A Right Royal Wedding...

So yesterday it was the Royal Wedding. The day before there were a few, er, discussions at work. Quite a few people expressed their opinion that I found to be rather... ungrateful.
The majority of Britain scores a day off work and then people turn around and bitch about the reason? Mental!

I count myself as a modern girl. Sure, I'm a Romantic and a bit old fashioned but the thing is, I don't revere tradition purely for tradition's sake. It has to mean something, it has to be relevant in the modern world or it won't survive in this day and age.

I happen to think that our monarchy is a fantastic tradition and brings something to a world that would otherwise be a little less special.

We could get rid of our monarchy but then what? We'd be a little more secular and little more of an American mini-me. We'd lose out on the FORTUNE tourists spend on our Royal attractions, lose quite a few dedicated ambassadors and committed representatives for our lovely wee nation, cut off a direct line to history, stab patriotism in the back and on top of that, we'd have to get a new national anthem.
(I heard someone opine that our national anthem resembles a funeral dirge... I disagree, I LOVE our national anthem. That said, I would like some to do a nice, Amazing-Grace-style version of it. Maybe I could belt it out on YouTube and become famous. Or I could just lob a packet of bacon across the room.)

One of the most fantastic things about Britain is the rich tapestry of history that not everyone else has. America has a few things that are seriously old but I have a friend who was flabbergasted that when living out there someone told him that they had just moved to a different church and it was great because it was really old. He asked how old, genuinely curious, and was told that it was fifty years old. Fifty. I graduated in Canterbury Cathedral which goes back to 597AD. The sixth Century, that's fifteen hundred years. The small church in my village was built in the twelfth Century. Tell me that that isn't an amazing piece of history right there, but I can promise, I won't believe you. I'm not saying that America doesn't have any history, I'm just saying, not every other nation's ideas of 'old' aren't the same as British 'old'. New Zealand has the same deal, they were invaded by the white man comparatively recently in the history of the world and so they don't have the same kind of historical architecture etc. We're all different and we should acknowledge those differences and rejoice in the awesome bits.

We should appreciate what we have, that's one of the best ways to be happy in my opinion. And to me, appreciating what we have includes our Royal Family.

People can whine that they have a charmed life living off our tax money but you know what, I wouldn't swap my freedom for their lives at all. I'd rather choose the career I want and pay tax on that than be raised with Duty to my country and have to spend my life smiling and nodding and shaking hands through countless opening ceremonies and meetings that must become dull with repetition, no matter how glamorous. As the heads of the Church of England, do you think they have the freedom to choose their own religion? The freedom to fall in love with whoever they want? Look at King Edward and Wallis Simpson, they had to put up with so much crap just to be with the person they loved. Do you think they can fall in love without wondering if the person they love truly loves them or just their title? Let's face it, what girl wouldn't want to be a Princess? I know I just said I wouldn't swap lives with any of them, but if I honestly had the opportunity, I don't know if I could actually say no to that. It's not what I'd choose for myself out of everything in the world but given a genuine chance... I don't know. I flatter myself that I wouldn't drop my life, my principles and individuality for it but if I loved the guy? I so would. This hypothetical situation is of course based on the premise of my bloke not being in the picture; I know I couldn't drop the man I love for some stranger with a title.

Somebody told me that the Royal Family have it easy because even if they get divorced it's no big deal because they don't have to worry about selling the house, educating the kids, affording to live on a single income. Instead they have to worry about whether they will still be protected from a media frenzy that will eventually kill them.

It's true they don't have the same problems as normal people, but the things they must worry about are both smaller and larger. They don't have to worry about money but they do have to worry about paparazzi and they can't just ignore what the press says about them; they have to cultivate a positive public image. Any bride will worry about stuttering her words or stumbling down the aisle, but Catherine Middleton had to do it in front of millions of people and worry if anyone was going to try to kill her that day. They have great security sure, but if someone really wanted to, I'm sure they could manage it. Look at JFK, Martin Luther King (Jr), Alexander Litvinenko, Lee Harvey Oswald, John Lennon, Robert F Kennedy, Malcolm X, Lincoln, Caesar or Franz Ferdinand.

Never mind people talking crap about your family. Most of us can handle what other people say about us, but insulting the people you love is a sure fire way to strike a nerve. Imagine not being able to say anything back. You have to bite your tongue and let the PR people defend you, or not. Every single thing you do is documented and studied and Royal heirs have to grow up through their childhoods and teenage years and twenties - the times when we are meant to make mistakes and learn from them. Having your mistakes and problems splashed all over the headlines can't be fun. Nor can making true friends be, or falling in love.

No, for all their money and status and glitzy glamorous lives, I don't envy them. I think waking up when the shine has worn off would be too harsh a come down from that Royal cloud.

Home is where the heart is?

Last week, whilst visiting family in Edinburgh, I found myself musing on the defining characteristics of Scottishness, on what it means to be Scottish and where the line is drawn on what is or isn't Scottish; especially after my uncle revealed that haggis was originally an English dish way back when.

As the daughter of English parents with a Welsh grandmother, a Scottish grandfather and an Irish great-grandfather, this is a subject that has recurred throughout my life. Proud of my Celtic heritage, I collected pieces of our tartan and guarded them from lil sis who couldn't have cared less. Despite ridicule from my friends, I knew it was important to me.

This all opens up a much larger question on nationality. Does it matter more where you were born or where you were raised, or even who you were raised by? I know I have a much stronger connection to place I grew up in from the age of 6 than to were I was born and can't remember.

Is your true father your genetic ancestor, your 'sperm donor' as a friend calls hers, or the man who raised you? Mine are the same man but I still feel that parenthood is defined not by genetics but by sleepless nights and holding tiny hands, by drying tears and kissing bumps and bruises better. Love, in essence, is what defines that relationship; being there for you and experiencing your life. By that merit, my hometown is definitely where I grew up.

And just like the relationship in families, no one sees the very best qualities of your home as well as you do, but no one else sees its flaws as clearly either. The protective streak that flares should anyone else mention these flaws proves just how close to our hearts these connections are, whether we profess to loathe these places or not. It smacks of that sibling relationship; I am allowed to pick on lil sis but no one else can or they'll have me to answer to.

Having had such an overt interest in my Celtic heritage, I took England for granted. Other than pride in Shakespeare, Jane Austen and Princess Diana, I barely noticed that I was English until I left. When I set off to backpack around New Zealand at the grand old age of 18, I was a confirmed coffee lover. A Starbucks fan with a hotmail address that confirmed my coffee addiction to all, I had no time for tea, that quaint beverage that old people drink. I was young, part of the iGeneration and I found tea dull in comparison with strong, sultry coffee and all the sugar-laced offerings of Starbucks and co. Until I arrived in New Zealand, began missing home, bonding instantly with any other English people I met no matter how diverse our background and started drinking tea. I embraced the English stereotype because it reminded me of my mum and dad and their many many cups of tea a day. It wasn't even until I returned and I was staggered by English trees that I realised just how much I had missed English trees.

Likewise, when I later attended university and befriended an adorable and minute young Pakistani girl, she developed a taste for spices far beyond the level she had cared for back home. She might as well have included lighter fuel in her cooking so inedible it was to me. And as if poisoning me wasn't enough, she didn't lay off the potency of spices until she'd given herself gastroenteritis.

I rediscovered my love for coffee but even to this day, I drink hot, sweet tea after a particularly hard day or whenever I need a little comforting. And if I miss my best friend? Out come the spices; minus the lighter fuel though...

Blog virginity status: popped!

I've been trying to think of a good way to kickstart this blog. To cut a long waffling story of nothingness that will waste precious minutes of my time and bore you senseless, I came up empty. So I decided to just go ahead and write.


So, this is me. Writing.


I suppose I should introduce myself but to be honest, I think you can figure it out as we go. Let's face it, most readers of a blog in such infancy as this are going to be people who know you, right?


But hey, just in case I ever reach dizzy heights of followers, what do you need to know?


Well, I'm a geeky girl who likes science fiction, fantasy and role-playing games with a big love for books, especially Shakespeare and Austen. Yes, I know my conversational style is more than a bit 'American' but a lot of colloquialisms are and you know what, I grew up watching Buffy so this is who I am and anyone who doesn't like it probably shouldn't be reading this. Sorry, but that's the way it is and I am nothing if not honest.



I'm a bit of a grammar-nazi and a feminist. Disclaimer: feminism does not mean men-bashing or female superiority, it's about equality. Which women do not have. Granted, we have it an awful lot better in the western world than in other countries but it's still not perfect and why on earth would you give up on something so important before it's perfect? If you need more convincing, I will probably do a blog dedicated to the issue of feminism but in the meantime, watch this. As a feminist, I do not eschew all things feminine. In fact, I revel in a lot of them. Some traditionally 'female' attributes are outdated but giving up all things for fear of being girly is just oppressing yourself. I love romcoms and my favourite colour is pink. Reasons? Well written romcoms explore characters and emotions and I love watching, reading and writing about human behaviour. The colour pink just makes me happy. No one has ever told me to like these things or expected that I should, (being a perverse creature if someone had told me to like something, I probably would have done the opposite) I just do and I am not about to change because of what other people think.


Perhaps this is a little heavy for a first blog but hey, things surprise you when you go with the flow.