Talking Talking Happy Talk

I'm baaaa-aaaaack, did yer miss me??  No?  Oh, right then... Well I've missed blogging for sure.  Feel a bit like a neglectful parent but, to be honest, I've had some pretty legit reasons for my absence.  Yeahhhh, so haven't had such a good time of it of late, what with one thing and another.  Obviously there's been all the stress of Uni, which I won't go over again, see my earlier post Depressions of a Mad Wolf for details.  But I'm delighted to announce that I'm on top of it, in fact more than on top of it; I've climbed the mountain and am casually lazing on the other side, enjoying a crafty fag and appreciating the smaller things in life, like puppies and raindrops.  Well not quite, I don't smoke, but you get the picture.  I've finished all three of my essays in plenty of time for Christmas, and am now officially on holiday.  Phew, thank Crunchie for that.

I still don't quite know what happened back there, why I had such a meltdown, and although I'm feeling really good at the moment (haven't cried for 9 days, record!), I'm worried it will happen again.  I mean, it was only 13,000 words, and I had enough time to do it, so why all the fuss?  Pffffffft, I really dunno.  I think the pressure just got too much, and I literally boiled over.  There's also been some long-standing family stuff going on, which I can't really go into now.  I mean, I want to, think it would be quite cathartic actually, but a couple of close friends read this blog, and I don't wanna say stuff on here without talking to them first.  So let's just say that some old crap got dragged up again, and it didn't help.

Talking of talking, I have actually talked to somebody about the aforementioned crap, namely the brilliant and wise beyond her years, VW.  I'm not normally very good at offloading, it's like Donna (Catherine Tate) said to the Doctor once: 'you talk all the time but you don't say anything'.  Yep, that about sums me up too.  I'm a great listener, and can talk for England, or any other country for that matter, but when it comes to sharing my emotional stuff, I'm harder to break than the Da Vinci code.  Dunno why, always have been.  Hate crying in front of people for a start, am even less attractive crying than normal, and I am a crier, so 'fraid one goes hand in hand with the other. 

Anyway, so I talked to VW, and told her things that I've not told anyone before, which was really hard.  Really hard.  I didn't cry though.  Progress.  She gave me some advice, but mainly it was good to have someone to listen.  One of her gems of wisdom was to talk more, and she's right, so I will.  I'm even signed up for a mentoring session at Uni on the 26th of Jan.  Apparently 'mentoring' is like counselling but different as you get support with study skills etc.  Maybe it's what I need.  What with the home stuff and Uni and everything, it probably would be good to talk.  Think that's why I like blogging, it's kinda like therapy.  Only rather one-way... Didn't even have any counselling after The Event, which I probably should've done, as even now I can't think about it without going all cringey.

I'm hoping that 2011 will see a much calmer, less tearful, happy wolf.  2010 wasn't a bad year on the whole, in fact it was frickin' great!  Apart from the last couple months... Oh, and last New Year's Day... When The Doctor regenerated?  Duhhhhh.  Highlights of 2010 then, I graduated; one of the best moments of my life, and got accepted onto the MA; which a few years ago I never would've seen happening.  I had the best birthday that I've had in a very long time, which lasted a week, and involved some amazing friends and relatively little alcohol.  I celebrated living in my home for a year, which was very special for me and my mother on a personal level; new beginnings and all that.  And I've developed a very close, stronger than super glue, bond with VW (God help her), who has really helped boost my confidence and, like I say, just been the rock I needed, showing me that it really is ok to share stuff.  Even if it involves the waterworks I guess.  Even her Christmas card, which she bought round today, made me well up (in a good way); she said that I was amazing, and not to forget it.  Of course, she's right.  She told me off today too, for working too hard.  Of course, she's right.

So gonna try and be positive about the forthcoming year.  Yes I've still got another term and a 20,000 word dissertation to get through, but I'll have the mentoring support (providing I ask for it).  Yes my family are still gonna drive me insane, but they're my family, and I gotta stick by 'em... Some of them anyway.  If I don't who will?  No one else would have them.  And I've still got my friends, some of whom are probably gonna hear a lot more from me in the very near future.  Poor buggers.  In fact, run you people that know me, run faaaaarrrrr away!

Merry Christmas everyone, and have an awesome New Year,

BW xxx

PS, I've deliberately avoided mentioning until now the fact that, for the first Christmas in five years, David Tennant won't be The Doctor.  It's just too gruesome a thought, as a certain Ms Golightly would say (RIP Blake Edwards).  It will be a strange and sad Christmas evening, without David Tennant lighting up my bedroom - what?  I watch Doctor Who in bed, what on earth did you think I meant?  You disgusting lot.

PPS, in case I don't get chance to blog again before New Year, here are my resolutions:

To be a nicer, more supportive, daughter.
To blog more, I know I've been pretty slack lately.
To say that I need help/support/a chat/a blub as soon as I need it, not several weeks later.  I don't ever wanna feel like that again.
To be happy.

Who's Top Companion? Er, Rose is!

Check out my comment on the Radio Times' poll of best Doctor Who companions:

http://www.radiotimes.com/blogs/1103-doctor-who-billie-piper-rose-tyler-voted-best-companion/

I will blog properly soon.  Promise.

BW xxx

Depressions of a Mad Wolf

Yes I know, I've commited the ultimate sin of blogging and haven't posted for, what, a week?  Just having a few psychological issues at the moment, hopefully normal service will soon be resumed.  Again, nothing has actually happened, but last Wednesday I had a complete meltdown, where everything just got way, way, WAY too much, and I ended up crying solidly for a good three hours.  Seriously. 

I don't like to say I'm Depressed (with a capital D), as there are people in the world actually suffering from this illness, and describing yourself as 'Depressed' totally belittles the severity of the real thing.  But, I did feel awful last week; it's been brewing for a while, and at the time I would've said I felt depressed - with a very small d. 

Have got so much work to do at Uni, and I'm completely shattered - our terms are 11 weeks long, which is crucifying to say the least.  Just want a break; in the sense of some time out, not anything to do with bones, because that's the last thing I want.  Funny that, how one word can simultaneously mean something that I'm desperate for, yet something that I constantly dread...  Anyway, whenever I think of the Christmas holidays, I'm reminded of how much work I've got to do in them, and it's driving me insane.

VW was brilliant, as usual, last week and told me to a) calm down, and b) prioritise  - concentrate on one thing at a time.  Of course she's right, and I'm now trying to take things a bit slower and easier.  Skived off Uni today, which I never do, but it was just more constructive to stay home in the relative warmth, and work, than sit in a seminar which will have no bearing on the content of any of my essays.  Does mean I haven't seen South for a week, which was a tough price to pay.  Have even drawn up a little timetable of when I want to start and finish each essay - sad I know, but it helps me sleep at night - and I think I'll be ok.  Doesn't stop me worrying about the slightest thing at the moment though; I think I've totally lost the plot actually.  It really bothers me that no one else seems to be such a gibbering wreck as me - though, I wouldn't wish how I felt last Wednesday on too many people - and also that, if I'm this messed up about writing 12,000 words in 7 weeks - which is what it ultimately boils down to - then what the hell am I going to be like when it comes to writing a 20,000 word dissertation?  I've spent many a fun hour contemplating that.

I'll be back, but I may be some time...

BW xxx

PS, Dark Handsome Stranger announced that last Wednesday was his final seminar with us.  As if I wasn't depressed enough, could've cried there and then.  But I didn't.  Waited till I got home instead.

Avant-garde, or just plain bizarre?

Had to do a presentation this Monday gone all about avant-garde cinema which, I shall openly admit, has never appealed to me in the slightest, on account of it's sheer weirdness.  However, as one quarter of Group A (for awesome, duhhh), I thought that we should really make an effort on this one.  I mean, our last attempt was pretty shite, and it was for South's module.  I think he was suitably impressed - mainly by me, natch - so here's hoping you, dear readers, are equally mesmorised by my thoughts.  Feel free to comment on the contrary, I can take it.

What is 'Avant-garde'?

The term avant-garde is said to have originated in the late 15th century to mean 'vanguard' or 'advance guard', and was adopted by the arts at the beginning of the 1800s to signify innovation and experimentation.  The French Socialist thinker, Henri de Saint-Simon, was credited with first using the expression in this way (quelle surprise, it's always the French), as he believed that artists, along with industrialists and scientists, had the social power to lead society:

It is we, artists, who will serve you as avant garde: the power of the arts is in fact most immediate and most rapid: when we wish to spread new ideas among men, we inscribe them on marble or on canvas;... and in that way above all we exert an electric and victorious influence. (Saint-Simon, qtd. in Hobbs, 1997:4)

I'm now going to take a gigantic, TARDIS-like leap forward through time and space to the 1990s; when Spice Girls ruled the world, Furbies and Tamagotchis were IN (I never owned either), and a little chap called Michael O'Pray was writing about the British when Spice Girls ruled the world, Furbies and Tamagotchis were IN (I never owned either), and a little chap called Michael O'Pray was writing about the British avant-garde film in, funnily enough, The British Avant-Garde Film 1926 to 1995.  Now, O'Pray has done a little summary of all the decades, from the 1920s and 30s, to the 1980s, when the film, A Zed and Two Noughts (Greenaway, 1985); the focus of this 'ere blog post, was made.  For the purposes of this blog, the patience of its readers, and the willpower of its writer, I'm only gonna concentrate on the 1980s, but if you wish to know more, please cast your gaze over the reference list below. 

Ok, so O'Pray suggests that avant-garde cinema has always been used as a means of capturing and safeguarding snippets of everyday life, particularly by such 'minority' groups as: scientists, politicians, pornographers (minority?  Really?), and advertisers.  Thus, films belonging to the avant-garde movement are regularly influenced by the above marginal sections of society and, although censorship prevents unnaceptable material leaking into and affecting the flow of money that mainstream cinema accrues, this restraint has never been total.  Indeed, avant-garde films are generally made in opposition to the popular, and are often screened in churches, clubs and galleries; basically anywhere that isn't a cinema, so their, at times, contraversial content seems to duck below the radar. 
The link between avant-garde cinema and the other arts continues further, as many of its film-makers, such as Greenaway, Jarman and Brakhage, began their careers as art students, at a time when modernism was the dogs' danglies, and their films regularly addressed issues raised in painting.

In terms of the British avant-garde movement, centred around the London Film-makers' Co-operation (LFMC) the 1980s saw many influences and changes:

• The impact of the women's, punk and Black independant film-making movements.
• A new, younger breed of film-makers returning to an 'underground' ideal; the opposition and confrontation of the established ideologies of the older generation, like punk's rejection of mainstream music.
• The influx of 'Super-8' film-makers - those who chose to shoot in the rather amateurish, low-budget Super-8 filmstock, instead of the conventional and high-quality 16mm.
• The birth of Channel 4 in 1982, who promised to support innovative work, and was an important source of funding for films of the avant-garde, thanks to commisioning editor, Rod Stoneman.  However, while the channel screened documentaries on such fillm-makers as Jeff Keen, which served to broaden the spectatorship, the restrictions of broadcast TV made some directors sceptical of its value.

A Zed and Two Noughts (Greenaway, 1985)

*SPOILERS*

Moving on then, to the above film, which I suggest you watch before you read the rest of this post; it might make it bit easier to understand.  Might.

I won't bore you with a synopsis; a) because the film has several narratives from which the viewer is supposed to chose from, and far from me to dictate how others should understand it (or not) and b), because I think that, in some cases, the provision of a synopsis suggests that the writer is lazy (it's a good filler), and assumes the reader is fairly dim - surely if you're researching the context of a film, you're gonna know the basic plot, right?  So I'm just gonna get straight to the nitty-gritty.

On the 24th of April, 1997, the director of A Zed and Two Noughts, Peter Greenaway, gave a lecture on his style of film-making, stating that his aim was one of 'maximum ambiguity' (qtd in Petrolle, 2008:159).  Petrolle goes on to say that Greenaway's films interrogate knowledge by their self-consciousness, unremmiting theoreticism, ambiguity, and pluralistic, perverse nature.

In Greenaway's DVD introduction, he suggests that A Zed and Two Noughts, or Z00, should be read as three seperate films: on twin-ship, ecology - the world as a zoo - and cinema as a manipulation of light (nothing ground-breakingly new there then).  He cites Jean-Luc Godard, of the French New Wave strand of film-makers and critics, who said that the 17th century Dutch painter, Johannes Vermeer, was the first cinematographer, as he made 'extraordinary manipulation essentially of the product of light' (DVD intro, 2003).  Greenaway was fascinated by Vermeer, calling him 'invisible', and wanted to create a character for him.  He also resurrects Hannicus Van Meegeren, another Dutch painter, this time from the 20th century, who became famous (infamous?) for his forgery of a number of Vermeer's.  He was arrested about 12 years later, you'll all be relieved to know.

What has all this got to do with Z00?  Well, the film constantly references Vermeer's works, as I hope the following images demonstrate:

The Girl with the Red Hat - 1665-67

Venus de Milo and Van Meegeren in A Zed and Two Noughts - 35:37

The Music Lesson - 1662-65

A Zed and Two Noughts film poster

These allegorical referrals provide the viewer with a means of interpreting and understanding this otherwise super-complex film.  As Greenaway himself said, in a 1991 Cineaste interview:

I would like my movies to work the way Dutch paintings did, on literal and metaphorical levels.  If you've got that as a premise it's no problem at all to find all the information that ought to go in the frame - all the cultural allegorical material. (qtd. in Petrolle, 2008:160).

Allegory, according to Madsen, is all about the focus on interpretation, and how bloody difficult it can be to make sense of things.  With allegory at its heart, Z00 reminds us of the desire to understand, and it places a great importance on the perception and production of meaning.   Understanding paintings, for example, can be very subjective; the artist may well be trying to convey a certain message, but the viewer will draw their own conclusions - sometimes based on their age, gender, ethnicity, moral values and so on.  In Dutch paintings, such as Vermeer's, meaning is situated between a realistic representation, and the symbolic sum of coded objects - often hidden as household items, spatial relations and characters.   Consequently, a painting's hidden meanings and suggestions can be easily overlooked, and Z00 plays on this by constantly throwing the viewer red-herrings and random, misleading clues to follow.  Vermeer's paintings require the viewer to reflect on their nature, purpose and signifying strategies, and Z00 asks the same.  The Music Lesson (above) in particular evokes self-reflexivity, by depicting a mirror reflecting an easel.  The above film poster mirrors this (pun intended), by showing camera tripods in a frame behind Greenaway; connoting the extreme self-reflexivity of cinema too.

It came up in Monday's seminar that the characters in Z00 are so flaming odd, that no-one could identify with them.  I would argue though, that we're not supposed to identify, or even like, the film's collection of nutters.  Rather, they serve a purpose, as images to interpret; like Venus de Milo (see above), who is commissioned by Van Meegeren to make a dress for another character, Alba Bewick, who allegedly resembles the women of Vermeer's paintings, namely The Music Lesson and The Concert.  So, you see, the characters in Z00 all fit together to form certain meanings and ideas for the reader to work out.  Granted, they're still proper weird. 

The film is also about twin-ship, and the phenomena of coincidence.  The two protagonists, twin brothers Oswald and Oliver (the two 0s?), both lose their wives simultaneously in a car crash.  The car, driven by Alba Bewick (Buick is a car manufacturer), crashes into a swan (what else?) on Swan's Way (of course), and the brothers (both zoologists) become totally obsessed with trying to sort these coincidences into sorm form of narrative, in order to make sense of this bizarre trgedy.  The brothers' quest for answers parallels our own search for details within the film, that will enable us to make sense of the plot.  This duality signifies th process of producing meaning; the attempt to locate, and then connect, a series of events, from which to tell a coherent story.

Obviously, if you'v seen the film then you'll know it's not that straightforward to understand (understatement much?!), due to the numerous red-herrings and dead ends. While McHoul and Wills (not Prince Wills') accuse Z00 of being pretentious and vacuous (cited in Petrolle, 2008:163), Petrolle argues that the film's refusal to completely satisfy our thirst for knowledge does not make it devoid of positive content.  Instead, the disturbance of wanting to know something, yet not quite being able to figure it out, mirrors life's biggest mysteries - the origins and meaning of life - and this is epitomised nicely by the lovely David Attenborough's Life on Earth films, which Oliver is seen avidly watching.  This, according to Petrolle, highlights the limitations of the human mind, and our uncertainties about such questions as the meaning of life are reflected in the art of textual interpretation that is required when viewing this film. 

Finally, because poor Oswald and Oscar are unable to create an understandable narrative, they end up committing a double suicide (shoulda gone to Bad Wolf Bay).  But even this attempt to make death meaningful fails, as the camera set up to record the event malfunctions, once more paralleling the viewer's interpretation of the film; we are unable to construct any logical meaning. 

A Zed and Two Noughts makes us aware of our longing to completely understand the world around us which, if this were possible, would mean that there would be no room for ambiguity.  As Petrolle says:

'Z00 suggests that it is possible, necessary, and sometimes even fun to live with ambivalence.' (2008:174)

That's it folks.  Hope that was an enlightening experience.  I'm still nowhere near a fan of the avant-garde, and I think Z00 is one of the most bizarre films I've ever seen, but at least I can now see that it was trying to make a point, rather than just being random for the sake of it.

BW xxx

References:

A Zed and Two Noughts (Greenaway, 1985)

Dictionary.com (2010) 'avant-garde',  Dictionary.com LLC [online].  Available from: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/avant-garde (Accessed November 20, 2010).

Hobbs, S. D. (1997) 'The Avant-Garde and The Culture of The Future', in: The End of The American Avant Garde: American Social Experience Series, New York University Press: New York.

O'Pray, M. (2008) 'Introduction', in: The British Avant-Garde Film 1926 to 1995, Luton University Press: Luton.

Tate Online Glossary (2010) 'Avant-Garde', (c) Tate London [online].  Available from:  http://www.tate.org.uk/collections/glossary/definition.jsp?entryId=38 (Accessed November 20, 2010).

Petrolle, J. (2008) 'Z is for Zebra, Zoo, Zed, and Zygote, or Is It Possible to Live With Ambivalence?', in: Alemany-Galway, M. & Willoquet-Maricondi, P. (eds.) Peter Greenaway's Postmodern/Poststucturalist Cinema, The Scarecrow Press: Lanham/Toronto/Plymouth, p.159-176.

Had my first dissertation meeting yesterday, with the lovely Legend.  Looks like 2011's gonna be the year of the vampire, and I'll probably require South's geeky mind to aid my quest, woo hoo!  Just doing some online christmas (there's that word again) shopping.  Why are parents like the most difficult people to buy for??  Actually, don't answer that, 'cos if they're anything like mine, they either say they don't want anything, or end up buying themselves the EXACT thing you were gonna give them.  *Sigh*, and so it begins...

BW xxx

PS, song of the day: Santa Baby by Kylie Minogue.

Wanted

With Christmas fast approaching (arrrrggghhh, I know) I, along with the vast majority of the population, have been thinking about what the hell to get the nearest and dearest.  For the past couple years, I've taken to writing an itemised list of things that I'd like, and 9 times outta 10, it's paid off.  Maybe I'm a spoilt brat, but I never ask for the Earth, just the odd DVD (which my mother loathes buying for me), book, PS2 game etc, and it saves the annual Oscar-winning performance of: 'Wow, that's awesome.  Thanks a lot'.

This post, however, is not a 'please may I have...?' list, or even a wish list; it's a Want (with a capital W), Veruca Salt, don't-care-how-I-want-it-now, kinda list.  I was always told by my wise elders that 'I want never gets', and in the case of the following items, they're probably right.

#1 - David Tennant - c'mon, did you expect anything less?  Difficult to post I imagine, but fun to unwrap, I imagine... frequently...

#2 - A Boyfriend - preferably David Tennant, but failing that, ANYONE will do.  Well, maybe not anyone; they've gotta be able to accept me, for me, and see past my disability and many (many) oddities.  Does such a man exist??  No offence lads, but I've not found one yet.  It's not just about the sex, though I've heard it can be pretty good, I wouldn't know.  It's more about the feeling of being wanted, being needed and, ultimately, being loved.  I mean, I know I am loved, I get that impression quite often; from my friends, but it's never in that way... Least I don't think it is... I keep having visions of ending up like SuBo - only without the amazing voice - I'm already half as bonkers.

#3 - A Baby - said all this before, and ideally I need Item 2 first, though these days... Anyway, yes, super broody.  Nearly all my closest friends have now reproduced and, while I'm beyond happy for them, and think all their children are gorgeous, it does remind me of what I don't, and might never, have.  I don't even know if I could, physically like, but it'd be nice to find out.

#4 - A Job - I'm 24, and I've never had a full-time job.  Fact.  I have worked before; I've been a local correspondant on a Disability magazine, but we only met quarterly; I've been a volunteer classroom assisstant and support worker at my secondary school, which I loved, but it was only voluntary; and I've written small articles for a couple of local newspapers, but they were always about me, I wasn't actually working for anyone.  I love working with people, and I think I wanna teach (Film or Media Studies pref), but then I like the idea of working within the (rather vague) world of student support.  So really, I have no concrete idea of what I want to do.  There's also the small fact that, whatever I do, I'm gonna need support, and I don't know how the hell that would work, or even if it's remotely possible.  Had hours of endless fun thinking about that one,

#5 - Gas and Air to be available on prescription - have had it on two separate occasions now; once after breaking my arm, then as a result of The Event.  It is some seriously good shit but, and please take note ladies, it does not take the pain away; just makes you feel so stoned that you don't care how much it hurts, or how much you scream.  Now, who doesn't want their own personal supply of Entonox in their home?

#6 - A Hug - physically an impossibility for me, as I'm likely to shatter into a thousand pieces, which I know from experience, hurts.  But still, it would be nice sometimes, and of the many things I can't do, it's the one thing I wish I could.  Well, there are some other things...

BW xxx

PS, found out Dark Handsome Stranger's full name, so am now free to stalk him on Facebook, hurrah!  Though, this does mean that I've discovered he has a girlfriend, boo hoo.  Oh, and he's younger than me.  Brilliant.  Now I just feel like a perv, an old perv at that.

Top Blokes

I'm in a really bad mood.  Dunno why, just woke up like it.  I'm not particularly stressed; I mean I've got a bit of work to do, but nothing unmanageable; and nothing majorly crappy has happened.  I can't even blame the old whipping boy that is PMT - unless the 'P' can stand for post?  I just feel shit.  Maybe I'm tired, I find Uni pretty hard-going sometimes, especially Wednesdays; which just go on forever.  Just feel like having a bloody good cry actually, but instead I'm gonna try and cheer myself up by blogging about gorgeous men... then I'll have that cry.

Über shallow I know, but here is a Top of The Pops-style rundown of the 5 hottest blokes in the Universe, in my humble opinion:

#1 - David Tennant - Sex.  On.  Legs.  I am so in love with this man, I don't quite know what to do with myself.  He first came to my attention as The Doctor - before that I'd ashamedly never heard of him before - but I quite happily fancy him in all guises; even as the rather camp Ghost of Christmas Present, in Catherine Tate's Nan's Christmas Carol (Anderson, 2009).  It's not just looking at him either; his voice has the same cataclysmic effect.  Whenever I hear that gorgeous Scottish timbre, I get this massive cheesy grin on my face, go all giggley, and my heartbeat increases by, like, a thousand BPM.  Surely that's love, right?  He is literally in a universe of his own, and anyone else I claim to be attracted to, comes a very distant runner-up.  Oh, and he's a phenomenally brilliant actor too.

#2 - Johnny Depp.  Yes, I know basically anybody with eyes and a pulse fancies The Depp, but I'm sorry, when someone is that pretty I just gotta go with the flow.  Also, he makes a damn fine pirate!  It feels very wrong to find mucky old Captain Jack Sparrow attractive, but I can't help it; think it's the eyes.

#3 - Tom Hardy.  The actor, not writer, no idea what he looked like, but he did write some great books...  Anyway, Tom Hardy; he isn't my usual 'type', kinda rough and rugged, bit of a bad boy, but HOT.

#4 - John Barrowman.  Very gay: check.  Slight look of Tom Cruise: check (and immediately moving on), but still; he looks great in a military jacket, as evidenced in his portrayal of Torchwood's Captain Jack Harkness.  Oooo, another Captain Jack, I see a pattern emerging... albeit a very short one, he was the last.

#5 - Richard Armitage.  Now I don't really follow him as an actor per se.  I mean, I don't watch Spooks, or Robin Hood (who did?), but I think he is very very pretty, and has The Sexiest voice EVER (after David of course).

That's that then... well sort of.  The above Top 5 are just that, but I also wanna pay a brief homage to the following select few who unfortunately didn't make the shortlist.  Well-played boys, well-played:

Joseph Fiennes - by name and nature.  Particularly fine as Agent Benford in Flash Forward.

Jason Merrells - how happy am I that he's now in Emmerdale?

Jenson Button - such a shame that whenever he's on tv, he wears a silly helmet, and drives what can only be described as a Meccano car repeatedly around a track, yawn.  He should get a proper job, like a tv news-reader, or naked model...

Christopher Eccleston - don't like him quite as much as I used to, but in that battered old leather jacket, with that accent; I wouldn't say no.

Aidan Turner - Being Human's Irish vampire, need I say more??

David Boreanaz - another David, and another vampire, this time Angel from Buffy The Vampire Slayer.  He went through a brief fat and hairy stage after Buffy (see Dido's White Flag vid), but I believe normal hotness has been resumed.

Dark Handsome Stranger - he's studying for a PhD (a Doctorate, you mucky lot), and often sits in on one of my modules.  Soooooooo lush, kinda like a young David Duchovny - whom I use to fancy, before he became a hairy 'sex addict' - AND he always sits opposite me (DHS, not Duchovny *shudders*.
South - one of my lecturers.  Not typically 'good-looking' I suppose; kinda nerdy, which is a real turn on for me.  Seems to have subscribed to the same school of fashion as the 10th Time Lord - suit/trainers *swoon*.  Plus, he wears those black thick-rimmed glasses that Tennant made so ultra-sexy *double swoon*.  God, maybe I'm more attracted to a 'look' rather than real actual people... *Thinks about Tennant and South without clothes*...  Nahhhhh.

Gok Wan - possibly a guilty pleasure (like Pot Noodle sandwhiches - don't knock till you've tried), but I find him really sexy!  Love what he does in How To Look Good Naked too, though Legend doesn't.  She says that, from a feminist perspective, making women believe that they need nice clothes in order to feel good about themselves is crap, and the whole getting naked ethos is just another form of objectification and voyeurism.  But, as much as I respect Ledge, and bow to her superior wisdom; I disagree!  The way I see it is that, yes Gok uses clothing to build up confidence, but by making women strutt their stuff in the buff, he's saying that we don't need all that clobber to look (and feel great); we can get the same sensation in our own skin.  The fact that he often chooses people that aren't typically regarded in society as 'attractive'; disabled, disfigured, black, homosexual or larger women (and the occasional man) suggests that we're all in the same boat, and shoud be viewed equally; screw convention.  He's made me cry too, and if a bloke makes me cry I generally end up falling in love with them.  How fucked up am I?

Right, that's it then, gonna go put Doctor Who on Youtube now, and have that long-awaited cry.  Though I do feel a tadge better, thinking about all these men.  Not that fancying someone is ever gonna get me anywhere; it hasn't done so yet.  Maybe I should just give up and be a nun.  *Sigh*, come on then David, regenerate, again...

BW xxx

PS, song of the day: Sexy Boy by Air.

The Event

Noooo, not Channel 4's new 'thriller', which I've successfully avoided so far, due to a) forgetting to watch the first ep, b) not having time to catch-up with the first ep and c), being so disappointed with Flash Forward's 'finale' that I just didn't wanna put myself through such trauma again.  So, by The Event, I mean something far more personal; something that I've already alluded to a couple times in this blog; and something that, hopefully, will give you an even greater insight into the scary realms of ME.


On 11 October 2004, at approximately 10:10am, I was thrown out of my wheelchair onto the floor of a taxi, breaking both arms and legs. 


Up until this point, I was a pretty average student, I stayed in education until I was 18, got my A-levels, and intended to go to university.  I had applied to two, to study either Journalism or Film; with the latter being my preferred choice.  However, I guess I didn't work as hard as I should have done at college, and didn't take it seriously enough - does anyone at that age? - so ended up not achieving good enough grades to get onto the Film degree.  Therefore, I had to settle for my second choice of Journalism, which was further away from my home, and it was arranged that I would travel by County Council-provided taxi, in order to give me some more independence (ha ha).  Normally, I would travel in my mother's car, sitting in a child's car seat, and then be transferred by her into my wheelchair at the other end , but because I was doing this journey on my own, transferring would not have been possible, so I had to actually make the journey in my wheelchair.


Survived the first trip to and from Uni on October 4th relatively unscathed though, looking back, I didn't feel 100% safe even then, but thought this was just me being a 'fraidy cat' (dog?), and was determined to carry on; hoping I'd just get used to it.  This bravado was dramatically short-lived, and one week later, about 20 minutes away from my first lecture The Event, which still affects my life even now, occurred.


I still don't know what happened exactly, all I know for sure is that the driver braked suddenly, and I was thrown forward, landing on the taxi floor.  The first thing I remember (vividly) is hearing someone screaming, and then realising it was me.  I never believed that phenomenon, often clichéd in books and films, was possible; not being aware of a sound that your own body is making.  But trust me, it's possible.  It's kinda like your mind is frozen in time for a split-second, while the rest of you, and the rest of the world, goes on.


I don't think I ever lost consciousness, though I really wish I had as, when I 'came to', I was aware of the worst pain imaginable.  They say that, for a woman, childbirth is the worst pain you can feel, but I'd beg to differ.  Have never been in labour, but would've quite happily given vaginal birth to octuplets (if that was humanly possible), than be in the agony I was in then.  Even thinking about it now, 6 years later, I stil feel realy sick and tense - like when you're in the same room as a bunch of balloons and you KNOW one of them's gonna burst - only 10 billion times worse, so I do try not to think about it too much; it's hard though.  I also try not to get too close to balloons...


I wouldn't wish the above experience on my worst enemy, not even Jude Law, though sometimes I could just slap him...  Anyway, I digress.  Was taken to hospital by air ambulance - now get really freaked out by low-flying helicopters; seriously, I'm a frigging nutter - and promptly (well, several hours later) got sent home.  There wasn't a lot that could be done for me, as putting me into plaster would only do more damage, due to the weight.  So to bed I went, which is where I remained for pretty much the rest of the year.  During my recovery I continued studying, using voice recognition software to dictate my coursework, and somehow managed to get a 2:1 for my first year.  But, while I was pretty much fully recovered (physically at least) by January 2005, my confidence was completely trashed, and I gave up the course.


For a good few months I was at a complete loss as to what to do with my life; had no future plans; no aspirations and, most significantly, no confidence.  But then I met a man called The Doctor...


As I've said before, Doctor Who gave me something to look forward too, and acted as a form of escapism; anything, quite frankly, would have been an improvement on my current situation, but a life in the TARDIS, travelling endlessly through time and space with a handsome stranger?  Errr, yes please.  That's why I can so emphasise with Rose Tyler, and Billie Piper (albeit a younger model); me and Rose were the same age, both stuck in a rut, bored with life, no real future etc etc.  We trusted the Doctor, and fell in love with him, in our own way, and I can't help feeling that having Doctor Who to look forward to every week kept me going.  Billie, on the other hand, inspired me in a totally different to Rose, as she's also come pretty darn close to pegging it; in her case as a result of a serious eating disorder - which I'm very unlikely to suffer from; too darn greedy, too many little pigs and children in red coats etc.


Seriously though, I'd grown up listening to Billie-Because-We-Want-To-Piper's music (still do fyi, shut up you), and having a shared experience (sort of) with somebody, particularly someone so close in age, really helped me.  Ok maybe I sound like BP's official stalker, but the fact that she so brilliantly put her life back together inspired me to do the same, and I did.


In October 2005, one year after the Universe collapsed around me, I got a place at my local college, where I stayed for two years, gradually re-building my confidence (and my academic skills), before finally starting the Film degree that I'd failed to get onto all those years ago.  I graduated with a 2:1 this July just gone - perhaps one of the best days of my life - and the rest, as they say, is history.  Kinda...


October 11, 2004 was definately the worst day of my life, but it became the best thing that ever happend to me.  Yes, I'm a more nervous passenger than I was before - though, I have improved; no more panic attacks - bonus.  Yes, I am a bit freaked out by helicopters, and no, sometimes I'm not as confident in myself as I could be.  But, as a result of th accident I've made some amazing friends, have a degree in Film at one of the top Unis, and am pursuing a Masters.  I can also now, quite happily, travel in a car in my wheelchair (not The Chair, that got sent to the knacker's yard).  Ok so the car is generally driven by my mother, but I have also pulled myself together enough now to allow my enabler, and very good friend VW, to take me out and about.  Though, frankly, if I'd made her sit at home with me any longer, I think she woulda dragged me out by my tail anyway.  That's why I love her!


Everything happens for a reason.  Any regets?  Sing it Piaf.


BW xxx

A transcript from last night:

Mother: 'Do you  want me to change you?' - meaning dress me for bed.

Me: 'Into what?' - being facetious.

Mother: 'A wolf...'

Think she knows??

Plans for the coming week; not a lot really.  Same old: reading for Uni, watching films for Uni, typing up notes for Uni, etc.  The distinct lack of babies and prostitutes (neither related to the other) makes this week a lot less appealing than the last.  Though I am meeting my friend Pixie for lunch tomorrow, which'll be nice.  She's neither a prostitute nor having a baby, but I won't hold that against her.

Who is 'The Bad Wolf'?

I am the Bad Wolf.
I create myself.
I take the words; I scatter them, in time and space.
A message to lead myself here.

So, we've established that I am The Bad Wolf, but just where did this rather odd moniker come from, I hear you cry?  Well, sit still and I shall tell thee...

Two words: Doctor Who.  I was (and please note the italics) completely obssessed with Who when it was reinvented back in 2005.  I was going through a pretty rough patch (which I'll save for another time) and, quite frankly, Doctor Who gave me something to focus on; a form of escapism; something to live for even. 

On 26 March 2005, The Doctor, played by the brilliantly sexy Christopher Eccleston, turned up in his little blue box, and saved a bored young girl, who believed she had no future, and dreamt of a life beyond the one in which she was currently existing.  That girl was Rose Tyler (Billie Piper).  That girl was me.

There are many similarities between myself, Rose Tyler and Billie Piper, but I won't digress into those now.  The fact is, that while Rose travelled through time and space with The Doctor, the words 'Bad Wolf' constantly hounded them (pun definately intented), until the final episode of Series One, Parting of The Ways, when the truth behind this cryptic clue was revealed.

5 billion years in our future, the Doctor faced certain death at the hands (?) of his oldest enemy; the Daleks - hence why I questioned the use of the word 'hands', maybe plunger or whisk would be more appropriate.  Anyway, rather than risk Rose's life, he tricks her into entering the TARDIS, and sends her back home.  She's having none of it, and opens the 'heart' of the TARDIS in order to absorb the Time Vortex, and uses this power to return to The Doctor; which apparently is a very dangerous thing to do, so don't go trying ths at home kids.

Rose gets back to the future, saves The Doctor, and vapourises the Daleks (you go girl), and it is here that the meaning of 'Bad Wolf' is explained.  Rose Tyler is The Bad Wolf.  She delivers the monologue at the top of this post, stating that the power she's absorbed from the TARDIS has allowed her to spread the words back through time and space, as a path for her to follow.

So where do I come in?  Well, I'm a big believer in fate - haven't always been so, but something happened to me, a long time ago now, that ever since has completely shaped my life.  More on this at a later date, but it was this event that I was still getting over on the 26 March 2005, and the whole 'Bad Wolf' ethos really made sense to me; everything happens for a reason, you can't change the past (thank you Simba), but you can learn from it (and thank you Rafiki). 

I now regularly use the words 'Bad Wolf' as an identity; from my mobile's bluetooth, the name of my ipod and, of course, my blogging pseudonym.  Weird obssession?  Maybe.  But being The Bad Wolf reminds me why I am where I am, as well as allowing me to (ironically) be myself.  If I wrote this blog under my real name, I'd struggle to be 100% honest, as I'm one of those people that, if asked how I am, 9 times out of 10 I say 'fine thanks, you?', when really I'll feel like shit, or I'm suffering from raging pmt, or I'm stressed up to my eyeballs, or I just wanna have a bloody good cry please, and so on.

I am The Bad Wolf, and I can create myself - not a fictitious version of me, but the real me; free from the constraints of the name I was given at birth, by someone else, who had their own ideas on how I should live my life.  The words I take, and scatter in time and space are the very words I'm typing now which, thanks to the wonder of the Internet, can be read anywhere across the globe (providing there's a decent IP available), and can (unless this blog is forcibly evicted from www-land) be read now, in the present; later, in the future; or, if I publish this now (Saturday pm), and return on say, Tuesday, you dear reader (are you there?), may well have read it yesterday, in the past.  The words lead me here, to this blog, where the cycle starts all over again; which is rather convenient isn't it?  I like a nice tidy ending; ambiguity is equivalent to laziness, imho.

Really, I suppose all bloggers are 'Bad Wolves', in that we're all trying to create an identity for oursevles, and share it with the rest of the world via the Web.  But I am The Bad Wolf, and don't you forget it, lest I hunt you down, and give you  a swift nip.  My bite is defo worse than my bark...

BW xxx

PS, Bad Wolf Bay was where, at the end of Series Two, Rose and The Doctor (by now played by the love of my life, David Tennant) had to say goodbye, after the silly girl got herself trapped in a parallel universe.  With The Doctor on this side, and Rose on the other, the walls between universes were closing, and the last gap left through which they could speak was in Norway's Dårlig Ulv-Stranden - otherwise known as...  So I though it be an appropriate title for my blog; this is where I'm supposed to be.  Also, friend and Film lecturer Legend, cites the beach as a place of grief and loss, while I reckon the sea totally signifies wiping the slate clean, and starting again; so verrrrrrry relevant then.

PPS, the song in my head today; Missing You by The Saturdays.

Day One.

The first thing you should know is that I'm disabled...

I don't mean that 'disabled' is a definition of me - far from it - but sometimes being so defines how I live my life, the choices I make, and the blogs I shall hopefuly write from this point on.

Ok, so, the nitty-gritty.  I'm a 24 year-old Film student, currently studying for a Masters - which both excites and terrifies me in equal measures - and I live at home with my rapidly aging, but ever-supportive, parents. 

I'm currently terribly broody; not helped by the fact my best friend of 17 years, SH, has just given birth to THE most beautiful baby girl.  Of course, I'm not completely bitter, and am so unbelievably proud of SH I wake up every morningwith a stupid grin on my face, once that blissful moment of nothing-ness wears off.  Tbh, I think I've been broody for a while; possibly signified by the  craving I suddenly acquired for a Shih Tzu puppy (called either Marilyn or Alonso) about a year ago.

Anyway, I thought I should start up a blog as several people have said to me: 'cor, that's interesting, you should write a book', so here I am doing the next best thing.  That, and having to watch Julia & Julia (Ephron, 2009) and Secret Diary of a Call Girl (Prebble, 2007-present) for Film this week; so you could say I've been inspired by the likes of Meryl Streep and (my absolute idol - more on that later) Billie Piper, or by a fat woman and a hooker...

So that's a very brief summary of my rather complicated life, and for now that's all you're getting; things to do and all that jazz.  Hope y'all can stand the suspense till my return,

BW xxx

PS, I couldn't let my first ever blog post go by without saying the following: I Love David Tennant.  Not in a crazy, fan-girl, raiding his bins kinda way, I am actually deeply in love with the man.  Fact.