Running Out of Steam

Some days, I feel like I’m running out of steam. Through the week the train moved faster and faster and I feel better and better and then I hit Friday. The train out runs itself. I crash and I crash pretty hard. It’s becoming a reocurring theme but at least a pattern is emerging. Unlike last year, where it was completely unpredictable.

It’s my birthday next week but I don’t really care for it. I’ve been told it’s important but it just seems like something that’s stopping me from being happy right now. I have to hold off feeling comfortable and happy until then, for then, which is alienating me. I’d rather nothing happened that weekend so that I could see everyone this weekend and the weekend before ect.ect. I’ve got to some how last until December without spending more than a couple of days at home. Last year I had a week in October, this year, I’m pushing aside uni crap so I can have a weekend at home for my birthday but I wish it was longer. I don’t care about having longer for Christmas. I feel like I’m dying now, and I would sacrifice anything to have someone visit me. I would sell both wardrobes full of my clothes. I would give away all of my food (not that I have much left).

Pondering over this is going to make me sad. May be I’m already too late. Sometimes I love living alone in Falmouth and something it feels like I’ve made myself a prison and I have to live with the consequence in silence. I keep telling myself it’s less than a year left and then I can return home and never have to leave it again, but I know I’m going to miss it. I don’t expect anyone to read this pile of crap. I can feel my anxiousness catching up with me. It’s shit.

I need a hug.

Being a Pagan Student

This new academic year has begun and freshers has now passed. It was a hectic time for me and the other society council members as we put on the events and met the new pagan students of Falmouth Uni. By the end, I was asleep by 8pm and felt like death, narrowly deflecting Fresher’s Flu.

I had a hard think about what would be useful to the freshers. Being Pagan has a diverse meaning so we needed to cater to everyone. I recently saw an article about how freshers is all about drinking and it excludes new students, but that wasn’t the case at our uni, nor can I imagine that was the case at all. Our first event was a tour of the groups magickal, mystical and natural spots. I was pretty nervous throughout freshers as the society wasn’t really successful last year and I’d grown comfortable with the group. This year, we had freshers to get through and attract as many people as possible. The tour went well and lit up the imaginations of five freshers. We visited places such as The Grotto, a pond in the shape of a star with a war memorial near by, built by American Soldiers, surrounded by a tall wall of bamboo and near by a stream; a fertility statue built into a wall, hidden by trees, The Walled Garden, which encompasses an orchard; Tremough House Garden, a lovely italian-style garden which accompanies the old convent, and we ended with the Chaplaincy cottage, the hub of inter-faith relations.

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The Star Pond at The Grotto during the Chaplaincy Tour for Pagan Students

The second event we’d put on was a gathering for the Eclipse. I really did not expect 20-30 students to turn up, most of them with no idea on what was expected of them. I have never led a ritual for any more than three, so it was incredibly daunting and I didn’t intend to, as I’d written on the event ‘individual ritual/meditation’ so when everyone asked me what they were doing, I could have died. I did not come prepared, but I should have expected lots of non-pagans with no experience, really. The numbers after that fell, unsurprisingly. I apologise to those that thought I was going to lead a big dramatic ritual, with drumming circle, passing round a shisha pipe, chanting under the eclipsed moon, or whatever it is people do at festivals. In my mind, it was going to be something much more quiet and personal. The energy that was invoked however was amazing, a few other freshers picked up on it. I guess there really is strength in numbers.

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Just some of the students that turned up for the Lunar Eclipse gathering! 

The last freshers event we had was our Mabon feast. Mabon is the second harvest festival, a time for reflection, giving thanks and wining and dining yourself before winter comes around. It was a lot of fun. We went to Zizzi’s as it was easy, provided for lots of different dietary requirements and preferences and was no-fuss. We’d under booked.

As time goes on, as president I’m seeing a lot of pressure on me, again it was something I should have expected but coming from an ‘easy’ year or desperately trying to pull in members and not putting on any big events because of this, going from one extreme to the next was quite maddening, to fulfil spiritual duties. As president, everyone looks to you for advice and wisdom, something I’ve not before experienced. It was lovely though to see so many people interested in Paganism. Especially when I was told during my time as a fresher that it would not be popular. I’m having a lot of fun with this though and I’ve made a lot of new friends. It’s everything I was hoping for when I was a fresher.

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My new friends 😀 

xo

Transition: What I Did Last Summer

So, I’m back after a long stint away from the keyboard. I’m in my final year of university now and keeping myself incredibly busy. My modules are going pretty well, I believe that my novel should be finished by Christmas. After finishing the first draft and not looking at it for three years, I feel like I’ve now acquired the necessary skills to see what I was doing wrong and put it right. That was my purpose in coming to uni. It wasn’t like I came to Cornwall for the nightlife, or to get away from my family; or to throw money I don’t have in to an elitist institution for the fun of it. No, my aim was to have The Ascendant finished by the end of my stay here. However, my Novel Writing module seems to be just the catalyst I need to get the motions moving. It’s pretty damn exciting.

The summer, much like university, has been a time for transition too. I was working two very different jobs, I lost and found some core people in my life, not necessarily the same ones. It was a roller coaster from start to finish and yet, it didn’t really feel like anything happened. When I was asked what I did over the summer, all I was able to say was ‘work’, and yet, even just from work, I felt myself changing. It had been a couple of years since I’d been in a job and since that experience, I’ve not wanted to go back into retail, or employment. I didn’t like how vulnerable you were when working for someone. I didn’t like feeling like a punching bag for customers and the employer. I haven’t been back inside the shop since. I haven’t even been into the other ones I didn’t work at because all I thought of when I saw them was the bad stuff. How I’d cry, or fall asleep, or both, when I’d get home, if I was lucky. If I wasn’t, then I’d cry at work, making sure I’d shut myself away somewhere first. It can be hard to think of the good when there’s a lot of bad stuff about.

This summer, I was afraid it would happen all over again. I picked up some work as an Avon Rep, delivering to friends, family and the neighbours. I liked that job because I love make up, I liked not working for someone else and I liked meeting new people. That was the first step to gaining my confidence. The second was when my sister offered me a job at the pub where she works. I was hesitant and so anxious that I’d end up with a horrible boss and I’d have to plan a murder or something. Getting into the swing of things and getting to know my work mates took a bit of time but I did get confident and I was pretty good at what I did. The experience of earning money again was a thrill I had forgotten existed. However, I still didn’t have a large amount of money as seeing my friends and family was still top priority, despite having two jobs, because once you go to uni, you don’t really see much of people. You can’t afford to.

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My best friend Jess cheering me up on a night out after having a hideous time with a friendship break up. 

The best part was hanging out with my sisters. It’s somehow easy to forget how much you miss them when you’re busy working a lot and you realise just how much you’re not around to see. That’s the hardest part. I was able to have a lot of interesting bonding experiences with my family. The situation with my friends changed a lot too. It’s like the saying goes really: You win some and you lose some. I expected that if something like that ever happened, I would have been a lot sadder than I was. Don’t get my wrong, I was pretty hurt, but I felt a little prepared for it. Like all of the previous arguments we had had begun building up a wall for me. If it had come out of no where, it would have hurt a lot more. And at first I thought: ‘I don’t have any friends now’. Then I had to take a step back from what I’d been thinking, slap myself in the face, and tell myself to ‘Stop being stupid, you’ve got loads of mates’. And I started to talk to and hang out with them more, alongside my family and I realised that when people love you, they don’t expect you to have to put in a load of effort all the time and they appreciate it when you do. When you love them, you want to but it’s not always viable. I’ve tried to show the same patience people show to me, back to them. I feel more secure.

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My sisters et moi lunching in my final week back home

The last phase of this transition was moving house. Same landlord, different house and a lot more problems. Will I ever rent from a private landlord again? No. If being at uni has taught me anything, it’s that landlords are more than happy to rip you off a bit of dolla and they think they are in the position to do so. *

Reflecting over the summer, I see that I have changed. Maybe not physically, maybe not deep down in my soul (I’m still forgetful, forever tired, and at times have difficulty concentrating) but I am wiser. My plans are becoming clearer and I’m coming back out of the shell that I’d put up over the last year. Now I’m back at Falmouth, I’m feeling much better for it. How was your summer? Have you felt a change of self? xo

 

 

 

Feature Picture by Cummings Photography

*I’ll probably write up on this further in the year

Getting Drunk in Falmouth Town

Hello everyone, so, I have never blogged whilst drunk, not have I blogged past lunch time but I guess this is a first in both occasions considering it is 3am and I’m pretty drunk although I have sobered up a bit. I’m not sure what I really want to say in this post but I guess I should start at the beginning like most stories begin. I went out with a friend and her friends, it was a great night, however, we got separated after getting distracted by another friend coming in, however, she soon disappeared and I ended up alone. Sure, Falmouth town isn’t huge or anything and the crime rate is low, which was one of the reasons I was attracted to it, but ending up alone on a night out is shit and I felt crap.

I sat down on a step and was ready to accept the reality that that was probably going to be my bed. Then I saw another friend and I thought: ‘Yes! Maybe she can help!’ Nah mate, nah. Some guy starts grabbing my arm, asking me for a kiss. I tell him I’m not interested as I’m engaged. He grabs my hand and starts pulling on my bloody ring! There I was drunk and confused, with no idea what was going on but I did manage the words ‘get off me.’ He starts talking about how I cant let people tell me what to do; well, there we go. Hypocrite. Anyway, I stumbled on through town and the only friends awake had just gotten home. I went to the takeaway to try and sober up when he comes in and looks right at me. Luckily, he didn’t come over but I did get anxious. I grab my food and go. I sit down on a bench because I had too much food to carry (they really over filled it, it’s marvellous!) and yeah, I ate. I ate until a bloke came over and asked for something to smoke, but I don’t smoke. He asks for a light. Again, I don’t smoke. He sits down and tells me his mums passed and it’s her funeral tomorrow. I felt sad for him. He asks for my name and where I’m from, I tell him. ‘You’re from Yeovil? I come from Bridport!’

‘No way!’ I exclaimed. I was so happy, finally someone from back home. So we sat there and talked for maybe around half an hour, about home and it brought a real smile to my face. He mentioned a well known family from back home and I asked if he knew mine. ‘Nooooo. You’re a Wiltshire? You’re not!’

‘I am,’ I laughed. We both marvelled over Somerset and Dorset and he told me about how much better Somerset is to Cornwall and Devon. I agreed. He told me all these stories from around the home counties and it just made me want to go home even more. We agreed that Cornwall is lush, but it just ain’t home! Bless him, he kept thanking me for giving him the time of day (or night) but it was me that was thankful. I was sad, alone and ready to just give up, but he reminded me of who I am and where I come from and that’s something I need to remember more often.

He stood up at the end of a story, to leave and gave me a hug. He asked me if I had friends back home and I said I did. Stuff like that could never happen in Yeovil, and I was grateful for that group of absolute babes. He wished me home safe and thanked me again. I walked home crying tears of joy for finally meeting someone that was:

A. From back home way and knew what it was like to miss it as much as I did.

B. Was as drunk as I was.

C. Actually asked if I was ok.

I guess in writing this story, I’d like to give this bloke from Porthleven with the broken hand, a big thank you. He’s probably never going to read it, hell, I’d be surprised if anyone did, it’s just another drunk white girl rambling, but it’s really nice to know that there is kindness in this world. No matter what your background is, no matter what colours you’ve painted your past with, there will always be someone out there that will make your day, or night, so much better and will send you on your way with a smile. Thank you Mr. that stays in Haselbury Plucknett sometimes, I hope our chat has made tonight and tomorrow seem a little brighter for you.

Sam, that flower from Yeovil.

It’s a comfort to know that family has always got your back, even when they don’t realise it. No matter what kind of connotations a name brings, connections are connections and that’s what’s got your back when you’re drunk and depressed in the middle of town at 3am.

The Struggles of the Larger ‘Regular-Sized’ Woman

I don’t really know what I want to talk about today, but I know that I do. Maybe it’s a way for me to subconsciously put off my essay research, but I hope not.
I was just browsing Facebook when I came across a post from The Curvy Fashionista about the launch of a new store, Lovesick, and I really love the look of it. What I find most satisfying is when I see a store with models similar to my own shape and size, working their clothes. This is more common with ‘plus size’ stores, like Lovesick, than with shops that stock the ‘regular sizes’. Which I find odd, considering they usually begin in the UK at around 18, maybe even 16, but America is a bit different. Lovesick begins at ‘US10’, which is a UK 14. I myself am 12-14. And yet, many of the ‘plus size’ models, mainly in America, don’t look ‘plus size’, just like larger ‘regular sized’ women and I say larger, in comparison to the smaller women that the shops here use to advertise their clothes on.

It’s quite confusing really, seeing these great clothes on women that look like myself, but are not actually stocked in my own size because I’m ‘too small’; which makes me laugh due to all I’ve ever heard in my life, except for 1 time in a million, is how large I am. And while clothes for ‘regular sized’ women look great on the small models and the hanger, I can never tell what it will look like on me. Half the time shopping is a nuisance. My thighs are larger, in proportion to my hips and bum, and my boobs are much bigger than my waist. Shops don’t account for any of these factors and the models for ‘regular sized’ clothing don’t seem to struggle at all. The clothes seem to fit like a glove or a second skin. The same can be said really, for when some of my friends go shopping. It can be so frustrating seeing how successful try-ons are for them, when the dress I really like in my size won’t even go over my chest.

Or likewise with the tall ranges, which to me are a rare occurance, other than New Look, I can’t even think of one without looking at hideously over priced shops. I remember the excitement of finally finding a playsuit that didn’t produce both front and back wedgies. It was plain black and pretty basic, but I was so happy. I have had struggle after struggle in terms of length, where my torso seems longer, in proportion, to my legs. I remember a day I went in to Primark with one of my friends, of the ideal ‘regular-size’, and we tried on some stuff and I fell in love with a ridiculous looking playsuit covered in gigantic sunflowers, as is my style, and it only managed to reach half way up my chest, without causing unnecessary discomfort and camel-toe.

I dream of the day when women of many different sizes can be seen modelling clothes and this confusion of being a larger ‘regular sized’ woman is no more.

If you are a US10 + I’d definitely recommend looking at these clothes from Lovesick, they are so gorgeous and I’m quite jealous actually.

Day 2 of feeling shit

Today I’m going over things that were talked about last night; about weight, size and attractiveness. I don’t feel very beautiful today. I feel like I need a change of face and body. I feel like I don’t want to be me any more. I’m tired.

I’m perfect as I am, he says. Please don’t put on any more weight, he says. I wonder if he’d love me better looking like someone else. I feel like I could scream at myself but really, I just want to scream at someone. Someone that could change my mind. I feel awful. I don’t understand where all this awfulness is coming from. I wish I could understand better.

I wonder if my mum is free today. I’m sure she’d come and get me if she was. Oh wait, no. She’s not. I’m so lonely. Maybe this is what this is. I think I really will post all of this today. I feel desperate. I don’t really know what else to say. I need something in my life but I don’t know what it is. A life maybe, to begin with. I don’t even know who I am. I’m a mess. I want to be able to enjoy things other people enjoy. It’s like life and everything in it has worn me down so much that I’m just this weak and fragile thing. I don’t even know what I like to do. I don’t have anything in my life that I enjoy. Who the fuck am I!???? I hate it. I hate… I can’t even go in to it.

Day 1: Cracking Up

I feel stressed. Really fucking stressed. Or rather, distressed. Very distressed. The thought of finding time is always distressing. I can’t function against time. Days aren’t long enough and I’m always tired. I’m tired now as I hurriedly type out this blimin’ paragraph of who knows what. I’m trying to get uni work done, despite having little motivation to do so. The thought of writing something is not even a shadow in my mind. The thought of reading is more objectifiable, but only of Armadale. All my other reading looks relatively dull. Then there’s the pressure that I feel from everyone to get a job, so I decided to go off of my own innovative and become an Avon representative. I’m excited and confident. However, I’m still getting put down for it. As usual, I hear the words: Nothing I ever do is good enough. There are still people trying to push me towards other jobs for the summer. There are still people trying to push me for an answer about what I want to do with my life. I’m lost. I’m always fucking lost. That’s nothing new to me. Then there’s the fact that I’ve been home for nearly three weeks. I have done vary little worth remembering.

I was repeatedly disappointed with the amount of time I got to spend doing things with George. I’m disappointed with how little I saw of my family. I’m disappointed with how little work I have done. However, it’s still a considerable amount more than last Easter, I believe. Although, anything was more than last Easter but I believe I did next to nothing. My nerves are shot and some days I just lie awake hoping for some kind of death to take me. And last night I looked like an absolute idiot, bursting out into tears when George and I were supposed to be going to sleep because of how awful I felt during the day. Feeling like I have no skill, no purpose in this life is awful. I feel absolutely fucking worthless. I don’t want to be a waster. I don’t want my life to be a baron one with nothing worth mentioning in it. George was lovely and comforted me, but even he has prospects. He knows where he wants to go and he’s useful. He’ll earn lots of money and he’ll do what makes him happy, even if I don’t and can’t understand it. He says I’m still learning my trade but no one believes I can do it, no one but him. Or at least I hope he does. I mean, I can’t ever be certain of anything. I’m not a mind reader. I often think that I’m empathetic but I can’t even be sure of my own beliefs. I’m so used to being shot down that I have no confidence in myself and what I can do. ‘Heads in the clouds’, ‘chasing the butterflies and faeries’, I get told. So the moment I come up with ‘real’ suggestions, I get shut down for not having higher hopes. I can’t fucking win in this piece of shit we call life.

I’ve been doing so well. I’ve been happy. I got out with my friends, despite the hideous specimen they still choose to associate themselves with. I still hate her. I hated her two years ago. And I’ll hate her for twenty more. The last thing I need in my life, with all this stress, is a spiteful bitch thinking she claims the time to ‘best friend of the year’. She’s no one’s friend, she’s an asshole. And then she complains and wonders why she has no friends, which in itself is a lie because for some reason, people still invite her out, even though she doesn’t deserve the kindness. George is so supportive of me, bless him. I would have gladly not have gone out and told her to go choke on a dick.

I want to make a difference. I don’t want my suffering to be for nothing. I don’t know how to help though and I don’t even know whom I want to help. I only know that I want to write. I don’t know what to write though. Not when the people that mean the most to mean can’t even be bothered to read my shit. I just don’t understand where I’m meant to get this sudden confidence from. Everyone seems to expect me to, well, I don’t even know what people expect. They expect me not to fail and have pride in myself, but they don’t expect me to do anything notable. They don’t think I can reach the stars. When people are constantly picking faults, how do you look beyond them? I grew up being told from the get go, that I couldn’t sing and would never get to perform like in my dreams. I was told dreaming was bad and that I wouldn’t get further than emptying bins in school by a teacher. An English teacher, funny enough. If I ever become a teacher, I’d encourage it. Maybe when they become an adult, they wouldn’t feel as depressed as I do. Maybe they would feel as though they were actually meant to be on this planet. I was told that I was fat. I was told that I was clumsy. I was told that hurt people. I was told I was too soft. Too emotional. I was told that I was too tall. I was told that I had no friends. I was told that I was ugly. Many times, actually. I was told that I have no common sense. That I can’t think properly. I’ve been told that a person rarely grows beyond their family circumstances. I refused to believe that. I try to refuse to believe a lot of these things and sometimes I win. Today, I am losing.

My head is swimming. I don’t want to go back to Falmouth, although I know I need to. I’ve spent the last three weeks wishing I could go back. I find coming home too stressful. I find being at university too stressful. I find being alive too stressful.

As a kid I was told that I had nothing to stress about. That I was just being silly. I was told this as a teenager too. And now, as an adult, I am still being silly. I’ll probably die of old age and silliness.  You hear of this kind of silliness causing heart attacks but they don’t call it silliness then. They call is stress. But they only call it stress, usually, when you get older. As a child, or a young person, it’s just silliness. However, no matter what age I get to, or was, I could always produce a long list of all the things that I am, or was, stressed about. I never expected someone so unlike myself to understand the stressors. How could they? They aren’t me and they don’t live my life. More often than not, they barely even listen to what it is that is trying to strangle me and most often than not, I can’t produces the sounds to describe it.

I feel a bit better now that I have spouted out all of this nonsense. I should probably see a counsellor again when I get back. It doesn’t so me any favours to have it all locked up in my head, preparing my brain for an explosion. I’m undecided about whether I will post this. It feels far too personal to post to my blog but at the same time people don’t know about your troubles if you don’t talk about them and people won’t talk to you if they don’t know your troubles and you won’t feel better until you have talked so it looks as though that’s my only option. I do think logically, or at least I try to. If you read this, for whatever reason… I don’t even know how to end this. I don’t even know whom I am writing to anymore. Myself, or the hopeless fool that lands their eyes on this page.

The 7 Wonders of Yeovil

Guess who’s back? Back again? Yes. I am back home. I’ve been back for a few days but my laptop screens got screws loose… or missing… and so I’ve been a bit cautious about whipping it out. Now I’m at George’d dads and there’s a desk, I can finally write! Yay! So, this is my introduction. I was at uni, it was my last week before coming home for Easter and my friend told me that she’d read ‘How’d you write about Yeovil?‘ and loved it. She asked me how I found so much to write about our ‘little’ home town and the cogs in my dusty brain started turning for another piece. Yeovil and it’s 7 wonders and yes, there are seven, I counted.

So, I’ll firstly give you the list, and then I’ll explain:

  1. Taunton
  2. Neo
  3. Takeaway Alley
  4. Yeo Lesuire Complex
  5. Yeovil Country Park, AKA Ninesprings
  6. Wyndham Street

Here we have it and if you disagree, lets agree to disagree. If you can count to more than seven, then I’m real proud of you.

  1. Taunton is ‘the heart of Somerset’. Yeovil ‘has the mind of a city, the heart of a town’. But I think that 98% of people living in this pretend city, would rather live in the heart of Somerset, eh? It’s retail centre is much bigger and more popular than ours, this in itself has various advantages. It’s night life is pretty good, from what I last experienced a few years ago. And, as far as I’m aware, You never want to kill anyone from Taunton. All the people you could possibly hate live in Yeovil, so Taunton is agro free for most yeovilians. Taunton is Yeovil’s wonder and is only a 40-minute-drive-ish away, so it’s not all that bad.

 

 2. Neo is a wonder in itself. Now, I was going to write a separate review of Falmouth’s night life but I think it’s important that I have something to compare Yeovil’s night life to. I know you’re all groaning. Neo, and Yeovil, is crap, blah blah blah. But it’s our crap, and that’s what’s most important. You go out on your Friday or Saturday night, or both if you’re one of those warriors I mentioned in my previous article, no matter where you start, nine and a half times out of ten, you will end up in Neo. No matter how much you complain and cry in the toilets at Wetherspoons, you can not fight the magnetic pull. At night, Neo is the centre of the universe. Everyone knows it’s crap and yet no one can never say no. What choice do you have? Well, I’ll tell you.

I went out for the first time to ‘Club I’ (That stands for Club International’ in Fali. I was told to brace myself before going in and I was right to. I didn’t realise that there were two flights of stairs I had to walk up before getting into the club. At the end of the night, I watched a man fall down those stairs. Be thankful that Neo isn’t a health risk. On getting into the club, I realised that I was paying £2 for a mouthful of Archers and lemonade. There was no seated area, there were no podiums, poles, or massive ‘stage’ type deal, all of the peasants were thrown in together. It was barbaric. There were no bouncers around that I could see. And the animals took their drinks on the dance floor! You don’t get any of that Neo. After that night, I couldn’t wait to get back to Yeovil. You don’t need to use your hips and elbows as weapons just to create some kind of space to dance in. So, Neo is a whole different planet and it’s the only one Yeovil’s got. It brings so many different types of people together. The old, drunken men covered in glow sticks; girls in dresses barely suitable to be underwear, caked in make up to hide the youth in their faces, the men that go to impress these women, I could go on with the list of descriptions.

3. Takeaway Alley. How many towns do you know with it’s very own food quarter? 99% of Just Eat orders probably come from this one road. And it’s had a song written about it. One bands experience of Yeovil and Takeaway Alley was so bad that they actually wrote a song about it. It’s pretty folky, so it might not be to everyone’s taste, but just take a look at ‘Yeovil Town‘ by Show of Hands and listen carefully to the lyrics. In 10-20 years, I don’t think it’s actually changed. I went to New York a few years back and I know it’s hard to make a comparison, but one could say that Takeaway Alley is our own Little Italy, or Chinatown.

4. The Yeo Leisure Complex. I can barely even spell it, but it’s that area where the Nuffield gym is right in front of Pizza Hut. An accident? I think not. I associate Nuffield members with fearlessness and stomachs of steel, but I think the common conception of Nuffield is beefcakes and gym selfies on Snap Chat. You’ve also got the bowling alley which changes name so often that I’m not even sure what it’s called right now. All I’m aware of is that the alleys keep breaking and even the owners given up pumping money into it. I always have liked a good game of bowling though and the name has only changed like, three times. I guess the over priced cinema should also get a mention. But that’s all I can think to say about it. I love going to the pictures but I’d rather save money and go to a cinema in any other town but Yeovil. I hear Dorchester’s deals are perfect.

The Nolasco

5. Ninesprings is the location of summer in Yeovil. It’s a rite of passage in childhood because the park is ace. You’ve got ducks but don’t let your kids go near the swans. They’re feisty buggers, as one of my  younger sisters learnt when I told her to go up to one, when we were kids. For many teens, it’s where you go for the odd cheeky sexual encounter away from the parents, or just a lovely date if you’re more Yeovilite than Yeovilian. Ninesprings is lush though. It’s the place in Yeovil that could still be described as natural.

6. I’ve put Wyndham Street down as the last one. For some reason, Wyndham is broken up all over the place. You’ve got Wyndham Park, Wyndham Hill, Wyndham Street , Wyndham Court but it reflects one side of town. Wyndham street it just around the corner from takeaway alley and all kid of stories are generated on this one part of town. Due to the grotty secrets that it hides, it’s not really considered a part of the town centre, despite people local to Wyndham Street wishing it was. For now it’s just home to Domino’s, a polish shop and a notorious brothel, which, despite the police repeatedly shutting it down, comes back like a weed. I’d love to one day see this road become integrated with town life again.

So that’s the 7 wonders. I didn’t tell you they’d be pretty, or ugly. I just told you they were wonders. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading and if you’ve got any thoughts on what your own 7 Wonders of Yeovil are, pop them down in the comments! Cheers for reading! x

 

How’d you write about Yeovil?

First things first: take advantage. When you title your work, be sure to use a shocking title to highlight the absence of education and sensibility. Refer to words such as ‘chav’, drugs’, ‘immigrants’, ‘over populated’, ‘criminal’, ‘beat up’, ‘charity shops’, ‘teen pregnancy’, ‘traffic chaos’, ‘Yarlington’ and ‘ugly’. When referring to ‘The People’, you must distinguish clearly between those raised and born in Yeovil, although, those in other areas of Somerset may be included, except Chard and Bridgwater (those areas don’t count) and foreigners, most commonly Polish folk.

Do not feature an intellectual on the cover unless they are popular and have in some way, tried to better the living conditions in Yeovil. By no means should it be a councillor or a local politician; book burnings would be frequent. Instead, you must go with either the working class hero that is known for their thick, homely accent or a hugely famous and widely loved celebrity that has visited Yeovil, such as any actor or actress of ‘TOWIE’.

In your text, you need to talk about Yeovil as if it were the only place in Somerset, because it is. Nowhere else is worth mentioning, and Bath and Bristol aren’t really in Somerset so there’s no need to worry about them.  Taunton rivals Yeovil so it’s best not to mention them unless you’re ready for a civil war. Just close your eyes and hope they go away. Yeovil is developing. It’s all consuming. Soon all of the surrounding villages will become one with Yeovil. It is Somerset’s mother. You must mention its deep history: its glove factories, its place in the War. Take car not to mention the deteriorated state of the ‘stink’ factory though. Nobody needs to know that it’s a drugs den. It’s a big town with a population of more than 45,000 and it’s rapidly increasing. We’re close to being a city. You must include the football team but leave out the unnecessary description of the stadium and bad parking in residential areas every Sunday due to these battles that Yeovil can never win. Paint the people as ambitious football fans.  Your reader won’t care about the particulars, as long as they know that there are lots of big, strong athletic people, that should be enough to keep them reading. You must begin your research with the Facebook pages: ‘Yeovil ‘Real’ News’, ‘Yeovil…A Trip back to the Past’, ‘Buy and Sell Yeovil’… the places you will find true, factual information about Yeovil and its inhabitants. It’s a booming economic success and The Quedam is its shopping capital. Yeovil is far enough away from the levels to avoid any threat of flood although all weathers that hit are considered unsavoury. These are all good things to include in your writing.

Construction Gold
An actual image of Yeovil’s expansion. It’s happening. Be afraid. 

Make sure you inform the reader about the night life and the warrior lifestyle that the youths of Yeovil endure every weekend. Neo is the academy for youth, where they will dance until they are pouring with sweat, upon poles above the ordinary class of people. It is where they will drink liquids you could only dream of, from a simpler time. It is where they attract their mates, after an extensive period of pluming themselves at home and walking in shoes that make walking on glass look comfortable. Neo is the end trial of a number of tests, including Wetherspoons and Karma. If your characters make it through all of the trials, a trip to Charcoal Grill will be the ultimate reward, other kebab shops will do though. You must reflect on how delicious their kebabs are to those poor souls that have endured such a night of tests and trials. Yes, Yeovil’s youths are the strongest of Britain’s young but they are modest and therefore, will not acknowledge their strength. Those that do are not worth mentioning unless you are looking to create a villain for your story. There are plenty of villains worth bringing up in your story set in Yeovil.

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A group of young Yeovil warriors embarking on their final trial, Neo, after barely making it out of Wetherspoons alive on a Saturday night.

Taboo subjects would be showing appreciation of the road works which are wrecking havok through the town, the lack of independent businesses operating in the town centre and UCY (University Centre of Yeovil). UCY is a forsaken ground that is frowned upon by any respectable, ambitious young person. To talk of higher education is not generally done. Assume that everyone has dropped out of education as soon as they were legal to do so, although the juiciest stories come from those that dropped out long before legalities.

Include a love story, perhaps that develops between the single young parents of a baby or between two drugged up lovers that declare their hatred of each other loudly in the bandstand because they have been banned from The Quedam. You may also include a battle between parents and teachers over pupil illnesses, holidays, general scruffiness and rudeness. Your readers will love to hear about the treachery committed by teachers to their pupils at one of Yeovil’s local youth prisons.

You must talk sarcastically and discuss how much you hate Yeovil and can’t wait to get away from it because that is that your readers will expect from you. If you oppose this tradition, your writing will fail. Yeovil is not a place where the sun is always shining. Despite the lack of floods, it is not a pleasant place. It would take a true visionary to change the opinion of masses. You should probably explain early on whether you are right wing or left wing but do not state ideas that are too radical. ‘slightly’ will be the key word to use here. Otherwise you may attract a readership that you do not want and many of your potential readership will not understand a word you say. Regardless of political intention, you must talk about Yeovil’s failures and how the new generations are ruining it. You must talk about how nobody wants to live here but no one ever really gets out; unless they move away up north, because the people are southern and southerners have issues adjusting to any lifestyle that includes removing oneself from bed.

The Maths Of Feeling Lonely

I read The Age of Loneliness by An Author’s Life, and this is supposed to be a bit different but aware of the mentioned text. I don’t know how to mould the content so I’ll just have to see where it takes me.

So, unsurprisingly this is today’s topic because I woke up feeling lonely today. I’d spent this weekend staying with one of my best mates from home who attends Plymouth University. There were laughs and there were tears. All in all, it was a great weekend. I find loneliness one of the most frustrating feelings of all though. I wake up without George (the fiancé) every morning and it’s lonely. I go about my morning, getting ready and doing work by myself. That get’s pretty lonely too. The afternoon progresses, I might see people on campus. I might get a phone call from George, I might actually have social plans formed and yet, but that point, in can be pretty hard to know when to turn that switch off.

And I know, it’s not just me. This weekend alone, I realised that a lot of people around me feel it too. Being around people can be a distraction but when the distraction is over, you are left with yourself and for some people, that can be pretty damn scary. Some people say that the outside world is scary but I believe that our own minds are even scarier. At the end of it all, you are born alone and you die alone. There’s one voice alone in your head. It’s the internal that can be most dangerous.

View loneliness as a warning bell.

When you feel so sad that you can’t do anything and the silence gets too much, and the lack of company gets too much, it’s time to go find some. That’s not always something you can do, like me waking up alone in the morning. That’s something I have to endure until George visits again. But there are times when you can do it. If you’re at home, watching stuff or playing games, whatever it is, go and seek out those you live with. Parents get taken far too easily for granted. They are there to help you and they’d probably tell you you were being silly if they saw you choosing to remain alone when you are feeling lonely. Being around people doesn’t always help satisfy it, but it certainly can help. Especially when they are people that you are close with and trust. If they aren’t, then perhaps don’t bother with them.

last supper

The issue with loneliness is that it comes in so many forms. Moving away, losing a partner, losing friends, being overloaded with work, losing a pet, and there are probably  loads more. Loss in general is enough to trigger loneliness, whether someone walks away or is taken from you, a hole, no matter how big or small, will open up in your life. Equally, other big events can make you feel lonely as you’re having to replace sociality with whatever is currently consuming your time. Social media and virtual experiences of people, aren’t enough to satisfy the need for actual human contact. 

I was going to call this ‘The Art Of Feeling Lonely’ However, loneliness isn’t like over thinking. It’s not something that takes you to places, regardless of if you want to go there. Loneliness just happens. It’s not tied to age or experience. At the age 6 I felt lonely. At the age of 15 I felt lonely, and now, nearly 21, I feel lonely. I’m dead sure that it won’t be the last time that I feel lonely either. So, I’ll call it an equation of maths instead, where loneliness is a feeling of subtraction in your life. Something has been taken away which has made you feel this void. It might even not be something you’re aware of. The subtracted could be you. Before this feeling, you may have enjoyed being alone. It’s something that many people are good at; but then something happens inside yourself and you realise that you don’t enjoy your own company any more. It happens.

The thing with maths, is that you can add things to your sum. When you feel something has been subtracted, add something, or someone. Experiment. The numbers you add don’t have to be huge, or daring. They don’t have to feel like a leap. There’s no point in over compensating. Do the maths that you can do and the loneliness should take care of it’s self.

Thanks for reading everyone (: See you soon xx