A Summer Song

The sun is shining, the breeze is fresh and the background symphony is a combination of skylark, goldfinch and magpie calls, broken up by the odd splash of a Pollock’s tale in the estuary. The sounds of summer in the Devonshire countryside… lush. How liberating it is for the mind to be free of the burdens of city life and its hard, dense energy.

In Psychology, there’s a term ‘sensory adaptation’ that describes a common, unconscious behaviour that we use to blend into our environment… you know when you walk into a room with an overwhelming smell and it dominates your attention for a while, until your senses quickly adapt and your attention moves elsewhere… my point being that with its constant sirens, flashing lights and pungent smells, I think city living massively desensitises us.

In one way, it’s probably necessary; creating a coat of sensory armour to shield us from the tumultuous tumbles and shin splints inherent to the rat race. But on the other hand, it causes us to lose touch with our feelings, our common-sense(s)… our human nature. Despite our technological advancements and ability to instantaneously ‘connect’, we’ve sadly become so disconnected…

Now, while this may be my comedown epiphany,

RIP Gary

My macro evaluation of society,

Or my mind finally getting the chance to run free…

Whatever the reason,

The beginning of this season,

Has given me the space to see.

Summer time in England is when the true magic happens and for once, I am not jetting off to miss the show.

The wand has been waved

Tunes <3

And all those enslaved,

In grey clouds and monotonous drizzle,

Have been freed to unleash,

Their well-groomed beasts,

As the candy pops, cracks and fizzles…

From Gottwood to Glastonbury and somewhere in-between, I’ve been swept up in a rhythmic wave to dance to the sounds of summer. The disconnection of city life has been thrown to one-side as the crew re-assembles in tents old and new, to dance and laugh and sing; Ay ay me hearty’s I feel it in my soul, I feel that pirate ting up in my soul…

Glastonbury 2016

Like the smooth transitions of a really good mix, the days have merged into one another seamlessly and for the first time in a long time, I’m stopping to process the metamorphosis.

Weeks ago, we flitted and fluttered as forest fairies in the Welsh woodlands to funky, house-filled beats. A wave of the wand, another weekend and whoosh! The times took a tropical turn and we floated for hours passed London’s bridges and towers, feeling somewhat wavy aboard the Captain and Co’s birthday vessel. But rougher seas were in need, so the spell conjured up something greater for us to do…

Boat Party
London, 2016

Gottwood, 2016

We became reckless and wild, like an unsatisfied child, attempting to take over every vessel in site (unless they were in the kids playground area during which all crew members [unless gold], were instructed to come back at 7pm…); we became pirates for the night and exercised our rights to groove to that sexy disco beat (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBpYgpF1bqQ ).

The fairy dust has finally settled on the windowsill in front of me.

A momentary breather from the mass of blissful confusion,

To ensure it hasn’t been an illusion,

And that the sounds that I’m hearing are real…

Om Namah Shivaya

Because one must not forget,

That in our attempts to re-connect,

We must still keep our feet on the ground.

For it’s too easy to get swept away,

In the tide of worries we try to keep at bay,

And we end up missing the current sound.

The one sound that we call,

The Uni-verse.

Quote of the day: "To be grounded is to be connected to our emotional-electrical currents, to the waves of our needs and images and the rhythms of actions which comprise our physical-psychic processes: the rhythms of the human and natural ground." - Stanley Keleman

Tingles of summer

2/07/2014

Reunited 20 years later..

Little train rides :p

During my nightly wanders through this huge airport I’ve caught a glimpse of Dubai’s flashing lights even though I’ve only seen them in the distance through the curved airport glass…  but even though I’m not going to step outside this time round, I can delve into fantasy and peer through the window frame to create the image within… I’m sure it’s more exciting than the reality anyway (or at least that makes me feel better on this 6 hour stop over :s) I’m on my way to Adelaide, South Australia to see lover boy. It’ll be my first time in the land down under, where the toilet flushes backwards and everyone hits a high note at the end of each sentence… I can’t wait.

Godson overtakes godmama 

It is a shame to leave England at its best though, after having to go through cold and rain for most of the year when everyone’s working themselves to the bone and conserving their energy for the seasonal high of summer. And then the clouds clear and the sun comes out (and it’s actually warm!)… Festival season takes off and everyone’s masks melt away as girls strip down to flaunt their stuff with a touch of glitter and a natural tan, while the boys get to actually see what they’ve been imagining beneath all those layers...

Beautiful women & best friends 20 years on...

I’ve been lucky enough to catch two festivals this year so not all is lost… ‘Digital’ for deep house in Amsterdam and ‘Loves Saves the Day’ a bit closer to home in Castle Park, Bristol. For a 3.5 hour shift each day I got the perks of a free ticket and an incentive towards sobriety. My first sober festival was quite an enlightening experience… I never thought standing still as a human barricade for 3 hours could be so entertaining (no sarcasm intended)… Everyone around me was clearly mashed, so I watched the stories of the crowd; to my left, a guy wearing some kind of latex contraption sat ogling at a motionless pineapples on the floor for 10 minutes, his facial expression transitioning from looks of horror to delight. It was so provocative I found myself unconsciously mimicking him as I watched, before realising with a slight blush and turning my attention to the gurners next to him or the fist pumpers behind me.

Congo Natty at Love saves the day

At Ms. Dynamite!

The first day poured down with rain so we danced to DJ EZ, Nina Simone, Annie Mac etc. in welly boots with mascara running down my face and not a care in the world. The second day was all sunshine and sparkles, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M36OGCfYp3A) my housemates all came along with their friends so the group was huuge and somehow, within the crowded confines of the parks perimeters, most of us managed to stick together for the majority of the time… It was nice having the headspace to pick and choose who I wanted to see without being plagued by the worry of what level I was/ wasn’t on… I waltzed into that sunny afternoon with Gentlemen’s Dub Club getting the vibes flowing on the main stage; later we wandered through the mud (in my incompatible shoes), being herded along like sheep around the ancient castle ruins until we popped out the other end to see Shy FX playing a rather disappointing set (due to a crap MC). Ms. Dynamite took over and dropped the bomb with her set, the words pouring out of her mouth like melting gold with a seamlessly sexy flow. Bumping into Congo Natty and ending with a skank to Jakwob’s heavy dubstep we all walked home with the crowd through the living streets of Bristol. We passed people freestyling in the bearpit, danced passed all the drunks at the bars and made friends with festive strangers, leaving our muddy shoes in a pile outside before our heads hit our pillows after a cup of tea… and a clear head for mee :)

Muma #2

So love saved the day and then Vipassana hit and my world was spun on its axis in every direction before reaching some kind of stability within the movement… Being thrown back into real life after 10 days of silence was a shock to the system… 
The pollution stung my nostrils and the horns hurt my ears… the homeless flowed past me engaged in broken conversation but wearing distant expressions on their faces with Ketty eyes and speedy legs. The suffering surrounding me was so apparent now, after seeing how much is within yourself one begins to recognise it externally in ten fold. This may, I recognise, be a pattern of projection… when you’re scared of facing something or anxious/ feeling any negative emotion, it’s easy to project that onto whatever you’re experiencing. In other moments its the love people are sharing or the happiness on a childs face as they wonder off in thought that captures me. This morning for example, my Grandma, my mother and I all hurried through Clapham Junction train station in South London to send me off to Gatwick Airport. Three Generations, each ascending in height from my pepper pot Chinese Grandma to my half irish muma to me, everyone talking at the same time trying to be in control and no one listening. I looked at them with utmost love and laughed to myself at the repeating patterns.

Sunny

So where was I… after the initial shock, the wheel started turning and I went straight back to work, the imaginary pound signs raining down over my summer holiday that was almost in reach. A lovely last afternoon with N at St. Nicks Market, stripping down to our bikinis in the one patch of sun in our cat shit ridden garden. My last Japanese dinner with the girls in long dresses and high heels as we stumbled along trying to remember how to walk in the impractical inventions that are supposed to look elegant (even though the ‘walking’ was only to and from the taxi…) And before long I was taking the posters off my wall (trying not to rip all the wallpaper along with them) and cramming my life’s belongings into all the possible hidden free space in the house. I stood, one last time, in the empty room that had been my safe-haven to reflect on all the good, bad and ugly that the last year had contained…

On my last morning the fuse had blown (literally) and the women were wailing as N returned from her night shift to realise her months worth of meat had all defrosted, while the rest of us were in slight limbo as to what to do. We still managed a cooked breakfast though and K dropped me off with 5 minutes to spare for my bus to London!

Heaving through the crowds with too many bags and no will to carry them, I broke down in frustration and tears, wondering why it was so hard to ask for help… I gained a bit of sympathy from passers by who kindly offered to carry my bags part of the way. Mum met me with the car in South London and off to Grandmas house we rode. My brother greeted me as I teared up, hugging a completely different boy from 6 months ago who’d since sprouted like a beanstalk, sounds like someone’s cranked up the bass but despite the manliness, still has the same loving tenderness that I hope will never go away.

We all enjoyed an English tea with my godparents, a chinese dinner with family and then out of the city we drove as fast as possible to the lovely vintage cottage that we had the pleasure of staying at for a few days. When we ‘arrived’ I’d proudly navigated us the whole way using my phone and instructed everyone to get out the car when we had ‘reached our destination’… if only it was the right destination :s. We unpacked all our stuff, parked the car and were beginning to walk into the house that we were quite pleased with, when mum paused for a moment and asked what address I’d typed in … it saved us an embarrassing confrontation with whoever actually lived in that big and beautiful house that we were more than ready to move into. So like in some kind of cartoon, we packed our bags back into the car, took more than a few wrong turns and finally arrived at the right quaint and much smaller cottage…  woops :s. Pale flowers were strews around the rooms in glass vases and all the furniture and floorboards were wooden, white and rustic. We added our own little touches of colourful fruit and bowls of chocolate or brightly coloured millions for everyone to munch on. During the days we explored Rye (where Rye bread was created!), rode on little trains, shopped, visited arcades, beaches, fish n chip shops, lighthouses, watched the world cup and spent some quality time with our extended L.A family…

We returned to London after a wonderful few days (with far smoother navigation) and Grandma spent the evening with me in her tiny little kitchen with all her pots and pans out, teaching me how to cook a few Chinese staple vegetarian dishes. It’s the best way love can be passed on through generations really, don’t you think? Especially if some people aren’t as comfortable with lovey-dovey cuddly stuff…

Creative veg meals

Dad was next on the list of people to see, so we picked him up the next morning from aunty K’s, briefly stopping off for a chat to hear about Glastonbury that was coming up and hopping back into the car for what turned into a 9 hour journey to Devon. My sanity went out the window first, I blame it partially on the spider that had left two fang like bite marks on my swollen foot… J very patiently dealt with me flouncing around singing opera of tunas and caves. The big annual food shop meant there wasn’t much breathing space in the car with everyone’s luggage and countless bags of food so we were more than relieved to unload at the top of the hill where a big hunky tractor was blocking our path. Obstacle, obstacle run around the obstacle (my regular mantra) & we finally got to the cottage.

Beach time

The sun was setting, the swans and their fluffy grey signets  were swimming around in the high tide of the evening and we sat down for a delicious dinner, a world cup match and a well deserved rest. I tried to remain equanemous with the passport office as I called daily to check on its progress (as I lost it a few weeks before flying), the date to Australia was looming near and a hefty fee of a new plane flight was at stake. To ease everyone’s worries we went on our long walks through countryside’s, cliffs, beaches and ruins. We kayaked, boated, ate, watched movies, swam in cold English seas and sunbathed to our hearts content. Rejuvenating those worn out cells with fresh countryside air.

Sibling time :)

Family time <3

Old friends came to visit us and we all took pleasure in indulging in cream teas, roasts and champagne. One afternoon as the numbness began to spread through my body after a few minutes of immersing myself in the cold seawater, dad spotted a jellyfish floating around next to us. I observed this magnificent creature for a while as it spun its transparent figure and lengthy tentacles in circles and allowed its frills to just break the surface of the water before gliding below again. I appreciated its simplicity and its symbolic nature of what this holiday represented. As a wise friend quoted in a recent letter ‘absence is the greatest form of presence’ and to some extent I agree – holidays really do bring you back again…

So I got my passport in time :D (after having to make a day trip to Bristol because I wrote the wrong address down :s) and it arrived a few days before my departure as I thanked the universe with open arms because now, I’m here! Sitting in Dubai International Airport, awaiting the call to board the last 12 hour flight of this 24 hour journey before I can see my soon-to-be-not-virtual boyfriend, tehe!





Clip of the day: Jonah and pip 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VAVWBmblVFQ

Carnival

\‘JAMAICA JAMAICAA’ (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WgiFe6LSEeA) rang out of the huge sound systems that lined the streets of the West end. Everyone had emerged from their burrows to grab a slice of London at its best. Notting Hill Carnival, it’s been around since 1965 and ‘was led by the West Indian Migrant community in London. In recent years it has attracted up to 50,000 performers, 38 sound systems and 2.5 million people over the weekend, making it the second largest street carnival in the world after Rio.' (nottinghillcarnival.eu) Today, it’s a time that allows everyone to let loose together and share the one thing that connect all humans – a love for music, food and culture. 

Above the heads

Old Rasta’s jamming along to Aba shanti with flower fumes waving to the beats, little ones shaking their hips above shoulders and within protected circles to the tunes of Sancho Panza, with their parents keeping half an eye on them with a smile on their face. True Jamaican twerkers bumping and grinding in front of floats that were crawling with people and shaking with sounds. The crowds were a sweaty treat, not recommended for the claustrophobics amongst us as half your time is spent pressed up against strangers, shuffling through police barricades to try to reach the nearest music.

M and I

M and I lived right next to Carnival and that day, much of the public transport staff had conveniently chosen to go on strike; luckily for us, we weren’t effected and relied our legs to get there and back. Shops were shut, bars were teaming with people, the litter was slowly building up and the fabulous once-a-year (£200 - £600) costumes were appearing. We’d gone for glitter and masks, and a whole bottle of sun cream – it was 30®C and I felt like I was in the Mediterranean without the sea (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pBDVarvFqYI) today, a lot of water was going to be needed.

Famalam

The two main days of Carnival are Sunday and bank holiday Monday. Sunday’s usually family day so the vibe’s a bit more lax, we went with the adults of our family, strictly NO kids allowed - this was our day, you can’t be dealing with little manic responsibilities when you’re tryna have fun!

En route to Carnival

So we hit the first pub, ciders, G&T’s and shandy’s it was, the tunes were pumping and the bar was crowded... it was only 12pm. In the heat of the day it didn’t take much for the alcohol to reach our heads, so we downed our last drinks, with the ground becoming progressively more uneven and speech starting to slur (well mine). Shuffle, bounce, grind in time to the beat, using whatever available body parts you could, to move with the rhythm in whatever space was available. So we moved those hands and fingers above the heads of the masses, the ecstatic wave of the day passing through each of us in turn. The best part about being with family that know the scene, is they also know the shortcuts. M and I followed along quite happily, just as we were reaching Aba shanti a Rasta in the crowd held out a hand of green daisies. A 3 minute transaction and I was skipping along happily with my new purchase and being ‘welcome(d) to jam rock’ by the DJ. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xlCmQcRPtRg)

Grind, roll, lick, light the fumes dispersed and merged with the countless others. Police could be seen struggling through crowds looking for trouble, we didn’t really fit that category. The smoke from the jerk chicken wafted up our nostrils. Beans, rice, jerk, salad and gravy mmm. We bopped along in line, getting the extortionate £7 out of our pockets for our meal. Mouth-gasm is the only way to really describe the sensation when you bite into a succulent, sweet, sticky bbq’d piece of chicken with the tang of the salad, the thickness of the rice and the reggae music to top it off. 

Jerk

Mmm

We shuffled on, to Sancho Panza, Norman Jay’s good times, soul, funk, rap, reggae, house – it was all going down. The dancers were wearing their tight little knickers and spangly Brazilian/ Jamaican tops that had obviously been worked on for a long time; most of the men at carnival were having a field day, the hunger in their eyes everywhere they looked almost making them dizzy. Women didn’t do too badly either, tall, black, beautiful, ripped men dancing to good tunes? 

Sunday eve

What more could you want. As the day wound down 6pm struck and the crowds started to disperse, as around that time, is when things start to get rowdy and a lot of the gangs make their appearances. It’s the one deterrent of Carnival for a lot of people, but if you keep your valuables and friends close and your mind alert then you should be fine. The rents left us around 5 and we went to sit on the patchy grass with the other carnival go’ers. It didn’t take us long to get chatting to the group beside us, Charlie said hello and sent us buzzing on our way back home before we headed out for the night. ‘One drink and then we’ll go home’ was the plan… until we met T and J. Bringing a few girls along to a house party always looks good, so we essentially became the accessories of the night (that relationship did deepen once we all got to know each other... and started the discussion of M and I’s significant others.. love pulling that out the bag.) But we followed along quite happily; it was a free night of everything, good company and tunes on the roof of a 5 storey flat, walking distance from home - how great it is to be a girl sometimes. That night went on, and on and on moving from the kitchen to the roof, back to the kitchen for warmth, downstairs for cigs, upstairs for tunes, home for bed and up again for Carnival. The best way to get out of a strop is to do something, surrounding ourselves with music for the second day in a row allowed us to pick up on everyone else’s vibes (& jerk chicken) and just feel, good (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHs98TEYecM)

I spot the police..

Little jammers

Men..

I skyped mum and dad in Malaysia the day afterwards and described my first experience of their old tradition. While I was raving about the DJ’s they laughed – ‘It’s so funny that you guys are all jamming along to our mates old tunes that we saw them create’. M and I’s parents, having dabbled in the music industry were mates with the DJ’s of all the biggest sound systems, and while we were playing their tunes for the first time on Spotify, our parents were sifting through their old vinyl’s & memories of when it all first began.

Lots of love

On Tuesday, work had begun again and London was back to its busy hustle and bustle. The memories of the sounds lingered in the air, clinging to the conker trees that’s leaves were transitioning from green to orange. This weekend had been ‘a whole different gravy’ as J would say, and the spirit of the city that holds so many secrets had been lifted once again.

Jam of the day: Aba Shanti at Notting Hill Carnival

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JuCWaCHfAqA