when harry met sally

I realised today that I really have neglected my blog over the last few weeks. Between wrapping up at O&L, trying to find a simple pair of black shoes and compiling an entire website for a friend, I have found myself barely scrapping together enough time to eat and sleep.
I can’t believe that I will be cleaning out my desk drawers and bidding farewell to the fabric industry in one week. It has taken its time in getting here but the end is nigh and that silver lining glows brighter with each passing day.
Finding black shoes – I don’t want to talk about it. How hard can it be in a city this size? Very.
The website went live today and was good experience but, after a succession of late nights, I’m feeling somewhat bleary eyed and ready for a weekend.
Anyway, now that we’ve re-connected I feel to move onto a matter far more trivial – the release of the final book in the Harry Potter series. I’m not an avid Potter fan but having recently watched the latest movie I feel a bit caught up in all the excitement.
People have been queuing for 3 days, according to the BBC, to be one of the first to get their sticky little “muggle” hands on a copy. While I paged through the sensationalists delight that is the London Lite paper, yesterday, my interest was sparked by an article based on this review. The New York Times ran a pre-release review which not only broke the terms of the publisher’s agreement regarding the book’s release date but also gave away significant detail about how the series ends. Does a good reviewer truly take satisfaction from ruining a book for millions of readers who can’t wait to escape to Hogwarts for one last time? Power-trip of note.
Apparently, Childline have requested extra volunteers for the next couple of weeks to cope with the expected influx of calls by youngsters who are psychologically affected by the end of the story. I think I’m going to write a response series called “Sally Porter – the Girl Who Cared about the Real Issues in the World” but I suspect I might not rival JK Rowling for the No.1 spot on the bestseller chart. Maybe I’ll just pretend I’m Sally Porter and leave it there.

not about me

As the days preceding my departure from O&L seem to drag out for, what feels like, years I find myself lying in bed in the mornings with a sense of dread at the thought of facing another day of monotony. Finding little meaning in my current situation I started reading “The Purpose Driven Life” again last night in an attempt to motivate myself through the next couple of weeks.
As my alarm sounded “Waaake me up…when September ends…” I felt no more inspired than previous mornings and after a 45min ‘snooze’ I scurried between bedroom and bathroom frantically trying to avoid a late login and the subsequent guilt that ensues.
My willingness to walk to work was overpowered by the wisdom that my legs are simply not long enough to get me there as quickly as I needed them to and I boarded a bus that, typically, required a driver change two stops later. Rather than wait, I jumped off and ran down the High St towards a bus for the 2nd leg of my journey (it really is far simpler to walk). Now in a total fluster, I breathlessly boarded a 485 for the short trip down Putney Bridge Rd and as I caught myself thinking that the world was out to get me I remembered today’s “Point to Ponder”: It’s not about me.
If it wasn’t about me then who was it about? I disembarked the bus and before I put my head down for my sprint to the office I turned to the bus driver and gave him a grateful wave and a half-smile. What happened next, catapulted me out of my melancholy. That bus driver’s smile beamed so wide that it instantly humbled me. There was someone who had been driving strangers around all morning, possibly not even realizing how much he yearned to be appreciated. His thankful smile altered my perspective and proved that true meaning is found in the impact, however small, our lives may have on others.

life on earth

Bleary eyed and unenthused by an early morning “trek”, 6 of us made our way to Wembley Park Stadium too early for a Saturday. Thanks to Steve’s urging we arrived an hour before the doors opened and as a result, found ourselves in the “pit” for the length of Live Earth - which meant we were VIPs for a day!
Okay, not exactly VIPs, but we were really close to the stage.
I woke up on Sunday feeling as though I had a hangover – despite avoiding alcohol altogether - but the dehydration and ringing in my ears was worth the numerous highlights of which there are just too many to mention.
After a leisurely breakfast along the Thames (in the sun!), Fox and I returned to his flat where I set myself up to scan the Sunday paper. Imagine my excitement when I opened to the second page and there, smiling among the Live Earth crowd, was Fox!

I know I was next to him, along with the others, but there are certain disadvantages to being 5ft2½.
As I continued paging through the Sunday Times, I came across this article that brought me to such despair that I could only finish reading it this morning. Maybe it’s because Africa is in my blood; maybe because I can’t turn a blind eye when I am aware of such need. I did a Google search to see what the world is doing about the crisis in Zimbabwe and was totally disillusioned by the lack of involvement. How can countries just stand back and watch an entire civilization starve to death when we all indulge in our excess? All of a sudden a concert to promote climate change seemed shallow when this immediate need is so much greater.
What will happen if no one takes a stand? We will watch as this beautiful African country, with its Falls so majestic, fades back into the red African dirt.
Africa is more than flaming sunsets and wild animals. It is a rugged land of people; real people who are suffering while the world continues to uphold everything that is superficial and meaningless.
I’m stirred.

"Now that I have seen I am responsible Faith without deeds is dead Now that I have held you In my own arms I cannot let go till you are... "
Brooke Fraser – Albertine