Music Taste

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I’ve been riled up for almost a week now.

On Saturday I met up with a group of friends, old school fellows that I haven’t seen in a long while, and had a wonderful day catching up at the Exeter Food Festival.

Well… it would’ve been wonderful if it hadn’t been spoiled by a comment made by one of my so-called friends.

He had said that I have a bad taste in music.

And before I had the chance to jump up and defend myself one of my other friends had changed the subject.

I felt humiliated and robbed of justice.

Now to start, I believe that saying anyone has a bad taste in music is just downright wrong.

Music is a subjective and personal experience and to say that someone has a ‘bad taste in music’ is really just an attack on their personality.

My music taste is very precious to me and I didn’t like the fact that I had been judged by someone who didn’t really know me anymore.

A huge time has elapsed since we went to school together and my music taste has certainly changed and grown since that time. Just because we were best pals at school doesn’t mean they know me just as well as they do now. I’ve been through a lot of different experiences that have influenced me in different ways.

I certainly do not pretend to know him as well anymore, and I recognise that a great many things have happened since we used to sit around in the 6th form common room together, listening to each other’s music with shared headphones. (Yes isn’t that funny, he used to appreciate my music taste back then; listening to Tenacious D, Michael Buble, Hans Zimmer, Hairspray and other completely random things.)

I think that because he went off to study music at university he believes that he his taste in music is superior to others. He judges harshly when they don’t listen or agree on the same music as him.

And I find this completely baffling and wrong, a music student should know better.

Music taste is not something that can be taught or constructed, it is as individual as a finger print.

What he has is a better understanding of music and this, I believe, is where his confusion lies. University has opened his eyes to different genres and artists, it has given him a better understanding and a wider knowledge of music as a whole.

But this knowledge and understanding DOES NOT affect his taste.

You can force someone to study and play as much classical music as you want but that will not make them like it if they didn’t before. I believe you can appreciate and understand something without having to like it or listen to it all the time.

There is no such thing as a good or a bad taste in music.

But there are different kinds of tastes

1)      Narrow taste – someone who has tunnel vision when it comes to music, they only listen to one particular style. They never deviate and they never branch out. Which is fine because they know their own mind, if they know what they like why should they have to need seek out new music just to please others?

2)      Inclusive taste – someone who has a very broad and extensive repertoire behind them, they are always on the lookout for new music and enjoy discovering different genres and styles. They are basically sluts when it comes to music, they love anything and everything.

3)      Intermittent taste – someone who has irregular shifts. They can be fixated on a particular genre or artist for a very long time but then can suddenly turn off and obsess about something else. They move on to new music one phase at a time.

So, I hope you understand what I mean.

Studying music and being introduced to new music doesn’t instantly mean you are going to like it or that you’ve suddenly got a better taste than anyone else. It depends where your music influences have come from.

I strongly believe in emotional responses to music, I pick up music from different places, people and experiences which has meant that a lot of my music comes with memories and emotions attached.

I think everyone can agree that moods and emotions play a great part in the music they listen to.

I felt so humiliated and insulted by what he said to me in front of my friends, I ran over all my ‘shoulda, woulda, coulda’s’ for the rest of the evening and night.

Man, I wanted to scream.

‘YOU ARE WRONG, YOU OBVIOUSLY KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ME OR MY TASTE IN MUSIC IF YOU CAN COME OUT WITH SUCH A SWEEPING JUDGEMENTAL COMMENT LIKE THAT. YOU ARE BASING THIS ASSUMPTION ON WHAT I USED TO LISTEN TO IN SCHOOL AND THE FACT THAT I DON’T LIKE 90’S MUSIC. WELL DONE, WHAT AN INFORMED STATEMENT TO HAVE MADE.’

I have felt pretty rotten for the last few days, I’ve been wrestling with this injustice every night since he uttered those horrible words.

I wanted to defend myself, mainly because I believe that I actually have an eclectic and varied taste in music. I do prefer rather upbeat songs, but you can find upbeat and positive songs in nearly every genre of music.

My parents influenced me greatly and I still listen and love the likes of:

Dire Straits, Bruce Springsteen, Queen, ABBA, Tina Turner, Suzanne Vega, Elvis Presley, Santana, Pink Ffloyd, Phil Collins, R.E.M, Meatloaf, The Dubliners, Enya, Lighthouse Family, Rod Stewart, Status Quo, Vangelis and a lot of jazz and classical music.

My childhood was filled with a variety of sounds and genres, a great introduction to the wide world of music. I can’t say I’ve loved everything they’ve thrown at me but at least I can say I gave them a go.

There was one time during my teens where I went into a sort of hiding when it came to music.

I hate the 90’s and early noughties music because it just reminds me of this particular time, I was bullied, and from now on I can only associate bad thoughts to that period. So, whilst this awful racket of sound happened around me during my teens, I stuck to only one CD. (Back when iPods didn’t exist can you believe it? It’s really no wonder that my taste narrowed down to one particular artist. I couldn’t be bothered to change the CD!)

Dean Martin was my salvation. I was obsessed with his voice. He got me through the worst years of my life and for some reason I couldn’t bear listening to any modern music, not while I could listen to him.

It wasn’t until I entered sixth form that I began to return to my old diverse self (the introduction of the iPod definitely helped in this regard…) And once I went off to University that’s when I really discovered my wings.

From 2008 – 2011 I discovered a love for modern music, not because I thought they were great works of art, I just loved them because they reminded me of amazing nights out clubbing with my Uni friends. You can say that pop is mainstream garbage and I’d agree with you, but I would still love it nevertheless.

Just because I like a bit of pop doesn’t mean that this has defined my whole music taste. I have discovered a lot of other genres along the way and my most recent music package probably looks something like this:

Mumford and Sons, Bastille, Bellowhead, Alice Cooper, Arctic Monkeys, Avicii, Bon Jovi, Coldplay, Florence + The Machine, Jack Johnson, the Fratellis, Haim, Howard Shore, Imagine Dragons, Jimi Hendrix, The Killers, Kings of Leon, Lady Gaga, Lana Del Rey, London Grammar, McFly, Pendulum, Oasis, Of Monsters and Men, Rachel Portman and Van Morrison.

I love uncovering new music and having people introduce me to other artists or genres they like. I’ve recently discovered a love for electric swing music (1920’s style given a kick up the backside with a plug). I will always love Jazz, 80’s and late 00’s Pop, Classical, Folk, Rock, Motown and Alternative stuff and I’d hope that no one will ever accuse me of not giving something a go because I try my best to give different genres a chance.

I make informed decisions unlike others.

If you have ever put someone down for their music choices then I hope you feel ashamed of yourself.

To say to someone that they have a bad taste in anything is judgemental and insulting; all you are doing is viciously clawing away at something very private and personal to that individual.

It’s just plain rude and mean.

These kind of people usually hone in on one thing you like/ dislike and assume that it defines your whole taste, they never take the trouble to understand where this taste of yours comes from or take the time to discover if you are into other things. They make a snap judgement and they think they’ve got you pegged inside out.

I don’t do that, I like taking the time to unravel people. I get curious and ask questions like ‘oh why do you like that?’ or ‘What else are you interested in?’ People aren’t one dimensional and their tastes can change over time.

Mine certainly do.

The person who said that to me showed me their true colours and he’s going to have a hard time earning my trust and respect again. Comments like that say a lot about a person and I’ll now always have this tainted view of him, which is a shame, because up until that point I was really enjoying his company.

 

Review Number Seven

7) Lydford Gorge – National Trust

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There are many things my boyfriend and I have a mutual passion for; cooking absurd amounts of food, watching our childhood programmes, rambling down country lanes and championing castles.

So it comes as no surprise that my darling boy thought it a grand idea to take me to Lydford Gorge to enjoy a long walk together.

A long walk isn’t even close to what I had to endure!!!

I am not a seasoned walker and I had nothing but a vague idea of what I was letting myself in for. It wasn’t until I reached the front desk to hand over my membership card that the realisation struck hard. The kind lady behind the counter issued instructions to us; suggesting pit stops and recommending a variety of routes that weren’t quite so steep. I was stunned.

‘It’ll take you about 2 to 3 hours to finish the entire walk’ she signed off.

WHAT?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

I ran to the toilet to take a breather before my gallant knight dragged me off to begin our journey down the one way track. I was hesitant and could but think of the halfway point where my darling said we would be stopping for a tea break.

But my body surprised me and for the first leg of the trail I was mostly alright, the valley was beautiful and I only really struggled with the uphill parts. We took no pit stops except when we spotted a view that was camera worthy (which was often) and I felt triumphant every time I passed a bench feeling well enough to trek on. The constant gush of water created a mystical atmosphere and it felt as if we had stepped into a Peter Jackson movie. The stunning views were accompanied with the potent smell of wild garlic and a consistent drilling sound from a covert woodpecker; I was enthralled and healthily out of breath.

I wasn’t expecting the waterfall to look as serene as it did; you are used to seeing these great walls of crashing water but the White Lady (so it is aptly named) simply skidded down the valley like a children’s slide.  When we reached this halfway point we had a difficult decision to make; stay and dine? Or press on and earn a well deserved treat at the finishing line?

We chose the latter and continued on our expedition.

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We soon realised, however, that I seem to have a cut off point; a point where I rapidly lose the ability to speak and become irritably desperate to just give up and go home. I had found the end of my tether after an hour of walking. I was an uncommunicative zombie who could but grunt and moan at the views being presented to me by my fresh faced exuberant companion. The devils cauldron zapped the final ‘awes’ I had in me and mumbled notions of dinosaurs scampering about the horizons of the valley ridge (I speak truth my Bandicoot caught it on camera). I had meant to say that the scene had a Jurassic essence about it and that I could easily imagine a T-Rex leering over the crest of the gorge; I guess the roaring noise of the cauldron drowned out my senses.

I dragged my feet into the tea room and near collapsed on the cashier. He was a very very very nice man and was understandingly sympathetic of my exhaustion and fatigue. We found a park table outside, away from some ghastly loud children and waited for the kind man with a feathery blonde beard to bring us our well deserved prize.

Even in my zombified state I was still able to consider the cream tea that was presented before me with a respectably critical eye.

No I lie. I’m sorry …

I was so thankful and desperate for them that any serious evaluations of the subject were lost, forgotten and discarded. I ate with the primeval instincts of one who had nothing left to focus on.

So here, my review, in the words spoken at the time of consumption;

‘Icing sugar?! What?! Amazing! Raspberry jam?! Yum! Omg it looks like tadpoles, no you know what I mean … frog spawn! Tasty frog spawn! Wow there is SO much cream! Look at those nipples! Omg this is so good. Awe and the buns are warm! Man I needed this, I’m drinking this tea like its water, agh you know when you are just thirsty and tea is like water? It quenches my thirst just as much as water! Aww no! The icing sugar is all over my leggings! Ketchum did you notice the jam and cream is local? Look the jam has won awards, tasty frog spawn though it’s a little sharp … maybe that’s why they gave us icing! Cream is so good though. Wow. Just. Nom.’

So yes they had sprinkled our buns with an unconventional layer of icing sugar and were presented to us on charming oval plates. They were warm, fluffy and substantial. The generous amounts of cream and jam enabled us to greedily mount the buns with several layers of the stuff. I had immaturely made my scones to look like nipples and childishly giggled at the icing sugar mess I had made on myself.  The jam did, admittedly, look like frog spawn, but it tasted as fresh and as fruity as if we had picked the berries ourselves and had placed them on top. The fact they gave us a choice in jam won bonus points in my eyes and they had NO fruity scones, not one …

BANG ON THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!

There was a generous pot of tea for us with an added topper of hot water, which I was most grateful for, because I downed my first cup of the milky brew instantly and was in need of plenty more.

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I admit that my state of fatigue may have acted as a ‘rose tinted glasses’ effect and made me perceive the scones in a much better light than I might’ve done, had I not just undergone a 3 mile walk. After a ‘stroll’ like that I doubt anyone could look at them in any other way. You will certainly not be disappointed when you enjoy them at the finish line and that I can bet my life on.

My only advice to Lydeford Gorge would be to add markers on your map of where all the benches are during that walk; would be great for those who are less robust than my Aladdin; using them as motivators to reach the next rest stop!

We did the walk in approximately 1 hour and 30 minutes. My legs didn’t thank me for it but it was well worth it in the end; the sights were magnificent and the cream teas were, well … like I said well earned and damned tasty.  Hoorah.

A Confession at 14:19

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I have been extremely girly this week. In fact I’ve been rather ‘anti-feminist’ for the past year… why? How? You ask? Well since I am in Devon, where not much really happens because I am severely lacking in friends and have been working part-time for a company that needs not my intellect, I have found time to dwell on frivolous thoughts. Spanning from the outrageously neurotic, where I truly believe my friends hate me, to the profound, sensible thoughts about the future and of…

MY wedding.

Yes, that’s right I think about MY wedding…

Because it’s going to be AWESOME!!!! And my Bandicoot has no idea what I have been cooking up for us… I have thought of all the things we like and have thrown them together in a cauldron of confetti and champagne. Imagine Pokemon, Cream Teas, Cougar Town, Thomas the Tank Engine, Life of Pi, 12 Angry men and John Wayne all meshed together at a National Trust property… ahhh what an idea… haha don’t worry it’s not really that crazy… or is it?

So you guys are engaged?

WHY GOOD HEAVENS… NO! Silly, I’m just a day dreamer. I sometimes imagine I am actually marrying Hugh Jackman… Captain America or the cookie monster… ahum… because well, I don’t really have the money to pay for this wedding, yet, and we’ve agreed to not get engaged until we can. That way I won’t have to be a fiancé for decades… I want to be a fiancé for as little time as possible… just seems like purgatory otherwise.

So yes that’s my dreadful little secret… I’ve even made a scrap book of all my ideas… from stationary, dresses and table decorations… but not the cake. THAT IS ALREADY SORTED!

I’d share some of my ideas with you but I have this fear that whatever I plan will be copied by my cousin. A girl who, for some reason, seems to know all the things I want and copies them without even realising… its infuriating. It’s like we have a mental connection; whatever I ooh and ahh at she will inevitably have, even if we are in different counties and I have her in my restricted section on Facebook… If she has anything the same as me I go berserk and if I find that she has copied any of my wedding ideas I will die.

I will rip her cake apart. I will claw at her dress. I will go all primeval on her guests and then I will look at my scrap book with hopeless longing.

That’s not petty is it?  

Or perhaps if I state my ideas now it’ll be proof that I thought of them first…

No that won’t matter to her… she’s not compassionate enough to understand…

OK it is super petty… but living with this mimic has led me to this irrational need to be different from her. I have done so much to escape this clone. My hair has suffered from all the times I have had to dye it a different colour when I’ve noticed she’s had the same hair cut as me. It’s like trying to run away from your own shadow, your own mirror image; its hard work. Trying to be different is hard work and at times I have never felt myself or natural all because she can’t get her own image.

To me my wedding is a sacred concern, a precious delusion that I will protect with the maternal instinct of a lioness; defending her cub.

If she gets a cake made by Choccywoccydoodah I will kill her.

The Triangluar Trends of 2010 +

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Triangles are very ‘in’ at the moment, aren’t they? Triangles seem to be the calling card for Hipsters; it unites them all under a very angular sky.

I am very happy with the present. I am happy with these Hipsters. I thank them for what they have done with fashion – they’ve finally got something right. The retro-revisited-look finally focuses on the best bits the past decades had to offer; High-waist shorts (I can’t hark about them enough), moustaches, pork-pie hats, platform boots, brogues and moccasins, studded… anything, Nordic jumpers, elbow patches, leggings and crop tops. It’s weird to think that all these can work together. The hipster look is for me, 100%.

AND the music of today… I CAN STAND IT… YES!!! I’ve finally realised what I’ve been craving; Drum and Bass, Dubstep, Folk, Alternative (whatever that really means), bands that use actual instruments and, I admit, I even like the chart poppers; which I never thought I’d ever say. Maybe it’s because I associate them all with happy memories, happy drunken memories of SURHUL (look that up if you want to see where my secondary home is), University changed me for the better. I fell in love with Lady Gaga, Florence, Example, Mumford and Sons, Wiley, Dizze Rascal, Tinie Tempah, Bellowhead, Journey, The Glee Cast, Coldplay, David Guetta, Swedish House Mafia, Pendulum, Katy Perry, Ke$ha, Flo Rida, The Kings of Leon, The Killers and The Midnight Beast. Most of these I never ever thought I would like and I still feel embarrassed about liking them, shameful really, but I do and I’m ever so grateful that they came into my life. They opened doors to genres that before I would never consider touching. They were bolted shut for me for a long time.

During the past decade I was at odds with fashion and music. I was very much averse to the sounds of the late 90’s and early Noughties, something about that period was noticeable in my ears. I didn’t like it. It has a distinctive audio sound, one which I can pin point and hear in all the songs that were made during that ‘era’ – all of the American rap-rock, Hip-Hop and RnB-Pop that spewed and spewed and raped my ear drums. University cleansed me of this haunting sound and I finally enjoyed the music of the moment. The essence of geek became cool, the thick framed glasses, the pixulated world of video games was finally given the credit it deserved and the drinking games to match.

But once some things are brought back people do get carried away, some idiot will think that they can bring back something else… and maybe this too, oh and this, man we can’t forget about that either!!! AND that’s when something that should’ve been left in the past gets the second chance it didn’t deserve.

Scrunchies.

Crimped hair.

See through plastic clothes.

Jelly Shoes.

90’s shit has returned with vengeance. I mean who the fuck thinks this looks good? It doesn’t. No one wants it, why are you trying to bring them back? WHY? WHY? These small and rather irrelevant things have given way to something worse.

The ringing has returned. The present was fine until you ruined it.

The audio of crap-pop, rap-shit, American rock-dump and RnB-trash has made a comeback. Some nostalgic Britney Spears zombie has brought back the cheese I avoided in my youth and now I am uncertain. I’m worried the next song I hear will have this echo of the past and those bloody Pop Band reunions are certainly not helping.

I can list the only good things that came from the 90’s:

Games: Pokemon/ Lara Croft/ Spyro/ Mortal Kombat/ Mario/ Crash Bandicoot/ Final Fantasy/ Sonic

Films: The Lion King/ Aladdin/ Tarzan/ Toy Story 2/ Pretty Women/ The Mummy/ The BodyGuard. Titanic/ Home Alone

Television: Friends/ The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air/ Sailor Moon/ Digimon/ Pokemon/ South Park/ Family Guy/ Rugrats

Music: Michael Buble/ Bryan Adams/ Bon Jovi/ Oasis

And that’s about all I appreciate from that decade. I mean just because they were big back then and you used to like them doesn’t mean they need a comeback, some things should be left in peace. Whoever is in charge needs to realise this. More care needs to be taken when deciding what deserves our attention. The past is overshadowing what is great here and now and I for one don’t want to repeat the fashion blunders I made when I was 12 or hear the things that were cool when I was a teen.

I’m hoping it’s a just phase that will pass by next winter, because if I hear any more songs like Thrift Shop by Macklemore and Ryan Lewis, Mirrors/ Suit and Tie by Justin Timberlake and Boomerang by Nicole Scherzinger or see anymore scrunchie victims (already seen two) I may run into those triangles and never come back out again. Some vintage styles have comeback because they flatter the figure and are worth the second chance. The Hipsters, the Urban-Outfitters and the Jack Wills Yuppies will see through this foul attempt to revamp the 90’s and press onwards toward the triangles of style and of modern thinking.

We let the 80’s through because they were actually cool to begin with; it’s not a trend you can duplicate.

To Kill a Wendy-bird…

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Thanks to a close friend of mine (Patrick Enigma… I’ve mentioned him before perhaps you remember…? No? What? Well then read the post about him then, sheeeesh…) we’ve finally figured out which female Disney Character I am.

You know all those online questionnaires you do to figure out which Princess you are most like?

No?

WELL DO IT!!

Its fun; my friends and I used to have fun figuring out which ones we were and talking about our predominant character traits. Although, sometimes, it did lead to arguments when negative traits were mentioned… you know the ones your friends are not meant to notice or point out… EVER… well, I used to have fights with one of my Besties (Jellybean, will talk about her soon!) about which one of us was more like Belle from Beauty and the Beast… used to end with us having to pick other ones; she would be Ariel and I would end up being Snow White just to save us from throwing chocolate at each other.

HOWEVER, that has now changed. I finally must bow down and admit defeat… for I am none of them. Yes I love reading like Belle and can I sing like an angel too… (yeah errrm one of those might be a slight over exaggeration…) yes I love to clean up with my animal friends like Snow white and yes I flirt as badly as Meg does… not sure if she counts as a princess… meh… demi-god-dater is close enough… and hell’s yeah I like to rebel like Ariel but, alas, nope, nada, I am none of them. A single character trait has foiled me.

And that’s jealousy.

Can you guess who I mean yet?

No?

Ok, well I shall go into a little bit more detail. I HATE IT WHEN MY MALE FRIENDS GET GIRLFRIENDS.

There I said it… soooo happy to get that off my chest.

It’s not as if I fancy them or anything (well, sometimes…) but I just can’t stand it when another girl comes along and thinks she knows this guy better than I do. Fine ok I don’t know what their penis looks like but dammit there is a history here and you are spoiling it. I despise the girlfriends that force their lovers to stop hanging out with their friends just because their friends are women… I mean what’s that about? If you love him you should trust him. End of. You doing that just makes you out to be an obsessive, insecure and immature bitch. (You can tell I’ve had this happen to me often can’t you?) Do they really think I’m going to run off with their beloved? If I had wanted to don’t you think it would’ve happened already? (Wow that’s really arrogant isn’t it… (it isn’t if it’s true..) SHUSH INNER ME, ahem what nonsense… I certainly don’t think it would be that easy… … …)

A guy and a girl can be friends.

No. No. THEY CAN! It’s a myth set up by the controlling partners who can’t stand their girlfriend/ boyfriend being with the other sex no matter how innocent the situation may be.

That annoys me.

That’s why, like Tinkerbell, I burn red with hatred when girls take my boys away.

Lord that sounds possessive…

No it is possessive.

I admit I am slightly possessive…

I’ve no idea where it stems from; I don’t get as bad when my girly friends are taken away by their boyfriends… I think it’s because men can’t help but focus on one person at a time. When a guy has a girl they are either all in or not and that means that I am more than usually forgotten.

I hate being forgotten. Or left out. Or ignored… I think everyone can emphasise with those feelings.

I also think it’s easier between girls because they can have the excuse: ‘oh I’m having a girly night in/out, no boys allowed’ or on the other side ‘LADS NIGHT OUT!’ You can’t exactly say ‘we’re having a best boy and girl friend night out’ can you? It just doesn’t work, it just instantly sounds suspicious, WHICH IS SO UNFAIR, especially when there is really nothing suspicious about it AT ALL… it’s just the rules (written by the domineering manipulative, green-eyed cows… ahem I mean loving girlfriends I told you about… must not be bitter… stop being bitter…)  

Funny how it was my male friend that noticed… maybe because he is very much like Peter Pan…

And I am certainly his Tinkerbell; his sidekick who tries to kill his Wendy-birds… as of yet I have only ever approved of one of them… future Wendy-birds… BE CAREFUL!!! (but don’t worry I won’t really kill you, I will just turn red and glare at you or make it plain when meeting you for the first time that I did not want you here, interrupting Peter and I’s private party is a capital offence… and is not tolerated lightly.)

Ha I joke, like I would never be that obvious…

*shifty eyes…

Snobbery in Debates

I despise people who start debates just for argument sake; they find a tiny opening and use it to vent all their political views and frustrations. I was subject to such condescension yesterday when I shared an article on Facebook written by a cast member from Made in Chelsea.

It discussed how our society today is obsessed with branding people who are financially well endowed, well spoken and have had a proper education as lazy selfcentred snobs. She says bravely – “When did it become a crime to be well brought up?” When indeed?

She defended the show and her fellow cast members by confronting the prejudice and discrimination being thrown at them by critics and declared that judging people by where they are from and who their parents are IS narrow-minded. These critics always seem to play towards these class stereotypes and I too am fed up with it. This class feud is pathetic and has spawned from nothing more than jealousy and prejudice; this is not how individuals should be judged by. People who generalise and feed on these stereotypes should be branded for what they are; intolerant and bias.

I shared her article because I have been subject to such prejudice and understood her viewpoint NOT because I wanted to engage in a debate about this class feud.

This article touched me because throughout my years at school I was considered some kind of rich spoilt brat because I spoke English without an accent and lived in a nice house. My parents have worked hard all their lives and the fact that I was being belittled in such a way left me bewildered. We have a comfortable existence, yes, but it was because my parents were careful with their money and went without certain things. They bought our house when the housing market was good and why shouldn’t they spend their hard earned money on something as worthwhile as a house? I never understood why these people came out with things like “well your mummy and daddy pay for everything don’t they?” No…

NO THEY FUCKING DO NOT. Do you see me walking around in designer clothes? No. Do you see me with a new phone or new gadget every month? No. Do you see me jet setting off to a new country every five minutes? No, no, no, no, no.

YET they STILL have this perception of me.

Because my house is of a certain size it must mean that I am filthy rich – not that they noticed that it’s slightly falling apart and that my family can’t afford to redecorate or fix parts of our house – no it’s the size that counts. That’s all that counts; apparently. So yes I become very frustrated and hurt when these sorts of comments are thrown my way. Especially when I do work hard and save like a bitch to be able to afford the things I want. I am grateful for my life, I don’t crow over others about what I’ve got… so why am I being punished? Others are more culpable; like the people who strut around in nothing but Jack Wills or are able to have a new IPhone whenever they want. Why do normal people like me, who work hard and save hard, get treated with such contempt? Because, for some reason, people love to cling to these class prejudices and think it’s easier to stereotype people rather than get to know them.

So I shared the article and what I got back was exactly what she was talking about; someone who doesn’t watch the show giving a misinformed opinion about it. He spoke of the politics and the snobbery of it – when it was him who was being the snob, he who was being the chauvinistic critic she and others like her were condemning.

Now I have this problem. I am useless at debates. I hate them because I am incapable of portraying my argument in the same way. I am not pretentious and I don’t pretend to know anything about politics. So when someone does come along to blast these comments at me, for the pure enjoyment of showing off his own well-versed opinions, I freeze. I can’t fight back. I can’t say anything in retaliation because a) I don’t want to have a tiring debate where the person who started it won’t even consider another viewpoint making the whole endeavour pointless and b) because I am not eloquent when it comes to defending my point. I lose my voice, my mettle and cower away in frustration. This person didn’t know me, he didn’t know why I shared this article; he just made a presumption and went for it. It was as if he hadn’t read the article at all, he was just starting a debate for the fun of it; well he picked the wrong person.

He jumped to conclusions and just reaffirmed everything she had said in the article, the bastard proved her right and he doesn’t even know it.

Indulging in Melancholy

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I have always been highly critical of myself.

 
If I ever did what I do to myself, relentlessly, to others I would be called a bully. I would. I can be so negative and hurtful… no that’s putting it too nicely… I can be a bitch. I can be the most vile and manipulative cow to have ever walked the earth, all because I know, exactly, which words will hurt the most. I know where my soft underbelly is and I can claw at it whenever I want. I can pick at my emotional seal like a scab until it leaks and then overflows. I never tire. I make myself bleed out with fear and self-loathing until all that is left is pity and shame. Sometimes I triumph and the seal stays strong and can bear the brunt of the nit-picking and the self-analytical interrogations it receives.
But this seal will give way at some point.

 
This seal’s strength will wane when I have a setback. It won’t matter how pointless or superfluous this setback is; it can be anything. When this does happen the bully in me doesn’t wait. It strikes and then this time the seal fails. So it leaks and until I can patch it up again and give it some TLC it continues to leak infecting the day with malicious thoughts and cynical suspicions.

 
My ability to blow things out of proportion is certainly an ally to my inner demon. It encourages this facet and feeds on it when it grows. I allow it to run rampant; like a fat child in a candy store who has an unlimited spending allowance. I go on gobbling away on these outrageous thoughts with no consideration of the damaging after-effect. It balloons out of control in my head and suddenly that’s when I can no longer sustain its gluttony. My inner thought‘s suddenly explode outwards and affects another. I’ve had enough of myself… now it needs more. So I lash out. I attack my nearest and dearest because I know where their weaknesses lie.

 
Makes sense now why I could never stand up to bullies in the past. I didn’t know where their wounds were… I hadn’t the time to investigate and prod and realise. I had to shut up and take it and then release my fury at home… at the people I could hit back with. It was an even playing field then… I just had the pent up anger as an advantage.

 
I became the bully at home.

 
I admit it to myself often enough when I am alone, reminiscing, but whenever family members remind me of how awful I was I try to brush it off, to deny it. It hurts me more that they remember I guess… that my beastly behaviour burdens them still… you never forget your bully.

 
Everyone has one.

 
So you’d think I’d be able to stop being so anti-me. If I didn’t like being that way to others why do I keep on doing it to myself? Will I ever be able to stop…? You know it’s bad when your friends notice that trait about you but it’s so, so much worse when a teacher acts like it plain to see. I don’t want it to be obvious to everyone. I don’t want everyone to know that I despise myself, sometimes. I know I need to change. Bad habits have a way of sticking around in an unnoticeable place… like a ‘kick me’ note stuck to your back – you are never quite sure if it’s really there or whether someone has been able to stick it back on after you managed to spot it the first time.

 
You only know with a kick… and I sure am fed up with these bruises.