If football really is coming home this time does anyone care?

The year is 1996. I'm 13 years old and England is football mad. We haven't won anything since 1966 and as Skinner and Baddiel sang it's been '30 years of hurt'. But we still believe. And with a team as passionate as Gazza, 'Pyscho' Stuart Pearce, Alan Shearer and David Seaman (just to name a few) how could we not? But we all know how it ended, Gareth Southgate missed that crucial penalty and went on to make his fortune endorsing Pizza Hut. Fans across the UK cried. Well, I did anyway. But from that summer on I was hooked and I haven't missed an England tournament game since. 


It only got better as I got older. We would head to the pub in big groups, drink copious amounts and chant and sing 'It's coming home' and 'Vindaloo' (to name a couple of classics) until our voices were hoarse and they kicked us out. Win and we'd sing some more and people would throw beer around until we were soaked. I've never quite worked it out but England winning seems to be the only time this is socially acceptable and even welcome. One time I caught a pint right on the side of my head but all I did was smile, cheer and hug the large hairy man that had thrown it. You see when England win all is well. Lose and we'd file out dejected and someone would start a fight. But we always came back. Somehow every year we did still believe that it was our time. 


So, imagine my surprise when after living in Australia for a couple of years (and might I add getting up for games at 4am with a die hard contingent of fellow ex pats) I get back and find that all is not as I left it. Cars aren't streaming tacky but patriotic England flags, my favourite pub to watch the games isn't totally buzzing two hours before the game, people aren't decked out in flags and face paint, there aren't a huge amount of chants and people don't really stick around after the game to celebrate and throw beer on me. TV viewing figures show large viewing audiences of people tuning in, meaning we have an army of 'armchair supporters'. Have we really decided a win is so unlikely we won't even bother to leave the house for it? What's happened?

I can't help but think there could be a correlation between the falling levels of passion in fans and in the England players themselves. Sometimes you have to wonder how much they want it. Gazza has done some Umbro adverts for Euro 2012 and while it's sad to see his current state there is no doubt he is as passionate about his country now as he was all those years ago. Talking about scoring for England brings a tear to his eye (again). How many of the current players show that level of pride in playing for their country? In 2012 we had players like Michael Carrick and Micah Richards refusing to go on the standby call up list. When there are players that would give anything to represent their country in any way then shame on them. 


Whatever the reason, I refuse to give up hope that the glory days will return. Win or lose, getting out and supporting your country is a good thing. We should be proud to be English. Having lived in Australia I can tell you they are proud to be Australian and they're not afraid to show it. For the World Cup 2010 I went to an Australia game in Darling Harbour at 4am one morning and it was packed with supporters who remained optimistic even though we have to be honest that football is not really their strong sport and even when they got thrashed 4-0 by Germany (sorry Aussie pals). They sure know a thing or two about national pride and I say it's time we take a leaf out of their book. 


So come Sunday's quarter final against Italy I will be heading back to the pub and hoping that coming through the group stage will have reinvigorated people's belief. I have a flag I've been wearing to the games for 12 years now, that flag has seen beer, sweat and tears and I won't wash it. The last three games I haven't had it with me but it's coming out next time and hopefully it's the lucky charm we need to win not just the game but the hearts of the England fans back. It been a long 16 years on this roller coaster ride with England. I've felt hopeful, ecstatic, angry, cheated and disappointed to name just a few emotions (so quite like my love life really) but I wouldn't change it for the world (well that's a lie, if I could change it I'd make it so we won at least something but you get my drift).

Football is coming home (at some point) - make sure you don't miss it.

Narrative, desire and the death-instinct

                               ‘Desire is death’ – William Shakespeare

When we read narrative fiction do we, as readers, want the knowledge of our own death? We do according to Walter Benjamin. His argument is that because we are denied that in our real lives we seek it from narrative. We are searching for the total comprehension of what went before. What drives us through the desire to read on is the anticipation of that act of retrospection. As we read on we read meanings that only become final at the very end. When we look at it like that we can understand the subconscious things we do as readers of narrative fiction. The act of flipping back through the book to re-read parts that suddenly take on a new meaning or level of significance. The way we can read a book several times and actually come away with something new each time that maybe we missed in previous readings. As Peter Brooks discusses in Reading for the Plot ‘Anticipation of restrospection is our chief tool in  making sense of narrative: we read on in confident dependence on the idea that what remains to be read will end in restructuring the provisional meanings of what we’ve already read’.

Brooks also believes that the reading of the plot is a form of desire. The reader has a duplication of the desire of the protagonist of the story. This links back to Freud’s work Beyond the Pleasure Principle. His theory was that there is always a psychic battle going on within each of us between the pleasure principle – eros – and the death instinct – thanatos. His argument is that yes, we all wish to gather separate beings in one totality but we also all want to return to a state of peace. Brooks believes that this battle is played out again in the act of reading. The last page of a book is both a moment of fulfillment and a moment of death. Both the pleasure principle and the death instinct together. The French saying for orgasm is ‘la petite mort’ which translated means ‘the little death’. Roland Barthes, theorist and literary critic once used this concept to describe the feeling you should get when reading great literature.

How death and desire exist together in a narrative was looked at by Dennis De Rougemont in his book Love in the Western World. He looks at love stories like Romeo and Juliet and traces them back to what he calls the origins of this kind of story,‘Tristan and Isolde’ an ancient Celtic story (on a side note the 2006 film version of Tristan and Isolde is well worth a look). Their love can never be satisfied and can only end with their death. He explores the founding myth of love – does love actually want the obstacles that are thrown in its way because what love actually wants is death? Is this where the idea in Western culture comes from that the truest love ends in death? The ultimate sacrifice and the noblest end. Jonathan Dollimore explores De Rougemont’s work in his book Death, Desire and Loss in Western Culture when talking about Tristan and Isolde ‘Parting is an obstruction, and the passion of the two lovers creates such obstructions because these are what it really wants. And behind the desire for obstruction is the desire for death, which passion ultimately serves’. He also looks at Romeo and Juliet in depth and he views this as a good example of death and desire bound together ‘That this is a play about the paradoxical binding together of desire and death is clear enough: in the Prologue the passion of the young lovers is described as a “death-marked love”’. It is clear when reading this play that desire and death are threaded together throughout the narrative side by side before reaching the climactic end. Dollimore’s take on the ending is also very interesting ‘It has been said that Romeo, when he incites ‘love-devouring death’ (II.v.7), is desiring and not defying death, and that his belief that Juliet is dead in the tomb is less the cause of his own suicide than the excuse for it’. Death and desire become as one and it is hard to find where one exists without the other or where one starts and the other begins. 

The Lonely Prince

One beautiful day in a faraway land, a young prince stood looking out of his castle. He was a fine prince, fair of face and with a gentle nature. He enjoyed living in his land which his parents, the king and queen, ruled fairly. The family were beloved by their subjects and the kingdom lived in harmony. The prince was not entirely happy though, for he had one question he could not answer - where was his princess? It was the law of the land that his wife must be a princess. He met many girls, beautiful and royal of birth but still, he knew that he would know in his heart when he found his true princess.

The king and queen, who loved their son dearly, knowing that this would complete his happiness, decided to help by throwing a ball and inviting all the princesses from the nearby lands. The prince was so excited, he felt sure this would finally be his time. He ran to tell his dearest friend Rosa the news. Rosa was a maid at the castle; she had been found alone in the woods crying as a child and the king and queen, kind as they were, had taken her to the castle and allowed her to live as a maid servant. The prince and Rosa had grown up playing together and he trusted her with all his hopes and dreams. He found her, as usual in the cellar scrubbing the floors. He looked at her fondly, in her maid’s uniform, covered in dirt ‘Oh dear Rosa, I have such exciting news! I am to find my princess at last!’ and with that he told her all about the plans for the ball. Rosa smiled sweetly at her prince for she was happy for him but when he left she allowed herself just one tear, for she loved the prince herself and knew that when he found his princess he would be lost to her forever. True love as it is though; she would place his happiness above her own.

The day of the ball came and the prince was so excited, he did not know how to pass the time until that night. After being fitted for his grand suit he decided to ride his horse for a while. He stayed out longer than he thought and before he knew it he was late! Alas, on his haste to ride back to the castle he tore his new suit on a hanging branch. As he rode back into the castle grounds he saw Rosa carrying some milk across the courtyard. She saw the look of dismay on his face and rushed at once to him ‘What is it my prince?’ she exclaimed, ‘Oh Rosa I have torn my new suit and the ball is about to start, there is no time to get the tailor to repair the suit! How will I meet my princess like this?’ The prince rested his head in his hands. ‘Fear not my prince, I can mend your suit, here pass me the jacket and I will get some thread’ and just like that Rosa quickly and deftly mended the prince’s jacket until it was as good as new. ‘Oh Rosa, what would I do without you? You are always there just when I need you!’ the prince beamed and then raced off to the ball and the waiting princesses.

As he arrived at the ballroom and looked around, he was astonished at the array of beautiful princesses in their colourful gowns and opulent jewels. He felt dizzy as he was swept around the room and introduced to more and more of them. Why yes, he thought to himself that they were indeed very beautiful princesses, but not the most beautiful he had ever seen. And yes, certainly they were very amiable and pleasing in manner but their company did not give him the joy that he knew his princess’s would. He felt more and more forlorn as the night wore on. How did he know these feelings he was so sure of feeling for his princess? How could he know that they did not have what he was looking for? Then he realised....Rosa! It is Rosa’s beauty, wisdom and kindness he was searching for all this time. He ran from the ball to her and confessed his feelings and his despair at knowing he could not be with her. As much as he loved Rosa, and he now realised how much he did, he could not marry a maid servant and go against his family and the law! His tears of sadness and her tears of joy at realising his love for her mingled and before them appeared a fairy king and queen. Thus it was revealed that Rosa, as a young fairy princess, had seen the prince as a sweet young boy and fallen so in love with him that she begged her parents to let her be human so she could be with him. They had acquiesced and let her grow up in the castle as a human girl. At learning she was indeed a princess and they could be married, the prince was too happy for words. He had his princess all along and he did not need to find her, for she had found him.

                                                THE END 

Speed dating for dummies

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. With this in mind my friends and I decided to go speed dating. I use this line as ironically as the original author (Jane Austen, for you lit retards), as in truth I didn't for one minute think I would meet my future husband. However the lure of a night of booze and fifteen men for four minutes each was just too enticing to say no to. 


As if you don't feel you might be somewhat approaching desperado status by going speed dating, the companies promoting such events do nothing to reassure you. I booked on-line and the page straight after confirming a place for my two friends and I, was headed 'the following books may interest you' and then showed a list of books such as 'flirting for dummies' and 'successful internet dating'. Obviously if you go speed dating you need such guidance on how to deal with the opposite sex. 


Not to be deterred, we set off, clad as the website advised in jeans, nice tops and accessories (yes, really that was their advice, heaven forbid we forget our accessories). First port of call was a pub near the venue to knock back a couple of glasses of vino for dutch courage. Whilst we mulled over the potential for disaster the night had, we also became rather paranoid that every male in the pub was potentially headed to the same destination as us. This resulted in us whispering and looking round the pub maniacally, thus preventing any sane man who would have wanted to approach us normally from doing so. Was speed dating actually sabotaging our dating chances? After a while of this there was no putting it off any longer and we headed to our fate.


I had decided to apply my usual motto to the night 'if in doubt, get hammered' and so proceeded to prop up the bar and run to the toilet in equal measure before things got under way. The girls were then all assigned a table while the boys moved round every four minutes. What followed was pretty standard making of small talk. I mean four minutes is not a lot of time, really you can talk to anyone for that long. Slightly embarrassing moment in the middle of one date when due to my colossal wine consumption I had to run to the toilet and leave the poor guy sitting there. Comparing notes after the event he was the guy that told me he was a horse trainer, one of my friends that he was a show jumper (not likely as he was the size of a horse) and my other friend that he was a mini bus driver (obviously not trying too hard to impress her), so I don't feel too bad about that now. 


As the night went on and I took every possible chance to visit the bar (these guys were so much more entertaining after a lot of wine) things went downhill quite fast. One cheeky chappy, car salesman asked me why I was there and when I said I thought it would be fun he warned me not to say that because the guys would think I was just there for sex. Of course with my humour (and drunkness) I gave a little shrug and laugh and said something along the lines of 'and?'. This was a mistake because when we had a midway break he went around telling everyone I was there for sex.  I mean really, isn't everyone?? This then resulted in one guy sitting down for our date and saying 'ah you're Donna, we were talking about you in the corner'. Making an impression as always. 


An hour of dates later, it's the end of the night and whilst I plan on comparing notes and joking with the girls about the night we are converged on by the men to join us. Unfortunately we are the only girls that stay and so an awkward little situation occurs with pretty much all the guys trying to join the table and talk to us. I'm too drunk at this point to care who I am talking to or what about. Apparently I did okay though as afterwards one of my friends describes it as me holding court at the table. Can't think what she is trying to say there. I do know I had a very fun night though.


I know what you're thinking. It sounds a disaster. Did I even match with anyone? Well, yes actually, but that's another story.....

Falling out of love with Facebook...

I'll be honest, I'm a bit of a Facebook addict. It's a rare day I go without stalking people to pass some time. I used to be a frequent status updater too. Probably at least once a day. I really felt that 300 plus people wanted to know that I was 'looking forward to the cinema' that night or was 'very drunk'. Lately though, my love for Facebook seems to be diminishing. I never thought this day would come, in fact I used to get a little panicked at the thought that other people wouldn't use it anymore and I would be left in Facebook world alone. But recently I just can't bring myself to find the same joy in it I used to. The updates from people don't interest me so much, I can't be bothered to update so much. I've lost enthusiasm.


On that note, I have a confession to make. My affections have been engaged elsewhere. I'm sorry Facebook but I think I love Twitter. When I first started using Twitter I was completely bewildered. I felt like my 89 year old Nan probably did when she got a mobile phone. It didn't look good (like Facebook), I didn't have lots of 'friends' (like Facebook) and I just generally had no clue how to use it. Now however I'm getting to be a bit of a pro. I must confess to taking advice from my uni friends who are all of course completely adept at it. Now I'm going to be controversial. Twitter is the new Facebook. But why?

Has Facebook not just become a little shallow in a 'look at my fabulous life' kind of way? I mean we even get two profile pictures now instead of one. Because one just isn't enough to show who you are. You also need one 'that best represents you'. Cue everyone spending hours trying to figure out which photos to use. It all started, in my opinion with the rise of the 'like' and 'comment' button for statuses. Now your status isn't successful if you don't have a heap of likes and comments. Whereas Twitter you can tweet away all day with pointless drivel and it doesn't matter if no one cares at all. This is perfect for me. On Twitter people 'follow' you because they are interested in what you have to say.They don't become your 'friend' because they met you for 5 minutes at a party and decided that made you buddies.


The friends issue really is a minefield right? Pet hate number one - people who add me and then proceed to never message me/like or comment on my status/not even to wish me happy birthday. Why did you add me then? Pet hate number two- people who say that they don't really use Facebook but actually they are always on it, they just stalk people all the time and don't update their own status. I'm all for a bit of stalking but don't lie about it. Own it. Pet hate number three - people who use Facebook to moan all the time. 'I'm having a really crap day' 'my life sucks'. Well it must do if you feel the need to tell 300 people, the majority of whom you barely know. As I type this I think, wow, I'm such a hater! It's a wonder I have any friends. But I do actually. I have 327 of them, so there. I will also admit to being fond of a regular cull. I convince myself (falsely, obviously) that culling my friends list by about 10 people a month means that I am keeping my list to a genuine circle of friends. Ahem. Yes sure, 327 genuine 'friends'. It's not that simple. I have to ask myself, will I see this person again? In which case rejecting their friend request/removing them could be a bit awkward. If I don't know  them that well but they are interesting that's also a reason to save them. Also if you use Facebook as an online Jeremy Kyle Show I will not remove you. You are very interesting and go to the top of my favourite 'friends'. Whenever I see one of these such events happening, I feel the urge to jump in and type 'fight, fight, fight!' but I refrain in case they should turn their cyber rage on me. Instead I sit in rapt attention refreshing my page every minute and watching it unfold. Then the next day they are 'friends' again. We all love a happy ending.


So I think I will continue to invest more time in Twitter. I get to stalk celebrities as well as real people. Totes amazeballs. If you are on Twitter I am @donnawrightson so follow me. I only have 40 followers which is pitiful compared to my 'friends' on Facebook. I guess that shows how many people are interested in what I have to say. Today's blog has been controversial, I know. If I wake up tomorrow with two Facebook 'friends' I guess I will know why.

It's a hard life being a bus wanker

I miss my car. I have had a car since I was 17 except for the few years I was living in Australia and then I pretty much walked or got a taxi everywhere. Embracing student life and living in central Brighton meant getting rid of my car and getting on the bus.

After 6 months of it I can honestly say I hate getting the bus. I kind of knew it already but yesterday while on the good old number 25 bus to uni it really hit me. As a student bus user you seem to be a second class citizen. The bus drivers hate us. You can tell. They grunt in reply to anything you say, shout at anyone who dares to enquire beyond the norm and seem to deliberately pull away from the stop just as you get there, even though they can see you running and they can't possibly pull out into the traffic. Mean. For me though, their biggest crime is the refusal to acknowledge my thanks. I'm a polite person. My Nan always taught me that manners cost nothing. I always say please and thank you. So when I get off the bus and say thank you, I expect to receive an answer. Even if it's just a grunt. But no, now that I am a student 8 times out of 10 they say nothing back. So what, are my thanks not worth anything now? Should I not bother? I wish I was rebellious enough not to but I'm not. It seems to come automatically as if I have no control over it. I'm such a good girl (ahem).

I spend about an hour a day on the bus each way to and from uni so it's no small part of my day. The one bonus I can see with the student bus is that it's a lot more interesting than the average bus. The number 25 is a hive of gossip and scandal. I have spent many a journey eavesdropping (although I am not sure it can be called eavesdropping when people are talking so loudly it's impossible not to hear) on people bitching about their flatmates, classmates and lecturers. I'm almost sad when we reach our destination and I have to stop myself chasing after them and asking 'and then what did she say?'. If you miss Jeremy Kyle in the morning just hop on the number 25 for the live show.

For the most part though it's pretty miserable. I don't know who designs buses but they are ridiculously impractical. Particularly those stupid little 4 seats where you sit facing each other. There's nothing like sitting knee to knee and trying to avoid staring at some stranger sitting opposite you for half an hour. What were they thinking when they designed those? That little groups of 4 people like to take bus trips and might want to sit together and chat? I'm sure this happens every now and again but it usually just makes 4 complete strangers really uncomfortable. It's like when you get in a lift with strangers but an extended session. Yesterday, as I sat in one of the aforementioned little 4 seats I looked around me and realised that everyone looked as miserable as I felt. They hate the bus too. They might just be unhappy but I would bet it's the bus. I say everyone, but there were two Japanese girls in the seats opposite that were cheerfully chatting and marking their journey on a London tube map. I hoped it wasn't their current journey for obvious reasons, but felt it best not to enquire as such. That would have meant putting on my loud, patronising voice I seem to acquire when talking to people with limited English and I really don't like to use it too much.

In case I was in any doubt, while standing at the bus stop at uni the other day someone actually drove by and shouted out 'bus stop wankers' at us. To be fair it was more amusing than anything due to the fact that he couldn't even get the line right, which makes him a bit of a wanker himself, but still. I guess there's no avoiding it. My name is Donna Wrightson and I am a bus wanker.

International Women's Day. Be inspired.

'How important it is for us to recognize and celebrate our heroes and she-roes!' Maya Angelou

Thursday March 8th was International Women's Day. Pretty cool kind of day and an excuse to appreciate all things female. Actually I don't really need an excuse to do that (not in a lesbian way perverts, unless it's Rihanna of course). I do think my friends are amazing. I know everyone thinks that but mine really are. I'm using this as a chance to honour some of them.

For anyone who thinks teaching is easy, it's really not. One of my best friends is a reception class teacher and she works her arse off. Her typical day, Monday to Friday involves leaving the house around 7am and getting home around 6.30pm. Plus at the weekends she often has prep work to do. Believe me she needs those school holidays when they come! Teaching the future of our country their first lessons is no easy task. Teaching them not to piss in the middle of the classroom is even harder. She does all that and still has time to be an amazing friend.


Danni, whom I met and became close to in Australia but is actually from the good old US of A is a true ball of energy who literally lights up any room she is in. Sadly her aunt was diagnosed with terminal cancer. This is devastating for anyone, we all know people affected by this in some way. But this girl refused to take it sitting down. She rode 160 miles in the Pan Mass Challenge raising over $10,000 for the Dana Farber hospital which gave her aunt pioneering treatment which prolonged her life. She's riding again this year in her aunt's memory with the goal again to raise $10,000. Truly amazing. For anyone who would like to donate the link is: http://www.pmc.org/profile/DW0128.


One of my friends was in an unhappy relationship situation. The decision to leave it wasn't easy and caused her much pain. She did anyway. She picked herself up, ran a half marathon and moved to the other side of the world for a fresh start. She is now with a great guy and I have never seen her so happy. She did that for herself. She's also one of the coolest chicks I know.


One of my best friends has the very important task of keeping my faith in love alive. While I pass the time with an endless string of fuckwits (much to her consternation) she is very happy with one of the nicest guys I have met. They get married this year and I'm so happy and proud. She, in the meantime, doesn't give up hope that one day I will come to my senses and give the nice guy a chance. Who knows? Maybe I will. Until then I know she won't stop trying to persuade me, which feels good.


A fellow traveller I met in Australia is one of the busiest people I know but always has time for her friends. She loves life and gets the most out of it everyday with new challenges she sets herself. She's leaving England in a few days to live in Japan and teach English for a year. On her own. She will be missed but more of the world deserves to experience a little bit of what she has to offer. We will wait to get her back.

Those are just some of my amazing friends. I couldn't fit them all in. I'm going to make the effort to tell them just how great they are more often. Every day they inspire me. I hope they inspire you too. Who are your friends who have done or do something remarkable every day? Remember to tell them how you feel.


So the message here, if you didn't catch it, is to believe in yourself. You can do anything you put your mind to. Sometimes life's not easy. But I guess that's the biggest test, how we deal with the crap that it throws at us sometimes. At the end of the day, it's down to you to make your life something special. Are you up to the challenge?

'I love to see a young girl go out and grab the world by the lapels. Life's a bitch. You've got to go out and kick ass' Maya Angelou