THE RUBY PRINCESS BRIDE

I'm going to tell you a story. Don't worry it's a nice story. It's about a girl named Becky Brown, or as we like to call her the Ruby Princess. Becky always believed in true love, but on this journey of the heart she took the same knocks and blows like everyone, but unlike some of us who have become  cynical  with these set backs (I include myself in this category) the Ruby Princess always believed she would find her Mr Darcey; her Mr right. 

The way her Mr right came into her life, is a tale of of chance and seizing the opportunity. The Ruby Princess was living the life of a single girl in London (Or as I like to call it running the gauntlet), when she moved into a new flat a the Holloway road with our friend Mike. There was a room that needed to be filled, and so the interview process for a new room mate ensued. A couple of days later she came round to Oslo house and joined me and Debs for a girly get together on the roof terrace as the sun was shining. She seemed troubled. 

"I have a problem?" she said

"What?" we exclaimed

"We met this great guy, who interviewed for the flat and he's seems really lovely. There is one problem! I really fancy him!"

I think we talked for an hour or more about Bec's situation. She had decided, not to let him move in, for it would be dangerous to let a guy you fancied become your room mate (all sorts of complications). She was going to ring him to tell him he had not been successful. The only problem was, did she tell him the reason why? I remember clearly her pucking up the courage to make this decision. Eventually she went off down the end of the roof terrace to make that fateful phone call. She told him the truth with the words "I'm dangerous attracted to you." The rest is history, and now a couple of years later i find myself at their wedding.I took a picture of her making that phone call, that changed her life. I would put on this blog but it's stored in my hard drive and as I'm computer illiterate, I can't get to it. Maybe one day I'll send it to them. I remember looking at it though some time later and thinking, what if she never told him the real reason why he couldn't move in; what if she just said "It's a no"; maybe he would never said he fancied her as well; maybe they would have gone their separate ways in life; or maybe, just maybe it was their fate.

I look at them now together and you can see they truly love each other. They are each others soul mates. They are most importantly best friends, because  relationships are not just based on lust, there has to be something more than that. You have to like the person, to want to be with them always. I see nick and Becky growing old together and always being happy.

I look on them with envy. I have not found my soulmate yet, maybe I never will, maybe I let him slip through my fingers, or maybe I have and just don't know it yet.

My dad gave me the best piece of advice recently, when I had taken another knock and a blow:

" A relationship, whether it is one of friendship or love is based on respect. If the other person does not give back, what the other person puts in, it will always be unbalanced and will never work. It means that person doesn't respect you enough, and so does not deserve to be in your life. A relationship is all based on respect."

As much as it hurt hearing this, his words rang true, and it was more meaningful coming from my father, as he will be the first to admit, he has broken these rules in the past.

Maybe I need some fate to bring Mr Right to me too?  

Congratulations Mr & Mrs McKindoe.

Here is some of the music from the Cornish band at the wedding.  Amazing I danced all night!

RETURN TO THE WICK

I had a week off from work recently, so I decided to go straight back to London, as I was missing it. The difference with this return visit to the capital was that I was staying in Highgate with my friend Kat. The flat was beautiful, the location great and the power shower was to die for. All that said I felt unsettled, tense and I didn't sleep well at all in my stay there. It was during this time I realised I never stayed anywhere else in London in the last 5 years other than Hackney Wick. No wonder everything feels weird, I thought to myself. It was like some strange cold turkey and I was suffering from withdrawal symptoms! I kept myself busy so I didn't have to think about it, filling my days with appointments with friends that I had not seen in so long. Luckily I received an invitation which gave me an excuse to go back to Hackney Wick and thus giving me my Wick fix. My friend Jon who is an artist, found out I was back and asked me to come and see him in his studio as I'd never seen it. Jon doesn't leave the Wick much and at the moment he doesn't seem to leave the studio that much either as he has a show coming up, thus has holed himself up in there, so I felt quite honoured that he came and met me at the station and walked me to the studio. As we walked along the canal, I saw it was a buzz with people taking pictures, a film crew and builders. In the back ground the nearly finished Olympic stadium loomed over us. Jon started on one of his rants in his thick northern accent (even though he is actually from the midlands, but sounds more northern than me)?:
"Honestly Carly, you got out of the Wick just in time! It's turned into some tourist attraction! Everyone is just taking f**king pictures all the time. There are cameras everywhere because of the Olympics. I hate f**king cameras! I hate having my f**king picture taken! I need to get out of the Wick, I'm thinking of going to Wales for a bit like you. I'm looking into places!"
He says all this, while throwing his hands around with a cigarette in them. I would of taken a picture a picture of this for you readers but as he hates his "f**king" picture being taken, this was not possible. He also doesn't like people much either. He is quite eccentric actually, if I think about it, but that's OK I like mad people.
I then sat on a sofa in Jon's studio for the next hour or more, while he fluttered around the place constantly moving (he can't keep still for more than two seconds!) and painting canvases, only stopping briefly to have cigarettes which he used the floor as an ash tray . He informed me of news in the Wick, which wasn't much he said as he hadn't seen many people as he was now in his hermit mode locked away in the studio. He complained about his neighbour in the studio, who was always moaning about any noise he made and he admitted to a new crush of a fellow artist in the studio downstairs, who doesn't like people very much either (a match made in heaven I say)! I told him of my new life in Wales, that I missed the Wick and how I was finding things very strange at the moment. I could of quite happily of stayed and been entertained by Jon for the rest of the day, but then I heard the sound of thunder in the distance and saw it as an Omen to leave. As I walked back to the station, I looked around and thought how much the Wick had changed over the years since I'd known it. Most people blame the Olympics for the changes and see the event as a bad thing. I don't see it as all bad. Change is never bad? Well that's what I keep telling myself right now. Anyway once the eyes of the world have finished looking at this place for 2 weeks, maybe the Wick will be forgotten again and it can go back to being its little enclave of misfits? As I got to the station I saw there had been a change since my last visit. The Huge wall painting that had been created by Coca Cola to advertise them and endorse the Olympics had been given a make over. The outraged local artists who had, had their work painted over by the brand, had taken their revenge. Now in its place, just stands the letters H W (Hackney Wick)! I guess it's our little communities rebellion to the games. Though I agree with what Jon said:
"It would of been a lot more witty and funnier if they had just f**king painted the word Pepsi over it instead!"
I slept a little easier that night after my Wick fix.

INTRODUCING MR & MRS MILLS

I don't remember the exact moment that Claire Collins came into my life. She filtered in like so many people do, but unlike so many that have filtered out again, she has remained and has now become part of my close circle of friends. What I do remember though, that from the start Claire was confident, intelligent, funny and was probably one of the most creative people I have ever met. She was the year below me at uni, but started hanging out with our year quite a bit (we were the best year ever!) and that , was that. She has been with us ever since.

I've lived with Claire three and a half times during her years in London (the half is when I was saving to go traveling and was homeless, so just stayed in people's beds who weren't around or spooned Claire)! For a couple of years we shared good times; fun times; and wild times together. I think we only ever fell out once. She moved out of the house we shared together in Ealing to move to pastures new. I didn't want her to leave and took it as rejection and me being me on this type of thing, I didn't deal with the situation very well, and detached myself. Luckily she forgave me and I followed in her path and moved in with her again 2 years later to the Warehouse.

It was one day, during her time in the warehouse that Claire made a surprise announcement to me.
"I'm going to move back to Birmingham and move in with Chris!"
"BIRMINGHAM!" I said in shock.
I knew Claire was from Birmingham, but really, " Birmingham!"
Claire had not long got back together with her on and off sweet heart, Chris, and this all seemed like one big U-turn, from her great life in London.
If I'm truthful at first I thought she was making a huge mistake, but as time went on, I realised I was wrong and that Claire's great life in London hadn't been so great. Why? Because it wasn't what she wanted anymore.

I think it was about a year later, I received a phone call from her.
"Guest what? I'm pregnant Bonita!"
It took a moment to sink in for me. Claire was pregnant!; Claire who did wild things; Claire who would say dirty things; Claire the career girl. I couldn't quite take it in, it seemed strange. Then again it didn't. Claire had always had a motherly side to her. In fact, even though she was younger than me, I always felt like Claire had looked after me in some way, shape or form (though to be fair I have that effect on a lot of people, I think)?
Six months later Stanley was born. I'll come straight out with it, I don't really like babies! They look wrinkly, cry a lot, smell and don't really get interesting until the age of three upwards (well that's just my opinion) but I love Stanley. He's calm and happy but maybe that has a lot to do with his parents, who radiate that towards him.

And so the other week I found myself at another mile stone in their lives: Their wedding and a amazing event it was. It was a great excuse to catch up with out friends; sleep in a Tipee (actually I was meant to, but you know I get cold easily, their was no hot shower, and I kept passing out by the fire in the cottage where everyone else was staying!); drink too much and dress like the lady that I am? Claire is the queen of vintage (God do I know it? When we lived together her room use to over flow with charity shop finds), so it was a stylish affair. The brides maids dresses were from vintage shops, flowers brilliantly done by my mum and sister (their florists) and the entertainment provided my a huge arrayof characters that fill Claire and Chris's life. A great wedding and may your happy journey through life together continue, Mr & Mrs Mills and Stanley. 

LETTERS, CARDS, PHOTOS & MEMORIES

I told a lie in a recent post! I said I didn't like opening mail. That's not strictly true (well 99% of the time it is!) but every now and again a piece of mail will land through the door and I have a complete urge to open it straight away. Its not the kind of post that is written by a computer; sent out by multi- national corporations; and when on opening deliver mundane news, that I like opening. It is post that is written by the human hand. Why do I like it? Because part of that person and their character is put down there in that writing, no matter how small it is.
When you move house, it's funny all the things you find, that you have long forgotten. Stuff that you had thought you had long thrown out, things you don't know where they came from, and an item that can bring back a faded memory. As I was unpacking my things at my new country abode, I came across a box in my belongings. I opened it up to find it full of letters, cards, and photos that I had collected over the years and had refused to give up. I found myself sat on my bedroom floor for hours, reading through endless correspondences and well wishes from the past.

There was a big pile of letters with the old red and blue stripe of airmail. They were from my Grandmother (or as I call her Lil). I remember always feeling so happy seeing those striped envelopes when the mail arrived. I had always grown up with Lil being there. Her and my grandfather only lived around the corner from me. I would see them nearly everyday. We would usually pop round after school and she would give us biscuits and sometimes dinner if my mother was not around. When I was 17 my Grandad died of cancer. My Grandad had spent most of his life serving aboard in the army, and we always said he never really left it. It was a terrible thing to see such a proud man waste away in front of your eyes, from this awful disease. He was only 67. Lil didn't want to stay in the house after my Grandad died. There were too many memories for her. As she had lived most of her life abroad too, being shipped around with my Grandad she went to live in Cyprus in a small village in the hills. The weather was better for her hands and her health and I knew it was the right decision for her. It didn't stop me missing her terribly though. I started to write to her and she would write back to me. I would love opening her letters and reading about her everyday life in Cyprus, but what I loved the most was her handwriting. It was so beautiful and lady like. I use to practice writing like her, as being a good drawer I find forgery quite easy, but it never felt natural and so therefore wrong. We wrote to each other like this for a couple of years, but the correspondence became less as I got wrapped up in my own life and moved away from home. I kept the letters. I see Lil about twice a year when she comes back to the UK. I carry a picture of her from when she was 17. It now resides on one side of my dressing table surrounded by perfume bottles which I think she would approve of. The glass of the picture got broken in the move and I mean to replace it. I think she looks so beautiful in it. She still is now, even at 80.

The box contains, not just letters, but postcards, scraps of paper messages and cards. I came across a birthday card. I don't usually keep many birthday cards but as I opened it up, I realised why I had kept this one. It read:
"Happy Birthday Carly. Love Haribo x."
Haribo was the nickname for Harriet. I kept this card because it is the only bit of writing I have left from her. Harriet was my friend from University. She died in a car crash just after she handed in her final major (exactly 10 years ago). She was 22. It is probably one of the saddest and most devasting things that has happened in my life. Me and Harriet were never best friends. In fact I didn't really like her that much when I first met her. I found her rude and abrupt, but in time I grew to like her and found her strong and no nonsense rather than rude. We grew quite close towards the end of her life as we both got a part time job together at WH Smith to help us through our uni lives. We would often walk to work together in our shapeless uniforms and after our shift we would go for a milkshake at the local cafe or go shopping, trying on clothes and shoes that we couldn't afford on our meger student loans. After she died I went and bought a picture frame and put one of the only decent pictures I have of her in it. We all sit smiling on the stairs apart from Harriet who sits at the bottom looking surly towards the camera. I have taken this picture everywhere with me since. It sits usually among other pictures and no one takes much notice of it and I never really talk about her, but nearly everyday I look at it so I remember her. It now sits on the other side of my dressing table. She wanted to be a producer. When her results came in, she had got a first. I think she would of made a good producer.

I carried on looking through my box. Love letters, joke cards from friends and old pen pals corrospondences. Some of it made me laugh. Some of it made me cry. It was a box of memories.
I like writing. It has been something that has come later to me in life, but now I feel like it is a good friend, a confidant. In life I don't always say things the way I want to. I get shy, I stutter, I say something stupid or things come out the wrong way. Though I'm no Shakespeare, with writing I get to say everything the way I want to say it, in my own time, without getting flustered, and that's why I love a letter. Maybe I need to start writing to Lil again, and then maybe I wouldn't hate opening the mail as much.

THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY

Hmm! The good is I guess getting the chance to travel and meeting new people; the bad is without a doubt the hours; and the ugly? Well I guess that could be classed as a crew night out! Yes, this is the good, the bad, and the ugly of my job, and I got to experience all three of these aspects recently.

My job took me back to film in Spain once again. This time I found myself filming down in Almeria in the South near the Tabernas desert, which is the only real desert in Europe (I love a geek fact)! One packed, uncomfortable flight on Easy Jet later, we landed at Alicante airport, for a long 4 hour drive down to Almeria. Luckily I was greeted by some familiar faces, as half the Spanish crew had worked on Benidorm with me last year. After the grey skies of Cardiff, the beautiful blue sky of Spain seemed like heaven and quickly lay down on a whole back seat of a car, after outwitting most of the crew and making a dash for the empty vehicle. I lay there happily with the sun shining on my face and I felt I could of stayed there forever.
Unfortunately I couldn't stay there forever, as there was work to be done and lots of it (This wasn't a holiday you know)! We were filming on a western set just outside Almeria, where such films as The Good, the Bad, and the ugly; Fistful of Dollars; and that Depeche Mode video, Your own Personal Jesus (love that song) had been filmed. I got a bit excited about this as I'm a film geek. I kept walking a long the street or stepping into a building, thinking that Clint Eastwood had been here, and even better Clint when he was at his hottest! I didn't find any trace of Clint. Instead I had to make do with some camels (we called them Lady Bella Donna and Humphrey) , mules and horses. Actually I was very happy being surrounded by horses as I love them and use to ride every weekend for 10 years. In truth I'd probably not swap them for Clint, even when he was at his hottest!

It being our first night there and with all the work we had to do the next morning, we decided to have a quiet night. 6 hours; a couple of glasses of vino; Gin & Tonics; fairy light sunglasses; assaulting a bulls head; finding a bar with a lot of ham hanging from the ceiling ( We originally named it the Ham Bar!); a few smashed glasses later I decided to be sensible and call it a night. Kat was much more hard core than me as I don't think she really had any sleep?

I had drafted in my friend Rob to come and help as we had so many extras. I'd met him originally through his boyfriend but then he asked me to assist him on a Chase and Status promo and we got on like a house on fire. We have the same kind of temperament; don't really take life to seriously; and know how to have a laugh, and he came over to Spain and did exactly that. Me, him and Kat for some reason started talking to each other in some southern yank drawl and as Rob always sat outside on his break constantly but calmy, puffing on a cigarette we started to fondly call him, Bobby 2 Smokes. I think he liked it, and it has stuck.

This was one hell of a job so I needed more help than just Bobby 2 Smokes! So I drafted in my old house from London, Mariel who is Spanish and now resides in Barcelona. The first time I ever met Mariel, was in cafe as my other friend Deb's was sorting out a bag full of unpaid Parking tickets for her. Mariel did not really see why she had to pay them. She would also leave the front door open; walk round naked; and bring people back for a party at midnight, which usually included the strumming of a guitar till the early hours, even though you had to be up for work at some God dam awful hour. As frustrating as it could be sometimes, I always admired Mariel's free Latin spirit and wished I had more of it in me. I hadn't seen Mariel in nearly 2 years, not liked she had changed. She came in whipped the extras into shape; tried to teach the English crew English and shouted at them when they got it wrong; told Howard he looked like a lobster boss after he burnt his face; and cornered our director into a conversation (our directors strong point wasn't social skills!) while waving a cigarette around, about where he was from; did he like Spain and did he know that the Spanish were real stoners! Me and Bobby 2 spaces couldn't stop laughing in the back ground. Everyone loves Mariel. You can't not love her. She is infectious with her warmth, fun, and care free ways. I'd forgotten how much I liked being around her.

I enjoyed every morning getting the cast dressed and then stealing an apple from catering and feeding and patting the horses. I liked seeing tourists go by on horse driven carriage, taking photos; I liked watching the cowboys perform stunts; and I loved looking at the sunrise and set everyday over the beautiful mountains. In truth I got quite happily lost in my own little fantasy western world for a while and when it was over, I felt a sadness come over me. I can't tell you much of what happened there as its more than my life is worth (so sorry that this is a dull post) but I can tell it was an enjoyable, fun experience and I have happy memories of my Western adventure.

I now have to satisfy my needs by watching western films (I watched the Good, the Bad and the Ugly as soon as I got back!) and I also find myself reading a western novel: The sister Brothers by Patrick de Witt. Apart from having a cool front cover, it's an amazing book. Please read it.

I will now leave you with a cool trailer from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Probably one of the best film scores ever. Enjoy cowboys.