Notes from a gap year

And so, I come to the end of two years in York. Well, fuck - that's a bit mad, isn't it? I will soon be leaving for pastures new (well, Sheffield), and it's fair to say this has been an eventful couple of years. Good and bad, I've learnt phenomenal amounts (about linguistics and about myself) and had some utterly, utterly glorious times.

This year in particular has been busier than I thought possible, juggling five part-times jobs and PhD applications, but being someone who doesn't function unless they're late for five things at once, it's been bloody great. I've spent most of the year responding to "So what do you do?" with "Well, it's complicated..." -- so what have I actually been up to this year, and what am I taking away from it all? Glad you asked...

Do ALL THE JOBS!

Job #1 - Project Officer for the Temporal Co-ordination in Communication project
What? My main source of income this year, I was lucky enough to snag a research assistant job at York Uni almost immediately after graduating. Working under Dr Richard Ogden in partnership with some talented musical folk at Cambridge University, we set out to investigate whether rhythmicity in speech (and music) was shared between conversational participants, and whether this could be seen in their intonation patterns or physical gesture.
No really, what? I spent the year analysing the speech and movements of pairs of speakers as they chatted, played games, and made music. It was super rad.

Lessons learnt
- Analysing people's video-captured eyebrow movements in great detail makes you hyper-aware of eyebrow movements in real life. Related: people get uncomfortable when you stare at their eyebrows.
- If you pause a video at the right moment, any two people can look like they're in love. Or like they want to kill each other.
- Some cliches are true, and sometimes people are so posh that you literally can't understand what they're saying. One gent was talking at length about "rang" and I swear to God it took me about three minutes to figure out he was talking about "rowing".
- There is little more painful than having to watch two non-musicians try to make music for fifteen minutes.
- High quality audio recordings are a gift. The sound of a person smacking their lips or hocking up phlegm directly down your headphones is not.

Job #2 - Vowel analysis for the Scilly Voices project (University of Sheffield)
What? Dr Emma Moore is looking into language variation and change on the Isles of Scilly. I leant a hand by listening to old archive footage of Scillonians born at the turn of the century and delimiting, labelling and coding certain vowel sounds.
No really, what? I listening to charming old folks talking about island life and marked up whenever they said a vowel that rhymes with the one in 'mouth'.

Lessons learnt
- Never underestimate how long it will take to get through a 75 minute recording. (For the record, eight hours.)
- All Praat and no play makes Hannah something something. (Go crazy? DON'T MIND IF I DO! etc.)
- It's very easy to get invested in the lives of interviewees, particularly if they saved someone from drowning and/or their dad beat up the headmaster of their school for caning them. (Both the same guy!)

Job #3 - Data monkey for the Surrey Syncretism Database project
What? The University of Surrey, along with its compatriots, is compiling an online resource that gives academics access to an easily-searchable database of languages, in order to display and investigate syncretism (when a language has the same marking for different features).
No really, what? I unpacked reports about complex languages and turned them into shiny, organised spreadsheets to pop into the database.

Lessons learnt
- Kashmiri is a fucking complex language.
- Excel spreadsheets and complex language paradigms are made approximately 67% more fun when you colour code them while listening to loud pop music.
- Accidentally ctrl+Cing when you mean to ctrl+P is akin to a papercut, in that it is a minor annoyance that causes ridiculous amounts of strife.

Job #4 - copywriter/subeditor for publicservice.co.uk and defencemanagement.com
What? These guys compile public sector information journals, commissioning and creating content and distributing it. I worked here for a year between my BA and MA, and they kindly kept me on freelance.
No really, what? I write stuff, and nitpick stuff that other people write.

- Anybody who talks excitedly and with passion for their field makes for a charming interviewee, and the article subsequently writes itself.
- It's possible to get super-invested in something you had no idea you were interested in, so much so that you exceed the word count by nearly half; in my case, military medals, and how they're made and awarded.

Job #5 - copywriter/content provider for various sites, through a centralised pool of writers
What? I wrote blog posts, articles, product descriptions and suchlike for a bunch of websites.
No really, what? Seriously?

Lessons learnt
- There's only so much bullshitting one can do. And you can't bullshit your way through an article about institutional insolvency in Europe when you have less than no idea what you're writing about.
- Fluff pieces about Kate Middleton's holiday plans and the best-dressed celebrity mums are alarmingly easy to churn out, but doing so kiiiind of makes you want to kill yourself.
- Never underestimate a word count. Sometimes, 450 words can seem like thousands.

York livin'
Having lived in this glorious city for two whole years, I am obviously the foremost influence about the places to be in York. HA! No. But still, I love this city dearly, so if you ever find yourself visiting or living here, these are my recommendations.

• Go to the Minster. Yes, I know, duh, but it's easy to forget that your home plays host to one of the most staggering pieces of architecture and history in the country. Even if you're not religious, go to Evensong or the Christmas carol service - it's beautiful. If you can, explore the crypt and the tower - it's worth the money. At the very least, go inside and look up. Take a deep breath, and take in the ceilings. Incredible.
• Visit National Railway Museum. All of York's museums are great, but this is my favourite by far. Its free, for a start, and is a brilliant celebration of man-power and industrial endeavour. Huge and sprawling, it makes you feel like a child, and walking through the room full of mish-mash railway memorabilia and accessories is like a historical jumble sale. It's a fantastic museum that needs and deserves saving.
• Walk up the river, from Skeldergate bridge. Either side - down the cycle path or through Rowntree Park. Both are gorgeous.
• Cycle the solar system route, particularly if it's a sunny day. It's super easy to do because it's 99% flat, you take in some gorgeous countryside, and when you get back you can say that you CYCLED AROUND THE UNIVERSE.
• Get a huge, ridiculous ice-cream sundae from Licc. Hands down the best ice-cream I've ever had, and comes in a ridonkulous number of flavours. One time, I had a sundae that was cinder toffee, caramac and salted caramel, and it's probably the closest I've come to passing out in an eatery because the food was so good.
• Bishopthorpe Road is where it's at. The Pig and Pastry is a delightful and friendly café whose eggs royale are to die for; Pextons is a proper old hardware store which has everything you could ever need; and Millie's greengrocer is cheap and brilliant (and one time they gave me a free Milky Way). The whole street is just a lovely, mutually-supportive group of independent shops, and it's lovely.
• Go to the Mason's Arms on Fishergate, whether it's for food (their portions are huge!), drinks (lovely, cosy atmosphere and a host of ever-changing local beers), or the Wednesday quiz (SUPER fun, and free food!). The staff are impossibly lovely and kind, and the food is stellar.

Life, the Universe, and everything in it

This has been A Year. Good, bad, bonkers, awful, exciting, terrifying, all of that business and more. I learned many Important Life Lessons, and much as I might not have wanted to, I'm very glad I did.

- It is, apparently, entirely possible to simultaneously have not enough and too much to do. It's very easy to get to the point of "well, I have so much to get done that I might as well just curl up under my duvet and watch Doctor Who again".
- I have the attention span of a gnat, and I need to work on that.
- You're never too old for boybands.
- What you think is 'right person, wrong time' may actually just amount to 'wrong person, full stop'.
- I have loved living with guys, but when they start peeing with the door open, you start to need female company. I've mainly lived with girls in the past, but living my best New Girl life with four male housemates this year has been absolutely brilliant, and I wouldn't have changed it for the world.
- You can't fix people who don't want to be fixed.
- It's tough when your closest friends aren't geographically close, but that's doesn't mean you're alone.

The number of people who asked after the family before/after dad's op, and who congratulated me on getting PhD funding, was staggering. There's been times this year where I felt like I had nobody, but I was wrong. I was just focussed on the people who weren't there, rather than the ones who were. Thank you, everyone.

My time in York has been enhanced and rescued by some wonderful, wonderful friends. I'm afraid the rest of this blog post will be horrendously sappy and overemotional. But, you guys are reading this, and it's ME - what else did you expect?

THE ARCHAEOLOGISTS

I was lucky enough to be warmly welcomed by the Archaeology/Cultural Heritage Management gang last year, and they're about as lovely and fun a crowd of people you could hope to meet. I also learnt a staggering amount from them all - it's a diverse and fascinating subject, and I'm very glad they just let me sit there and ask inane questions about it for hours on end.

THE ECONOMISTS

This year's Archaeologists (i.e. the group of people who allowed me to tag along with them all year) were the Economists, who are also a properly fantastic bunch. Admittedly, I asked fewer probing questions, because the idea of Economics makes me brain bleed, but they were just as interesting regardless.

THE BISHY ROAD LADIES

Coming to York, I didn't know anybody. I luckily managed to snag a room in a house with three girls through a friend of theirs, and arranged to meet my new housemates a few weeks before. Within about four seconds I though "these are my people", and they made the transition to York a wonderful one. Fun, sweet and just as nerdy as me (if not more), I can't think of people I'd rather scream at the television with.

LINGUIST LADIES

Linguistics tends to be a female-heavy course, and the MA programmes last year felt a bit like an awesome girlband, minus the dance moves (well, most of the time). We cried on each other about dissertations, bitched about professors and danced off all the stresses of the year. Each and every one of them is a beautiful brainbox, and I'm so glad we got to chuck our hats in the air together.

ALI AND BRI

(I should note that I've already started crying by this point.)

A dreadlocked South African, bespectacled Californian and a bright-tights clad Brit walk in to a bar and order some flavoured cider. They then proceed to talk animatedly in pop-culture quotes and Internet memes while flailing their arms about and intermittently singing and dancing. They alienate the rest of the bar, but build a friendship for life. God, I miss these girls every day, but I know for certain I will see them again as frequently as the oceans allow.

MISCELLANEOUS BESTIES

Yeah, I was doing really well at categorising groups of people, until I got to this point. Friends, friends of friends, housemates of friends, friends I watched a lot of football with, friends whose weddings I happily attended, friends I did pub quizzes with, friends who marathoned tv shows with me, friends I watched on television, friends I attempted to swim in the North Sea with but quickly bailed because it was too damn cold. God, I love you all.

GRAY STREET MASSIVE

We've had lots of people in and out of the house this year, but the five of us have had a cracking time. We've enjoyed/endured Ross' eclectic music tastes, we've cared for DJ Boot in his invalid state, we've eaten A LOT of banana cake, and while two of our number are currently gracing Thailand and Belize with their presence, it's been a bloody brilliant house to live in all year.

ROSSINGTON

We found Ross on the Internet when looking for a housemate, so he could have been anything: an axe-murderer, a kleptomaniac, a Tory. But I thank my lucky stars every day that he was Ross - a hilarious, charming, caring and generous guy who honest to god lights up any room he's in. I wouldn't have got through this year without him looking out for, entertaining and challenging me. He's like my big brother - very occasionally I want to tear the Avril Lavigne singlet off his shoulders, but I wouldn't be without him for the world.

***

Right, I've cried enough writing this. On to pastures new, taking incredible friends and important experiences with me. So long, York. It's been real.

Six truth punches that changed the way I look at things forever

(trigger warning: rape and sexual abuse, racism, ableism, homophobia, transphobia)

Beans on toast; sunshine; Take Me Out -- sometimes the simplest of things are the best things.

I read a lot of stuff on the Internet. It's both important and enjoyable for me to read about politics, sexism, racism, ableism, body image issues and similar issues that fall under the umbrella of "social justice" – it helps to educate me and encourages me to adjust my thoughts and behaviours in order, as I have previous put it, to not be dick. I've read so many incredible lengthy pieces of writing (whether blogging or journalism*), which I frequently bookmark or email to people to spread them around.

But sometimes, it only takes one sentence to absolutely transform the way I think about something, or to sum up an issue to perfection. Often referred to as a Truth Bomb, my preferred nomenclature is the Truth Punch – something that comes out of the blue, punches you smack between the eyes, and leaves you dazed, cartoon birds circling your head. And afterwards, everything looks a bit different; things have shifted, become more clear.

I thought I'd collect up six examples of times I've read a sentence or thought, and felt like I've been knocked for six.

ONE

(source)

Nobody deserves to be sexually assaulted in any way, regardless of how they're dressed. By stating that a woman is in any way responsible for being attacked because of her clothing choices, not only are you insinuating that she invited a violent sexual act upon herself (NO), you're insulting men, too -- suggesting that, in the face of a short skirt or low-cut top, they become physically unable to resist turning into a monster and attacking someone.

No. People are raped because someone decided to rape them, and while in a world that is already broken, keeping oneself safe is key, teaching women how to "not get raped" is ridiculous when it's not paired with explicitly teaching people to "not rape". If a person is going to rape someone, and decides to choose their victim based on the length of their skirt, then they will find someone to rape. If you're promoting changes to women's behaviour to "prevent" rape, you're really saying "make sure he rapes the other girl". The culture in which anybody thinks it's okay to sexually attack someone is the thing that needs to be changed, not the height of the victim's heels.

TWO

(source - though I'm 99% sure this isn't the original source, I just can't find the real one)

Ah, the Friendzone. A concept made up by guys (and perpetuated by everyone) who were super pissed that someone they were nice to didn't give them unfettered access to her pants. Oversimplified, yes, but that's the jist of it. The concept of the friendzone is 99% bullshit – if someone doesn't want to be with you, despite you being a nice person, that is not their fault. They're not into you in that way, so quit being an butthole about it.

While this applies to relationships between people of any gender identity, it's most frequently found between guys and girls, and as the latter, I can assure you that it's extremely creepy and disappointing to think that the only reason a guy would want to be friends with me is as a means to an end – that end being getting his end away. Women are not vending machines that you put kindness coins into until sex falls out. Just because you're a nice person to someone (shock horror, a friend!), doesn't mean they owe you anything: sex, eternal love, nada.

THREE
Annoyingly, I don't have an image for this one (my perfectionist heart is crying a bit) as I can't recall the exact phrasing, but the quote was something along the lines of:

As a white person, saying "I don't see race" is basically saying "I wish everyone was white".

It is, of course, an admirable ideology to be anti-racist, but saying "I don't see race/I wish we lived in a world where people don't see race" is crazy problematic. It comes from a place of erasure rather than equality; it says, "I wish you didn't have the qualities that make you different from me", suggesting that the victim is the person who should have something changed about them in order to make everything okay. For white people to reach equality with people of colour, we shouldn't be ignoring race. Instead, we should be making the time to understand and appreciate the differences, learning about the issues that have lead to the imbalance of power between racial and ethnic groups, and making the effort not to treat someone differently because you don't share a skin colour (like it's actually an effort - it's just 'being a decent human')**. Kerry Washington sums it up here; erasing someone's culture and history is not cool.

FOUR

(source)

This comes from the incredibly erudite and excellent Ali, whose blog you should all go and read because she's super rad. My mad skillz have allowed me to highlight the section that hit hardest, the Truth Punch: When I hear skinny girls obsessing about their weight, all I hear is "I don't want to turn into you". I don't have a commentary on this, because I haven't thought or read enough about body shaming and its surrounding issues to write one, but it shocked me into realisation, and really made me think about the very personal effect of the way I, and the rest of the world, see and talk about our bodies.

FIVE

(source)

It's really the first sentence of this passage that, for me, is the actual Truth Punch, but it's all good. I won't go into too much detail on this one, because I've covered it already in my previous post, but it hardly takes explaining, really. Political correctness isn't an assault on your free speech, it's adjusting your language to not marginalise people – it's evening the score. The defensive "oh it's political correctness gone mad!" is just a reaction to being calling out on linguistic bullshit. Politically correct is just a term assholes came up with so they can dismiss people who have the nerve to want to be respected. It's not imbalancing something that's already equal, it's redressing an imbalance that already exists. Nothing is lost - equality is gained.

SIX

(source, but again I don't know if this is the original artist!)

This one is a pictorial Truth Punch rather than a written one, but its excellent simplicity works just the same. This is occasionally a more controversial opinion to hold, because the consequences appear to negatively affect those in a position of privilege (they don't in reality, but they appear to). Equality isn't just about giving everybody the same chances; it's about redressing imbalances that are so ingrained in our society that we don't see them any more. It's not enough to open things up, in my opinion - concentrated effort should be made to gain ground for marginalised groups, whether they be ethnic groups, the disabled, those who have changed gender, whatever.

This often leads to people in positions of privilege claiming that they are 'victims' of affirmative action, that they missed out on something because of box-ticking and filling quotas. I call bullshit - I doubt any sensible person would give an opportunity to someone less worthy because they have to make numbers. We still live in a meritocracy, and people gain based on what they have to offer. But if two people are in exactly the same position? Well, if a small amount of box-ticking is what it takes to equalise a vastly unequal society, then so be it. I happen to think the burden is on those of us in positions of power and privilege to even the score. (Obviously this is a tricksy subject, though, so commentary and response are welcomed.)

***

So, there they are. Six quick shocks to the system that made me rethink, re-evaluate and adjust my system of belief. Extended commentary and discussion is great, but occasionally, simplicity is key.

*A distinction it seems odd to even make.
**Among other things, of course. That simple shift in behaviour isn't going to solve racism.

On running, and a change of heart

I loathe running. I think it's possibly a mild form of PTSD after being forced to run cross-country laps in the rain for three years at high school*, but I literally can't think of a worse past-time. Running leaves me sweaty, uncomfortable and miserable. One of my main life mottos is that one should only run when one is late for something or being chased, and the fabulous Ann Perkins pretty much sums up my attitude to recreational running.

I admit, my the fervency of my anti-running agenda sometimes causes me to have quite extreme reactions to public displays of running. I'd occasionally scoff at triumphant tales of distances covered, dismissing them as smug and ridiculous, thinking that, as people obviously can't actually enjoy running, their only reason for doing so must be to make me feel bad about myself. I'm well aware how ridiculous my reaction actually is, but for so long I just thought the culture was one of lycra-clad smugness and needless self-inflicted misery.

Then came this week, where someone possessed the malice and audacity to attack the finish line of the Boston marathon. I was, of course, aghast at the needless lives lost and ruined, and spectated in horror as the manhunts ensued.

I also read about the incident. Several articles have been written by members of the running community, picking apart the particular foulness of attacking an event like the Boston Marathon - something I hadn't really thought about before.

Firstly, I read Richard Askwith's piece in the i, choice quotes from which are posted below:

"It's an easy story to forget, if you're a non-runner, and your vision of marathon-running involves skeletal obsessives flogging themselves joylessly to the brink of collapse in pursuit of an arbitrary, solipsistic goal ...  

I remember travelling to the start of my first marathon, in London, stomach churning with apprehension, fretting about what pace I should aim for and whether or not I was wearing the right shoes - and realising, minutes from the off, that I'd missed the point. This wasn't a race, it was a party. There were more than 30,000 of us, shuffling through the first miles at little more than a walk, chatting, joking, laughing at the runners in fancy dress - and wondering at the sheer diversity of it. There were people of every age, colour, accent and body shape; every possible charity was being supported. Best of all, every inch of the way was lined with spectators, cheering as though we were proper athletes... 

Big-city marathon running is about embracing humanity. It's about enhancing life: your own and other people's, discovering how much you have to give, giving strength to those you cheer on, raising money for charities you believe in, and resolving to come back and do better next year. And here's the thing: there are millions of us, and until the bombers kill every last one of us we will keep running and cheering and urging one another on."

It was after this that the particular venom in targeting a marathon started to sink in. An event where thousands of people put one foot in front of another for the joy of it, for charity, for the experience – that's something quite special. Coupled with Bostonian reports of record blood donations, incredible acts of help and bravery in dealing with the injured, and the city's residents opening their homes and hearts to anybody in need, the whole thing seemed to take the form of a metaphorical marathon: a wall of human spirit driving back any attempt at attack.

Then, today, I read Marina Hyde's Guardian piece; talking of her own previously-held cynicism, it closed thusly:

"Consider it a human Grand National on which we can all have a flutter. And it is the ultimate flutter, if you think about it, because you never know when you or yours might need to collect on the communal winnings their charitable efforts produce. Maybe some of the medical equipment that saved those injured in the Boston blasts was, by some circuitous route, funded by Bostonians running in previous marathons. Maybe the work of the medical staff who battled to save the bombing suspect was in part made possible by past donations from ordinary people doing this extraordinary, mad, 26-mile thing. If it was, I can't think of an irony more sublimely illustrative of who's on the side of humanity and right."

I was so wrong. I never doubted that completing a marathon was a feat of human endeavour, but I'd completely misjudged the attitudes behind it. I thought them individualist and torturous, when they are, of course, based on community spirit, enthusiasm and pursuing a bonkers goal. A marathon looks a bit like the perfect encapsulation of the ferocity of the human spirit.

I'm writing this on a six-hour coach from Bristol to Leeds, clawing through my smartphone for any coverage of the London Marathon I can get my eyes on, honestly quite gutted that I can't watch the footage anywhere (though I'm not sure how well I'd cope - I'm choked up just writing this). Who am I, and what have I done with the jogging-averse grumpus I once was? Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to take up jogging on Monday morning, because I still hate the physical act with the burning fire of a thousand suns. But runners? Consider me admonished and converted. I'm sorry I judged you without thinking. What you do is mad and ridiculous and brave and incredible - well done, you magnificent weirdos.

*I wasn't forced to run for three years without stopping, just to clarify.

In pursuit of happiness

As some wise soul once told me, happiness is a skill. Now, anybody who knows me will probably say that I will punch you in the face with my perpetual optimism upon meeting you, and continue this metaphorical assault 97% of the time we spend together. I'm a giddy person. I get super excited when around animals*, I sometimes cry when the night sky looks particularly pretty, and I make this face with alarming frequency:

Thing is, I don't think it's easy to be happy, and I do agree that it's a skill - one I've worked at throughout my life. It goes without saying that happiness is circumstantial, and I'm lucky enough that circumstances haven't been so dire as to prevent happiness for extended periods. I also am lucky enough not to suffer from severe mental health issues, which are also naturally incredibly detrimental to pursuing happiness. But even from a pretty neutral starting ground, I've taught myself to be happy, and it's taken some effort. And, given time, effort has become habit, and habit has become a part of who I am.

I'm hoping this doesn't come across as a wanky self-help guide, because lord knows I don't have the authority or the audacity to pretend I can advise people on their lives in any way. But these are tips, I suppose. Tips that have helped me to be a bit happier in my everyday life. And I wanted to put them somewhere.

1. Take a deep breath
It's super easy, when caught in a bad situation, to freak the fuck out. In fact, you're more than entitled to do so. Heaven knows, I'm a cryer - as Kristen Bell so aptly puts it**, if I'm below a three or above a seven on the emotional scale, I'm probably in tears. And when you're crying hysterically, if someone says 'look on the bright side...', the temptation to punch them in the throat is rather intense. But listen to them: there really are good things that can come out of bad situations, and hearing them from other people not blinded by fear or rage or sadness can really help to rationalise things. Take a deep breath, and really take in the positives, the upsides. Eventually, it means you can start providing that help for yourself -- when something shitty happens, you're able to think of your own upside. Even if it's just one, one small good thing that can come from what seems, on the front of it, to be a complete crock of shite situation, it makes the whole thing less looming. Less all-consuming. There's good there somewhere; find it.

2. Say thank you
It's often the good deeds of others that make us happy, and while I imagine most of us have even the most rudimentary manners, and would thus say thank you, making the effort to do so properly is really, really uplifting. Looking someone in the eyes and saying how much you appreciate them, giving them a hug, or even just firing off an email to a company from which you've received particularly good customer service; a proper thank you makes you realise that, hey, someone did something for you. You, specifically. And it made you happy. And by saying thank you, you're most likely making them happy, too, which radiates even more happiness back to you. Win-win!

3. Find happiness triggers
Finding something that reliably makes you feel better is an absolute godsend. I have a few fail-safes: my 'pop renaissance' iTunes playlist; the BBC's adaptation of Emma from 2009; painting my nails; and pictures and footage of the aurora borealis. Like this one, which is intermittently my desktop background.

The aurora borealis over the Eyjafjallajokull volcano in Iceland, taken by Albert Jakobsson.

If you can, find something concrete that makes you happy, that lifts you inside, even a little bit. Have your happiness triggers nearby, ready to be grabbed when needed. It's almost like getting a hit - injections of happiness as and when you need them. Surrounding myself with reminders of the things and people I love (and the people who love me), allows me a quick pick-me-up when things are a bit rough.

4. Be sad
Yes, this seems rather counterproductive, but hear me out. I may be giddy and ridiculous a lot of the time, but I also get super sad. Like, eat-a-whole-Easter-egg-in-one-day sad. At first I thought the key to being happier was to not be sad, to eschew grumpiness with a firm hand. Thaaaaaat...didn't work. Instead, if I feel low, I own it. I'm a cliché. I listen to sad music and cry in the shower. I retire to my bedroom for fifteen hours of mainlining Doctor Who. I'm ridiculous. But it really helps - not only does the sadness move past much, much quicker when you allow yourself to wallow and then move on, but it's the old logic: you can't know what happiness is without feeling sadness. Happiness feels all the better afterwards, rather than just the default. Embrace your emotional range! Feel ALL THE THINGS!

5. Cut rubbishness loose
This one is simple, but a bit brutal. If anyone makes you feel less than awesome, stop spending time with them. People who exhaust you, who make you apologise for who you are and what you do, cut them out. It's really fucking liberating.

6. Enjoy things unironically
Lucky for you guys, there's an entire blog post in the offing about this ridiculous bullshit culture of ~liking things ironically~ that perpetuates at the moment. Only liking things ironically means you're somehow restricting the happiness you're allowed to feel?? That is INSANE. Like things because you like them! Don't apologise for it! This whole idea that some things can only be liked ironically - Ke$ha, The Only Way Is Essex, text speak - is a manifestation of some kind of nebulous, non-specific culture police telling you that some things have to be liked in one way and some things in another. It really is nuts.

7. Count your blessings
Remember how your gran always used to say this to you, and you'd roll your eyes? Yeah, me too. Then I actually started doing it, literally counting my blessings. Sitting down and making lists of the things that have made me happy in the past week/month/year, writing them on the whiteboard on my wall, reeling them off to myself so I remembered how fucking lucky I am. In fact, I'll do one right now:

Things that have made me happy in the last week
a. My dad being well enough after his surgery to mock me when I fainted at his bedside.
b. Getting super into a new TV show, and sending screechy emails to a friend about it.
c. Not needing my bike lights in the evenings.
d. Meeting fantastic new people this weekend, and spending more time with ones I have grown to adore over the past year.
e. Eating a fuckton of great food with the above.
f. Justin Timberlake making music again.
g. Buying a Letterman jacket with my initial on it.

One great tip I read online is to write little things that have made you happy onto small pieces of paper, and pop them into a jar. At the end of the year (or whenever you need a pick me up!), you can crack open the jar and relive the little, lovely things that made you happy months before.

Sometimes these don’t work, and everyone is different. But they’ve worked for me and, as I forget to do them a lot of the time, a list like this might be, at the very least, something for me to come back to. But, you never know, it might help someone else, too.

The Divine Comedy - In Pursuit of Happiness

*It takes a brave soul to take me to the zoo.
**This is the cutest fucking thing in the universe, seriously. KBell feels me, y'all.

Sheer, calculated silliness

On Friday night, I was lucky enough to snag a last-minute invitation to something I've always, always wanted to go to: a murder mystery party. My delightful housemate Ross was going, and there was a last minute cancellation. I'm not sure whether I'm proud or embarrassed of this, but I was able to throw together a costume in twenty minutes, and became Babs Crayfish: ex-nightclub hostess, aspiring actress, and girlfriend of an infamous gangster - complete with false beauty spot and glittery platform shoes. Along with the insatiable Oliver Steed, thespian and sleazebag (commonly known as Ross), we wandered across to our host's house (Brian Sewer, wine critic for the Times and general toff). We were joined by Charlie 'Champagne' Bunsen, aforementioned gangster boyfriend; Terence Shrimp, East-End wideboy and photographer; Tamara Fara-Bucktooth, socialite and girlfriend of the soon-to-be-deceased Lord Michael Jaggard; Mary-Jane Faithless, international pop-star and ex-girlfriend of said Lord; Martin X, American political revolutionary; and Kitty Killer, ruthless journalist and biographer.

Babs Crayfish and the insatiable Oliver Steed – and his painted nails (photo by Andrew)

We spent the evening around 80% in character, and everyone made a fantastic effort – wine flowed (a LOT of wine, if my head on Saturday was anything to go by), we had a fabulous three-course dinner, and worked our way through the evidence and dialogue provided. It was exceptionally hilarious, with some truly questionable accents (mentioning no names, Shrimp) and plenty of exaggerated gasps and vocal accusations. Having never been to this kind of thing before, I wondered how into it people would really get, and whether our natural, British uptightness would get in the way. I was absolutely blown away – everyone hurled themselves into it and milked the characters for all their worth; I haven't laughed that hard in a long time, it was a pure delight. And, triumphant host that he was, Andrew/Brian Sewer escaped unaccused and got away with murdering the Lord Jaggard – nobody suspected the stuck-up wine critic, despite his lack of alibi!

Through muggy hangovers, Ross and I spent a good deal of Saturday morning reflecting on just how fantastic an evening it was. Inhibitions were cast aside, embarrassment forgotten and everybody just went for it. It ended up being one of the best nights out we'd ever had. It was so refreshing, we remarked, for a group of us to just be so silly together for hours and hours.

It reminded me of why I love things like fancy dress parties -- it removes a lot of the pressure from social gatherings. I love spending time with people, but I'm often conscious of the way I look, act, and come across. Fancy dress and murder mystery parties remove that pressure, that weird sexualisation of events; they put everyone on an equally ridiculous playing field and make sure the night is fun and frolicksome as soon as it kicks off. It's odd, how I feel more comfortable in fancy dress than in my own clothes, but there it is. I just relish the opportunity to be silly.

This whole thing links into one of the best plot points from my favourite play/film: The History Boys. In Hector's general studies classes, his pupils learn the French subjunctive, the poems of Auden and the songs of Edith Piaf. However, they also learn the ending of Brief Encounter off by heart, and can perform a sterling rendition of When I'm Cleaning Windows. When explaining it, Hector says "it's an antidote; sheer, calculated silliness".

I love that. Taking the time off from the important stuff, the deep stuff, the grown up stuff like exams and bills and politics to just be silly. To recapture that giddy feeling of being a kid and not giving a toss what people thought, not caring about tomorrow. Putting on a silly costume, singing loudly and dancing wildly, cartwheeling in public. Particularly in a time where this exhausting 'ironic enjoyment' is depressingly prevalent, where it's only okay to enjoy certain things in a post-modern way, listing them as a 'guilty pleasure', I feel like time to be silly is necessary.

Admittedly, I am much more silly than a lot of people. I dance in public with alarming frequency and have mainly been listening to Little Mix's album on repeat in the last few weeks. But regardless, I feel like it's important to take the time to be immature again, to be silly, to not take things so seriously. Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional, etc. I know being mature is important, but it's just as important to let go. Be a bit stupid. "You're only young once, but you can be immature indefinitely" - Ogden Nash.

On that note, I bring this back to my latest silly endeavour: A Series of Escalating Dares for Comic Relief. I've had a few great suggestions for dares so far, but I still need more! Some examples, for inspiration, are below:


-- Dress as a bear and find 50 strangers to take growly, bearface pictures with you.
-- Dress as a Viking and undertake a raid of York complete with (carboard) Viking long-ship/dress as an Anglo-Saxon/Roman and defend York against all comers from the walls.
-- Treat any journey you undertake as an obstacle course.
-- Act like a cod Cold War-era spy (trenchcoat, sunglasses, shifty eyes, non-sequiturs, speaking only in code)
-- You can't speak, only sing. Operatic rules apply.
-- Spend a day speaking only in One Direction lyrics.
-- Narrate your day as if you're narrating the happenings of the Big Brother house. 
-- Go to work in your pyjamas.
-- Walk backwards. All day.
-- Travel around all day using increasingly ridiculous forms of transport: unicycle, rollerskates, hula hoop, cartwheels, etc.
-- Serenade One Direction with their own songs (obviously this would require the presence of One Direction)
-- Walk around all day in white clothing and carry pens, allowing everyone to graffiti anything they want on you/your skin, and you have to keep it on all day.
-- Dress up like a cat, possibly in your Top Cat costume, full face paint, ears etc and go and buy cat food and milk, you must meow at the person that serves you as you are being served.
-- Stand on a bench in a busy place, city centre or something, and sing "I'm a little teapot" as loud as you can, with actions of course.
-- Go to a pole dancing class dressed as a pole....completely covered in tin foil...and offer to be the pole.           

Any other suggestions? Let me know! I'll be posting the polls for people to pick their favourites soon, and then...roll on March 11th! Sheer calculated silliness: the charity edition.

End of year 2012 -- feelings and joy

So, 2012, in many ways, has been an absolute shitter. Like, the worst. 2012 can basically go and fuck itself, all told. HOWEVER, I really don't want the crappy parts of the year to be the things that stay with me, as there was a huge amount of joy too, and I'm still incredibly lucky. I learned a lot, had some brilliant adventures, and generally enthused about a lot of stuff. And so, to finish the year in the only way I know how: a sentimental blog post about the things that were great about 2012.

My family
For obvious reasons, it's been a really tough year for the Leaches. But it's important to take good things from bad situations, and if there's anything I've learnt from all this shite, it's how to properly appreciate my incredible family. I know they say you can't choose your family, but even if I could, I would absolutely pick mine again and again. They strong and smart and fun, supportive and sweet and ridiculous, and the most wonderful stone cold pack of weirdos I could ever hope to ever share my DNA with. It shouldn't take family disasters to make you realise how much your parents and siblings mean to you, but I'll take it.

Pop music
I don't have a particularly 'cool' taste in music and never have, but 2012 was the year I finally, properly said 'balls to that' and decided that I don't give a shit any more. There's a longer, more ridiculous blog post in the offing on this topic, but in short, I could not care less that I love pop music. McFly are one of my favourite bands. Call Me Maybe is one of the best songs of the year*. One Direction's album is pretty damn excellent. Stuff it all - I'm a teenie bopper for life and I care naught for judgement. (Ohhh, you just wait for my soundtrack of the year. Consider yourselves warned.)

One thing pop music is good for is remembering that somewhere inside us is the potential for unvanquishable joy." — John Darnielle

The Olympic and Paralympic Games
I didn't really have anything above normal Olympics-based excitement before it all kicked off, but as soon as I watched that magnificent, barmy showstopper of an opening ceremony I was hooked, and swept away on a tidal wave of sexy patriotism and crying over medal ceremonies. The celebration of working class Britain, the of endless dedication to a cause, of sportspeople not swathed in scandal and corruption. Wiggo's sideburns, Rutherford's fingers, Farah's Mobot and a veritable army of fierce, fantastic ladies doing themselves, their families, and the nation proud. It was a summer of staggering world achievement, Britain in the spotlight and a kind of enthusiasm and community spirit that's been in decline lately.

image source

I'm going to attempt a brief top-five Olympics highlights, but it's really just five brilliant Olympics moments off the top of my head and there are probably a million I've forgotten. But anyway:

1. PAPA LE CLOS
2. Tom Daley's medal celebration
3. Epke Zonderland's bonkers-incredible high bar routine
4. Mo Farah doing the lightning bolt, and Usain Bolt doing the Mobot
5. Obama and McKayla Maroney doing the 'not impressed' face

Also, the Olympics brought us the joys of Ryan Lochte's twitter and general existence, which I will never not find entirely hilarious. WAKE UP AND SMELL THE GARDENS.

Stoke-based epiphanies
Better explained in this waffly business here, it's been wonderful to find a kind of purpose for my academic future. I want to analyse the shit out of Stokie speakers, their accents, how their speech is entwined with their cultural history, and I want to do it forever and ever amen.

Thinking about things
As has been evidenced in a fair few ranty blog posts, this year has been one for me having feelings about things and issues and serious business stuff. Well, I always have feelings about things, but 2012 has been a year for paying attention to what people are saying and writing, learning from them and trying to take it on board, as well as trying to speak up when I feel the need. The Internet is full of informed, sensible, tolerant and smart people, and I can't even begin to list the articles which have made a difference to my opinons about a wide range of topics. I hope 2013 continues the trend of reading everything, evaluating my beliefs and opinions, and trying not to be a dick.

Colours!
It's an odd one, but those of you who know me will know I have the fashion sense of a colourblind clown, aka. ALL THE COLOURS ALL THE TIME. This has...escalated this year, and my cornea-burning fashion sense has gotten more and more ridiculous. And I love it. I honestly don't feel myself when I'm not wearing some kind of obscene colour combination. It's actually gotten to the point where excellent friends will tweet/text me when they're wearing a particularly colourful outfit and it's marvellous.

Enthusiasm
Seriously, the only thing that has got me through this monstrous year is being able to be enthusiastic about little things - a new episode of Doctor Who, a trip to the beach, a pub quiz. I'm so grateful for the fun stuff I get to do, for the opportunities I'm given, for the people I get to spend my time with. I'm a lucky bastard, all told. Thanking everyone individually would be time-consuming/self-serving/boring, so I will just go for a blanket THANK YOU to every single person in my life. I love you all. Yes, even you. And especially you.

Here's to 2013, all!

*This justification of why Call Me Maybe is the song of 2012 is absolutely brilliant. "This is what pop is for, right? A Canadian Idol refugee nobody ever heard of conquers the planet with a diabolically brilliant blast of teen lust"

Pop culture 2012

Ah, here it is - the most vacuous of my end-of-year blogs. Actucally, scratch that. New year's resolution: stop being embarrassed about being super into television and films and people and stuff! Here's a pop culture roundup of the year, featuring FEELINGS and mild objectification.

Telly of 2012
I know my tellyfeelings can often be a little rambly and ridiculous, and I've covered them already at several points throughout the year. Therefore, to shake it up a bit: TELLYFEELINGS HAIKUS.

1. The Hour

have faces ever
been so excellent? never.
shut up, i can't cope.

intrigue! sexiness!
glorious fifties fashion!
please just watch it. please.

2. The Fabulous Baker Brothers

hey herbert brothers
that is not how you sibling!
but ... keep on keepin' on

3. The Great British Bake Off

sweet middle-class folk
in a tent, with mel and sue
AND CAKE. count me in.

4. Elementary

jonny lee miller
and also lucy liu. that's
it. that's the haiku.

5. Teen Wolf

not as bad as the
name suggests. in fact, it's a
darling of a show!

yes it is about
teenage werewolves, but just give
it a try. go on.

6. The Thick of It

oh! what a gift, this
delicious coalition.
fuckety bye, show.

7. Fresh Meat

when did i begin
caring about these pissheads?
oh, found families.

8. Being Human

vampire; werewolf; ghost.
new faces, new feelings, and
long-held excellence

9. The Class

shows that are cancelled
in their prime, and so i cry:
case in fucking point

10. Me & Mrs Jones

more cancellations
this time depriving me of
robert sheehan's eyes!!

Oh god, this is the worst method of recommending TV shows. But seriously, these were all fab, and you should watch them if you get the chance. Highly commended: Parks and Recreation, Horrible Histories, Cougar Town, New Girl, 30 Rock (It got good again you guys!), Modern Family, The Mindy Project, Rev.

TV moment of  2012
WORLD WAR II BOYBAND PILOTS aka, Horrible Histories do a brilliant song about RAF pilots and I expire a little.



Gentlefolk of 2012

L-R, by row: Tom and Henry Herbert, Dylan O'Brien, Ben Willbond, Ben Whishaw, Jonny Lee Miller
Bobby Hicks, Jean Dujardin, That Boyband (don't look at me)
Will Featherstone, Andrew Gower, Mat Baynton, Larry Rickard

(well now, 2012 was a handsome year, wasn't it?)

Gentlefolk of 2012: the Olympics Boyfriends edition

Greg Rutherford, Marcel Nguyen, Jonathan and Alastair Brownlee, Jason Kenny, Louis Smith
Pierre Yves Beny, Michael Jamieson, Fabien Hambuchen, Epke Zonderland, Tom Daley
(medals are sexy, okay?)

Lady heroes of 2012

Amy Poehler -- I just love bossy women. I could be around them all day. To me, bossy is not a pejorative term at all. It means somebody’s passionate and engaged and ambitious and doesn’t mind leading, like, “All right, everybody, now we go over here. All right, now this happens.”

Lucy Liu -- It feels really good to be always breaking down walls and starting something new and trying something new. You never know – it’s hit and miss. It’s nice to be able to portray an Asian-American on camera without having an accent, or without having to be spoofy. And I think that’s a big step forward, because there are still representations of people that are more comedic. And that’s not what I’m playing. I’m just playing somebody who represents anyone else who would be living in America or outside of it, who is just a regular person. 

Charlene Kaye -- Okay, no quote here because I can't find one, but everyone in the world should purchase Charlene's album, Animal Love, as it's absolutely stellar. I saw her live this year and it was practically a religious experience. 

Emma Stone -- You're only human. You live once and life is wonderful so eat the damn red velvet cupcake.

Mindy Kaling -- I’m the kind of person who would rather get my hopes up really high and watch them get dashed to pieces than wisely keep my expectations at bay and hope they are exceeded. This quality has made me a needy and theatrical friend, but has given me a spectacularly dramatic emotional life.

Zooey Deschanel -- I’m just being myself. There is not an ounce of me that believes any of that crap that they say. We can’t be feminine and be feminists and be successful? I want to be a fucking feminist and wear a fucking Peter Pan collar. So fucking what?

Emma Pallant -- Again, no quote here. I just wish I could show everyone her Seven Ages of Man speech. Because SERIOUSLY. 

Romola Garai -- I am passionate. I’m passionate about everything - people, art, politics, life in general. People find passion embarrassing. It’s more acceptable, generally, to be amusing.

*Fun fact! This is not the first time I've used my 'haikus' tag. I am so sorry that this is a blog you guys read.

Theatre awards 2012

I never see enough shows to do proper awards, with more than one contender per category, like the pros do. Instead, my theatre awards are an excercise in a) trying to remember what I saw this year, and b) ridiculousness. So here you have it - Hannah's theatre awards 2012!

The 'move, bitch, get out the way' award for scene-stealing
Usually reserved for James Garnon: scene stealer extraordinaire, he this year bequeaths it to another Glober (well, two of them, actually). I've already written at length about how much I adored The Globe's Taming of the Shrew, and there really wasn't a weak link in the cast. However, messrs Tom Godwin and Jamie Beamish snatched the focus of every scene (and a few hearts, I'll wager). The phrase 'rakish charm' could have been invented for Godwin (who you may recognise from previous starring roles), and his lanky physical comedy was an utter delight, while Beamish's outlandish, wild-eyed Tranio was hilarious to the point of hyperventilation.

Best pigeon impression
Having bought tickets for She Stoops to Conquer mostly owing to an absolute need to see the entirety of John Heffernan's ouvre, it was Harry Hadden-Paton who made the biggest impression. An absolute master of preposterous posturing and peacocking, his Marlow was nothing short of glorious, and made it more than worth seeing twice more. He has since been known as Harry Hadden-Pigeon, with good reason.

Most adorable corpsing
Of course, I couldn't shun The Heff from these awards, deservable of his own mention as he always is. This year, his tender yet bawdy Hastings in She Stoops was a delight, but it was the last-night corpsing that I remember with most affection. Was a person ever so charmingly pelted with orange peel? I think not.

Aforeawarded Hadden-Pigeon and Heff (from Harry's twitter)

The 'ahhhh, push it' award for most swagtastic dance moves
Myself and the cohorts with whom I most often attend the theatre share a fondness for background acting, and thus frequently leave shows more in love with minor characters, supernumeraries and orchestra members than the leads themselves. Taming of the Shrew was no exception, with several excellent background actors working their best adorable reaction faces. We were particularly enamoured by Robert Heard's booty wiggle during The Cuckoo's Nest song - both for its extreme adorability, and it's merits as a warming device when watching an outdoor play in the cold.

Best incorporation of a capella renditions of pop songs
Posh was rightly raved about, and having missed out on seeing it the first time, I was super excited to see this year's cast -- having lost Harry H-P to She Stoops, I still got to see Tiny Hamlet (Joshua Maguire), Tom Mison and Leo Bill, so I was on board. It absolutely loved it - full of bile and pomposity, it was an exaggerated yet unsettling look at entitlement and poisonousness in the upper classes. And, aside from all that, it has a capella renditions of Sexy and I Know It. Tiny Hamlet sang at me at one point. It was a good moment.

Favourite returning characters
If you've met me, chances are I've mentioned The Globe's touring production of As You Like It from 2011. Because of how it is the best play I've ever seen. The show was revived this year, replacing its two leads and choice others, but retaining a good half of the cast. I was a tad sceptical, knowing how much I loved the ensemble as a whole last time, but was very pleased to see the new cast were just as dynamic, quick and tight as the original. I was charmed by new additions Deirdre Mullins and Will Mannering, but it was a particular treat to be able to see Will Oxborrow, Emma Pallant, Beth Park and John O'Mahony reprise the roles I so loved them in the first time.

Favourite nicknaming happenstance
Upon finding out that Will Featherstone - our background favourite of choice from The Globe's 2011 season - had landed the role of Orlando in 2012's As You Like It, my best girl Emma and I subsequently flipped out. A lot. Frantically discussing the dreamy prospect of a Northern Orlando, I decided that he should henceforth be known as Geordlando. As became tradition with the Tiny Hamlet Saga of 2011, songs were writ, tweets were twote, and poor Will was dutifully informed of our nicknamification. Even better, a fansite bearing the name appeared, the phantom owner of which is yet to be revealed (though we have our suspicions). Geordlando himself was a gorgeous, goofy, TALL delight to behold, and I can only hope and pray we haven't pissed him off too much with our stupid nicknames.

Geordlando and co.

The 'thanks for that, asshole' award for life-ruining playwright
Remember when Philip Ridley wrote adorable children's books I loved, like Scribbleboy? I do. Remember when I thought seeing his plays would be a similar trip through charming storytelling? I do. Remember when it turned out that watching Ridley's raw, visceral, heartbreaking plays was like rubbing sandpaper on my heart? I DO. God this man is a marvel. I saw Shivered and Tender Napalm this year: the former actually had Emma worried I might pass out in the interval, gut-churning as it was, but I've never been gladder to have stayed thanks to its beautiful climax; while the latter saw an hour and a half of two people on stage with no props or set dressing pass in minutes, leaving me feeling like I'd barely breathed throughout. I can't describe Ridley's writing styling well enough; his words are sharp and cutting and soothing and perfect, and I would thoroughly recommend seeing any of his plays. Just take tissues.

Most pleasant surprise
Although One Man Two Guvnors was a huge sellout and monster hit, my closest theatre pals were less enthused. Their opinions being the ones I respect most, I didn't see it ... until longtime fave Ed Bennett was announced for the touring cast, and I absolutely had to. I can see why many weren't keen, but I very much enjoyed it - Bennett was predictably wonderful, tall tired frog that he is, while Rufus Hound was a surprisingly charming and adept lead. The real treat, of course, came from the music: live sixties jazz played by four guys in quiffs and burgundy suits? Yes please.

Most aptly rainsoaked
Rob and I got stellar front-row seats for York's Mystery Plays, a production of extreme scale and wonder which was deservedly raved about. (Un?)fortunately, our seats were some of the few not to be covered by the roof, and when a downpour of suitably Biblical proportions occurred, we were royally drenched - as were the poor cast. It was actually rather brilliant -- a floodlit rainstorm over a manger scene is quite, quite beautiful (shame it wasn't over the ark scene, mind). Despite it getting progressively colder and damper, the show was a joy, and the cast coped with the poor weather incredibly well. Ferdinand Kingsley's performance was something really special.

Performance of the year
You know when you see a person in a role they were born for, and when you see it a second (third, fourth...) time you can't think they can't do it any better, and yet somehow they do? This could be The Emma Pallant Story (if it had a nattier title). Her Lady Jacques in AYLI 2011 was nothing short of magnificent, and I was so excited to see her reprise the role this year. Somehow, she managed to be even better - her melancholy sharper, more biting; her snark more vivid and burning; her Seven Ages of Man speech even more heartbreaking. Seeing that, and her feather-adorned Titania in Playing Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream in March, were unnecessary yet extremely welcome reminders of Pallant's talent

Show of the year (show of my life??)
I've neglected mentioning Matilda this far, much as it could have stolen any number of these awards. I didn't think anything could pip AYLI 2011 from the top spot on my 'favourite productions ever' list (and it's extremely close, as that show has incredible memories for me), but the sheer range and intensity of emotion I felt while seeing Matilda has catapulted it to the top of the list.

Rob had sent me the soundtrack early in the year, and I was instantly in love. Tim Minchin's playful, whip-smart melodies and frantic piano were the perfect accompaniment to Dahl's suprisingly dark story, tugging both hilarity and raw emotion from the plot. The mischievous tip-toeing of Naughty, the swell of children's voices in When I Grow Up, the utter beauty of Quiet - I listened to the soundtrack on loop for weeks and learned every word. I was honestly a bit nervous it wouldn't live up to my expectations when I finally saw it.

I needn't have worried a jot. It was a magical, charming, hilarious, heartbreaking, overwhelming theatre experience that filled me with more joy and exuberance than I could have ever hoped. The vivid set, the childlike yet kick-ass choreoraphy, Bertie Carvel's magnificent Trunchbull. Oh god, I could wax lyrical about it forever, and this is already getting away from me, so I'll stop. It was a wonder, and if you get a chance to see it I implore you: go, and feel what it's like to be a child again.

And one extra award: The 'LOVE YOU' award for tip-top friends and theatre cohorts
Though the stigma is waning a little, having Internet friends is still seen as a bit odd. I just want to put people who roll their eyes in a room with my web-based pals and let them see how fantastic they all are. Then they'll see. Gabriella, Emma, Sophie, Izi and Julia have been long-term theatre buds, and I was of course grateful to spend lots of time in their company in 2012, but this year in particular belongs to Jan, Rhian and Rob. Still quite new friends of mine at the start of the year, I was lucky enough to see many shows with them, and spend a good deal of time in their company, sobbing/enthusing over various shows and people. You're all gorgeous and hilarious and I hope you know how much I love you. Thanks, guys <3

Autumnal list-based enthusiasm

In quite a stark contrast to my previous post (which you were all lovely about, you darlings), I thought I'd go for a lighter one this time. Also, I like listing things. Therefore: here are some lists of things that have been particularly excellent lately.

Five tip-top TV shows
Ah, autumn. It's so generous and thoughtful of the television networks to stack the schedules with fabulous shows when it's too cold to go outside.

The Hour

HEY EVERYONE, WATCH THIS SHOW. Series 2 started on Wednesday, and oh sweet lord how I have missed the magnificence of this programme. Set in a 1950s BBC newsroom, it follows Bel (Romola Garai) as head producer of a weekly news show, balancing her commitment to presenting the balanced truth with the pressures of management and the network's restrictions. Her frontman, Hector(Dominic West) is caught up in the whirlwind of new celebrity, while Freddie (Ben Whishaw) - sparky, irresponsible, idealistic journalist; Bel's right hand man, partner in crime, soulmate, etc.- is back from finding himself abroad, sweeping into a co-host role, giving The Hour back its zest.

Series one was staggeringly good - tense, smart, tuned-in, incredibly well-observed, and the three leads have the most preposterously brilliant chemistry. Series two adds to the mix Peter Capaldi as the enigmatic new Head of News Randall Brown (with a gloriously suggestive history with Anna Chancellor's fabulous Lix), and sexy lion* Tom Burke as Bel's rival producer. It's sumptously styled, gorgeously shot and staggeringly well acted, and basically you should all watch it, k?

Parks and Recreation

Anybody who knows me will most likely be sick of me evangelising about this show, but sweet lord it's just the most delightful, charming gift of a TV show - like sunshine distilled into 20 minute bursts. It follows the staff of the parks department of Pawnee city goverment, but basically just deals in awesome friendships, idealistic community work and heart-breakingly gorgeous relationships between adorable bureaucrats. What more could you want?

Fresh Meat

I can't believe I missed out on this show the first time around - I'd heard people taking about how great it was, but only got round to watching series one this month. Which, of course, I fell in love with and binge-watched with hideous speed, before moving onto series two. AT first I thought it was just a silly teen comedy show, but BAM there go the feelings, what with JP's posho daddy issues and everybody starting to lean on each other like a constructed family and oh god I just love these drunken idiots.

Elementary

Elementary is brilliant. It's not a Sherlock rip-off, and deserves none of the derision it has received from certain circles. It's a procedural, but it's smartly written and beautiful to look at. But, of course, the Holmes/Watson dynamic is what matters: and, oof, it's good. Lucy Liu's Watson is unapologeticly herself, taking none of Holmes' shit, and Holmes slowly starts to appreciate her instinct and emotion. Holmes himself is darker, more broken than other interperetations -- he's overwhelmed by his own mind; he's fragile and occasionally callous, but he's learning. Jonny Lee Miller is a marvel (and just preposterously good looking, it's gross).

Guys with Kids

A daft comedy about three dads and their kids? Yeah, it's hardly groundbreaking, but it's fun and sweet and, you guys, Jesse Bradford has a career! You can't imagine how happy this makes me - formative crush Jesse Bradford, on my telly once a week!

Runners up (aka. watch these things too): Modern Family (S4 is stellar so far); The Mindy Project (so charming!); New Girl (just keeps getting better); Me and Mrs Jones (don't talk to me about my Robert Sheehan thing).

Five earworms

McFly -- Love Is Easy. The perfect dreamy pop song (plus a wonderful video).

Charlene Kaye -- Hummingbird Heart. My favourite album track changes almost daily, and it's currently this.

Zooey Deschanel -- Who's That Girl? The sunniest song to ever exist.

The Reindeer Selection -- Whodunnit? Thrown my way by Ed, bringer of all the Scottish-accented goodies.

One Direction -- Kiss You. Shut up.

Five interesting and excellent articles/pieces of writing

Chelsea Fagan, 'I Will Always Care Too Much.

riotrite on Tumblr, 'Misandry Isn't Real, Dudez'

Jen Dziura, 'When Men Are Too Emotional To Have A Rational Argument'

Steven Thompson of NPR, on music snobbery.

Ryan O'Connell, 'The People You Will Fall In Love With In Your Twenties'

Five chunks of eye candy

Yeah, this wouldn't be a proper Hannah blog post without some mild objectification.

Jonny Lee Miller -- situation: critical. He keeps making faces like this and this and I am powerless.

Ben Whishaw -- sexy elf king, talented bastard to boot. Just the most wonderful actor.
Louis Smith -- sambaing me into incoherence. Thank God Sophie is here to share in the #winterofhypocrisy.

Jesse Bradford -- purveyor of formative sexy teeth cleaning; still as handsome and charming as ever.

Dylan O'Brien -- pushes every one of my buttons. Every. Single. One.

Five slices of all-round excellence

-- The Lizzie Bennet Diaries. A video-blog retelling of Pride and Prejudice. Bear with me: it's properly excellent, and everyone is charming and adorable. You'll get addicted, I promise you.

-- This photo of Obama and McKayla Maroney doing the unimpressed face. I just. Beautiful troll president!

-- These poems. Thanks, Sophie <3

-- Nobody hates Twilight more than Robert Pattinson: a roundup.

-- A 24-hour KITTEN CAM I shit you not.

*SUCH A SEXY LION.