The Thoughts and Ramblings of Kitty Wake

It’s time to admit it, my secret shame. It’s Jeremy Kyle. There, I’ve said it so bring on your scorn and derision, I don’t care!

I started to watch Jeremy Kyle every now and again when I was home sick, or on leave during the week. I thought it was funny and daft, a way to see how the “other half live” I suppose. But since seeing it was available to watch on the catch up service I’ve been watching it every night whilst having my tea. I don’t know what it is about Jeremy but I like his unveiled hatred for a lot of his guests and he says things to people that I wish sometimes we all could say. He gets so angry with benefit cheats and layabouts and addicts that choose drugs and alcohol over their own children. He screams at people who decide to have kids when they’ve been in dysfunctional relationships for 5 minutes. But he’ll admit when he’s wrong about someone which a lot of us should do really.

He has some catchphrases that I like, my favourite being “Well well well” when reading out lie detector results. I use it a lot now, I think it’s a great precursor when starting any conversation. Then there’s “You should have put something on the end of it!” which is usually shouted at some useless teenage parents. And don’t let me forget “Get a job!”.

The guests on the show are usually teenagers that have had kids who don’t know who the father is so are there for a DNA test. Or people in ridiculous relationships who don’t trust each other to go down the shops on their own without shacking up with someone. They’re mostly unemployed and claiming benefits and buying drugs at the expense of the tax payers. And they’re stupid. Not just a little bit dim, they’re completely devoid of intelligence and would barely be classed as life if they were found on a Petri dish. I don’t how these people actually function!

On the surface it’s salacious and exciting, laughing at these stupid people and they’re pathetic lives, getting to feel superior to them and how they live; it’s acceptable voyeurism.  But if you watch it enough you get to see something deeper and more troubling, a great piece of social commentary. It’s so sad to see kids having kids. 15-16 year old girls who’ve had children and they don’t know who the father is. Isn’t that a cause for concern? Shouldn’t schools be doing something more to teach them how to not get pregnant, or have an ambition other than being a mum and living off benefits until they become grandparents at 30? Now that Nadine Dorries has had her “sex abstinence” bill passed I guess this will only get worse. The girls don’t want to say no. You can see they think nothing of sex, it’s just something to do and it means nothing. And why does the onus have to be placed on the girls? Why not try to educate the boys about contraception more so they don’t think using condoms are for losers? Just say no is a stupid idea that hasn’t worked, ever, for ANYTHING!

Then there’s people who’ve been degraded by people they thought they could trust. Lives destroyed by lies. Feuds between friends and families played out for all to see. I saw an episode recently which surrounded a family torn apart by a father who suspected his own daughter of stealing his life savings from his wardrobe (yes really). He screamed such hateful things at her because he was convinced of her guilt. The lie detector test showed that she was innocent but she was devastated at being accused and humiliated on national telly by her own dad. How can a family get like that? How can it have gotten so far?

No one seems to talk to each other any more, preferring to have slanging matches in front of millions of people, or on Jeremy’s pet peeve “social networking sites”, rather than at home in private. I’m to blame too though, for watching it. I don’t know how Jeremy doesn’t go insane, some guests make my head hurt!

I hope I never have to be a guest on the show…but if I was I’d make sure to wear my bestest tracksuit, bleach my hair yellow (making sure to leave an inch or 2 of dark roots), wear ALL my jewellery and tan myself orange. You know I’d look “fit”!

So I think I might be addicted to interior design. Well maybe not interior design per se but the design of my interior.

It all started about 12 months ago…[fade to flashback]

I decided we needed to get our cellar cleaned up and ready for my husband to use as a studio space.  So we booked a skip in order to throw as much crap away as possible. It transpires that we had a lot of crap, some of which had never been unpacked since we’d moved in 7 years previous! I was happy to be ruthless as I’m not overly sentimental, especially upon seeing that tiny little bugs and spiders had decided to turn our precious junk into their new home. The husband, not so much! But a swift clip round the ear-hole sorted that out. All was ready for the mass sacrifice to begin when the skip arrived. In the interim I started thinking about sorting the garden out and getting rid of the hideous concrete slab planter that was chock full of weeds and was a speed dating venue for all things crawly and slimy; it had to go. So when Skip Day arrived I got to work on the planter first; it took 2 days of digging and hammering to get the bastard out, but by Jove I did it.  It also filled two thirds of the skip so we only just had enough space for our junk; oops! Alarm bells should’ve started ringing from then on; this wasn’t going be as straight forward as the mister hoped. 

You probably don’t think there’s a real problem, I’m improving my home so it’s a good thing right? Well the problem is I get distracted. Very easily. When I start a project I’m completely absorbed by it and think about it 24/7 and want to finish it NOW! But when I’m about three quarters of my way through I get a new bright idea for something else. Then suddenly that’s all I can think of, even when I’m still doing the other project! Then I start buying the materials or researching for the new idea and before you know it I’ve left the last project unfinished so I can start the new one because I’m just so EXCITED! I’m like a dog getting distracted by squirrels.

I even buy interior design “porn”. I limit myself to 3 different home magazines each month, each having pretty much the same things in them, using the same design principles and similar furniture/soft furnishings/colour pallets. “If I know they’re the same why the hell do I keep buying them you idiot?” I hear you say. Well there’s sometimes a project or idea or feature that is unique to that magazine so if I don’t buy them all I might miss it, obviously. It might not be so bad if I didn’t spend a lot of my lunch hours researching new products and ideas on-line, all of which are found in the magazines that I buy so why do I do it?! Also, instead of reading a book before bed I’ll use my iPhone to search on-line for an idea that just occurred to me or I’ll lie awake at night, unable to sleep mentally, working through the things I want to do next.  On my way to work I pass Wilkinson’s (sells a lot of DIY stuff and home wares), a shop that looks like it should be cheap but isn’t. I regularly drop in on a morning to pick up some paint, or brushes or tools etc. It’s a good job I’ve finally quit smoking because this habit of mine is getting expensive! And if I’m not doing anything DIY/decorating related of an evening I start to get a little twitchy, craving for my next fix.

I must say though, since starting this whole interior design kick I’ve learned a shit load of new and useful stuff. I know how to rewire a light, hang wallpaper, plane wood, seal windows and baths and redesign and construct flat pack furniture to fit awkward areas, oh, and how to make fishing nets. If there’s something that needs doing and I don’t know how to do it I spend hours researching so I can confidently do it myself, sometimes to save us money and other times just for the fun of it.  

So what started out as a project to get the cellar fit and ready to be used as a studio has ended up with the chimney breast in the living room opened up, new laminate flooring, light, curtains, sofas and dvd/bookcase, and the walls and ceiling painted. The stairs and hall carpet being replaced, the walls and woodwork half painted and new light fittings. A new light in the kitchen, a new bookcase and chairs and a hand painted blind. The furniture in the 2nd bedroom is half painted, a new curtain and hand painted blind and new light fitting. New curtains and hand painted black out blind in the master bedroom. Lots of new storage things in the bathroom, with the cupboard doors and main door half repainted and a new latch fitted. The interior door handles changed. The front and back doors painted and new door furniture fitted. And finally our back garden being done up with a new zombie proof fence painted like an old deck chair and an old wheelbarrow turned into a rather fetching planter. As for the cellar, it’s empty again after the need of another skip and has had just 1 coat of paint on the walls and the floor is half painted. I think I’ve not fulfilled my order of works and if I were doing this for a living, I’d be well and truly fired.

As I write this I’m even thinking what the next big project is going to be, it’s my library! Once the third bedroom has been cleared and things finally sent to the cellar studio, I get to go to town on my reading room, I’ve even seen the paint I want. I might have to drop by Wilko’s in the morning…

I returned to the place of my childhood at the weekend. Each time I leave it tugs harder on my heart strings. I know it’s easy to be nostalgic about the place when the sun is shining and the birds are singing but I saw things with such a clarity it made my heart skip. I looked around me at the place I grew up and remembered all the good times I had as a restless kid, and as a moody teenager, and wished that I didn’t have to leave.

Nowhere feels the same to me as my parents house; comfortable and easy. I know each nook and cranny like the back of my hand. I know all the best hiding places inside the house and out. I know the sounds the house makes when it’s settling at night and I never feel nervous when I’m alone there. I know the village like I never left, the shops may have changed but the feel of place hasn’t. I wanted to quit my job and sell my house right there and then standing on the train platform, so I didn’t have to leave my true home.  I suppose it’s akin to returning to the womb and Freud would probably have a lot to say on the matter, but I don’t care if it’s obvious and cliched; I love my home and I’m homesick.

I thought about it all the way back to Leeds on the train, the place I’ve lived for the last 11 years. How I miss my family and the friends I have there, how I miss the sea and the sounds it makes when the night is silent, and how I wish I could go back. I felt like I was betraying my life here so kept it to myself. On the approach to the station, passing the back alleys and bars that surround it I looked at the buildings and streets with a renewed focus and sense of familiarity. I knew these streets and buildings like the back of my hand. I could feel the change in the tempo of the city as the sun was dropping and the activities of the city changed to the evening shift. I felt this city was as close to my heart as my home village; I’d grown up here too.

I’ve made wonderful friends that I wouldn’t give up for the world and had experiences that have shaped the person I am today. I’ve suffered heartbreak and loss, joy and excitement. I’ve made mistakes and bad decisions, but had triumphs and success, everything I needed to grow. Most importantly of course I met my husband, the man who changed my life for the better. Had I stayed in my little village, I wouldn’t have been the me I am now.

So I realised I can be homesick, it’s ok to feel nostalgic and reflective for an earlier time, an earlier version of yourself. Memories are but abridged editions of a more dull and average reality, as if airbrushed to make them seem more wonderful. I know now that if I could go back it wouldn’t be the same, because I’m not the same.

But maybe I’ll retire there, who knows.

It’s at this time of year that I notice the colour green. Not that I don’t notice it the rest of the year, or that I try to ignore it. It’s just that during the spring/summer crossover, when gardens and parks are resplendent with new growth, I realise just how incredible green is. There are so many different shades of green in nature that’s it’s impossible to compute. Just look at a single tree and you will see not just one shade, but many shades and variations along the same tone of green that it can make your head hurt. And all these greens are natural!

I don’t think I have a favourite green as each one elicits a different reaction. There are the deep and complex greens, reminiscent of a deep dark wood covered in mosses and full of ominous shadows that make me want to pull your coat tight around you and tread carefully. Then there’s the pale and frivolous greens that make you want to run and play through the long grass and spend hours looking up at the sky just breathing in the scent of new growth. And there’s all the shades in between that have their own stories, too numerous to recount. And that’s just the flora; I won’t even start with the fauna!

But then there’s the smell. You can always smell it best after a rain shower, like the earth has just woken up from a long sleep and is ready to grow again. It’s almost like you can sense the plants rejoicing and pushing their way up out of the ground so they can have their chance in the sun. Or trying to reclaim what Man has taken.  And to me that smell can only be described as “green”. Growth, life, oxygen, fresh, new, clean. Green.

I remember as a child journeys to and from my home village fixated on the farms along the way. I’d see the grasses, trees, bushes and hedgerows just exploding with green. It made me feel happy to be alive, that something better was out there waiting for me, I just had to reach out and touch it…

Anyway, that’s green

There’s a lady on my bus who every morning drapes her coat over the back of the seat next to her. It really winds me up. I mean, she’s pretty much claiming all the seats behind her. That’s just greedy. Now, the bus is never usually that busy that it becomes an issue but people avoid those seats. Why? She doesn’t have the right to claim those seats as hers; we have as much right to sit in those seats as she does! Everyone else seems to manage to either wear their coat (heaven forbid) or drapes their coat over their lap (radical!). I must admit I do delight in making her move her coat if I sit behind her. But why does it wind me up so much? She’s not really harming anyone and she probably doesn’t think twice about what she’s doing, but it really pisses me off!!

So that got me thinking about bags on seats. I know I do put my bag next to me but only if there’s loads of spaces and not many people are getting on, and I’m more than happy to move it when the seats are needed. It doesn’t bother me one jot, I have an ample lap and I’m willing to use it.  But I have been witness to, and with increasing frequency, people who don’t move their bags.  They sit there, staring out of the window or texting their “friends”, all just to avoid seeing that they’re being a prick as people start to stand in the aisles. Or there are those who just don’t care. It’s ignorance like this that really drives my rage level into the red. What staggers me though is how many times those in need of a seat don’t ask them to move their bags!

Then there are the obvious annoyances of kids playing their shitty music through the tinny speakers on their phones, but what’s worse are the people who are listening to their music through their headphones so loud that the entire bus can hear the lyrics. Why do you have to listen to your music that loud? From what I can hear of your “music” it would be better to turn the damn stuff off as it’s shit like that that rots your brain.

So why do we seem to collectively put up with this? We all tut and sigh and roll our eyes, but never actually say anything. The “Coat Lady” would probably apologise if I made her aware of my feelings. “Seat Bags” would probably feel embarrassed if their ignorance was pointed out in front of a full bus, and hopefully be shamed into being more considerate in future. And “Headphones” would probably turn the volume down. So why don’t we say anything? Are we afraid of offending people? Are we afraid they may argue and cause a scene? Are we afraid we’ll get stabbed in the face? For whatever reason, it’s stupid and it shouldn’t continue, but it will as we’re far too polite in the face of rudeness.

There should be a governmental pamphlet written on bus etiquette. It should be given to all teenagers when they start their GCSE’s and sent an updated version on their 18th and 21st birthdays (should hopefully have sunk in after this) and then fined when they don’t comply with the rules. And people can just shout “BUS ETIQUETTE” in order to draw the culprit’s attention to their folly. It’s simple logic and basic manners that seems to be beyond a lot of people. And don’t get me started on the young people who sit in the front seats of the bus and don’t move to let an old person sit down…

I’ve always been highly opinionated and full of vitriol on one subject or another but I often choose not to voice my opinions in case I offend, or come across as rude. However after a sherry or two I’m more than happy to weigh in on subjects that I’m not always fully informed on, and sometimes subjects I have absolutely no idea about.  But I always wish I could go back and edit what I’ve said, especially when I realise I muddled an argument that actually made me look like an idiot - quite a regular experience, I can tell you.  So I decided that today was the day I started my blog, striving to put right what once went wrong, and hoping each time… hang on, that’s not right. Anyway, you get the idea.

I have no mission statement and no real agenda. I write my own opinions and do not intend to have a lot of what I say taken too seriously. My aim is not to offend but merely to entertain - however both cannot be guaranteed. I cannot guarantee that I won’t post hipster “lomo” photography because I do like it.

See.

I cannot guarantee that I won’t contradict myself, sometimes in the same sentence, as my brain tends to work out ideas as they’re being said, rather than waiting for them to be fully formed before I spew them out. And I cannot guarantee you’ll even like what I have to say - sometimes I don’t really like what I have to say either. I can however guarantee that I’ll write about all sorts of subjects so there’ll be “something for everyone”, like a KFC variety bucket.

So, I started a blog…