London

Possibly unfinished. Very little isn't. 

London is you around every corner.
Naked you reach up toward the shelf, take down your smokes
and light up.
On the balcony
we overlook the tracks as the train pulls in. It's cold,
but you hold me and you say something and you make me laugh. You are London over the rooftops of
West;
where we jump the train and you carry me up steps, because my heels are too high.
From up here I breathe in London and it's you
when our bodies touch, cling, sing beneath sheets to your playlists, old lover.

Brick lane when the gates open and it's open mic: you are my poetry.

Do you know what I mean?

Hold me tighter.

Tell me when I'm wrong.

Smoke less.

Answer the phone.

Be strong when you talk to me;

ask me how I'm doing.

Manifest as my King.

But, oh - when you look at me,

I feel so completely

adored,

safe and sound

assured.

You sweep me off the ground.

Talk more.

Take me out and about.

Let us shout,

and make up between sheets.

Push me down accordingly

Wear the crown,

metaphorically.

Improve, improve, improve;

and prove your love.

Move me, twirl and whirl.

But don't take this personally,

I wouldn't change you for the world.

Morocco Expedition 2012

Working alongside World Challenge, I was blessed with the opportunity of leading a group of thirteen 15 year olds out into the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco. 

Two weeks of trekking mountains for 8 hours a day, refurbishing a school, cultural enlightenment, and ... shopping.

So, camping in the Atlas Mountains incurred a lot of rainfall. Hard, rainfall that sounded like foot soldiers running up and down the sides of my tent all night. I shared my campsite with 4 chickens, a couple of sheep, a baby lamb, and a couple visitors in the form of a black cow and a militant donkey (do not approach from behind).

This is how we ate!

So the first part of the expedition was helping to refurbish the school in the Berber village. The school had been used as a polling station and had markings from the last election all over the outside of the building. We painted murals on the inside and covered up the markings on the outside. Each room was themed in some way; the jungle room, the English room, the seaside and the farmyard. 

Word to the wise, when in a Muslim country, the notion of a friendly farmyard pig is not at all welcome, neither is a big pink replica of said animal on a wall in a primary school classroom. I was asked:

"Madam, madam - q'uest-ce?" 

"A pig. Oink Oink"

Confused face. 

The girls decided to change it into a wild boar. Personally, I thought I goat would have been apt. Who ever listened to their teacher though? Point made.

After 5 days of painting and decorating, we started out trek phase. Climbing, climbing climbing climbing. When it's hot it's hot and when it's cold, there are literal ice blizzards chasing you round mountain paths. Amazing, but very very difficult at times. Especially on mountain paths which span approx 30cm, made exclusively of crumbling rock. I thought I was going to meet my death, a long long way down from where life had been present. I cried, I screamed, I even required the sling and carabiner at one point as my Bambi-shaking legs wouldn't go any further. This is a picture taken safely on the other side, whilst I waited for my heart to beat normally again.

 We all learnt a lot of lessons. The locals laughed at us for how much washing up liquid we needed between us, and how frequent our washing regime was. The found the girls' blonde hair fascinating and fell in love with their white faces. The children literally lost their minds at the presents we'd brought for them: stickers, badges and pencils. There was even a pencil robbery at one point, and a punch up over who should have the last badge. 

They carried those pencils around with them all week. Some held onto them and cried whilst we drove away from the campsite. The licked their fingers and made heart signs on the windows of the minibus whilst being chased away by the driver, tears streaming down their faces. 

We miss you too!!!

 world-challenge.co.uk <3

100 Word Play

This is a short script I have submitted to the Young Writers Festival 100 Word Plays 2012. The word count includes everything except the title and the speech indicators, which was much more difficult than I anticipated. Anyone who knows me will understand why...

Hope you like :)

HATE IT WHEN YOU DO THAT

.HUSBAND reads newspaper.

HUSBAND: I hate you repeat yourself. I heard the first time and chose to ignore you. Do not utter those words again. For the sake of progression, could we please move on before the boredom threatens to take my mind?

WIFE: Exactly the kind of thing you would say.

HUSBAND: Indeed.

.WIFE glares. Takes a drag on her cigarette before setting it down.

WIFE: Master like a sandwich?

HUSBAND: What with?

WIFE: Tuna.

.Pause.

.HUSBAND rolls eyes.

HUSBAND: Jesus, you really are a broken record.

WIFE: Bloody well do it yourself then… Show’s over… find another mug…

            .Storms off ranting.

.HUSBAND sighs.

Follow your heart. Follow your head.

What am I supposed to do?

Should I talk with my arms outstretched

or sing with bare feet?

Should I write by candlelight and then discard the sheet,

With which I ponder despite inevitable defeat.

I have no definitive ideas regarding my path or vocation, and

have little belief in self-innovation.

Do I like who I am? 

Who am I?

Should I ask you?

Will you answer?

Does it matter?

I guess not.

The world is both too small and too big for such questions, and yet

is both too short and too long to avoid them.