Keep Calm and Carry On!

I must admit, I’m not one to follow trends. I’ll wear make up to go to bed and take it off in the morning and I’d much prefer to walk around with my head in a book than don the trendiest labels. So you can imagine my surprise when I came across this fine beauty for the second time, not realising it would be such a hit in fashion:

I first saw this poster in a magazine and hastily ripped it out, sticking it to my notice board. I kept it as a little extra encouragement when doing my university assignments. Slowly but surely, I began seeing it around more often and was excited when I came across the slogan on a hoodie while I was browsing through Selfridges. Unfortunately I didn’t have 52 pounds just rolling around in loose change in the bottom of my bag and I had to walk away feeling a little crestfallen. For those of you who don’t know, here’s the most amazing history about the ‘Keep Calm and Carry On” slogan:

Keep Calm and Carry On was one of three posters produced by the British Government’s Ministry of Information, on the eve of war in 1939. The other two were ‘Freedom is in Peril’ and ‘Your Courage, Your Cheerfulness, Your Resolution Will Bring Us Victory’. These posters were plastered everywhere, from shop windows to public transport to keep up British morale. They were simple reassuring instructions, each topped with the commanding seal of King George’s VI’s crown. Two and a half million copies of the Keep Calm and Carry On sheets were printed, but they would be distributed only in the imminent threat of a German invasion. Thankfully, as this never happened, they never saw the light of day and were almost all destroyed. So that might have been that, if one of the few remaining posters hadn’t been discovered in a dusty box, bought at auction and displayed in a bookstore.

Forgive me for feeling patriotic, but such a story makes me proud to be British. The British ‘stiff upper lip’ and persevering persona is still here and I don’t think my post could have come at a better time considering England’s victory match in the World cup on Wednesday.

The Keep Calm and Carry On slogan isn’t something I’m naturally good at following. I’m not a calm person. In fact, I’m far from it. I’m an over thinker and over analyser. I’m quick to worry and difficult to calm down, which I’m sure you’ll agree isn’t the best combination. Consequently, the poster hasn’t just provided me with comfort but made me realise how the support of others can be really important to help divert disaster.

I hope John won’t mind me saying this but when a family member of his passed away I felt terrible. I could do nothing to help him or make him feel better. The fact that he got in touch a few days later and he was coping alright made me wonder how much amazing support he must have had. I could do nothing, yet I checked up on him and bought daffodils in memory of my friend’s loss. I’ll always remember 22^nd April and vow to always buy daffodils. Not only in memory of the person who I wished I could have thanked personally for raising such a good guy, but in support for that good guy, who’s always stood by me.

I admire the fact that Jason has enough support to offer everyone. He looks after his son, supports his sick father and helps out his mother on a daily basis and still has enough time to make sure that I’m doing okay. Yet he never expects anything in return. I was only happy to call him when he needed me recently. And I’d do the same again without a second doubt

I love my mother for understanding the look of anger and despair on and giving me the first Kit Kat chunky from the pack as I cried about boys that I feel have treated me badly.

I love Mary and Addy for being the voices of reason and I love Lorraine for always putting a smile on my face.

The lesson that I’ve learned today is about the importance of support. You may not be able to solve a problem be it your own, a family member’s or a friend’s. But taking a breath, thinking the situation through rationally and giving or receiving support is often all it takes to help.

Take the time to ‘keep calm and carry on’. It’ll benefit yourself and others.

P.S. While I’m taking the time to think about the importance of support, I’d like to thank everyone who’s been reading my blog and commenting. Writing is something I love to do and the fact that you enjoy my blog makes me happy.

P.P.S I have recently found the Keep Calm and Carry On hoodie for 35 pounds and will be investing as soon as I can. ;)

Love & Friendship

When I ask people why they don’t read or write as often as they would like, time seems to be a major issue. I don’t wear a watch. I have no clock in my room and unless my phone is telling me that I am impressively popular, time hinders me not. In fact it passes me by at a leisurely pace. I do have my own distractions though, the first being writing material.

I’ll let you into a secret of mine. I have a number of guilty passions. I love ridiculously high heeled shoes that can only be worn once until they cause permanent damage to your feet. I love underwear made from silk and lace and eyeliner and nail polish of every colour. Of course, a lot of girls do. However another love of mine is stationary. My pupils dilate upon entering stationary and craft shops. Delicately decorated sheets of paper, brightly coloured tissue paper, ribbon, glitter, felt pens. Notebooks particularly make my heart skip a beat. I cherish them and could browse through my own personal heaven all day. Unfortunately, I’m rather obsessive compulsive when it comes to the paper I write on. Searing through my veins may be the next best-selling novel the decade has ever seen (don’t laugh!), but I cannot bring myself to write it in my perfect notebook. My solution to this has been my laptop, which can look particularly dull and monotonous at times.

The second distraction that stops me from writing is location. The sun, catchy tunes and the constant company of my dog means I rarely have time to think during the day. No. Inspiration hits me like a punch to the face in the most inappropriate of places, when I’m left alone to think. Usually this means when I’m lounging in the reclining chair in the garden at two in the morning with a cup of tea, watching the stars pass by in eerie silence. Otherwise inspiration swells inside my heart as I lay awake replaying the day’s events. Luckily, I was armed with a scrap of paper and a crayon when I wrote this short piece. It was written for a number of reasons. Firstly to remember and appreciate the support from my friends. It helped to help me overcome the sadness I've felt. It's also very loosely based on this song, which too has helped me to put things in perspective over the last few weeks.

""Hey hun, Ben’s here so I’m going to head out if you’re sure that you’ll be okay?" said Rob, speaking to her softly. Peeping his head around the door feebly to check on Sarah, a tuft of unwashed hair shot up from her duvet that she’d buried into. He was glad to see such a display as it was the only clue to show that she still existed. Sarah’s heart sank a little out of pity for Rob, who had bravely volunteered to support Sarah through her difficult break up. It felt pathetic to admit that she didn’t want him to leave her alone, so muffled her goodbyes from the comfort of her bed.

“Okay...” was his unconvinced response and Sarah could imagine the frown upon his angelic lips. “Well, I’ll be back later. If you need me for anything at all, just give me a call”. She didn’t respond in fear that she’d beg him not to go. ‘It was late anyway’ she thought, trying to reason with herself. Sleep was what she needed. Not company. As Rob shut the front door quietly behind him, a slow chill ran up her spine. The moment her friend stepped out of her sights it was as if the colour was sucked from the room. This was her first night alone and she tossed and turned restlessly in bed, trying to get herself comfortable. An hour had passed, though it felt like two and Rob had yet to return. Glowering into the darkness of her room, Sarah stubbornly kicked off her sheets as they failed to provide the comfort she was seeking.. It wasn’t so much physical discomfort that kept her awake , but emotional unease.

The woman in the bed was nothing short of a one woman circus these days. She defended herself fiercely at her decision to walk away from her once happy relationship and had found herself imagining many conversations taking place in her head for hours. What had been unsaid, what should have been said and now that she had left, what would never be said. The words echoed clear as day in her mind as she tried to relax. However now friendless, supportless and it being too late in the night to be someone else’s burden, her confidence soon ebbed away. Sarah bit her lip as her heart seemed to slow in her chest and skip irrationally. Sudden waves of anxiety flowed through Sarah’s limbs as she began to panic. Her throat ached as it strained to try and express the pain she was feeling but nothing escaped her lips. It was only when her light flicked on and Rob appeared from nowhere with a look of concern on his face, she realised she had been sobbing.

“Told you I’d be back for you” he whispered, running his fingers through her post break up greasy hair with no disgust or hesitation and she refrained from blowing her nose on his shirt. Sarah almost felt like laughing through her tears at his comment. Of course he would have been back for her. That was the beauty of friendship.”

There are two lessons that I’ve learned recently. I’d like to share them with you.

The first lesson I've learned is that you shouldn't always dismiss people who get mad or upset at you. Keep those people around. They shape you. They move you forward in the world. The people who are quick to tell you that you are wrong, or acting childishly but still stick around to support you (whether they agree with you or not), can often be insulting and at times downright tiresome. But they care. Reassure them that they’re just as important to you as your once lover, if not more so. These people want to see you focus your attentions to people who care about you, not left behind focusing on someone who doesn’t care enough.

The second lesson that I’ve learnt is that although grieving is natural and no one’s fault, the only person to blame for your exaggerated heartbreak is yourself. Let loose and express yourself throughout your grieving process but do not dilly dally on the past. Do not be afraid to talk about the pain you have felt but take time to surround yourself with the people you care about, and the things that you love. Only when you actively move forward can you actively move on.

Here’s a little poem I thought quite fitting. Maybe the character in the poem needs to spend less time dwelling and more time enjoying time by herself.

Absence by Elizabeth Jennings

“I visited the place where we last met.
Nothing was changed, the gardens were well-tended,
The fountains sprayed their usual steady jet;
There was no sign that anything had ended
And nothing to instruct me to forget

The thoughtless birds that shook out of the trees,
Singing an ecstasy I could not share,
Played cunning in my thoughts. Surely in there
Pleasures there could not be a pain to bear
Or any discord shake the level breeze.

It was because the place was just the same
That made your absence seem a savage force,
For under all the gentleness there came
An earthquake tremor: fountain, birds and grass
Were shaken by my thinking of your name”.

To New Beginnings!

For those of you who have yet to stumble across something totally inspirational, I’ll help you find your way. Postsecret is an ongoing community art project, whereby people anonymously ‘post secrets’ and a selection are uploaded every Sunday. I’m completely addicted and Postsecret has become a Sunday morning ritual. There’s something comforting knowing that the people we walk the Earth with but never have the privilege of meeting, have the same hopes, fears, dreams and disappointments. As someone who has always felt like the rest of the world could not possibly understand the intense emotions in my mind, the site helps me to not feel so alone.

I save the ones I relate to most, and have recently thought about writing short stories around the secrets that take my fancy. Today, this one did:

As an aspiring writer, I find it ironic that my life could be put straight into a tacky romance novel. Maybe I should write about it? Then maybe I’d get paid for my heartbreak. It wouldn’t make things better, but at least a new pair of killer shoes would help to ease the pain.

For those who don’t know me personally, I’ve recently come to the end of a relationship that started off perfectly. Lucas was... Lucas is... Perfect in my eyes in every aspect. Not one to anger quickly, he’s thoughtful and honest, confident in himself and his thoughts. He’s a talented musician with an artistic flair that most would kill to have half of. The guy has a sense of maturity, originality and uniqueness that I admired from the start. This isn’t including his smouldering dark eyes and perfect American smile that can light up the town.

I respect Lucas and respect him enough to not get into the ins and outs of where things went wrong. As Nick would say: “Classy lady”. However I will say that I hope the happy endings in novels can happen in real life. I hope that this is the part in the story where the girl leaves the guy because she can’t take anymore and flees. The guy then realises what a terrible mistake he’s made and chases her half way across the world to say “I’m sorry. I love you”. I’d like to say that this adds to my ‘hopelessly romantic’ charm but I’m afraid I’m fresh out of hope. I’m fresh out of romance. I think my love story ends right here. Single.

I’d like take the time now to congratulate my best friend Jason. As I was ending one chapter of my life, he was starting another by being accepted into the University of California. I’m so proud of him. He’s overcome a lot of struggles to get where he is today and I admire him for that. Toasting to new beginnings with him has given me a sense of excitement about the future.

I’ll leave you with a couple of songs that are perfect descriptors of how I've felt about my heartache over the last few weeks. But I’ll also leave you with the knowledge that I’m looking forward to everything that life has to give me and I'm moving forward.

Dreadfully Dull Dreary Days

Well, isn't that a mouthful?

Alliteration is most likely a minor annoyance of young teenage lives. Admittedly, it never was the highlight of my college years. In hindsight however, I smile at the days where I attended college. Surprisingly, snickering at the back of the room as Holly and I mocked poems we had not yet learnt to appreciate, is not the reason I think fondly of 'the alliteration days'. My English Literature teacher, Vicki did. I always thought her career choice was very apt, she looked practically created for literature. Like she'd lifted herself from the pages of a novel to enter the Earthly world and spread the literary love.

I always considered the woman to be unusually tall and worryingly thin. Vicki looked utterly breakable, shy and awkward like a little church mouse. That was, until inappropriately romantic sighs would escape her thin lips with genuine passion for the poets of the Romantic era. Not yet mature enough or willing to admit we felt the same love, the class would often erupt into fits of hilarity. Vicki was quick to redden in the face and unable to hide behind her pixie cropped hair, she scribbled into her eco friendly recycled notepads with gusto.

Spurred on by apathetic teens, I too rolled my eyes at how Vicki seemed to be living a decade behind everyone else. I'd never seen her tap away at a computer, but simply hold her notebook to her bony chest. Secretly, I was in love. She portrayed everything I thought would make a beautifully talented writer. Or at the very least a lead character in a book that boasted love, passion and literature. She had her head in the clouds, encouraged by a passion that no amount of teasing could kill. I still imagine her now, living in a quaint but cosy one bedroom flat, surrounded by dusty yellowing books that spill out onto the floors in messy piles. Her tiny kitchenette is filled with intense aromas as she cooks brilliantly for herself before immersing herself in tales written by Oscar Wilde.

I wish I was Vicki.
And if I could see her again, I'd like to tell her that I too, sigh romantically over the great Romantics.
I'd like to dedicate a little rhyme and a little alliteration to her from one of her loved poets.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I hope Vicki would =)

"I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go
But I go on for ever"

From 'The Brook' by Alfred Lord Tennyson.

Do you have any fond memories of teachers that you wish to share?
Or about school in general for that matter!
Let me know =)

Laura-Jayne