My Favourite Song

I discovered this on the lovely Life of a Shopping Addict blog - a 30-day challenge for bloggers - and just had to give it a go! I will definitely not be able to keep this up day-to-day - I don't know if I mentioned, but I've kinda got plans on 7/8 ;) - but I plan to follow the programme over the next three months.

As Emma-the-shopping-addict rightly points out, it's pretty darn impossible to identify just one song that's your favourite! I tried the diplomatic approach and started with the most played and five-star rated on iTunes, and that gave me...

Mine, Mine, Mine from Pocahontas

Wow. Really? I mean, I love that song so much, but I was amazed to learn that I listen to it more than any other! The entire soundtrack is fantastic, and this song has such a stomping beat that is perfect for running. There's definitely a satisfaction in being all serious-faced, clad in Dri-Fit and Polar, but listening to Disney soundtracks - and nobody knows what you're listening to!

It brings back wonderful memories of baby brother stomping around the house, mistakenly singing "Sandwiches" instead of "Savages". He's 17 now - I'm sure he appreciates my memories.

Somehow, though, that's not quite it. But I've got to commit to something. There are multiple issues that come with picking a favourite.

One is the memories attached. I will always retain a fondness of anything from Summer 1999 because of the sheer awesomeness of driving around in your best friend's car, getting your first weekend job, having your first boyfriend... Wait. Is it weird that I can still love a song that's so attached to such a moment in time? Or wrong, somehow? We're both blissfully engaged to other people, and are certainly not hankering after a romantic reunion, but the music-induced nostalgia always feels like something that ought to be put in a box in the attic.

Memories can often make us forget the meaning of a song and lead you to cause something that's angry or sad when you just don't feel that way. The Summer I spent in West Islip, NY with my cousins is brought back in a flash with Alanis Morissette's You Oughta Know. It was new to the US charts at the time, and my 13-year-old self was in teen-movie heaven as we attended pool parties where they showed old horror movies, drank beer and smoked cigarettes - just like on TV! Clueless was at the cinema; Hugh Grant was in a lot of trouble; and I didn't care that the song was so angry and sad - life was just cool.

Ever find a song that just feels like it's your song? Not the romantic kind - the just you kind. For me, Fiona Apple's Fast as You Can hit the nail on the head before I even heard it. I don't even remember how, but I saw the lyrics written down somewhere and it has always felt so fitting. I haven't got together the guts to tell *him* that - nor have I sought out the rest of her catalogue. I'm not sure why, really. The first part probably because he's almost completely succeeded at bringing me out of that mindset. The second part maybe because I don't want to be disappointed and find that it's all pretend and she uses singing about issues as a marketing technique.

One song that just feels like it's been there all the way along is probably the one that's my favourite - Rainy Night in Soho by The Pogues.

It has such a heart-warming, you-n-me-together-after-everything kind of feel to it. It's not sweet and romantic, but reminds me of that old sonnet where the poet says that his love really isn't that beautiful, but he loves her all the same. I am a big fan of their music in general, especially the ensemble nature of all the random instruments playing. They bring it out whenever they play live, and it's just as awesome (and I generally can't stand live music). It comes on the iPhone at the most random and perfect of moments, and I never seem to skip it. My Dad plays it whenever he's a bit drunk and then texts me to tell me he's done so, and I do the same back. It just makes me feel like listening to it, and that's all you can really ask of a favourite song!

So... Pic for the sake of it time. Wanna see my dress? Here it is...

Hahaha. I'm such a tease. But there it is - ready to go to the dry cleaners, because there are only ELEVEN days to go!

What's your favourite song and why? Are you about music, lyrics, or the whole package? Have you seen Music and Lyrics? Do you like live music?

What A Tangled Web

There is a lot of meanness on the web. I'm not talking about the random trolling I used to encounter on the Facebook feminist groups (weird guys who would respond to your every argument with "well, that's because you've been brainwashed to think that way"), I'm talking about the gathering together of like-minded people. "Huh?", you say? Let me explain.

There's an old adage that bullies were usually bullied themselves, and while this is easy to see in the school playground, it's not as obvious in real, grown-up life, until you start spending time on the internet. The web's ability to demarginalise those on the fringes of popular culture has created fun places to hang out and discover that you're not alone, whatever those people at school tried to tell you.

In the early days, those who spent time socialising online were a rare breed. You'd start to tell someone a funny story that you'd heard in a forum but stop yourself so you could quickly fabricate a non-geeky source so that they'd laugh at your story and not you. It made for an atmosphere I can only liken to the Gorgonites in Small Soldiers - a rag-tag bunch of slightly odd-looking people, but always friendly and welcoming.

Then, as online socialising exploded, cliques began to form. Now that you can find people who share your love of anything from West African philately to obscure Swedish electropop, anyone who has felt marginalised is able to pass on that lovely feeling to someone else. A new type of snobbery seems to be raising its ugly head as people fall over themselves to have a life that's "more unique" than anyone else's. FYI - I am aware that there is no more or less unique. There is unique or not. Unfortunately, this means that uniqueness takes you back to solitude, so people turn it into a sliding scale.

The wedding world is one of the worst. I've encountered - and quickly unsubscribed from - a number of wedding blogs that repeatedly sneer at the decision to wear a traditional wedding dress, get married in church, have a wedding cake -  the sort of thing that normo-type people might have at their weddings. A great way to let people know exactly who is not welcome. When a fabulously talented photographer's work was trolled recently, readers took the opportunity to reinforce the "we're such outsiders" label with such comments as "they probably just want a nice dollop of blandness and a side dish of same old same old". What kind of world do we live in where quality is not permitted to be commonplace?

Even if a blog is positive, it can occasionally attract a cliquey bride, whose description of her Big Day entails "we didn't want this... we didn't want that...", referring to all sorts of things that you can guarantee someone reading really wanted for their wedding day. There are practically competitions to see who can have the smallest wedding with the fewest attendants and the lowest budget, because clearly if you invite lots of people you're just trying to make up numbers and... the worst thing of all... "be something you're not". 

In two weeks time, I plan to brush my hair, put on a frickin' gorgeous dress and tell everybody in church just how much I love my man. That's not "me" - I'm a scruff; I'm such a nervous public speaker that I'm actually developing a stutter, and I never wear pale colours because I miss my mouth constantly. If someone is the same every other day as they are on their wedding day, then they're either a really exciting person, or it's a really boring wedding. I can just picture it - and now, Mr and Mrs C are now going to sit and watch Sons of Anarchy, while simultaneously IMDBing all the actors they sort-of recognise from somewhere else. (As an aside... Don't do that. Jackson is so hot until you realise he's actually English and that irritating boy with the mockney accent in Green Street. He has now left my fantasies forever).

Then there are the healthy/ethical foodies - the bloggers are the sweetest girls you will ever meet, but there are commenters who compete to be the most puritanical about their food. It conjures up in my mind the Two Ronnies and John Cleese sketch, only where John Cleese is the fruitarian, looking down on Ronnie Barker's vegan, who looks down on Ronnie Corbett's vegetarian.

Ever act like a bit of a slob when you're on holiday? One chap pipes up with "what a shame about your friends who eat dinner at 10pm, wake at noon, and eat pizza for breakfast... I feel sorry for them." No, really, don't. We love it.

I realise that I'm going to have to change my title to Becca Rants if I carry on down this vein much further, so I promise to perk up and live up to my original positivity purpose a bit better. In the meantime - I have resurrected my Twitter account! Please stop by and say hello - I am @littleacceb. Alternatively, leave your Twitter name below and I shall follow you!

Finally - I thought I'd share an old snap from Christmas 2004, of the place where my Dad currently is... Moraira, Spain. Lucky sod.

Drunk People and Fire

Yes, they are a fantabulous combination. My story from Saturday night's party involves neither drunk people nor fire - that came later - but it explains the picture...

So... Some friends of ours are farmers and own some beautiful land on which they decided to build a little cabin for parties. The inaugural bash took place on Saturday with the instruction to bring some food and drink so everyone would just muck in, and involved a mixture of London people and locals. I'm still not sure where we fit as Patrick is a Londoner, and I'm a local, and we've both lived in each other's areas. I digress... So this is how it went down - 

Barbecue-tending male Londoner: What would you like?

Me: Ooh, is there a burger ready?

Barbecue-tending male Londoner: These lamb ones look like they're done.

Me: That sounds lovely!

Rude female Londoner: My friend made those by hand!

Me: That's fine - I'll just wait for one of the beef ones.

Rude female Londoner: [shrieking to her friend] Some random is trying to take our hand-made burgers!

Barbecue-tending male Londoner: [silent; looks embarrassed]

Really - why do people feel the need to be so rude? It's not even like it was a public event - it was a private party, so unless she thought that I'd somehow crashed a party in the middle of a field, she must have considered that we have friends in common. Baffled.

Anyway, running!

Did 5k yesterday, about which I am extremely pleased. It was super-roasty outside, but I remembered to take a water bottle with me. OMG - what a difference that makes! 

Lap #1 - 1.57 km, 13:10 minutes, 6.13 km/h

Lap #2 - 1.65km, 13.52 minutes, 7.09 km/h

Lap #3 - 1.67km, 12.00 minutes, 7.8 km/h

Total - 5.10km, 43.21 minutes, 6.99km/h

I don't know if I'm improving, or if the promise of pork tenderloin and butternut squash fajitas spurred me on! It might even be that my super-sexy pace maker was jogging just a few feet in front of me... But I'm not saying. After the run, he made me lift heavy weights in our snazzy home gym garage with weights bench and punch bag. I feel like Rocky Balboa, which is interesting, because Patrick looks kinda like Ivan Drago...

More good news - I have the new iMapMyRun app that lets me take pictures while I run without having to stop recording! To try out this week...