfectly, but have no memory of the events leading up to the kiss. I don't think we said anything and that it just sort of happened.

But before I go on to regale you with the events that led from that kiss, we must first go back, to events before it. Back, in fact, to my 21st Birthday Party.

Joe (a name that will only be mentioned this once, since he has no impact on this story), Faye, Emma and I shared a party around the time we were all turning 21. It was mask, wig, and hat themed and good times were had by all. I was over Emma, for the most part, and I barely remember seeing her at the party.

Now, remember when I mentioned Megan and our habit of hooking up whilst drunk? Well, Megan and I hooked up whilst drunk at that party, very much in secret.

About a week later, I've arranged to cook a meal for a bunch of us. Faye and Nixon are there, as is Emma. I cook gammon and we drink wine. We also drink cider and sambuka, so end the meal fairly drunk. And then we decided to go to the pub.

This was the night that I was flirty with Emma again (apparently) which caused her ex, Nixon, to ask if I fancied her, to which I replied "No" because I didn't. That train had passed.

After our pub antics, I was planning on walking Emma home. We both live in a neighbouring town from everybody else. Most of the time someone drives back, but on special occasions it has been known for the two of us to risk the hour walk. Despite my house being closer, I walk Emma to her door because I am a nice boy.

Anyway, we walk and we talk. I don't know what we talk about, for it is lost in drunken mists. But we arrive at my house and stop for a toilet break because, as I've just mentioned, it's closer.

And then we're on my sofa. We don't talk, we just end up kissing. And now we're back at the beginning.

We kiss for about half an hour before we think that it's a good idea to get Emma back to her real home. We kiss more at hers. She even invites me to her bedroom, which tells you all the type of girl Emma really is (The type who got bored of kissing for hours on the sofa).

The whole night ends at seven in the morning, when fear of a mother awakening means that I leave. I stumble home, a stupid smile on my face.

Anyway, the next day I'm back at University. I'd promised Faye and Emma that I'd be back down to celebrate their birthdays though, so my trip is only a week long. During that week, we discuss the kissing online. It is concluded that the whole thing was fun and drunken and not an indicator of secret feelings for each other. Of course, I was sort of lying about the last bit, but she didn't have to know that.

The week ends, and the first port of call when travelling back home is to visit Megan in Portsmouth. I forget the reason, but the plan is to drink and dance the night away.

I'd be lying if I said that I didn't expect to kiss Emma again that night. That became fairly inevitable when she hooked arms with me and dragged me to a cash point. What I CAN say is that at the beginning of the night I had no idea anything else would happen. To me, we'd had a drunken fling and it was over.

But kiss we did, in the middle of the dance floor. Once again, I don't know how it all began. I know that alcohol was involved somewhere down the line, and that we had our hands in each other's back pockets. That is all.

The kissing resumed back at Megan's when we both had a bed made up on the floor, whilst Megan slept and Megan's friend didn't. I feel we still need to apologise to her.

Again, the kissing went on till the early, early hours, but this time we had to face each other the next day. We didn't say much, especially regarding the previous night, but it didn't seem awkward. At least, I didn't THINK it did.

You see, once back at home, I checked facebook to find that Emma had changed her status to 'Emma doesn't know what to think'. "About what?", I thought. Was last night weird for her? Did I do something wrong? Overstep my boundries? A brief MSN conversation did nothing to ease my worries when I was told that we would "talk about it later".

But before later, there was the pub. You see, Nixon was back off to Uni that day, so we were all gathering for his leaving do. I was tired so I don't remember much of the night, except for one thing. Emma completely blanked me.

She was nice to everyone else, to Nixon and to Faye, but she didn't even give me a second glance. I spent the night playing all the reason she could be mad in my head. None of them made sense. How could she be mad now, and not that morning?

When I was home once again, I logged on to get the explanation I was promised. It wasn't to do with the night before at all (So I completely failed when she asked what I thought it was about) but was in regards to post-birthday party kisses with Megan.

For you see, Megan had decided that it wasn't fair that Emma didn't know that stuff had happened between us, so she had told her all. Now I was painted as a serial-kisser, someone who just gets with drunk girls and moves on to their friends.

Except I wasn't. And I explained this is great, drunken detail. I remember bringing up the fact that I didn't kiss Emma earlier in the year out of chivalry. I hadn't changed. I was still that nice boy.

We ended the night on vaguely good terms, but to me it was over. Sure, we'd be friends again, but we were never going to share another kiss. That required trust and I figured that the trust was gone.

It wasn't.

A few days later, Faye, Emma and I were returning from a failed night of clubbing. The place we had been planning on attending was closed, so we returned home for a night of Enchanted instead.

About twenty minutes in, Faye falls asleep. The three of us are under quilts and the two girls were dressed in pajamas. I usually sleep in boxers, so to dress like that would have been inappropriate.

And under this quilt, next to a sleeping Faye (Sorry Faye, but it gets worse) we held hands. Then we played with our hands, tickling palms and the like. This wasn't the biggest action ever, but it meant that there was still trust there.

When the film had finished, we all retired to a spare room to sleep. Faye slept. Me and Emma, not so much. Wrapped in quilts and staying quiet, we kissed until the sun rose.

Now, I want to take this moment to point out a very important fact. Every time kissing had taken place so far in the story, alcohol had been involved. The first night we kissed, cider and wine and shots were coursing through our system. More cider was involved in Portsmouth. Even on our failed clubbing exhibition, we were still tipsy.

I knew where I stood in this regard. Emma wasn't kissing me because she truly liked me that way. She was kissing me out of drunkenness and fun.

But that morning, after Faye left for work, Emma kissed me for the first time sober. And suddenly things were a lot more confusing.

To be continued...

:D