I've (virtually) moved

Hi there, 

I seem to have levelled-up a life stage. You can now find my latest blog and website at natashaself.com. That's right, I've gone legit. Or am at least pretending to until I really am. Fake it till you make it. You know the drill.

I'm going to leave this blog up here as it is, for the time being at least, not least because I still lazily direct people to my "Paris tips" post rather than rehashing out my suggestions. But also because it seems nice for posterity purposes and for documenting late teen / young adult me's thoughts and opinions.

But for now, mid twenties Tash is over at natashaself.com. See you there?

My two francs worth on Paris*

 *Note, that won’t get you very far. Not least because France use the euro now.

On a return trip in Summer 2015, atop The Arc de Triomphe for the first time... new recommendation!

Five years ago, aged eighteen, I finished school and rented a flat in Paris with a best friend. Ever since, whenever somebody is off to London’s closest fellow city of wonders (sorry Manchester) I punch away at the keyboard in an over-excited message all the things they cannot possibly miss, must see, must do, must eat, and so on. Five years on, with a friend heading there in a couple of days and seeking advice, it has finally occurred to me to write this up as a concise guide to which I can direct people who are prancing off to the so called “City of Lights”. Despite the fact about fifteen cities seem to go by this nickname...

But first, a few disclaimers…

While writing, I couldn’t help but turn this slightly into a travel journal. It is therefore dotted with anecdote and bias, as well as all the facts and stories I’d want to whisper in your ear if I was with you in Le Gai Parie. If that’s not too creepy an image.

Also, as (for some bizarre reason) nobody was willing to hire inexperienced Brits who were:

- rubbish at French

- not staying long term, as well as foolishly honest about this fact,

we were time rich and money short. So you may want to look elsewhere for the high-end restaurants and boutique shopping guides. This guide will not be Lonely Planet levels of exhaustive. I could tell you nothing about buses for example: I took none. Plus I’m going to skip out bars, clubs and shopping because there’s bound to be better guides and much of that might have moved on.

But because we were living there, we explored to the extent you just don’t as a tourist. Yet still donning the explorer's hat, sorry, beret, you probably don’t as a Parisian. For instance, I know I could probably write a better guide to Paris than London, my own hometown.

Demonstrative of this thoroughness, by the time our mums paid a visit, we claimed to have seen just about every site there was. As a result, we were dragged on a highly NON recommended tour of… the sewers. Yes, yes, first modern sewage system in the world is all very impressive, but nobody wants to leave a tourist site gagging. Literally.

Looking back, I can’t quite believe my first experience of living away from home was in Paris. Some of my joiest de vivre memories will always be in that city, at that time, so this post is a pleasure to share with anybody that reads it. Do with it what you will.

NOTRE DAME

As a rule of thumb, I would suggest using the Notre Dame as base point for orientating yourself around the city. Paris isn’t particularly big or complicated, so as long as you know your left bank from your right bank, you should have pas de problèmes.**

This historic cathedral, safe-haven for the hunchback …this always separates out the Disney fans from the literary types who think to the Victor Hugo novel, it all depends how cute you want your gargoyles… can be seen in a number of ways. Buy a ticket to ascend the bell tower or creep round the crypt; attend a church service or else just queue up to take in the main hall free of charge, with some spectacular stained glass that they will yell at you for trying to photograph.

Outside the cathedral, enjoy a book, a crêpe and the occasional bride on her wedding day photoshoot. While you’re here, you’d be a fool to miss out on one of the most magical bookshops in the world: Shakespeare and Company. The English bookstore was a hangout of Hemingway and Joyce and featured more recently in Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris or at the start of Before Sunset, the second installment of Linklater’s trilogy. Make sure to pop upstairs: it's not to be missed.

** Sincere apologies for the occasional slipping into French. Something about writing about Paris just creates pretentions, okay?

THE LATIN QUARTER

A short walk from the gothic cathedral leads you to the Latin Quarter, almost unavoidable as a tourist in Paris. This is the bit of any popular city where every restaurant will have somebody outside harassing you to choose their menu over the very similar one next door. However, the restaurants offer extremely good value two-course and three-course menus, often around the ten euro mark (at least true of 2010). Many cuisines are covered here, Mexican to Moroccan, Greek to traditional French. A recommended place to find a good cheese fondue! With potato and bread served to dunk. I still have a burn to this day caused by fromage hastiness. The area is also known for its student population, with La Sorbonne in close proximity.

THE MARAIS

Also known as the “Jewish quarter”, the Marais plays host to the Place des Vosges, Paris’s oldest square. It is very lovely to wander through, with jewellery stores and more often than not, live classical music. Though eating on the square will prove expensive, I could not have a better solution for you. A five to ten minute stroll from the square you will find two falafel shops: Chez Hanna and Chez Marianne (debates still rage today over which is superior). Order a five euro falafel wrap, spilling with hummus and topped with aubergine, to take away and devour back on the grass at Place des Vosges.

We didn't even make it back to the grass with ours. Too-darn-tasty.

LE SACRE-COEUR, MONTMARTE.

This basilica sits upon a very high hill in the north of Paris. Go in, don’t, that’s not really important, although we did catch some nuns belting it once on a Sunday morning. It’s really all about the atmosphere up here, so sit on those steps and make some memories. Aged 11 on a school trip, we all rolled down the grassy hills in the rain, getting filthy. And tutted at for living up to obnoxious British stereotypes. Returning aged 18 when friends came to visit, we sat singing along to a busker so enthusiastically we were lent the guitar to have a turn playing for Paris ourselves.  Safe to say, we cleared the crowd in record time, but had the evening of our lives. And were tutted at for living up to... oh, you know the drill.

While up in this sacred air, wander the cobbled streets leading to Place du Tertre where you can eat al fresco, look at gorgeous pastel-y art of the area and even have a caricature done.

The closest stations to the Sacré-Cœur steps deliver you to the wonderfully seedy Montmarte area, where you will pass the Moulin Rouge, humming Elephant Love Medley as you go, plus my brother and my favourite’s site to laugh at: the SEX-O-DROME.

Better than just passing, book a cabaret show at The Moulin Rouge, and let me know what it’s like! #SomethingToGoBackFor

ANGELINA

226 Rue de Rivoli, 75001.

We kept hearing about the mythical hot chocolate from the fabled “Angelina” and so finally set off one day on a quest to find the cocoa at the end of the rainbow. A famous tea room, much like London’s Ritz, be prepared to queue to get in, though I can tell you right now the signature hot chocolate is worth it. Tie this in when you visit The Louvre, right next door.

BOUILLON CHARTIER
7 rue du Faubourg Montmarte, 75009.
Chartier is stuff of Parisian dining legend. The huge, impressive room feels like a bustling train station from a romanticised time gone by. Over 100 years old, it is still loyal to its original vision, ‘to provide a decent meal at a reasonable price and give customers good service in order to earn their loyalty’.

MORE FOOD.

Crêpes. Crêpes for a morning snack. Cheese, mushroom, ham crêpes for lunch. Crêpes as a mid-afternoon snack for strolling. Who needs an excuse for a crêpe anyway? Nutella and banana became a firm favourite. Revel in watching the mesmerising art of a Parisian crêpe-maker, just try not to drool on the griddle. Plenty around Notre-Dame and on “The Islands” beside it.

We noticed Vietnamese food was a big deal in Paris. So much so that nem – the French word for popular side spring roll – became our affectionate nicknames for one another.

Oh, and waiters will ply you with shots after meals. Just go with it. It’s a Euro-thing.

MUSEUMS / GALLERIES

So now is the part where I try and recommend art, despite feeling too ignorant for the task. But if there’s anywhere you’re going to embrace it, it’s going to be Paris.

Many of the main museums and galleries offer free entry to teachers and to EU citizens under the age of 26, so it’s worth carrying ID with you if this applies. Several museums offer free entry to all on the first Sunday of the month, do check out each museum’s policy online in advance.

Yes, it’s cool to see the glass pyramids of the Louvre, as featured in The Da Vinci Code, and yes, as the most visited gallery in the world, housing of course the Mona Lisa, who is rather average-to-awkward looking, imho, you should probably take a trip here. But you don’t need me to tell you that. So here are my recommendations for OTHER places to gawk at artistry.

MUSEE D'ORSAY

1 Rue de la Légion d'Honneur, 75007.

A stunning gallery in an old train station on the left bank, see the originals of all the art that lines the walls of the homes of our parents’ and their generation... and realise it’s all actually rather pretty!

I’m talking Monet, Manet, Renoir, Van Gogh btw…

MUSEE RODIN

79 Rue de Varenne, 75007.

This sculpture museum is a personal favourite, with lovely gardens to wander and home to all the Rodin’s you’ll have heard of, including The Thinker and The Kiss.

CENTRE POMPIDOU

Place Georges-Pompidou, 75004.

aka “the inside out building” or mentioned in an MC Solaar song if like me you’re partial to some French rap. You’ll want to take a look for its unique design, with the reaction described as “love at second sight”. As a gallery though, it didn’t seem to have a whole host going on inside (so is that outside? Mind boggling) while we were there. Perhaps we just missed the minimalism-as-art thing, but it means I can’t tell you much. Bof!

MUSEE EDITH PIAF

5 Rue Crespin du Gast, 75011.

If you’re a fan of the singer the French affectionately term La Môme Piaf, The Little Sparrow, it’s well worth a visit to this quirky flat devoted to all things Piaf, just round the corner from the flat she actually lived in. The museum owner, probably the world’s most knowledgeable Piaf fan, was there himself to guide us round the pokey flat. Visits must be made by appointment. Visits are free, but donations are welcomed.

MUSEE D'ART ET D'HISTOIRE DU JUDAISME

71 Rue du Temple, 75003.

Traces the history of Jews in France since the Middle Ages.

MUSEE DU QUAI BRANLY

37 Quai Branly, 75007.

Features the indigenous art and cultures of Africa, Asia, Oceania, and the Americas.

MUSEE DE CLUNY

6 Place Paul Painlevé, 75005.

Or the Museum of the Middle Ages, home to the famous six The Lady and the Unicorn Medieval tapestries.

MISCALLANEOUS

(to be said in an especially pronounced French accent)

Here’s some other stuff you could/should do #WhenInParis.

GRANDE MOSQUEE DE PARIS

2bis Place du Puits de l'Ermite, 75005.
Backing onto the Jardin des Plantes, this is one of those secret and special spots which transport you from the bustle of a capital city into a white and green fresh breath of tranquility. With flowing water and good n proper peace and quiet, this mosque is well worth a visit.

BOAT TRIP

There are plenty to choose from, but Paris’ bridges, including the “kissing” bridge, tell and create tales of their own. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon touring the city at all.

AQUABOULEVARD

4 Rue Louis Armand, 75015.

God knows we were clutching at activity strings when we decided to tick off the water parks of Paris, what the city’s truly known for. But dashing down an outdoor slide in freezing late autumn darkness and glimpsing across at a lit up Eiffel Tower turned out to a moment of magic. Indoor and outdoor fun to be had. About 20 euros entry.

EIFFEL TOWER

I can’t believe it took this long to come up, but situated a little further along The Seine from the majority of sites, in Paris’ greener pastures, it is easy to let this one slip your mind. That’s until it flashes for your attention at night, lighting up in the skyline.

Famously unpopular with the Parisians when first erected, writer Guy de Mauspassant used to frequent the restaurant at its base, not for the food in particular but for the only spot he could avoid looking at the thing from.

So here’s my controversy: I don’t think it’s particularly worth climbing, as you essentially look down at some football pitches. If I’m with you in Paris and you feel the need, I’ll most likely sit myself in a café down below, order a café au lait and wait…

SAINTE-CHAPELLE
8 Boulevard du Palais, 75001.

A gem of a chapel, located on "The Islands" beside Notre Dame and simply stunning with light streaming through the prettiest of stained glass. The sunnier the day the better for this. Try to go early and avoid weekends to devour the space without monstrous queues.

We loved this building so much we bought tickets to a classical concert here for one of our last nights in Paris. Although were fairly creeped out by the cellist requesting to meet us après.

CEMETERIES

Some may see it as a weird thing to do on holiday, but visiting the city’s great cemeteries is peaceful, free, and pays homage to some real legends. We travelled to strange suburbs for some, but the most famous is probably Père Lachaise. Here lies Oscar Wilde, where many like to plant a kiss on the tomb, Edith Piaf, Pierre Bourdieu, Marcel Proust and what has become a bit of a cult, stoners’ pilgrimage, the grave of Jim Morrison.

Linking on from here, something I am really glad I did, though a terrifying experience at the time, is the catacombs. I’ll leave you to discover that one for yourselves, if you dare.

WALKING TOUR

In the worst travel guide fashion ever, I did an amazing walking tour, learnt so much and cannot for the life of me figure out the company I did it with. What I can recall however, as I recounted without breath to Beth that evening over a cheese board, is the entire history of France since the French revolution, including how some claim to still see the blood glistening on the ground at the Place de la Concorde, where the infamous guillotine sliced many a head, including the last French King and Queen.

ARRONDISSEMENT 12

This East-Side area probably doesn’t make it into lists of Parisian “must-sees”… but it was our home. If you do happen to be staying close-by, check out the aquarium, Bois de Vincennes, the weekend markets, have a swim at Roger Le Gall and catch dinner and a film at Bercy Village.

JOSEPHINE BAKER SWIMMING POOL  Take a dip whilst floating atop The Seine!

Paris' FLEA MARKETS, lining the city’s outskirts, are a lively escape from generic tourist shopping to rub up with some Parisians. Be arrested by the smells of le mais doux or corn on the cob, the minute you step off the métro.

TRAVEL

Paris’ cycle rental is the velib – you’ll see them all over and they work similarly to London’s Boris Bikes - or Kencycles, as I like to call them - in that you just pay for the time you use, with first half an hour free. 1-day, 7-day or long-term subscription tickets are available too, which you can book both online or at the machines.

If you’ve tackled the tube, the métro is piss easy, with numbered lines and you can even use a phone down there!

DAY TRIPS

Worth venturing out of the city for...

DISNEYLAND PARIS

This would take an entirely separate post to cover. I mean, we spent Guy Fawkes night huddled with fellow Brits abroad watching Mickey boat across the lake under a sky of sparkles and danced under fake, falling snow at Christmas.

Complete with unlimited annual passes, it's safe to say Disneyland was a huge staple of our time. If you're after more, I can probably still draw you an accurate map and write you a personalised guide to the park. Main tip: a ticket for both parks is definitely advised, with the majority of more thrilling rides found next door in Walt Disney Studios.

VERSAILLES

Despite the grandness of The Hall of Mirrors and some rather ginormous bedchambers - if that's your thing - or else the fact that Louis and Marie Antoinette fled here with their family at the start of the French Revolution, there are three things I am going to recommend doing at the Palace of Versailles, and they are all outside. Controversial? I have just discovered the 'Gardens of Versailles' have an entire Wikipedia entry unto themselves. So there. I am right.

1)      RENT BIKES.

Pack a picnic and go forth to enjoy the extensive grounds on two wheels!

2)      FOUNTAIN SHOWS.

Spraying in time with the music. It’s kind of awesome.

3)      HAMEAU DE LA REINE / THE QUEEN'S HAMLET.

When four of us fell upon this fake, rustic hamlet, commissioned by Marie Antoinette and complete with dairy, barn, mill and lighthouse, but used by the Queen and her friends for leisure, we were so in awe we thought we had stepped into some sort of Narnia and actually this picturesque place simply couldn’t be real. We’ve vowed to return here for retirement.

If you have longer, other recommended places to visit from Paris include Parc Astérix and Château de Fontainebleau.

See some snippets from our Parisian life here.

Photo credits to Beth O'Brien.

Amusez-vous!

"Why didn't you just..."

There’s an observation I keep making which unsettles me.

At work I couple of weeks ago, a customer was mildly harassing me first on the bar and later at the end of the night while I was alone by the stock room, with questions such as my relationship status, which I didn’t feel like answering him on. I was not particularly shaken up nor found it to be anything out of the norm, but I had been aware of feeling that little bit more vulnerable without other colleagues or doormen around me or the usual bar between us, so when I returned to clean my bar I mentioned the man’s annoying pestering to my fellow barman. His reply was along of the lines of how I should’ve/he would’ve “kicked the guy in the balls”/ “knocked the guy’s teeth out” / “filed the man’s face down to his skull”, okay perhaps that last one was a little inspired by Saw films and I can’t remember precisely what violent action was invoked, but the point is that it was.

Yesterday, a Facebook friend told a tale of harassment from the London underground where one guy had originally shouted and humiliated her and then a second chose to take advantage of the situation to physically harass her, touching her leg and grabbing her hand.  One of her male friends had commented “I’d fucking smash his face in” and she replied that she would have done so if the first guy hadn’t left her so shaken up.

I have noticed just how common we see, hear and make responses along these lines.

While I know these comments are made well intentionally, recognising that female harassment is unacceptable and uncalled for, while also perhaps often tongue-in-cheek or with bravado, made by people that in reality might not actually conduct such actions, I think they are problematically misguided.

They overlook the fact that these incidents occur largely in the context of a power imbalance: in situations where the harasser feels comfortable throwing their weight around or overstepping the mark and knows they will not face consequences to their actions, whilst the target is often prayed on for perceived or real vulnerability, is caught-off-guard, and is dealing with a stranger they have no idea what they might be capable of.

Rather than insinuating that somebody should essentially “be tougher”, the appropriate response would be to empathise with the situation somebody was placed in and condemn what happened.

We shouldn’t be expected to hit back; we might not be able to; and we shouldn’t be placed in a situation we did not ask to be in where society expects us to!

Vera

It’s thirty minutes till our minicab is due to ding on the door and whisk my family and I off to Heathrow, for a much anticipated few days in sunny Seville. Fixated on the fantasy of the 'internet hiatus' - of course in reality I was slyly connecting in any free wifi cafes over my fanta limons - I opened my email for a (theoretical) final time to see if I needed to reply to any last minute matters.

Caught off guard, I was met with this note from Cath, who runs Burnage Good Neighbours, a local community charity I am involved with in Manchester.

I had never anticipated that I would have the emotional reaction that I did, and I still don’t really know where it erupted from, but safe to say it was a very puffy face hiding behind ray-bans that flight.

Burnage GoodNeighbours (BGN) put on a lunch spread in the Community Center every other Thursday for elderly members of the community to come and chatter, win raffle prizes, and eat too many pork pies. I love it. The volunteers range from long-haired, dog-walking Peter who claims to be the washer upper of the group, even though he seems to do the least washing up; a couple of larger than life young Burnage mums, one of whose hysterical granny comes along to every lunch; from long-time Burnage characters to Spanish Juan who’s come over to improve his English, and we delight in translating phrases like ‘toy boys’ for him while berating his not drinking tea.

My housemates know that I cycle home every fortnight - balancing leftovers precariously on my handwheels: overly buttered potatoes, miniature scraps of quiche, once an ancient bottle of sherry dug out from the community centre's cupboards - beaming with feel good factor.

It’s not all jolly, jovial oldies. One week, the lunch essentially doubled up as a wake, as many of our attendees (and staff) had come on from burying a friend. Another week, one previously perfectly able woman’s MS was suddenly visibly more debilitating, she had to lean on me the whole way to and from the bathroom taking petrified, shuffling baby-steps. After lunch, I'd agreed to accompany her home with another volunteer and she froze, six short steps from her front door, utterly glued to the gravel and repeating and repeating over and over she would fall if she tried to take a step. We stood there holding her up and trying to coax her for three quarters of an hour until I eventually used my free hand to call for back up so someone could rescue us with a wheelchair.

The staff and volunteers at BGN breathe Burnage and go to whatever steps to help older residents enjoy their life in the community. They brush shoulders at Tesco with the oldies; they know and communicate with the families; they check up on people if they haven’t been heard from; drive them on errands; organise talks on things they feel they should be educated on, like inheritance laws and wills; we even hired a coach and spent the best afternoon strolling the pier at Llandudno,Wales!

BGN also organise home visits because not everyone is able, well or social-minded enough to make it to the big Thursday lunch, but may still be bored, lonely, and wanna hang. After berating Cath for enough weeks running how much I’d love to be set up with someone to make home visits to, I found myself sat in a quintessentially "old people" living room, being introduced to sisters Vera and Sybil.

Sybil was 80: very friendly and still pretty able. She loved to make drives around the Lancashire countryside and go on group rambles. But she was clearly hampered by the emotional drain and constant care she was giving to her 90 year old sister, Vera. Vera is who I was really there for.

Small talk was made and it was decided that the best times for my visits would be when Sybil goes on her excursions, to reduce Vera’s anxiety about being left alone, and so someone would be around to remind her to take her tablets after lunch!

The next week I was excited to be making my first independent visit. Nervous too, nervous that Vera – who’d seemed moodier, more exhausted by age and pains and less bubbly than Sybil – and I would have little to say to one another. Nervous that I’d sit awkwardly watching the clock, and feeling guilty for wanting to run away.

But I sat down and blurted out some questions and we were off. Vera and her sister had lived in this house their whole life, she told me. I marvel around at the space. They were bought up in it and still live in it, together, aged 80 and 90. They went to Levenshulme High, down the road. It’s the school on the mug I am sipping, gifted at a school reunion they’d had. They had both been working women. Secretaries at accountancy firms. Other professional jobs. I am impressed. There is no mention or photos of children or grandchildren, but I don’t want to seem nosy. I wonder if it’s unusual for two unmarried sisters to spend their whole lives living together and ponder whether they might have lost young partners in the war.

Naively, or judgmentally, looking at first glance at these two elderly women in this cute home they have lived in forever in this Manchester suburb, I wouldn’t have guessed it: but they had travelled. Seriously travelled. Vera pointed out the clock. It was the shape of Australia: a souvenir they picked up when they ventured there in their early retirement. There was a trinket on the mantelpiece of some safari animal Vera had once bought for a friend but grown too attached to give away. This memory amused her. I talked of my impending trip to Berlin and Paris and Vera reminisced over time spent in European cities. When I said I was from London she glowed telling of her's and Sybil’s antics on visits to a friend they had in Hackney, I delight in picturing these women as their young Northern selves frolicking round the capital’s East End.

I won’t claim I visited Vera a great deal of times. Maybe I wish I’d made it over more. Without fail on each trip though, I would stay chatting longer than I intended, enjoying lapping up both the sandwiches Sybil had prepared in advance and the pieces I was putting together of Vera’s life. 

I once snap-chatted to friends Vera walking on her frame, back from toilet to sofa, and was universally scolded for doing so ‘behind the old lady’s back!’. But I didn’t really feel bad; I think had the 1950s had snapchat, Vera would have found it funny.

Then there was one visit when I turned up to a clearly distressed Vera. Sybil told me in soft tones that she had arranged Vera to go in to temporary respite care for two weeks. Sybil needed a break. Vera got confused a lot and could be very demanding on Sybil. She gave her a hard time for going out and doing things, presumably bitter that this big sister is no longer fit to join in the once joint adventures.

Sybil looked pained but headed out as usual and I took my usual armchair. Vera’s eyes were swelling with tears. I felt uncomfortable. And sad. I had never seen her cry before. I asked her what it was that was upsetting her about the situation, maybe there would be fun things about being in the home and two weeks wasn’t really very long. She replied she knew it wouldn't be temporary. She said she’ll never come back to this home that she was born in. I promised her this wasn't true. She was convinced. When I went to go that day, Vera asked if I was really going to abandon her too? She was feeling bitter, and was guilt-tripping me. I felt manipulated but it worked and I sat for another 30 minutes, before making my escape, and tearing up with pity and guilt as I walked away from the house.

When I opened my blog today, feeling like posting something for Vera, I didn’t know quite what I was going to write. Maybe a little post about what these sort of community charities do and how enriching it is to get involved. But instead it has turned more into my fingers spilling out some memories of my time at Vera’s.

I did not know Vera for a long time nor very well. But we had some lovely chats over some lovely teas, and if I’m lonely in my last years, I think I’d enjoy similar teas with well, anyone who’d like a chat.

Ultimately, and unlike so much else in the world right now, this is not something that is tragic. A very elderly lady who lived a fulfilling life has died, and her sister was prepared and knew this was coming.

But it is just a bit sad.

I had thought Vera was someone I’d be returning to when I head back to my life in Manchester next month. Now she’s not.

Instead I will be sure to check in on Sybil, and keep enjoying the lunches.

HIV: The latest myth

I have recently had training from a Manchester based charity called the George House Trust which provides advice and support for HIV sufferers in the North West of England. Something I learnt at training has had a profound effect on me, and I have told next to every person I have since seen. Just like me, not one of these victims of my babbling had been aware of this beforehand:

For those being treated with effective HIV medication, it is next to impossible to pass on the HIV virus to somebody else.

They call this Treatment by Prevention. In other words, the more people they can help get medicated, the fewer people out there who can pass it on.

Speaking frankly, although I knew much of the talk surrounding HIV was based on myths, I always felt that being in a relationship with a sufferer would probably be too much for me. Nobody was worth the risk of my infection.

Reflecting on the way I used to feel about HIV, I realise that much of it comes from my sex eduction. Albeit mine was approaching a decade ago and I don't know how much it has changed, but I remember HIV/AIDs being presented as something separate from other STIs. Whilst the others were a bit nasty, they were treatable. We were never informed of the progress in modern medication, perhaps because those informing us were living in the previous mentality surrounding HIV. We were never told that if you did contract it, your world wouldn't melt away before you.

The man I was trained with has been living with HIV for several decades. His life expectancy is no different from mine or yours.

I'm really looking forward to working for this charity and debunking more myths, and I encourage you to go and tell one person about Treatment by Prevention.

It's a Pixar!

I never thought I’d be saying that I felt let down by a company I regard as one of the most innovative, exciting and consistent corporations out there. But here I am, saying just that.

Pixar is unassailable in making movies that are enjoyed on a thorough and genuine level by, dare I use the cliché, all ages. Toy Story has become quite simply a modern classic, Monsters Inc is the ultimate hangover watch whilst I’m sure I associate with no-one who wouldn’t gleefully recognise a Finding Nemo quote.

All great guys, but all guys!

Not only do I rate Pixar highly, but Brave itself was set to be brilliant: a ginger, Scottish, rebel princess! And a ‘brave’ film too. Firstly, for its female lead. I was a little taken-aback to notice how male-dominated their past films have been, with Woody and Buzz, Nemo and Flick, and that precious old grump from Up all hogging the show. Though Pixar have created some memorable female greats in their time, so great that they have managed to steal the show a couple times – I’m thinking Dory in Finding Nemo, Jessie in Toy Story 2 - they had never yet had a leading lady. Shameful really, when in the past few years Disney have really upped their heroine game, giving us self-sufficient, independent, feisty princesses. And secondly, this was a brave story in its lack of romantic storyline. This is far from something I regard as a cause of the film’s failure. I didn’t even register the ‘gap’ at the time. In fact, it is something I champion after so many past princesses have exchanged principles for princes. But these bold choices only make me more disappointed that the film was such a let-down.

It was like all the Pixar-ness had been sucked dry out. Their stamp was missing. The film was not funny, I was bursting with breath waiting simply for a laugh but the opportunity didn’t arise. Not even for a real chuckle. A snort. The normally unique and lovable characters were entirely missing. Protagonist Merida was, while justified in seeking independence over her life, overwhelmingly self-centred and, well, bratty. And the film was so overly sentimental it was saturated in the stuff! Preaching and droning on with zero subtly about family-love and relationships. Sentimentality works in Pixar when placed alongside originality and humour, not on its own. THIS IS NOT DISNEY.

The best part about the film was the soundtrack and scenery. There was obviously great passion and care put into capturing scenes of Scottish countryside and the result was quite stunning. But it should have been a compliment to a fun and engrossing story, and not the show-stealer to a dreary, predictable plot in which I couldn’t really care less whether the characters found their happy endings, whatever the hell these were, or fell down a well to be nibbled by Tasmanian devils. I need reasons to care, thanks.

I am going to be an optimist and regard this film as a blip in the life-cycle of an otherwise outstanding company. And I have to say, though I’ve seen some reviewers’ poor feelings on the pre feature short La Luna, I myself preferred it immensely to the feature: it was sweet and simple and rather lovely, and this gives me hope that somewhere in there, Pixar’s still got it! Now come back to us Pixie!

Exceptions Not A Rule

Thinking further about the previous post, the whole 'shouldn't have to but do have to' theme extends further. When shopping for a (quite scrumpcious I'll have ya know) Sunday roast last week, my friend Marina stated how a magazine editor had once told her the staggering fact that having a black female as their cover photo halves the magazine's sales.


I think the most jarring thing about that statement is not the existence of prevailing racial prejudices, it is the fact that they are widespread to the extent to actually have that sort of effect on such a mass-selling product in such a dominating industry.


In probably our disbelief and wish for this to in fact not be true, we began listing icons we had seen on the front of magazines: our queen and idol of all idols Beyoncé, or elegant and strong First Lady Michelle Obama. But then we stopped ourselves in our tracks. The fact we were listing these 'exceptions' at all said everything about how true it had been. As heroic and valued figures like these are, I can't wait for the day when they're figures in their own right and not viewed in regards of their race. I hate the idea that they are used to prop up the pretence that society is somehow 'over racism' because 'Look! We can't be racist - we all love Beyoncé!'. Just no.

Beyoncé: Sexy AND pregnant?! But how can that be?! I thought all women lost hope of any sex appeal the second they choose children?!?!

Obama and the need to state the obvious

So yesterday the liberal world was in a state of euphoria as President Obama stated: ‘it is important for me to go ahead and affirm that I think same sex couples should be able to get married’. The internet sprang into action, sending a mass thank you card to the President and posting fervently their joy and gratitude.

If Cameron stood up tomorrow on his podium and stated that ‘black and whites should be treated equally’ or Hollande sat and gave an exclusive to the world that he agreed with women’s suffrage, I wonder what the reaction would be? I mean sure, the motions would be welcomed by most, yet many would probably speak of the unnecessary nature of such a speech. Or that perhaps words are empty without action. And sure, those are different examples: women already have the vote in France and racial equality is an on-going battle and such a statement is vague and not linked to policy, whereas Obama’s was in relation to a specific motion that states will actually be passing or rejecting.

But a large part of me yesterday, was saying a bitter ‘whoop-de-doo’, one individual has acknowledged his agreement with a right that many people have been fully on side with for years. My friend Leila’s tweet said it better than I ever could:

‘president of one of the most powerful countries in the world acknowledges a basic human right like its so brave WOW THANK U. stfu’

But at the same time I realised that while it shouldn’t need to have to be said, it still does have to be. Especially in a country like America, with such a scarily large proportion of people holding very non-progressive, conservative views.


Obama’s words yesterday were in fact a sad necessity which I welcome hearing, just don’t welcome the need for in 2012.

So cheers Barack, but screw you world.