Monthly Archives: July 2013

Change

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The following fictional post was inspired by the certificate ceremony I attended today with work at a youth centre in Islington, where teenagers from four of the schools my charity works with were commended for their participation in the Teens and Toddlers programme:

Change

I never thought I’d amount to much. Why would I? My parents told me every day that I was useless. Then even my teachers started giving up on me. It’s like a downward spiral, see. You start acting up to get attention, but all too late you realise it’s not the right kind of attention you’re getting. You wanted to be popular, not the class clown – the one the other kids laugh at and the teachers label as a troublemaker.

Things at home weren’t great. Dad’s drinking was getting worse and Mum, well, she was so doped up on depression pills she hardly knew what day it was. I pretty much did everything; cooking, cleaning, looking after my baby brother. If I hadn’t been there I don’t know what would have happened to him. He’d probably have been taken into care. Sometimes I wondered if that would’ve been best for the both of us.

When my teachers told me about this mentoring programme that paired teenagers with toddlers in a nursery I wasn’t interested at all; I had enough experience of looking after children with my baby brother, why would I want more? I only agreed to do it ’cause it got me out of school one afternoon a week, and gave me something to do apart from hanging around the recreation ground and causing trouble with my mates because I was bored.

But when I started the programme things started to change. My toddler was a challenge, mainly because he was like me; hyperactive and angry. We even looked alike, with wild hair, dark skin and brown eyes. He didn’t trust me at first, but after a few weeks he started coming up to me when I walked in and holding my hand. It made me feel special, and in those moments the big ball of anger I carried around inside me would get a bit smaller.

I’ve learned a lot about myself through the programme. I realise now the consequences of my actions on others, and I’m not so hell bent on trying to hurt people, mentally and physically. I feel more responsible, more in control. I want to achieve in life. I want to be a success. But above all else I want people to look at me and, instead of seeing the clown, the troublemaker or the joker, I want them to see the responsible man I can and will become.

The beautiful sunset on the last night of my recent trip to Italy.

Midsummer dreaming

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With a name like Hamlet I was always going to stick out from the crowd. Dad claims he chose the name because it was a dark and stormy night when I was born, and because he knew I’d be a leader. Mum says she went along with it because she’d always liked studying Shakespeare at school and had a fondness for Ophelia (which I think is frankly ridiculous). So anyway, for various stupid reasons I was lumbered with this name, and it’s haunted me ever since. Didn’t they realise schools would still be teaching Shakespeare when they had children of their own? Honestly.

Still, I shouldn’t complain. At least I’m better off than my poor brother. At three years old he’s too young to realise what he has in store for him, but something tells me it’s not going to be pretty. What on earth would possess someone to name their son Puck? Not only does it rhyme with a rude word that means the act of coitus (or copulation – we’re doing sex education at the moment and it’s funny as), it’s also the name of the Fairy King. Mum says it’s romantic, but I can’t see it being romantic when my brother’s friends are old enough to realise the joke.

Parents can be so stupid sometimes.

Back to work

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No matter how much you love your job, you always have a degree of back to work dread when the alarm goes off on your first morning back in the office post-holiday. And so it was at 7am this morning, when I groggily opened my eyes and pulled back the curtains to see yet another delightful day in the making. After a twenty minute armpit-in-face commute I was even less enamoured with the idea of a day spent in an airless office (the window open is sealed shut – far from ideal in these sweltering conditions). And by 11am – by which time I was less than a third of the way through my emails – I was about ready to face plant onto my desk.

Fortunately the afternoon part of the day proved far more fruitful than its morning predecessor. After a brief stint in the sunshine I returned, fortified, to tackle the To Do list head on. But, though a welcome development it wasn’t my increased productivity that proved to be the ultimate redeemer. What rescued the day from the jaws of defeat was the time I spent with one of our young people helping her to prepare for this evening’s exciting Backing Youth event, hosted by HRH The Duke of York at Buckingham Palace. Hearing the passion in her voice when she spoke about how much the charity has helped her was inspiring, and reminded me of why I do what I do.

Here’s a sneak preview of some professional shots we had taken recently on one of our projects. Definitely a good reminder of how important my role is as PR Manager for the charity.

Glory days

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Whoever has stolen the weather from some far flung tropical clime and brought it here to the UK deserves a medal. No, more than that, a knighthood. There’s simply nothing better than returning from holiday to find the weather at home equally as good as the place you left behind (apart from going on another holiday immediately afterwards, that is, but that would just be greedy). It softens the blow somewhat, that’s for sure. As does freelance Monday which, I’m afraid to say, I slightly shortened today with the insertion of a lazy middle of the day picnic in Brockwell Park with some friends and their baby. But sometimes you have to go with the flow and make the most of good fortune when it smiles upon you(r country). And as any Londoner who’s spent any length of time in this fine city will know, spells of good weather like this don’t come around too often.

The only down side of this fabulous weather (if one could really classify it as a down side) is that it makes running even harder, not just because it’s physically hotter but also because it’s harder to motivate oneself to exercise when the sun is shining and one would really, let’s face it, much rather be lying on the grass than stomping all over it. That said, I’m pleased to report my first 5k in almost a fortnight was completed in a rather respectable 27 minutes (had I not had my running club friend as a pacemaker I’m certain I’d have been considerably slower). And whilst at the time I felt I might be about to meet my maker, as soon as it was over and the familiar warm glow of satisfaction washed over me I felt much better. Which is just as well, because it’s less than nine weeks until my half marathon, and if I really want to avoid an early brush with Heaven I’d better get training…

Ciao for now

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Yesterday, our last day in Italy, we left the city of Florence and headed out into the countryside for a night of four star luxury at the Hotel Mulino di Firenze. 

A five kilometre drive out of the centre, the hotel felt just far enough away from the hustle and bustle of city life to allow us to completely unwind, yet also near enough to be convenient for today’s departure (sob) to the airport for our flight back to London.
 
The Mulino couldn’t be much better situated, with many of its 35 bedrooms – ours included, thanks to an upgrade due to a mix up with our hotel shuttle booking – directly overlooking the beautiful River Arno. The hotel is built around a restored water mill, with the mill itself integrated into the glorious swimming pool. 
 
We spent the afternoon lazing by the pool, and in the evening played cards on the upstairs veranda looking out over the traditional Tuscan landscape, before eating dinner on the hotel restaurant’s frankly stunning terrace, where we had an unrestricted view of one of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever witnessed.
 
When the time came to leave this morning my heart felt heavy; after an eight year absence Italy had worked its magic on me and seeped back into the very core of my existence. But instead of being sad to be back I’m determined to remember every sight, sound and smell I’ve encountered in the last week, and to make sure next time I don’t leave it so long to return to the country that I love so much.

Firenze, Ti amo

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Yesterday began in somewhat of a rush, after a miscommunication regarding the start time of our visit to the Medici tombs (which I can’t deny may have had something to do with the slightly excessive alcohol consumption the previous night). Nonetheless, after the initial panic things were swiftly back on track, and after a salad lunch on the terrace and an afternoon rest and market browse (where some scumbag vendor tried to fleece us out of 15 Euros-not so fast sunshine) we were ready to enjoy our final evening in central Florence.

 
A tip for anyone visiting Florence is to pre-book tickets for the famous Uffizi art gallery one or even two days before you plan to visit, as this will mean avoiding the huge queues on the day. The gallery is well worth a look around, being full of treasures such as Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. It’s well organised, air conditioned and has some of the best vantage points along its numerous corridors and terraces to enjoy unrestricted views of the Arno river, Duomo and town hall.
 
After two hours spent wandering around the Uffizi-the only mild irritation being the hordes of tourists and tour guides passing through the halls-we went back to the restaurant where we’d dined on our first night for one last plate of mixed grilled meats, which we followed up with one last gelato at Vivoli  ice cream parlour (when we walked past it earlier in the day the queue was right down the street, but by 10pm it was virtually empty) – if you ever get a chance to sample its delights the coconut ice cream comes highly recommended.
 
As we strolled back past the hugely impressive Pizza del Duomo I took one last look around at the city I first fell in love with as a six year old, and it felt as magical in that moment as it felt all those years ago.

Touristic endeavours

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Yesterday we had a day of tourist endeavours, visiting the famous Medici family’s palace and a Dominican monastery in the morning and the church of Santa Croce in the afternoon. 
 
I’ve always been particularly fascinated by the story of a monk called Savonorola, who lived in Florence in the time of the Medici family and who urged the citizens of Florence to cast off their frippery and trappings of wealth in favour of a more humble lifestyle. He ruled for four years before eventually being burned at the stake for being a heretic, which I suppose goes to show how quickly a person’s fortunes can turn for the worse!
 
After completing our cultural pursuits for the day we took a stroll around the leather market and made a few purchases before heading back to the apartment. In the evening we went back to my favourite restaurant, Il Borgo Antico, in Piazza San Spirito before catching the end of a stunning performance of a huge brass band in the main square over a bottle of chilled Pinot Grigio.
 
I can’t believe our time in Florence is nearly at an end, when it feels as though it’s only just begun. But one thing is for sure: This time I won’t be leaving it another eight years until I return.

Lazy days

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I can’t believe it’s Thursday already-it’s true what they say about time passing quickly when you’re having fun. Holidays are such an important opportunity to unwind and recuperate from the stressors of “real” life. They give the body and mind a much needed break and a chance to more fully live in and appreciate the present moment. 

 
Holidays are also often a time when we throw caution to the wind and overindulge ourselves, and nowhere is that easier to do than Italy, where there’s gelato, wine and pizza at virtually every turn.
 
Yesterday we had a lazy morning before visiting one of my favourite places in Florence-the covered market. Under its vast roof lie a multitude of delicious foodstuffs. But what I love even more than the food are the cheerful vendors. It always helps to bring my Italian flooding back when I attempt to engage in pigeon Italian conversation with them, selecting cured meats and cheeses. 
 
After buying ingredients for dinner we walked over the famous Ponte Vecchio bridge to Santo Spirito square, where my favourite restaurant in all of Florence is located-Il Borgo Antico. After dreaming of their legendary white pizza for 8 years I’m happy to say it didn’t disappoint, and afterwards we took a traditional Italian gelato to accompany a post-lunch laze in the stunning Boboli Gardens in the grounds of the Pitti Palace.
 
In the evening we prepared a four course feast and dined on the roof of our gorgeous apartment, which is so centrally located the Duomo is virtually within touching distance. There’s something magical about being located so high up above this bustling city, being able to look out across the tops of the buildings and have a bird’s eye view. Being back here after so many years is more than just a pleasure-it’s a thrill.

Il Palio 2013

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Sometimes in life there are days almost too comical to recount. But, for the sake of brevity and duty I intend to try. 
 
Yesterday began with a quick breakfast before we headed to the train station in central Florence to catch out train to Siena. An hour and a half and some beautiful countryside later we arrived at our destination. A short while (and many escalators-Siena train station feels, from a geographical perspective, like it has been located in the core of the earth) later and we were sipping beer in a delicatessen whilst waiting for our dinner rolls to be prepared (the owner apologised for his gruffness but said it was one of the most important days of the year and nerves were understandably frayed).
 
After wandering through the streets and soaking up the carnival atmosphere that is pre-Palio (Siena’s twice yearly  famous bare back horse race) we arrived at the restaurant my stepfather had booked for lunch and took our seats outside on the terrace. Which is where the fun really began, as my mother saw fit not only to inform us olives turned into grapes somewhere along the manufacturing line (and I wondered where I got my gullibility-not wondering any more), but also that she had always rather liked the idea of being a nudist (“unencumbered by clothes”) – just what you want your boyfriend to hear during a family meal.
 
After lunch we made our way through the back streets to the cathedral where we visited some relics and watched the various parishes who would be taking part in the race parade with their flag bearers and other accoutrements. 
 
At 5pm we began the queue into the central square to find a spot from which we could observe the race. Fortunately the area we picked was mostly in shade-whilst it was delightful to have sun at Glasto nothing could prepare our pasty skin for the onslaught of true Tuscan sun-so we sat out the next three hours in relative comfort (save for the thousands of people all around, and one particularly nauseating couple in front of us who seemed incapable of not being attached by the lips at all times).
 
After much waiting around and several false starts the horses were off, and in three short laps it was all over, with three of the ten jockeys being unseated. Then came the real fun (were I speaking to you at this point you’d be hard pressed not to notice the sarcasm in my voice), as we tried to scale a four foot wall to beat the crowd out of the enclosure. The sight of my 66 year old mother revealing her knickers to the world and screaming “I can’t do it!” as she clambered over, followed by my boyfriend’s whispered comment of “II totally just groped your mum by the way” were matched in the bizarre stakes only by mum’s enjoyment of my drum and bass music as we slightly tipsily shared my headphones on the train home afterwards. In short, an odd but supremely enjoyable day out a la famiglia.

Glasto 2013

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We returned from Glastonbury early on the4pm National Express coach yesterday, in order to get a good night’s rest before embarking on our trip to Florence on Monday. It turned out to be an excellent plan, as not only were we exhausted after three days of hard partying and sleeping in a tent, it was also much less busy leaving than it would have been at the very end.

As ever, the festival didn’t disappoint. I’m always surprised when I hear people bad mouthing Glastonbury; how anyone can argue against it being the original, the biggest and the best festival the UK has to offer is beyond me. There’s so much to do there-something for everyone-and it’s so well planned and thought out that you could never want for anything (except perhaps some more sleep!)

This year’s musical highlights included Bondax, Hospitality, Rudimental, The Stones, Fatboy Slim (on the phenomenal Arcadia stage, which almost defies description but is essentially a giant mechanical spider with a dj booth in the head, and moving pincers that acrobats spiral up and down from-oh, and also fire jets), Chase & Status, Toddla T & Mal Webb (an Aussie who’s not only a great entertainer but also a bit of a comedian to boot-look him up) in the Hippy Fields.

Lowlights included nearly being crushed to death whilst attempting to exit the Stones gig, the most horrendous hayfever I’ve ever had, a touch of sunburn (but we had sun-so yay!) and an ill advised fake tattoo saying “I Love Cock”, which seemed hilarious after a few ciders but which took a great deal of effort to scratch off-particularly unpleasant given the aforementioned sunburn).

I also loved the Boudior tent where you could get your face painted by the very lovely “Glitter Girls”, and have group passport photos in the dress up photo booth. There’s something so liberating about embracing your inner child and dressing up, and Glastonbury sure is the place to do it.

All in all I had a thoroughly enjoyable weekend with my friends, and despite initially thinking at the ripe old age of 31 this might be my third and final Glasto, I’m glad to report I’ve got a few years in me yet 🙂 Because this weekend’s reinforced how inclusive Glastonbury is of all age groups. Young or old, everyone’s welcome, and that’s perhaps the best thing of all. Michael Eavis, I salute you. And I WILL be back.