I finally read the damn book

Dear reader, it’s the long awaited Andy Kershaw book review. Can you even bear the excitement? So, after much anticipation, what did I think about it?

I FLOVED IT.

THE END.

I’m just joshing you… of course I have more to say than that (although it does neatly sum up my feelings in a nutshell). Basically, this post is going to be me fangirling like some psychotic teenage beiber fan over a broadcaster and journalist who is two decades older than me.

So why am I mad about the Boy Kershaw?

Well, for starters, the book is beautifully written. I’ve stayed up past 1am every night since I got this book because I’ve been so hooked on it. From birth Andy was intelligent and inquisitive about the world. He learned about space and flights to the moon and studied up on the JFK assassination – by the age of eight. He wrote pieces and took photos for motorbike racing magazines and was offered a job as a journalist before he had even left for university (and oh, how I envy him for that - R.I.P teenage dreams of being a journalist).

Andy’s passion and enthusiasm leaps off the page. Whether it’s music, motorbikes, travel or women – he embraces it fully and lives very much in the moment of joy (sometimes to his detriment). It’s obvious from the book that Andy is a lot of fun to be around. What he chalks up to as luck I would say is his fizzing energy and charisma. As someone who is so shy that my personality is in constant danger of folding in on itself, I love being around big ‘characters’ and Andy is a wonderful shining planet drawing all objects around him into his orbit.

It’s also clear that the guy was a hottie in his youth.

Hubba hubba, it's hipster Andy.

Yes, it’s a shallow thing to note but I wouldn't be human if I didn’t pay attention to these things (mullet notwithstanding).

He rightly calls out Bob Geldof for not including African artists on the Live Aid/Live8 bill. He describes the shambolic nature of presenting live aid which includes this highlight here of Andy interviewing Sting, Phil Collins and Howard Jones.

He’s incredibly funny. That’s a FACT.

I love a good celebrity anecdote and the book is chock full of them. Yaaaay! He’s met a huge amount of incredibly famous people and the encounters he describes are fascinating. Some celebrities also find Andy fascinating such as Little Richard who lustfully chases a young, handsome Andy around a radio studio!

I was cheering Andy on and rooting for him all the way.  I was a huge Radio 1 fan so I loved peeking behind the curtain and reading up on the 'behind the scenes' tales Andy recalls.  I didn't know about his friendship with John Peel and the working relationship they had so reading about it was really interesting.  Andy manages to pay homage to Peel while also stripping away the mythology that has built up around him.

Andy writes with great affection about John Walters, his mentor and producer, who kept things running Room 318 and who acted as saviour when malign influences conspired to close Andy or John down.  You get a keen sense of loss when John Walters passes away leaving Andy bereft of his mentor and friend. 

The book keeps building and building like waves crashing over bigger waves until the chapter on his breakdown where Andy's life takes a giant swerve towards imminent disaster. Thankfully, Andy pulls his life back together and I admire him deeply for that.  I found Andy's rides through his ups and downs to be truly inspirational.  His thoughts and memories have been sloshing around in my brain for a few days now.  I found myself becoming attached to all of Andy’s friends (whatever happened to Anna Jenkins? Poor love) who shared in his adventures and who he obviously holds in great affection.  I feel like I've lived his life in a vicarious way. 

Is there any chance Andy googles himself? Cos I wanna point at my blog and go:

LOOK AT MEH! I WUVS YOU

Actually, it’s probably better he doesn't see this – I’d scare the crap out of him.

In summation, his book is pure amazingness and you should all read it now.

current affairs keeps getting currenter and I can't keep up

I’ve already noted twice already that I can’t do current events blogging and yet I keep going back to the well because I can’t help myself. But I need to face facts. I can’t keep up with the news because stuff KEEPS happening.

News is still unravelling on the Oslo killings therefore rendering my meagre one post obselete. Or at least it needs further commentary because I can't just leave it at one post can I? It seems sloppy and lazy not to follow through on the story and I feel the need to be on top of it so I can get the last word in.

I'm just going to have to surrender to the fact that I'm crap at news blogging.

I'd much prefer to leave commentary to writers who are vastly more skilled at this than I am like the awesome Charlie Brooker whose Oslo article is a welcome read.

As for the terrorist himself… well, turns out he was fond of websites by the abhorrent Pamela Gellar and made contact in the UK with the English Defence League. Perhaps we could start to properly condemn these groups and organisations as dangerous and extremist, and deny them a media platform for their anti-muslim hate speech rhetoric? Just a thought.

And that is all I have to say on that.

In other news, guess what came in the post on the weekend?

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!

I abandoned my library copy of ‘the junior officers’ reading club’ pretty sharpish (and I was glad too - the soldier jargon was wearying) and I’ve been immersed in the Boy Kershaw’s world ever since.

And it is sooooooooooo effin good. I’m possibly considering writing a fan letter full of embarrassing fangirl praise – it’s that good. Will blog about it when I’m done.

Until then it’s cheerio from me.

Oslo

I’ve already said before that I’m no great shakes at blogging about current affairs but I feel I must address the Oslo tragedy. Yesterday when I watched the news, I only saw the bombed buildings with a fatalities tally of two. Today, I switch on the news and I see that there was a shooting at a youth camp driving up the total body count to 91 (so far - if you were to add up the bombing and shootings total). It’s completely horrific and my heart sincerely goes out to the victims and people of Norway.

Although I must admit when I saw the first pictures of the shattered building fronts and fallen debris, there was a tiny voice in my mind saying ‘please don’t let it be Muslim terrorists, please don’t let it be Muslim terrorists…’ I’ve had enough self-detonating lunatics dragging my religion through the mud and the weary sense of dread of whatever islamophobic backlash that may be coming my way. I can only wait for the dust to settle and people’s anger to die down for me to return back to a life without fear of reprisal.

It’s inevitable that everyone’s fingers were pointed at Islamist terrorists (and I can’t really blame anyone for doing so) and the speculation began in earnest on the news channels and the internet but it turns out, ‘fundamentalist anti-Muslim Christians’ are the suspects. The tiny voice in the back of my mind is sighing with relief. Totally selfish I know but when global events directly affect your day-to-day life you take a different view on things. I don't want to sound like a dispassionate bitch though and I comprehend that my feelings are molecular in size compared to the grief and sadness of people affected by these atrocities.

‘Christianity’ is trending on twitter and with it the sentiment of ‘ban all religion’. Christians must now defend their faith from the twisted ideologies of extreme far right perpetrators although I get the feeling they will be able to distance themselves more clearly than us Muslims have been able to from our demented counterparts. I’m curious to see how this will be represented in the media. Meanwhile, from the rubble and ruins, a country shaken to the core must rebuild their lives.

It’s not fair, is it?

reading and ting

Oh hai!

I’ve decided to have a jaunty little picture post cos you know... because. I have a crappy 2 megapixel camera phone and I keep saying to myself I’ll one day buy a proper digital camera (inshallah) but until that day happens, I’m using my camera phone.

I went to the library last week and picked up a small stack of books. I wanted to bring more but I couldn't lug heavy library books around when I still had shopping to do. I’m currently reading Memoirs of a Geisha. I adore the film but hadn’t read the book which I’ve felt guilty about so I’m finally reading it to see what I missed from the book-to-screen adaptation. So far? I prefer the film. Heresy, I know but the writing isn’t living up to what I’d expected. I’ve yet to finish it though so I’m still reserving judgment.

I learnt how to make a pretty origami bookmark for all my books. When I worked in a school, I got shit ton of free bookmarks but they’re all over the place in my room so I can only find a few at a time. No more receipts or bits of tatty paper for me, no sirree bob!

Momentary paranoia in library

I hand over my library card to check out books.

The librarian scans my card.

I assume my details come up but the screen is facing away from me.

Librarian #1: look at that. *nods to screen* that's weird.

Librarian #2: yeah, that is weird.

Me: o_O TELL MEH WHAT’S WRONG!!!11

I didn’t actually ask what was wrong because I’m way too shy and embarrassed to ask but now I’m wondering what she saw and it’s going to nag me till the end of time. Thanks paranoia-inducing librarian chick!

There was a sale in Boots and I bought this awesome bracelet with a cute little bird pendant for £2.50 BARGAIN!! The feathery looking things are hair clips which I'm hoping to wear as a hijab ornament. It was also on sale but I can't remember the price.

I’m a massive fan of Simon Armitage. The man can’t write a bad poem. ‘Seeing Stars’ is wonderful. I’m enjoying letting every word sink into my brain.

Wiki ~Fee~ dia

I still haven’t got the Andy Kershaw autobiography yet but I’ve been listening to the Daily Bacon podcast over and over again, marvelling each time at the chaotic nature of the interview between Andy and Richard. Andy was on fine form and talking ten to the dozen while Richard steered the interview through its many twists and turns with good humour. Great fun to listen to. I love listening to Richard Bacon on 5live as well as radio 4, radio 4 extra, 5live, 6music and Asian Network. Since getting a digital telly, I’ve been listening to a lot more radio programmes and discovering the joys of radio as entertainment rather than just listening for the music.

But I digress. Andy got me recalling some memories of my own. I remember as a little girl declaring to my mum that I was going to write an autobiography (yes, I was that precocious and annoying). Would the seven year old girl that was me be very disappointed to meet the adult I am now? I would veer toward a ‘yes’ but even as a child I felt the keen disappointment of an unfulfilled life. My head was stuck in Famous Five books and I yearned for adventure which never came. I didn’t have any crazy uncles who owned a private island. I didn’t have any friends who went camping in the hills drinking bottles of ginger beer. My friends were lame. I was lame.

But life isn’t really about that is it? All that gallivanting and adventure? Maybe I’ve set the goalposts a lot smaller but I think it’s the tiny details that can be just as significant as the ‘big’ moments in one’s life.

My life is as insignificant as a dust mote. But it’s still my life and it means something to me.

So I want it noted somewhere, even if it’s just a tiny, unvisited corner of the internet, the puzzle pieces of my memory that helped to form me as a person. A reminder to say you were here; you lived and breathed and mattered.

Let’s take a walk down memory lane. I’ll start with a few childhood memories:

v Your first trip abroad that you can remember was to Bangladesh when you were five yrs old. One of the maids (or ‘helpers’ as my nana made everyone call them) held you over the apartment balcony where you were three or four floors up. You honestly thought she was going to drop you and cried until nani (grandma) came and scolded the maid. This might be the reason why you’re afraid of heights and can’t even stand on a chair without feeling your ankles might break.

v Your favourite teddy bear came from a summer fete. You wanted the pink one but because your brother knew that he immediately wanted it for himself. You made a deal and traded it for a yellow and orange one which became your treasured possession. You came into your room one day and found it hanging from the doorknob with a noose round its neck. Brother could be heard laughing in the next room.

v You still hadn’t learnt your lesson from the previous point. You were given a marigold plant to care for. You watered it with your own pink watering can everyday and even talked to it. The plant flourished and was ready for planting. You were excited to plant it with your dad. Your brother suddenly declared that he wanted to plant your marigold. You were so upset and angry about your brother trying to take over something that you cherished and which meant nothing to him that you threw the plant in the trash. It hurt you to see it lying there and it was taken out and eventually planted in the garden by your father. Life lesson learnt: never openly declare your love or passion for anything because people will just want to take it away from you.

v You still can’t watch ‘The Thief of Baghdad’ without being scared senseless. Same thing goes for any ray harryhausen movie. You saw a school programme on religious festivals which fuelled a lifelong fear of religious statues.

v As a child there were two places on earth you wished to visit: Mecca and Disneyland. By 14 years old, you had accomplished both. This reminds you of your privileged upbringing and how lucky you have been.

v Your first memories are of when you lived in Talgarth, Wales. All your memories are bathed in a haze of yellow sunshine. It always seemed sunny. You lived in a big house which had a cricket pitch over the garden wall. A stream ran at the bottom of the front garden. You collected conkers from the tall oak trees by holding up the hem of your dress. You played poohsticks at the bridge and watched your twig floating downstream just like in the Winnie the Pooh books. You got a scar in your eyebrow because your brother's friend threw a sharp pebble at you (stupid little git!). There was a family whose son played with your brother. You remember seeing the mother walk barefoot on the gravel drive and wondering how painful that was. They had a bathtub filled with goldfish at their house. It seemed magical to you.

v You remember the first school friend you had. It hit you like a lightning bolt the moment you saw her walking in late to reception class. You were close friends until she moved school. Her parents came to visit the house once. Your mum wanted to show them the new wallpaper in your bedroom. You could hear them coming up the stairs with your mum. They stopped outside your bedroom door while your friend’s dad read out the extremely pedantic bedroom entrance rules tacked on your door, which you had written specifically for your boundary-encroaching brother (‘knock three times and wait until permission before entering!!!’ ‘You may not enter without permission!!!’). Hearing the rules being read aloud in a deadpan voice had you almost eating your fist to stifle the giggles as you stood behind your bedroom door. It was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. You’re no longer in touch and your friend’s dad passed away a few years ago but you dearly wish you could tell this story to your long lost friend. It was one of many happy memories that you cherish.

The Week That Was

It’s been a funny old week, eh?

And by funny I mean incredibly sinister.

For anyone living in the UK, the News of the World scandal is dominating the news. I can’t really blog eloquently on the situation (I’m sure there are other bloggers out there writing this up in a much more coherent way than I ever could) but basically it’s corruption, lies and cover ups in the NOTW, the police and politicians. The whole situation stinks to high heaven and the NOTW has been shut down as damage control but surely heads need to roll? Namely, Rebekah Brooks? Why is she still in her job? Is it to do with the fact that she goes horse riding with David Cameron at the weekend? That she has Rupert Murdoch protecting her? And we wonder why we’re so cynical. People at the top have a knack of walking away from disaster with their hands clean while an entire staff get handed their P45. It’s beyond disgusting. Ugh.

I can barely keep up with news rolling. I’d be the worst news blogger. Now, there’s an East African crisis. Bad weather and drought means that vast numbers of people are starving.

Are people in a giving mood?

With the Pakistan flood appeal it felt like people weren’t as giving because they didn’t understand the nature of the disaster and there wasn’t any attention grabbing news footage to tug at the heartstrings. Thankfully, the Pakistani community stepped up to raise money which I saw in my own community. I have many Pakistani friends and I know how kind and generous they are.

I’ll leave you with a hadith.

The Messenger of Allah (sal Allahu alaihi wa sallam) said: “A man (from amongst the people before you) said: ‘Indeed! I will give in charity.’ So he took his Sadaqah (charity) out and (unknowingly) placed it in the hand of a thief. In the morning people talked (about this incident) and said: ‘Sadaqah was given to a thief last night.’ The man said: ‘O Allah! Praise be to You. I have given Sadaqah to a thief. Indeed, I will give in charity!’ So he took his Sadaqah out and he placed it (unknowingly) in a prostitute's hand. In the morning people talked (about this incident) and said: ‘Sadaqah was given to a prostitute last night.’ On hearing this, the man said: ‘Praise be to You, O Allah! I gave Sadaqah to a prostitute. Indeed, I will give in charity!’ So he took his Sadaqah out and placed it in a rich man's hand. In the morning people talked (about this incident) and said: ‘Sadaqah was given to a rich man last night.’ The man said: ‘O Allah! Praise be to You (for helping me) give charity to a thief, a prostitute and a rich man.’ Then he had a dream in which he was told that his Sadaqah to the thief might result in his refraining from his theft, his Sadaqah to the prostitute might help her abstain from her immorality, and his Sadaqah to the rich man might help him pay heed and spend from what Allah had bestowed upon him.” [Sahih Bukhari]

paint me a happy face

Throw a ticker-tape parade everybody. I'm baaaaack!

I finally managed to climb over my writer’s block and, boy, does the view look good from here!

I had an idea for a post that has been bouncing around my head the last few days but I’ve scrapped it because it involved the telling of anecdote of someone I’ve known in real life and it just didn’t feel right to blog about it. I think some things are better said in person rather than written down.

So what shall I write about instead?

Well, whenever I feel down one thing is guaranteed to cheer me up and that’s make-up.

Yup, slapping on the warpaint and painting a happy face lifts up my spirit. I love the ritual of make up; putting it on, taking it off. In fact, I probably enjoy taking off make up more than putting it on. There’s something very satisfying about wiping off your make up and cleansing your face.

As a make up fan I want to give you the best tips I’ve picked up along the way to share with you, dear reader. They are:

1. Dry kohl pencil? Dip the tip the pencil into a moisturiser and test it on the back of your hand. Voila! Your kohl pencil has been revived! Now, I don’t have sensitive skin but I do have sensitive eyes so make sure the face cream you dip into is perfume-free/for sensitive skin if you have sensitive eyes too. I was foolishly inspired by the scene in Pretty Woman, to heat up all my eye pencils with a lit match. Don’t do this! I ruined all my pencils. I know there’s a make up guru who advocates this technique and he does it in a way that I didn't (I basically melted the pencils and they cooled down and re-hardened so as to be unusable). However, I find my moisturiser method works much better, so there!
2. How to apply moisturiser to your neck. Put the cream on the back of your hand and roll your hand in an upward motion from your neck up to your chin. Make sure not to tug the area at all. Most people don’t pay attention to the neck area but it’s delicate and needs care and attention. Also if you have a giraffe neck like me, it feels nice to have smooth skin.
3. Chapped lips? Mix a little olive oil with sugar and use it as a scrub on your lips.
4. Got brown eyes? Green eyeliner looks great. As does turquoise and electric blue.
5. Quick cat eye – draw a line on the outer corner of your eyelid. When you get to the end of your eye flick the line upward. Draw a line on your lower lash line (also just on the outer corner) and join the line all the way up to the tick. That will give the perfect feline look.
6. Small eyes? – smudge the crap out of your kohl eyeliner that you’ve drawn on your lower lash line with the most smudging on the outer corners, getting thinner the further toward the inner corner. Don’t bother to line your eyelids – it will make small eyes even smaller.

Well, those are my best tips. If you have any tips feel free to share!

silence

I always do this.

I hit a massive stumbling block and can’t seem to write anything.

I am active on social networking and blogging sites but then when my personal life events interfere with my well-being (read as: shit hits the fan) I just clam up entirely. My livejournal is the internet equivalent of the Marie Celeste floating emptily on the seas with only a post dating back to February 2010.

It neatly reflects the way I conduct myself in real life too. I can’t talk about my problems and I will not broadcast them on the internet so I end up a ghostly presence that checks my facebook, live journal etc daily whilst not appearing on any of them.

I don’t want this blog to be set aside but jeez, things in my life are not going well. As an unmarried Muslim woman, I am keenly feeling the pressure of not being married. I’m having a sort of mid-life crisis and it’s wearing me down as well as those around me. My imaan has ebbed to an all-time low.

I can’t write when I’m this unhappy.

As a psych grad, I know that it’s the coping mechanism to stress not the stressful situation itself that affects you; therefore, you have a choice in letting things get to you. Well, I guess things are getting to me a little.

I wanna be on top of this blog, so I hope to blog in happier times soon. I know I can shake this off.