Monday, 31 May 2010

Beauty Spot

Eye opening make-up transformation video.

I forget how it came up, but yesterday I was discussing the subject of make-up with my housemate, who appeared to be under the impression (in a harmless way) I wasn't wearing much. Little did he know, I have to wear foundation to cover my spots and blemishes and in wearing it my pores become clogged which creates more spots which necessitates the use of more foundation. It's a vicious circle, perfected and perpetuated by the beauty industry.

In total, I was actually wearing liquid foundation, concealer, matte mousse foundation, eyeliner (liquid and pencil), mascara, lip balm, lipstick and I think there were two types of eyeshadow blended but that disappeared fairly quickly. Excessive? If I hadn't been wearing all that though he would've been as shocked as if I hadn't been wearing any clothes.

Wednesday, 26 May 2010

AyleSham 69

More recent work training took me to the quaint village of Aylesham. I searched for evidence of other people’s thoughts on the place before I started scribbling down my own.

One website helpfully directs the reader with links to other nearby ‘lovely’ towns and cities but neglects to highlight any of Aylesham’s actual attributes (other than nothing the “strong community spirit” – that would be all the unemployed inhabitants then who don’t work the collieries anymore but have the one landmark – a dark sculpture of a mining family – to remind them of happier times).

Happier times. And litter.

Wikipedia states “during the 60s a considerable number of families from the village emigrated to Australia.” A tree stump forms the centrepiece of one of the alluring pictures hosted by another supposedly promotional site.


Means of escape!

Casual internet research aside, my own experience of Aylesham was perhaps tarnished by being dropped off by the bus driver on an industrial estate about 15 minutes away from where I was supposed to be. There’d been an almighty crash from upstairs and upon stopping to see what had happened. The front upstairs window had completely smashed in, due to a passing bird, plane, or angry Australian emigrant. The driver shrugged and declared, "you'll have to walk the rest of the way, health & safety blah blah blah." Walking in heels when it's just started to snow to a place I don't know past blokey blokes in their vans is a more of a health & safety issue for me, personally. But at least he pointed me in the right direction.

A road. Also handy for escape.

After the training session my flimsy Google map and I tried to navigate our way around the bizarre ghost town that constitutes Aylesham, which seemed sadly lacking in Ale due to the apparent closure of many pubs. During my circumnavigation of this strange isle I honestly only spotted about a dozen people, mostly milling about the main town square (consisting of a pub, newsagents, chippy and health centre for when you’ve overdosed on chips and No-Ale). The labyrinthine council estates I got lost in were eerily quiet too. After finding a bus stop that was still in use I was pleased to return to Canterbury where people’s eyes remain unfazed by the sight of a woman in hair dye and pinstripes. Self decoration and businesslike attire? Not in this one-horse town! Actually I would have been grateful to see a horse, and I hate horses. Actually I don’t even remember seeing creatures there. Maybe a couple of four legged people.

Goodbye to the 5 of you.

Pictures copyright of Pictures of England dot com.

Sunday, 9 May 2010

Ok, Go

Following on from my critique of social etiquette featured in Space Oddities, I turn my attention now to traffic lights, those neon harbingers of doom allowing us (we hope) to navigate our way safely across those stretches of tarmaced land usually operated by vehicles, which cyclists somehow think they have a right to use sometimes too. Roland Barthes would be proud of our collective ability to interpret the relationship between colour and meaning, although would probably head-desk himself if he saw how futile an attempt a minority make to control their ambulatory destinies.

Firstly, why do some people think pressing the button repeatedly will make the lights change any quicker? As more concentrating raging bullish types line up on either side, judging which path will best enable them to traverse in the most orderly fashion only to crash into each other like drunken dodgems when the beeps finally sound, there will always be one, either snorting with anger or muttering in timid confusion, poking away at the button thinking it is programmed to react to their fingerprint only. These are probably the same people who are banned from those nightclubs which use the same fingerprint scanning technology for excessive poking of a different nature.

Perhaps worse are those which don’t seem to have grasped how it works at all. You approach the crossing, and on seeing someone about to do so from the other side think “ah, they’ll get there first and do the pushing so my tired fingers escape such exercise”. But no, they continue jibbering away to their mate on the phone, a task which evident uses up all their capacities, standing there, looking up and down the street and wondering absentmindedly why the traffic isn’t slowing.

When I was a little ‘un I was convinced that a tiny man was installed somewhere in the traffic light stand. Nowadays, knowing better, I rebelliously begin to cross on amber, as the cars slow, much to the chagrin of mother’s opposite who are waiting for the ‘Little Green Man’ to escort their little darlings across the dangerous road. I’m no time-waster. Except when it comes to writing about traffic lights.

Monday, 3 May 2010

People In Today's Society Take Things For Granted

"I never made a person look bad. They do that themselves. The portrait is your mirror. It’s you" August Sander