Christmas Presence, not Presents.

It's Christmas Eve and I'm curled up on my ma's sofa watching tele and eating excessive amounts of cheese. I'm lucky enough to have been off work for the last 4 days and have pretty much been focused on these tasks for the entirety of my visit. For me this is what the festive break is all about; mum & bro time, driving practice around the Spa, food and heating (that i haven't paid for!), childhood traditions with my oldest friends and lots of sleep. One thing I haven't been concerned with is presents. The hideous new terminology of 'Black Friday', 'Cyber Monday' and what I'm sure today will be 'Crazy Christmas Eve' have no place in my vocabulary or Christmas timeline.

On Sunday, I had the most wonderful day with all of my extended family and though I had a pang of guilt when presents started to be exchanged and I was empty handed, on the whole I was glad to have not wasted time and money on gifts that had no use to my family but purely acted as a marker to the accepted norm. This is our first Christmas without my beloved Grandma and a get together with everyone, including the newest addition of 2 week old Bethany, is the brightest star on my festive horizon and worth far more than any gift.

So many aspects of our modern life are governed by what we spend and how good it looks, but as we meander through this post recession world, shouldn't we face the question of the economy of gift giving whilst the spirit of Christmas/austerity is in the air. I have always had a sense of savvy and nothing gives me greater pleasure than getting a good deal. Discounts, sample sales and cashback are my raison d'etre. You could say I'm the female equivalent of Martin Lewis (Martins money saving tips) but with less knowledge, skill or research...

I genuinely love to give gifts and shopping for them too, but when my bank balance is debilitated, the shops are horrific and time is restricted, is it so bad to give something that someone else has given me? Not necessarily because I don't like the present, it may be that I love it and just have multiples or think another friend may enjoy it more. Does that detract from the quality of the gift or my desire to give? These thoughts have resulted in my gifting mantra: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle (Re-gift). It's not a new idea and though potentially controversial, could this revolutionise present buying forever more?!

Reduce

Very few people are getting presents from me this year. A lot of the time we give just because we think we should and ultimately I'd rather spend the money on an experience with my friends than unnecessary presents for them.

Reuse 

I get given awesome stuff at work, so under the tree you will find parcels that weren't even wrapped by me, let alone paid for! They are still awesome.

Recycle

I am not only unafraid to recycle old presents, but also ideas...  I believe my mum and I may have bought identical gifts for one another. 

Tomorrow will be an intimate little Christmas with my mum and bro, and I can't wait. I genuinely don't need anything, and when my brother asked me what I wanted I requested socks (you can never have enough). I have a feeling we will have a highly caffeinated house very shortly (let's wait and see) but more than anything I  just want time at home with my nearest and dearest. I haven't even bothered with Christmas cards this year, I will see my oldest friends in Leamington, call my loved ones and with the wonders of modern technology even Facetime others further afield. I hope I don't come across as a Scrooge in this; I desire all of the magic, all of the sparkle, peace on earth and all that jazz, just without the desperate dash down the high street. And any Christmas presents you receive that don't fulfil your Christmas wishes, it's less than 2 months until my birthday... Time to get into the re-gifting spirit.

Happy Holidays xxx

The Waiting Room of Death

I've been in the Waiting room of Death for so long, but that does not ease the pain that permeates through my body, confounded by the shame I feel about the words I wrote only a week ago:

'I struggle to think these words, let alone write them; I want my grandma to die' 

My grandma truly is the best. Of course my opinion is bias but here is a 96 year old woman who has been a stalwart of brilliance and love for my entire life. For the last few years she has deteriorated suddenly, and the vibrant woman I knew changed dramatically. When family pictures and declarations of love no longer brought a smile to her face, knowing I couldn't alleviate her sadness, I gave up my selfish desire to have her with me forever and wrote down the above words. Yesterday evening my beautiful grandma died and I so desperately want to take back those thoughts. I always dreamed of gran living to 100 and told her numerous times! I grieve the husband she will never meet, the children she won't cuddle and the cakes she can't bake in my first home. I realise this is possibly over sentimental grief talking and it was probably unrealistic for my children to meet gran (after all I never knew my great grandma) but this doesn't negate the intense sense of loss now.




I first realised my gran was not immortal when she had a fall and spent some time in hospital. It was like the second there was a crack in the armour of Gran's strength, she was very quickly a vulnerable old lady. She soon got back into her home and I papered over my concerns for Gran's instability, but by the time she was next hospitalised I realised the precipice she was on. Looking at this tiny little lady engulfed by her functional NHS bed telling me she wanted to die, I knew I was waiting...






The last 2 years have seen two of my good friends parents die and recently my mum had an emergency operation, all adding to this sudden feeling of imminent morbidity. When I sat at the hospital waiting for mum, I cried, not because she was in immediate danger, but somehow being in this clinical backdrop with her brought me one step closer to the same feelings of fear and pain I experienced with gran in her hospital room. Such a different situation but my loved ones' fragility is etched on my heart.

The penultimate time I visited my gran in her dull but conscientious care home I was dismayed by the lack of stimulus for the elderly patients, the stagnant environment was literally a waiting room of death. As comes naturally in my vaguely idiotic nature, I did a little dance with Gran's walking stick and everyones eyes lit up. My dance and subsequent medley of songs were in no way impressive, but a little bit of young blood and energy seemed to make the world of difference and break the bland monotony of care home life. I later chanced upon an article about German 'multigenerational houses' which seem an inspiring concept to me. Gran had lived on her own for a long time before spending a year in a care home, and I can't help but wish that her wise but frustrated body and mind could have been revived by a daily injection of youth. 

Elizabeth Margaret Downie nee Kirkham lived a wonderful life. Known to her friends as Betty, she worked tirelessly to create a great life for her family. She built (yes built!) the house I have always considered my family home and instilled in me a great sense of strength as a woman. Today was her funeral and I have been able to say a final farewell to my beloved grandma. I was reminded of her immense skills as a seamstress, cook and baker extraordinaire and most of all a carer at her core with green fingers! She was an inspiration to so many people and this was apparent in the smiling faces I shared stories with today. The heart-warming service and colourful clothing (gran didn't want all black) has celebrated an exceptional woman and reminded me to cherish my family all the more. Forever an inspiration.

Born at Feckenham 21st September 1918
Died at Studley 1st November 2014

Rest in Peace granny xxx

A Proper Cup of Coffee from a Proper Coffee Shop

I drink too much coffee. Many people are guilty of this, but perhaps our biggest bad habit is where we buy our coffee from. Starbucks has been making coffee cool for as long as I remember and as a teenager I trained myself to like the taste because this new green logo'd establishment was the 'place to be'.

So ensued years of caffeine dependency and a fully fledged flavour desire, and I dread to think how much money I have spent on a skinny latte to take-away. Membership cards and loyalty stamps have all lured me in but why oh why have I been a sucker for these giant chains? Do I prefer handing over my money to companies that make colossal profits and allegedly pay minimal tax? Not really, no! And I'm presuming that most people find this type of dishonesty leaves a bitter taste in their mouth. It seems that all of the massive companies play the game of tax avoidance and moreover flood the high street with their recognisable name. Using their superior might and money they can afford to have 2 stores ridiculously close to each other, purely to take control of the area and put all of the independents out of business.

On a recent trip to Paris I was struck by the omission of chain coffee shops. Apart from in the very centre, appealing to the tourists, Paris was an oasis of individuality. Why on earth would they want to frequent another bland and soulless establishment? On my return, I was walking home from Southwark tube station and saw a new Costa was being developed on The Cut. A beautiful road full of theatre and creativity is being defaced by yet another vapid conglomerate cafe, and I decided enough was enough. From now on these big bad coffee shops are not getting my support and I urge you to do the same.

I've discovered some gorgeous independents and let's be honest the coffee tastes a hell of a lot better too. My favourite local is Four Corners on Lower Marsh. Friendly staff, flavoursome coffee and and for a little later; tea infused cocktails that will perk you up! Free and easily accessible wifi will make this place perfect to get a couple of hours work done with a cheeky bit of cake as an added bonus. If you're looking for a stylish space, look no further than St. David Coffee House in Forest Hill, owned by three actors and creatives with a taste for great coffee. Their community credentials are second to none and this bijoux cafe boasts pop up art events and pizza nights too! I also love Artigiano on New Oxford Street. Disclaimer: there are three of these but that number seems acceptable to me! Again, friendly staff, all important appetising coffee and healthy fresh smoothies make this place a great haunt.

I rue the years I've wasted in generic coffee houses and absolutely adore the individual, quirky spots. Politically I have always gravitated towards the little places, but practicalities of life (mainly my bank balance) mean that I'm not quite ready to abandon my Tesco clubcard, but the great thing with this venture is there is no financial implication. Often an artisan coffee house will cost less and be of a higher-calibre; win-win! I know we all like what we know, but with a little bit of research it's easy to find interesting cafes that are just as convenient and far better in every way. London will be bursting with awesome choices and if you have any great recommendations please do add to the comments and we'll all share the love...

...Say goodbye to mediocrity and hello to a proper coffee from a proper coffee shop.

My Afro Diaries

As a toddler my personality reflected my wild hair; untamed & not abiding to any rules. I never saw a difference between my friends and I, racially, socially or other and joyfully meandered through my prepubescent life. I am of mixed heritage, English & Ghanaian, & my mother who is white was very much my primary care giver. This fiercely intelligent woman inspired so much in me, but hair care was never a priority! Even if my mum had shared my hair type, this would still not have been a focus in our household of which I am grateful for.

Unsurprisingly, by my teenage years I loathed my hair. The adolescent phase that so many experience of wanting the opposite of what you have- blonde to black, straight to wavy & in my case frizz to sleek. After a short & indefensible stint having a bold red fringe, I eventually took the aspirational step of chemically straightening my hair. The anticipated rewards of success, popularity & undiscovered beauty never materialised. Straight hair does not automatically make you Barbie pretty! Years later reading Toni Morrison's 'The Bluest Eye' I was painfully reminded of the inexplicable desire to capture an unreal & superficially concocted appeal.

“It had occurred to Pecola some time ago that if her eyes, those eyes that held the pictures, and knew the sights—if those eyes of hers were different, that is to say, beautiful, she herself would be different.”

Replace eyes with hair & I recognised a little of me, luckily this high maintenance style was brief; a lifetime of delinquency with my hair meant that blow drying was physically untenable & I gave up trying to have straight hair very quickly.

At 18 I discovered leave-in conditioner and this was a game changer (I exaggerate not), I finally began to appreciate my crazy curls. This coincided with moving to London and going to drama school. Though still an anomaly (my year of 28 had 1 black guy and me), the greater context of diversity in the capital began to influence and bolster my sense of individuality & defiance from ethnic expectations. At 21 I spent a couple of years having regular haircuts but since then I have pretty much lived by the mantra 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it'. I have abstained from haircuts, dyes or anything that involves cost or effort. I am a low maintenance woman with a political underscore. Firstly, I enjoy shedding the stereotypical feminine cloak of grooming, but more importantly my fro has become a bizarre badge of honour, a physical manifestation of my sense of pride in my 'blackness'.

Looking back at my naive teenage years I cringe at my self-proclaimed title of 'bounty'- brown on the inside but white at my core. My home town was not particularly diverse & I was comforted by a generally inoffensive ignorance towards half of my heritage.  In recent years as my relationship with my father has become fractured; I have become increasingly estranged to my Ghanaian family but my hair stays strong & a significant part of my identity.  I want to celebrate my African side & embrace the wonderment of being dual heritage.

On occasion I almost feel having natural hair is a barrier between me and many black women who grew up with the normality of 'fake' or adjusted hair. I am grateful that my upbringing eschewed this pressure, but can also feel alienated. Perhaps this feeling of alienation is not solely from the black community, but society as a whole? Recently I came across a news article about a young girl in Florida, threatened with expulsion because her natural hair was a ‘distraction’. This is madness! The world seems to have assimilated a view not only of attractiveness, but acceptability when it comes to hair care. Images of Beyoncé & Rihanna with wavy blonde locks make me feel uncomfortable. Not because they don't look alluring but because this perceived state of beauty is unachievable for so many. On a multimillion pound stage the weave looks incredible, on me it would come across as an unnatural & unattractive wig. One could argue that the weave is not supposed to look 'real', but it certainly exacerbates the idea that whatever is underneath does not deserve a look.  This is not necessarily a black, white or mixed issue, but we all recognise a certain level of faux beauty that clouds the media & sets unobtainable expectations, and it does feel that there is a bigger chasm for black women to cross.  

For years I wasn't sure about my own beauty or if I could ever conform to what was the norm. Now my head of hair represents an important part of me; from a shrunken ringlet after a wash to a frizz explosion at the end of the week, each curl is unconventional & unique. I am of course an advocate of freedom for women to choose to style their hair in any way, but surely we must first acknowledge the natural beauty in us all. Hoorah to my hair & to yours. Hoorah to not being particularly bothered about the latest construction of beauty & acceptance. It will probably cost a heap of money & you'll never win. Think of Ani Difranco's vociferous words in 32 Flavours & allay your fears:

'and god help you if you are an ugly girl course too pretty is also your doom cause everyone harbours secret hatred for the prettiest girl in the room and god help you if you are a phoenix and you dare to rise up from the ash and a thousand eyes will smoulder with jealousy while you are just flying back'

My Afro Diaries was first published in June by Luna Luna Magazine in an abridged version

I'm not a fan of football but I could be a football fan

The World Cup has started and nations unite in a shared love of 'the great game'. The World Cup has started and English fans unite in an unbiased animosity towards any country that by the luck of the draw has been picked to play 'us' (stated in a very lose fashion).

I've never been a big football fan. The unwritten gender guidelines instil a generalised female sense of disassociation towards football. Though we all played football in PE, at school the boys kept playing at the end of the day and the girls didn't. My dad watched football at the pub, my mum didn't. No one forced us into these divided roles, it was just the norm and has persevered into my adult life. I've watched a few games with guy friends over the years, but on the whole I really have had no interest in football, the industry or the game. But surely I could make an exception for the World Cup? So last night I watched the England match in a local pub and witnessed a thinly veiled racism, aggression and outpouring of vitriol towards the other team that I did not expect.

I recognise the passion, the excitement, the bizarrely patriotic fever that takes over so many, but suddenly we're in a realm where shouting 'c**t' continuously and at the top of your voice is not only accepted, it is applauded. Where a strident sense of malice towards 11 men who happen to be competing against your team, means the only course of action is debasing your critique to racially charged comments. I suspect that friends who would normally chastise others for this kind of language, would let it slide in this situation because it's football and because it's a big deal. Football has become a great excuse to show an abhorrent side of yourself and this is intensified during the world cup. While the 'we' becomes more pronounced, the 'other' morphs into a monstrosity on a worldly scale.

This behaviour does seem to be far more associated with football than other competitive sports: I can't remember the last time I heard Federer called a Swiss w*nker or Rory McIlroy attacked for his hair style choice. Furthermore, the venom is not reserved only for foreigners, this week Rooney's family have received death threats because of his performance. Last night after hearing one fan shouting 'pull his hair, pull his hair' and another loudly wishing for Suarez's house to get burgled, I couldn't help but feel disappointed and confused as to how we've got here. I'm not suggesting that this is solely an English thing, the same bigoted, pathetic and offensive words may be being shouted at screens across the globe. And it seems such a shame because watching this game I did begin to understand that football frenzy, feel the tumult in my heart, this may have been because I bet money on Uruguay to win but that's a whole other story... Overwhelmingly I felt uneasy in the crowd (not just because of my controversial betting habits), intimidated to be in this furor tainted with so much negativity and blatant aggression. Swimming in a sea of bolshy testosterone as men vehemently shouted abuse at the TV screen I questioned: Is this why I am not a football fan? I can embrace the competition, cherish the sport, praise the skill but I don't have time for the anger.

This may sound unpatriotic but hurry up England and lose the next game, so we can be nice English people again! Ferocious patriotic allegiance may dissipate to a general sense of enjoyment of the tournament and the game, without needing to reference a players skin tone, hair or sexual preference. Yesterday I witnessed hope jump to outrage without any joy in the middle. So here's hoping for a little more fun for the rest of the football... and if not fun then I may just stick with gambling!

The Secret Life of an Actor

I am an actor.
I am a woman.
I am British.
I am a sister.
I am a daughter.
This list could go on relentlessly but somewhere hidden in the depths of my psyche is something I tentatively whisper; I am a kind of professional, with an office job and a degree of responsibility. Oh my god, I have a day job. And even worse I quite enjoy it!
It's taken me a long time to recognise/admit that I am not defined by being an actor. What a liberation this was. Firstly, my daddy's never going to buy me a house or car so I've always had a strong work ethic. I knew anything I wanted in this life I would have to work for; nothing comes for free (unless you steal & that comes with it's own costly consequences). And secondly, even if I had the privilege I yearned after for so many years, I still would want to get out and do a hard days graft. Not because I'm some kind of superwoman but because sitting at home on your own without a purpose or timetable can be debilitating. To enjoy your days off, you need to have some days on. The confusion was, that after graduating with a BA hons in professional acting (still makes me chuckle) I thought that I would find my contentment & wealth as an actor. Well partly, but that's not the whole picture.

Drama school teaches you a lot but one thing it omits is real life studies. How do you survive as an actor? My voice, body & mind are trained for when the director says yes, but the other side of the coin is a frightening mirage. Seeing and believing the jobs are there, but often a hairs breadth away they dissolve in the harsh light of day. We've all got different stories of temp job nightmares and I've had my fair share of good and bad. Starting in retail, switching to waitressing & bar work, a little babysitting on the side, a short & horrific stint in a call centre, music teaching, catering & finally I ended up running an event space and I've been there for almost two years. I never thought I'd stay anywhere for this long but it's just worked, and as the business grows and changes so does my role and I love it. I work with fantastic people who are genuine friends and understand that I am also a trained actor. Sometimes my life actually seems quite glamorous; a couple of days in the office & then a train trip to Cardiff for a bit of filming. Well, my standards may be lower than some but it all seems rather exciting! I know it's not always easy to find a company that will welcome a working actor, but I do believe a big part of succeeding in the search is being unafraid to commit. To not feel any less of an actor because you work hard at something else.

The general trend to eschew the reality of a second job reminds me of the undeniable class bias in the industry- Barbara Ellen highlights this well in a recent article: 'the financial difficulties of developing and sustaining an acting career mean that the hard-up are gradually being faded out of the picture'. Perhaps being more transparent, and accepting and understanding the necessity to have other income streams may begin the dialogue to redress this imbalance. Being solvent doesn't have to be a taboo!

I was chatting to a friend recently & she talked about how she found it hard to consolidate her day job with being an actor. To not feel like your betraying one for concentrating on the other. Or to be embarrassed to give your credentials as a thesp whilst you sit in front of a computer scheduling your bosses diary. But why beat ourselves up? We're doubly employable! What other professional would be so ashamed to have transferable skills to excel in more than one field. OK, excel may be a little extreme but it's easy to forget how rewarding it feels to do well at something and get recognition, that in some fields there is a direct correlation between working hard & success.  Be proud of being an actor and the ability to turn your hand to so many things & certainly don't feel shame to want or need to do other work. Some people argue a side job should never be anything you get too involved with so as to not take focus away from the real goal, but I disagree. Being successful in your 'normal' day to day life has positive connotations for your acting. The stench of desperation tends to fade & others see we are functioning, intelligent human beings with other interests & desires. My career has definitely improved in conjunction with finding satisfaction in my daily enterprise. If a day, a week or a year in another work environment makes you feel stronger- hoorah! Don't feel guilty. I chose my profession for a multitude of reasons but primarily to make me happy, so if other things have the same effect this is a bonus.

Waiting is arduous. 'Resting' is unrealistic. To diversify is powerful. Writing, directing or something completely disassociated to the profession, it feels fabulous to take control.

My name is Amelia Donkor.
I am an actor and I am also Client Relations Manager at Icetank Studio.
I am made up of many things and I hope the list will keep growing. I certainly know I won't be afraid to embrace every bit of this complex puzzle that makes me who I am.

My double life!

Searching for happiness

#100happydays

100 days of happiness

100 days of showing off

You can't be happy for 100 days solid

What happens on the 101st day?

This little project has divided opinion. My daily declarations of happiness have amused some, offended others & been a ridiculous source of comedy for a few. It's been a thought provoking ride for me personally and an interesting insight into other peoples judgement. When I embarked on this challenge I saw it just as that- a challenge. A throw back from my childhood I thrive on tests & targets; a definitive right or wrong, win or lose. I have since discovered that life refuses to work in this way, but occasionally my fierce competitiveness & desire to win breaks through (never play monopoly with me). I don't have teachers to grade me anymore so I self assess in areas of my life that have clear parameters & rules. 100 happy days seemed perfect. Post a picture with the happy days hash tag for 100 days and win! Apparently 71% of people couldn't complete this so I thought I'd try... To be honest I think the happiness aspect was secondary to the challenge of achieving, but this initial thinking dissolved into something much more profound on my happy days journey.

For years friends have told me I need to go to therapy! Despite the fact I recognise this could be an excellent move, a mixture of pride, laziness & finance have always stopped me. Similarly to many other people I have suffered from bouts of sadness at stages of my life. My manic condition swings from high energy hecticness to lethargic apathy, and though I doubt this can be beaten, I genuinely feel that these last 100 days have been a form of self imposed cognitive therapy. The notion of finding a piece of goodness each day has overwhelmed my potential woes. I have found myself waking up thinking about my happy moment, working towards it, feeling excited and creating a more positive disposition. Some days I have been spoilt for choice- being in Australia on holiday with great friends was a ludicrously easy stint. When people have implied I was 'scraping the barrel' with gym or book images incomparable to dramatic foreign vistas, birthdays & weddings- I have felt the complete opposite. It has been in the days of mundanity, I have best been able to search for my happiness. Even more so on my occasional days of listlessness alone at home, that I have had to wrangle with myself to find a happy moment and in doing so felt increasingly enlightened. Somewhat aligned to lessons of gratitude in Buddhism or gratitude lists in AA, I have worked each day to find goodness, despite life getting in the way. Can you find humanity and positivity on a daily basis?

I can understand criticisms and accusations of showing off- why the need to share so much? Recording each day in the public realm was a great incentive to keep going. If I stopped, people would know! Instagram, twitter & facebook could have been overkill but as a woman who has to inform people every time I go to the loo, it's hardly surprising. Perhaps over sharing is a symptom of our social media obsessed society, but I'm glad to have switched from my old statuses of hangovers & complaints, to putting a little more positivity out there. Though of course in many ways this has been a very private journey, I have relished sharing my story. I was deeply moved when a friend of mine said she was inspired by my adventure & other comments about individual pictures and general support for the project has been gratifying. I've genuinely derived an immense sense of pride in sharing these 100 days and I am thankful to those who have enjoyed it & supported me. 

I feel happy right now. I will feel sad again in the future. Possibly tomorrow or next week but I hope I have discovered an accessible way to diffuse my tumultuous character; perhaps this was the ultimate placebo? The standard of my life has not changed but my outlook has and with this significant shifts have been made. I've made new friends and lost old ones, fallen in and out of love, made adjustments to my career and started this little blog. My desire and zest for life has never been so strong and I'm enthused about the future. In all honesty, there is a part of me that goes into day 101,102,103 & beyond with trepidation but that's part of the fun! From the inane, nonsensical, breathtaking and sentimental, I will cherish these 100 pictures for a long time to come.

Fancy a try? http://100happydays.com/

All my happy day pictures are here, if you want to look! http://instagram.com/ameliadonkor

Britain may actually have some talent

It's easy to feel frustrated & neglected by modern day politics. A cabinet of only 3 women- thanks Maria (actually I'm not sure if that's sarcasm or not), ridiculous & irresponsible policies, imbeciles like Gove shaping the future of education & an overwhelming majority of privilege that most of us will never recognise. Many people have begun to give up hope, but my ideology has been reinvigorated from an unexpected source.

I've never been a fan of tv talent shows. For many who have spent time, money & immense heart ache training in the arts, it's disappointing to see new 'names' catapulted to success (albeit often temporarily) to tread the boards at West End theatres due to their profile. I can't help but feel that tv talent shows dumb down our expectations of what creativity is, negate the colossal work involved in honing these skills and most importantly create a culture of fame chasers. I don't necessarily blame the participants as it seems there is a massive appetite from the general public for this type of entertainment and if you cant beat them, join them! I recently had a friend in the spotlight of one of these shows & I very much hope they do not see this as an attack on their choice, their talent is not in question, just the way we digest it.

I've been pathetically proud of my ability to not follow the X Factors, Voicers or talented Britains over the recent years, but in this last week I couldn't help but notice Jermain Jackman. Firstly, he has worked with some of my friends so his presence on my social media feed was higher than normally expected in these things, and secondly after his win I read an interview with him in The Guardian. Surely any self respecting middle class leftie should take note? I did!

What's refreshing about this 19 year old is that he genuinely seems genuine! Granted I didn't follow the show but from what I've since read he didn't sell his talent on a painfully sad story, his niche was his politics. Yes, some of his musings are naive and slightly aggravating (don't get me started on free schools), but here is a young man unafraid to talk social inequality & inspirational politics in an engaging and relatable way; his voice is a very exciting thing. I always idealised the days of burning bras, people attending CND rallies & generally embracing the right to challenge the status quo. Drama school was not quite the socialist, creative arts hub I had hoped for and at best politically despondent, but it really feels like the tide is changing. Whatever your thoughts on facebook, people are now unashamedly declaring their feminist ideals, sharing controversial or challenging images, setting up groups to challenge racial inequality & in general talking more stridently about what they believe in.

We are all part of the same fight and Jackmans vigour I hope will be something that (those of us who care) will celebrate & not undermine because of his route to the public eye. None of us are angels & I've only just weaned myself off a hideous attraction to the Kardashians, but maybe a refusal to accept what we have been given in this society & a belief that our small efforts can induce change is the beginning of something special. Maybe politics can be popular again.

Perhaps we will be the generation that is talked about next century, that didn't let the world die, stopped the government imploding & started a revolution! Could Jermain Jackman make politics cool? I really hope so...

Selfie Madness/Madness at Selfies

Don't you just hate a woman who posts a picture of herself with no makeup and donates to charity? Actually I don't, but it seems an alarming amount of my social media world do. Don't get me wrong, my initial reaction to #nomakeupselfie was one of scepticism and slight confusion: What is this selfie? Why are people doing it? How does a selfie help cancer? But it appears this was everyone's question.
This was not a premeditated PR stunt, celebrity led and costing thousands. It was a few quirky posts that became a self generating phenomenon and has raised almost a million so far. Yesterday's Telegraph cites author Laura Lippman as the unintentional founder of the no make up selfie and no one really knows where the #breastcancerawareness hashtag sprouted from, but why kick a gift horse in the mouth! Cancer Research UK admittedly did not conceive this campaign but ultimately the result has been lots of free media attention and increased donations.

What has really surprised me is the backlash against this trend. I don't see the why it is offensive to raise money via a selfie (which costs nothing), but we accept running marathons and climbing mountains as an appropriate reason to donate. Snide comments on peoples posts 'why the need to pout?' or 'why is this brave?' are really aggravating. Who gives a f*ck if you're pouting? Why do we instantly feel the need to be disparaging to someone just for trying?! I agree- it shouldn't be a brave act to post a picture with no makeup on and as someone who doesn't wear make makeup on a daily basis (I like to set the bar low at all times) it genuinely does not bother me, but it does bother me that there is a desire to undermine women who think it might be a big deal. Or even worse, when people are accused of being narcissistic and trying to look attractive in their selfie for a compliment. Who cares? Its Facebook! EVERYONE posts pictures of themselves looking good to share/show off to their friends, family and acquaintances that they met once in Peru. I can't fathom why now is suddenly the time to chastise them.

It's Sport Relief today and I can't imagine how much has been spent on marketing, logistics, flights, crew etc even if it is paid for by corporate sponsorship. I'm not berating the charity for this, but in comparison the #nomakeupselfie fund raising seems to be an anomaly in terms of getting people to give without a massive financial investment first, and refreshingly there are less celebrities raising their profiles with this (though I'm sure this could change quickly).

I haven't posted a selfie and I haven't donated yet, though I will remedy the second one swiftly. I may post an image of how to check your breasts or other fundraising ideas but I'll try not to do it with a negative tint or superiority. I may even start a new trend and post a bare picture of my breasts & try to seek sponsorship for this... I'm still coming up with ideas on this front! Regardless of how, breast cancer awareness and a general move towards giving little and often has to be a positive.  In the future I shall try to curb my reactionary cynicism and pass less judgement in my facebook bubble.

Women- I applaud you for posting a no makeup selfie whether it was a challenge to you or not. Hey, why not try a barefaced day or even a week; it may not cure cancer but it will be good for the soul.

Text BEAT to 70099 to donate £3

Since writing this I've now taken my #nomakeupselfie and donated. YES I did try & look half decent (call me a narcissist but that's true for most of my posts so nothing's changed) and NO it wasn't courageous of me because I look like this every day! £2million raised so far... Smile!

27 Years a Slave

Excuse the hyperbole but as I reach my 28th year one could argue these previous 27 years have been fraught with an unstable insecurity, enraptured by societal norms that I am in some form enslaved to.  I in no way mean to offend any skin colour, gender or other denomination but as slavery is the zeitgeist of the moment, I awkwardly struggle to deal with the complexities of our past & my reaction to it's current prominence.

The hero of the hour is '12 Years a Slave'. Controversially I didn't enjoy this film.  I suppose many would say they did not 'enjoy' their time in the cinema but left both traumatised by slavery and enthralled by the beauty of the cinematography, direction and Ejiofor's portrayal.  We see the devastation and legacy of slavery in the undertones of our every day life, and I can safely say that the concept of slavery was already abhorrent to me, so no; this film did not move me.  This film did not teach me.  This film did not change me. 

As the film industry congratulates itself for embracing slavery this year I question what this film actually achieves in evolving perceptions.  I don't berate Steve Mcqueen for creating 12 years and of course Solomon's story is a real one, but in one spectacularly orchestrated Hollywood tidal wave, have we ticked this political & racial genre for years to come with nothing to be mentioned once the suits are tailored and the Oscars are handed out?  Whilst everyone raves about this months 'Vanity Fair' cover- is this the new norm or (literally) a black spot on a pale canvas.  In theory I could accept '12  years a white supremacist' or '12 years a misogynist'; I believe that the storyteller has the right to make any choice they please but it is in our reaction and longevity of this response, we truly see where our standards and morals lie.  This 'sensational', 'unforgettable' film that has flooded social media forums with protestations of insomnia and life altering affirmations, in truth has had little active effect on the general public or media.  I may be naive but I genuinely believe that art has the power to change and improve our lives therefore it must promote new, and more importantly continuing discussion.  Is it not true that most viewers were overwhelmed by the idea of the looming subject matter, rather than the machinations behind it?  Before I walked in I knew the premise of the film and 3 hours later I understood little more.  Show me a woman being whipped on her naked back and I will show you tears, this does not necessarily equate to a great film.  I found myself preoccupied with thoughts of the other slaves and black folk contemporaneous to Northup and less drawn to Chiwetels' stoic portrayal, however so much attention is focussed on one extraordinary man. Again I understand that is a true tale but similarly to 'Django Unchained', I can't help but feel uncomfortable with the singular distinction.

In 2002, the 'landmark' black year at The Oscars, Berry proclaimed 'Tonight the glass ceiling was broken and I hope that this ceiling is shattered forever' yet it seems it was a temporary chip!  Little has changed for women of colour in the industry and particularly for those with a darker skin tone.  Lupita Nyong's performance as Patsy was extraordinary but she stands on a very small (and hard to find) island.  This is a whole other discussion but highlights our ability to dismiss once the applause has died down.  

In essence, perhaps my argument is wholly flawed and my comments unnecessary.  I am no martyr to this cause and realise in writing this that I should do more research and reading around my own slavery story and Ghanaian history: My ancestors possibly sold slaves and undoubtedly used them.  I feel slightly traitorous in my comments but am overwhelmed by the impression that this trend is temporary. Ultimately it is down to the individual to crave more knowledge & understanding & perhaps this will become the new fashion.  I can only hope that more filmmakers, storytellers & writers, black or white do not close the door on this subject matter and that we as an audience continue to have an appetite for subversive, challenging scripts that are relevant to our racial discord today.