Monday, 21 January 2013

Django Unchained


"I like the way you die, boy"


As Quentin Tarantino takes us down through South America in the 1850s, it seems that no gun is left unloaded whilst in the hands of Django and Dr King Schultz. Jamie Foxx plays the black slave Django who is purchased and made a free man by the German Dr Schultz played by Christopher Waltz and together, they become a duo of bounty hunters. Waltz’s character is instantly dictated as the joker of the duo, able to get Django and himself out of any tricky situation and seems to have an answer for everything. Whereas, Django who at first, seemed a little out of his depth once becoming in association with Dr Schultz, became the serious, admiral hero.

Tarantino’s ability to create a fascinating film and even more great scenes is unquestionable with his latest release. At times it seems that Django and his partner-in-crime Dr Schultz are rather villainous, but with the quick charm of the Doctor the pair are celebrated for being great bounty hunters. Django is encouraged by the Doctor to leave his slave past behind and embrace the opportunity to become any character he wishes. In a blue velvet suit, Django does just that.

The imagery is captivating as the pair gallop through the rolling valleys of the Deep South and the snowy winter until they reach Mississippi- and Calvin Candie (Leonardo Di Caprio) the villain. The pair are successful and frivolous when they arrive at Candyland to deceive the wealthy Candie. The troublesome pair manage to escape every situation within an inch of their lives- at which point they are quickly sussed out by Samuel L Jackson, who plays Di Caprio’s elderly right hand man, which results in an astonishing blood bath and ends with the victorious Django getting his great revenge on the villains. It appears that no man or woman that receives a fatal bullet receives it without an impressive splurge of blood that proceeds to cover every surface within a two-metre radius. Some gory moments aren’t for the faint hearted and the realism is sometimes questionable- all of which should be left to the cowboys.

The memorable scenes, adventure, violence and undermining love story make Django Unchained to be undoubtedly, a great addition to Tarantino’s collection. It is not a film that only a western-film-loving-Grandad can watch, it is a film that can be enjoyed by many. The savvy one liners and impressive cast makes Django Unchained funny, dangerous and savvy.

Thursday, 3 January 2013

"To the field of war to the field of love,"


I purchased a few Virginia Woofle novels from the book shop on London Road. I didn’t know much about Virginia Woolfe, she seemed like a cool cat and so I felt intrigued to know more about her. I invested approximately 21 minutes into reading about the darling Virginia Woolfe’s life and it’ll take me approximately 21 seconds to explain that she was a great mad woman with a crazy creative mind who eventually drowned herself in the river. God bless.

2012

For the New Year we spend and consume copious amounts that more often than not feels instantly regrettable the next day, and all to celebrate 60 seconds.

For that sodding minute, this year I saw Peace at Koko, got lost in Koko and eloped to Putney where a flooded house filled with my beautiful wide-eyed friends would keep me dancing like a sea creature until it was time for the first train back to Croydon. In conclusion, 2013 is so far so good.

The beginning of a new year brings a reminiscence of the previous year. The amount of hair colours, lovers and new pairs of shoes are more or less all on par with one another, all equally as crazy and the shoes being by far the most memorable out of the group.

A year with good shoes has also attracted good friends. The best thing that has occurred from 2012 is the amount of friends I have gained. Friends that I will hope to have for a very long time, friends that I couldn’t tell enough how much I appreciate them.

I had told myself at the beginning of 2012 to never doubt myself, not because I know best, but because many outcomes differ due to doubt. With doubt you lack confidence, and without confidence there is a delayed sense of independence. There is an uncertainty that affects how people are on their own, something that this year, in some respects, I have much preferred.

And so I have left 2012 with gaining fine shoes, a contentment with solitude, a Florida stamp in my Passport, lifelong friends, desires and knowledge. 2013 is going to be a year where I will have to work hard, it goes without saying. A big chapter in my life will come to an end and determination makes me want it to be my greatest achievement. Furthermore, I will travel, not let a good thing pass and potentially have sensible coloured hair.

I hope I can look back at this in a year’s time and feel content that I did all the things I set out to do.

Thursday, 6 December 2012

'His ideal girl, he said, is a big dozy blonde.'

Tuesday, 27 November 2012

Wait a minute Mr Postman



One of the most greatest bonds is that of the Postman and the letterbox- apart from when that letterbox snaps back too hard and traps his fingers.

His name is Ian and he is my Postman. He is a family man and spends his day off with his wife, grandchildren or fishing the estuary. He is a man with salt and pepper hair, looks younger than he probably is, has knobbly knees and gets lines around his mouth when he laughs. I appreciate his politeness and good nature. We start from the beginning as he tells me how in the ‘olden days’ his business failed and so he applied to become a postman. Nineteen years later he is still content with delivering the parcels and post. It is hard to believe that this man failed at something in his life. He seemed to be one of those people who naturally succeed in everything they choose to do.

As the autumn mornings get increasingly bitter, I am in awe of the postman’s ability to wear shorts in cold temperatures. I am humorously reassured that when becoming a postman, they test your ability to withstand the winter temperatures in shorts and it is all part of the job. I imagine several postman potentials in a large freezer wearing shorts for a long period of time to pass a level of training and move onto the next- that next being to test their ability to avoid any ankle-biting dogs at the garden gate.

Unfortunately my Postman does not have a black and white cat, but a large fluffy dog. Although, his mate Pat the Postman does have a cat, which completely counteracts my initial disappointment in his choice of pet. He has never had any misdemeanours with dogs, touch wood, but after nineteen years he still finds it funny when he hears the sound of an awaiting letter-eating dog on the other side of the letterbox.

He is like my street’s very own Santa Claus. A cheery man who dresses in a red uniform, whose job it is to deliver. The only difference being he comes six days a week instead of just once a year. Something that has always fascinated me is where the letters to Santa Claus go. Sending a letter to Santa Claus is something I intend to do every year but never do. Even my Postman isn’t able to tell me where they go. I thought it was because all Postmen are sworn to secrecy, but it is because he really doesn’t know.

The Postman is one of my favourite passer-bys. I commend myself in my people-watching skills and have always observed how the Postman is never really noticed- perhaps only when he is the one to get you out of bed on your morning off. He is just a part of the everyday furniture that comes with life and I often wonder whether or not being a Postman is a lonely job, or perhaps it is the perfect job to get some peace and quiet. He says that even if he is lonely, it is never for long.

Saturday, 10 November 2012

Time doesn't exist, clocks exist.

Tuesday, 6 November 2012



One often wonders whether or not there truly is contentment in solitude, but then one begins to realise, that there aren't many people who are willing to find out.

At this moment in my life, it is a time where I, amongst many others, will be finding our own way in life, on our own two feet and most likely without the help of anybody else. To some, this may be a scary prospect, others not so much. What makes this a scary prospect is simply, the unknown and the fear of potentially being alone for a long period of time, alone with your mind and daydreams.

Last year, more often than not I would find myself having days where I had no human contact at all and I would call my Mother. I would call my Mother just so I could speak to a human being. She told me to hang up and enjoy the peace and quiet as it will never last long. I have clung on to my Mothers words and peace and quiet and we have become rather acquainted.

I may be a lone wolf but never for long. Life always interrupts the peace and quiet, but I have learnt it is what you allow to distract you from the peace and quiet that segregates the content from the fearful.

Monday, 22 October 2012

The Art of People Watching



For the year that I rent my little terraced house, I live downstairs and at the front of the house. I have my desk in the bay window that looks out on to my short and quiet road.

I somewhat pride myself in my people watching skills and my ability in making witty and very probable assumptions about the people I spot. All the while I sit at my desk everyday in order to do my homework, practice good posture, apply make-up, read the newspaper amongst other desky activities my people watching skills are constantly challenged as the passers-by always catch my eye. Thus, I have found myself sub-consciously documenting the people I see and the assumptions I make of them.

The postman is my favourite passer-by. I have been after the postman for a few weeks now in order to interview him for an idea I had for an article. But of course, Sod's Law condemns me ever spotting the postman at an appropriate time to vacate my house and say 'Wait, oh yes wait a minute mister postman'. Sod's Law has also made a different postman come six days a week to my door and so trying to catch the same postman is proving to be harder than actually catching one in the first place.

Another one of my favourites is the old lady who lives down the road. I first spotted her as I was passing by her house and she was mowing the lawn with a traditional roller push mower. As I am fascinated by the past I was in awe of the lady for the whole 6 seconds it took me to walk past her house. I don't really see her pass my window so much, but I appreciate her nonetheless.

The majority of the passers-by are student’s toing and froing from university in the hope to being well educated in their chosen field and become a success in the world of adulthood. There isn't much to assume of the student passer-by's as we all aren’t all much else at the moment in our lives.

My least favourite passer-by is old man beer belly. This is the name I have given him as he is an old man with a beer belly who I predict lives somewhere on my road but finds it necessary to walk up and down the road approximately one million times a day with what appears to be, no intention at all. I have not yet investigated the old man beer belly further as I find his actions quite unnerving.

Sunday, 21 October 2012

October, 21

Today is a Sunday and as I reflect upon the day, I can't help but notice what a traditional Sunday it had been.
I begun my Super Sunday with a Sunday morning lie-in and then donned my Sunday best in order to visit the Sunday Market. I then consumed a Sunday roast dinner and bought The Sunday Times newspaper to read with a cup of tea.
Apart from a Sunday church service, I do not feel I could have possibly done anymore things reminiscent of a traditional Sunday, and what a Super Sunday it was.