Tinkerbelle

We all have different people from history that we admire, or look to for inspiration when we are having a rubbish day in the office and the rain is beating at the window like a heartbeat.

So who would yours be?

As a kid I was pretty uncool. Now I might be looked at as a little individual at that age, a little bit alternative and very studious, but then I was the geek in the glasses. Nose buried in a book, I could pretty much tell you anything about the Little Women or characters from To Kill a Mockingbird at a very young age, and my Grandfather used to make me learn poems by heart. To this day I can still recite a weird little poem about a bird that lays its eggs in a paper bag to keep the rain out. Its my party trick . And I was opinionated. I still am, in fact.

So when I think about the person from history that I would go back and be, there is no question.

Ann Boleyn (bear with me on this one).

Ann Boleyn was a bad ass.

Sure, she eventually got her head cut off for alleged incest and adultery that it is now refuted that she was innocent of, but she is documented to have been a clever and quick witted girl, remarkable and with a vast political acumen for her age and sex given the time.

She watched the court before her and saw her sister become the mistress of the King, producing a child sworn as illegitimate, and when the King cast his eye on her, she saw her  chance to do things a little differently, and have a massive influence of the running of the country. So she let him woo her, but vowed that she would be his partner only in the bedroom once she was the rightful Queen of England.

Clever girl.

Henry the Eighth then invented divorce, divorced his Queen and married her, and she spent her three years on the throne having a massive influence over relations between Tudor England and the rest of Europe, smoothing over relationships that Henry had destroyed and setting the president for the way the country was, and still is, governed.

Her reputation for being quick witted and ‘with forward manners’ was fine as the mistress to the King, but as Queen was frowned upon. So she wasn’t meek and mild, and stood up for what she believed in, and that’s why I love her. She didn’t care that she didn’t live in a time where she was expected to accept the will of the men around her, but strove to protect her ladies in waiting and improve conditions for all those in her staff. Quite frankly, if she was born another 500 years later she would be heralded as unique and ahead of her time, and she was. Just a bit far ahead.

Ann Boleyn was beheaded at the Tower of London in May 1536 at just thirty years old, but what a life she led.

So, I would be the second Queen of Henry VIII. But the Jonathan Rhys Meyer version, just so we are clear.

My little sister sent me an email this morning, linking out to this article about a little girl who had written the best running away note. Her message simply read “I imagine you wrote something similar” In case you can’t read it, it says:

“I am runing away becas you think I farted when I dident. PS You are Mean.”

Without checking with my mother I can’t be sure that I did, but it’s more than likely. I was the precocious little child who wrote letters to anyone and everyone, including leaving a note to Mary the Toothfairy under my pillow. and writing to ERNIE the Premium Bonds machine to demand why I hadn’t won anything on my investments (It was later explained that ‘Granddad’s friend ERNIE wasn’t a real person, when I accosted one of granddad’s actual friends and asked why I had received no money).

The one running away incident I remember was when I was about six. I can’t remember why I ran away, but assume it was something to do with my sister being allowed to do something at an age that I wasnt allowed) and I packed a bag with a few essentials, like biscuits, and informed my mother that I was off to find a new family. She told me to go ahead, so I did.

I made it to the top of the road, in floods of tears, as my father turned the car in on his way home from work. He wound down the window. told me to get in, and took me home. Years later I found out that my Mum had followed me in her dressing gown up the road, seen my Dad and hot footed it home, ready to remark that I hadn’t been gone long when Dad brought me back into the house and stuck me in the bath.

Did you or your kids ever run away?

In two weeks time I will turn eighteen, twenty one twenty six, and I’m hoping that I will wake up and gain some of the wisdom that I maybe should have gotten before now, like knowing that last bottle of wine really isn’t necessary before drinking it, or learning how to budget my money. Or knit.

Come awwwwwn, who wouldn’t want a Charm City Cakes birthday cake? Although my Mum makes them just as well.

But in the true spirit of celebrating being alive another year, and it all being about me, I thought I would pull together a birthday wish list, with plenty of time for you to all chip and see if we can start crossing some of the items off…. Deathly silence? OK, no worries then.

Its kinda a money can’t buy list anyway….

With evolution at the advanced stage that it is, the lack of hair over our entire bodies (in some of our cases) and the developed brain, I don’t understand why from March to October, my feet take moire work that octuplets on Red Bull. Forget using the pumice stone, my feet are as hard as the pumice stone, and have to be moisturised with industrial elephant skin moisturiser to ensure that I don’t rip my sheets when I slide in of a night, such is their cheese grater-esque presence. So I wish for dainty little baby feet that although soft and smooth, don’t get sores or blisters from heels or new shoes, don’t ache, and don’t swell like a pregnant lady on an aeroplane.

To have a small win on the lottery so I could pay off my debt, but Jules some champers, Sam a shed load of tequila and take a wee jaunt to California would be grand. I mean, who needs enough money to but an elephant and ride it to work anyway?

Don’t all you gym bunnies clamour at once, I don’t care what you say. The gym appeals to me about as much as licking a sumo’s armpit, and as my friends and family know, I can think of the most far fetched reasons to not attend any sort of exercise class. But yes, I know, its good for you. So if it could be as fun as eating ice cream and feel as strenuous as sleeping, I promise I would embrace it wholeheartedly.

Whether it’s the last day of your holiday or the time spent having a Harry Potter marathon, sometimes you look at the people around you and just wish you could stop the sands and just wait there, however briefly. So I think that you should be able to get a virtual hourglass every now and then, and just suspend it so the sand can’t move. You know what I mean.

Maybe a serious one, but if they can put a man on the moon surely they can find a cure for diabetes? I would just like my pancreas to produce its fancy fluid so that I can eat a chocolate orange and not feel like ive been hit by a bus for 24 hours. Please thankyou.

What would be your far fetched birthday wish?

So, Barcelona.

tour guide. Complete with accessories

When you think of Barcelona you think of Gaudi, and that’s what I spent the day thinking of yesterday. I had my very own tour guide who has a brain like a sponge and manages to soak up pretty much everything he hears or reads, so I was far luckier than the tourists with the guides or the headsets.

We started off with a long and steep walk up a mountain big hill complete with escalators until we reached the top. Which was totally worth it. We had reached the Park Guell, made famous by Gaudi and Dali, and in my opinion, looking like a gingerbread village.

so pretty

As we walked around, it was explained to me that the park was created not only by Gaudi but by his friend, Salvatore Dali. The mosaics at the top of the park were laid by Dali in a bid to help his friend complete his work, but Gaudi didnt like it. Rather than removing it, he dug out the ground underneath, determined that the roof would fall in and he would rebuild it. But it never fell, and the columns were put in to preserve the work, resulting in what remains there today, and is absolutely beautiful.

We wandered down some pretty steep steps, with him running down and me gingerly grabbing onto the hand rail, as usual. I was offered a piggy back, which although a nice offer, make me want to throw up. Again, I underestimated the step phobia and felt a little silly as little kids went running down beside me.. ah well!

Then we head off to the Sagrada Familia, the church that Gaudi was building when he died. Parts of it are being rebuilt, and I was informed that people believe that it’s because as he died he cursed the progress of the church. As an artist, he was known and loved within the city, but not a lot of people recognised him. After being hit by a tram, no cab drivers would take him to the hospital, and he died. ever since his death, when they try to build parts of the church they simply fall down.

From the two different sides, the church looks completely different. One side is quite modern and featured carvings of faces, and the other more baroque and imposing. Inside, you are overcome by a feeling of awe and I couldn’t help but think that it would be absolutely fantastic to be in there by myself, away from the hustle and bustle of tourists with cameras and the sound of footsteps.

The imposing church has scores of stained glass windows, giving it an ethereal feeling. It’s the sort of place that even someone who doesn’t believe in the presence of a higher being might thing twice, and wonder if people have a point. The light streams in through the vibrant colours like a kaleidoscope, and the feeling you get is of pure amazement. I absolutely loved it.

And that’s Barcelona so far, I’ll update when I get back!