I have something that really is more important than anything else. A family who loves me, colleagues who like me, a boyfriend who is simply amazing and yet i couldn't feel anymore lost. My selfish side wants more than this. He wants to feel that sense of ownership, creative output, strength, energy, space, recognition and fun - all achieved by himself. 

I am having a great time at the moment meeting lots of new people and engaging in conversations that differ from one minute to the next. Experiencing new sensations and surroundings. Working ethics are different and attitudes fluctuate , yet i'm falling lazy, uninspired and exhausted. My mind is slipping into an abyss of regularity and monotony, comfort and complacency, selfishness and restlessness. 

I know from retrospective analysis that i've become a little destructive and self-deprecating during these periods of misplaced energy. I understand that i become distant, unresponsive, arrogant and two-faced. Unable to confront conflictions and resolve problems properly because i become self-involved, lack confidence, and unsociable. I also develop apathy and l responses to real situations. Detached from empathy-expected reactions and positive pro-activity. I'm almost losing all of my positive characteristics to an unfulfilment of the creative kind. A professional amputation! Now, the only thing in my favour is that i've always been a chameleon. Able to change with environment and adapt well.  Also an amputation to a lizard's tail means a temporary set-back whilst it grows another one back. It may feel off-balance for a while but it means it survived and will live to see off another fight. At the moment i've, metaphorically speaking, had my tail cut off and i'm in hiding but i can feel that whilst my body rests and begins its reconstruction i'm going to show my true colours and prove to myself more than anyone that i can do what i want if i put my mind to it. For once it's going to be what i want, whether i fail or succeed i'm going to learn from it and be the best damn chameleon this world has ever seen.


I hate this feeling that i'm going through right now but we have to go through it if we're going on a path of self-discovery. Thank god i have the important things in place already. For that i'm thankful and need to stop being ungrateful. To my family and always supportive, beautiful boyfriend i thank you. You are the reason i exist and why i'll succeed. I promise to give all of your encouragement and love back when you need it. I'm always here.

As I ride my bus home late one night, as most nights in fact at present, I'm feeling rather aware that I'm being watched. Observed maybe, but watched for sure. That uncomfortable feeling where you pretend not to feel uncomfortable. I glance over at the party of three girls and one lad. A tender smile manages to fake its way onto my lips. (Thank god I think). The girls look back, a mocking coyness to their returned smile. A giggle from one of them. All of them are chattering away to themselves in  foreign language to the soundtrack of Madonna in my ears - my N95 provides the entertainment, not my imagination.

They're speaking portuguese but with the laziness and speed that comes with a Brazilian influence - I presume. I place my music on mute so that I can listen to tone, gaps, possible words that my self-taught Spanish lets me understand. Not a clue.

Oh dear, one them, the male, stands up. I have to announce that the bus is still hurtling down the streets of London as this goes on. A simultaneous act of different directional movements. If only I was doing those very movements off the bus, but unfortunately my stop is way off. The lad makes his way towards me and introduces himself to me. I pretend to not hear and remove my headphones. His name is Cesar and he sports a backwards cap. I hadn't realised the bus had transported us to nineties America. He snaps me out of my mild digression of Vanilla Ice (ice baby) and asks me where I'm from. One never to shy away from strangers I tell him England as if stating the obvious, but obviously my dark features propel me to foreign status... one can only hope.

Cesar advises me with broken English which appears to have been learned in the ghetto that a girl is interested in me. "See dis girl?" he says, "she want, you know, maybe Jiggy jiggy tonight". Wow. Is it just the English who are too polite to be so direct with their words? I'm not sure what my face conveyed. I hoped it showed 'thanks but I'm Gay and it just wouldn't work out, but thanks for the compliment' or if it really displayed the 'good god, the possessed girl in The Exorcist portrayed more beauty and resounding femininity than this monstrosity who was my alleged admirer, do I look that desperate?' face. I hope it was the former.

I also was unsure whether to laugh in his face that, if I was to be straight and tasteless, the word 'jiggy jiggy' hasn't been used in a serious question. Ever.

Recognising my deliberation - but perhaps of the wrong kind - he interrupted with "do you have place for lady to go in?". Lady? Where? He was surely not referring to the same girl who looks like she stopped the bus with her face, was he? A girl who was attempt to send a flirtatious smile with less teeth than a newborn. And if it was, why me? Did I carry that look of desperation? Instead of my maroon cardigan, was I carrying off a knitted sweater with target? I politely advised him that I was gay and I was not interested but thanked him for the kind offer (whilst holding back vomit in my mouth).

This lad, persistant isn't the word, then asked me why? "Why?" he said. "Why gay?".

And that, my dear friends, was when I smiled back it him, let out a rather inappropriate laugh, replaced the headphones back into my ears and carried on reading Dirty White Boy. "Ping", went the bell.

 I'm not referring to an unwashed reference with a race-segregating remark, although I am intrigued by the origin of this title. This of course will be part of my interview with the author Clayton Littlewood.

For my recent venture I am undertaking a variety of different approaches to research. Whilst, ordinarily, I would collect information from the widely available and easily accessible Internet, this isn't appropriate. Whilst it may hold relevant information that is easy to transfer into my work, I find myself asking questions as to where the information comes from. Hungry for who said it, where it has been validated. A good twitter friend of mine recently discussed the topic of reliability of information from unconfirmed sources (http://jemimahknight.wordpress.com/2009/05/04/ask-without-influence/). This has led me to not just stopping at the information found but also the origin of where it came from. Was the source bathing in bias, is it credible because they were there or because they listened to someone who was? All of these questions are making my research undertaking somewhat a little distracted. In order for me to collate the information I need I'm taking a route, which I hope will help me absorb it better. It may not be good journalism but it's definitely keeping my inspirations afloat and my aspiration a reality.

I'm currently researching Soho, and when I penned what my project would entail around this particular subject I decided that I didn't want to be just a reader of facts and reference but I also needed to be an observer of reality, as if sitting in the seat of the gentleman who watched Soho's emotions spill onto the streets of one of my favourite districts. I wished to gather information from the eyes of the experienced, facts from the historians as well as stories from the lived (and died?). I wanted to be immersed into the sea of Soho and as my research progresses, so does my ambition. Whilst my project has a clear aim and objective, my mind is now racing with thoughts, ideas, stories, love, fear, crime, sex, choreography, artistry, paintings, characters, plots, historians, architecture and much more besides. My research is taking me down a rocky path of emotional imagination and vivd paintings. As the stories unfold around me, so do my own beliefs and opinions. I'm concerned that the person going into this project may not be the same one coming out.

I'm starting backwards. Present to past. The future is tomorrow and I will discover it tomorrow. What I hope to gain from my research is an insight into the Soho character, it's development and ever changing world. Maybe I can see where the future of Soho is going and let that guide my project to be successful. By starting with the present I'm hoping the fact will help neutralise my emotional rollercoaster by laying out opinion with fact and justify or null my feelings with validation.

I started with a book by Clayton Littlewood – Dirty White Boy...

Recent reports in the paper state that Absolut Vodka are doing a campaign that is currently underway to highlight it's vision of a world where cash is replaced by kindness. As part of this campaign Berwick Street Market in Soho has agreed that customers are given free fresh fruit and vegetables in return for a good deed. Nothing like jumping in the Thames to save a dog or rescue to children from a collapsing building. We're talking about a good deed that can be done by everybody. It's simple, it costs nothing and in return you can get something out of it other than personal satisfaction. At Berwick Street market a good deed constitutes as a high-five or smiling greetings. Simple yet incredibly effective I think.


Generally London is thought to be a city with people who don't smile - as perceived by many tourists that I've spoken to. They also state that we are so independent we don't communicate with each other even though we're forced to share our public space everyday on the tube. With iPods and other personal mobile entertainment I'm not at all suprised by this. In fact even I, who insists on maintaining a positive outlook on life, wears headphones as I travel but I will always send a smile if I catch the eye of a stranger. 


PR activity of Absolut's project may just highlight exactly the kind of benefit that positive human interaction may have on the movement of our societies and cultures and indeed help this difficult time of economic suppression and emotional depression. London is a great city and I would love for something as easy as a smile and laughter to infect the world. It may just save us.


WELL DONE ABSOLUT. I SOLUT YOU.

I'm not talking about domestic violence in the modeling industry. No! I'm actually talking about something more trivial but incredibly close to me. I'm talking about affectionate hoarders like myself who hold onto items of clothing that really should take a long-awaited vacation to the bin.

I read this morning that the new crime figures produced by the MET police in London show that there were 18,621 fewer victims of crime over the last 12 months in my wonderful city.

The article was interesting but not just because it perceives and improving London, particularly where the figures recorded a 26% decrease in knife-crime, but also because of a shocking statistic.

On last year there was a 15% increase on the number of rapes reported.
Instead of being appalled at such an increase in an awful crime I couldn't help feel that, actually, it shows that people are reporting a crime that had prevously undergone the silent treatment for fear of what might happen to them if they step forward. Coming forward about a personal and violent violation after dealing with the physical and emotional affects of the act must be one of the hardest things that any feeling human being goes through. I can't begin to imagine what that must be like and I can only be hopeful I never experience it. I would hope that I could rely on the support of friends and family to support my decision to come forward.

Instead of seeing this statistic as a negative implication on today's society, it should also provide reassurance and hope in the strength of our nation's voice against crime. Fewer are tolerating this heinous cirme and wish to speak up about it to ensure that those who think they can get away with it are put away.

THIS FIGURE IS A POSITIVE STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION IN MY EYES

Well any sense of pride or lack of shame has dissipated into the atmosphere
quicker than the taxpayers billions. I've not been well. I've attracted a rather
ugly virus which appears to have found haven in my body whilst it was unguarded.
                 ....My own fault. Little sleep, irregular working patterns and a worse diet than ghandi during his captive days has lead me to run my immune system down to the possibility of discovering Australia. The ugly bit isn't the relentless sneezing or the hideous wet nose, it is the cough. Its the Dr Jekyll of coughs. Turning a polite, confident and conscientious individual into an unapproachable, retiring and unconscious individual who is making more enemies than Bush.

The biggest problem i've faced was this morning. The tube. A packed out, delayed, impatient carriage of self-important Londoners and cautious tourists. I was sat in the middle, a spanish book in one hand and my bag rested on my lap quietly revising some recently ingested spanish when all of a sudden i felt that horrible feeling where your lungs are about to spasm out of control. A hideous public display of protest at my body's dislike for the cold, pollution and
coffin cramped carriage that i had subjected it to.

At first a controlled 'i've got a mild cough but don't worry you won't catch it' diminshed to a sudden tyrade of 'black death is here and you've got 20seconds left so say your prayers' kind of coughing fit. I may as well have had lepracy and a rat on my shoulder based on the looks i got from the surrounding individuals... Maybe i did.

I'd like to thank the lovely lady who offered me a Halls Soother to try and calm
it down. I'm not entirely sure what that would have done because throat sweets
don't work but what did work was that her act of kindness let me explain that my cough has been fine and that the tube has brought it out, just some reassurance for the fellow commuters that I wasn't subjecting them to this out of choice.

Now as i take to the streets to make my way to work my lungs feel happy and
content again. Back to nitrogen, oxygen and carbon monoxide. Breathe in and
release. Ah... [sigh of relief]

A title that needs no elaboration.

Homeless - painfully self-explanatory.

Shelter - one of the five basic needs in life that Business Studies taugh me.

Food. Water. Shelter. Clothing. Warmth: Man's requirement of basic living.

So how is it possible there are people in London, everywhere, who struggle to make one of the those basic needs, let alone all five.

I have to admit that I have, subconsciously, numbed to the visibility of the homelessness. The sound of a beggar drummed out by the ignorance and the approach of the lonely and cold guarded by intimidation and fear. The truth is I don't know what I can do. Ignorance has grown from no starting point and no education. Instead I am blind to the blind, homeless to the homeless and weak to the weak.

LAST NIGHT something stirred in me...

Myself and boyfriend took ourselves to the chip shop - a luxury that I could do without at the moment (see http://tr.im/cokeaddiction). We were walking passed the local supermarket towards the chip shop and all of sudden my man quite familiarly spoke out "Are you ok fella?". Thinking he was engaging random conversation with me I confusedly asked what but by then his real response had already been had. He was talking to one of three homeless men outside of the supermarket. He was hungry and my boyfriend asked what he would like from the chipshop. "Battered sausage and a buttered roll", he asked. "Cheeky", my boyfriend joked back, and off we continued to the chipshop. I was dumbstruck and super-sweetened by this act of kindness that I am normally to cautious to do. I insisted that I take it over to him as though I was suddenly Jesus parting the waves. My halo seen from space!

I was overcome by generosity without a price. Overjoyed that I was communication finally with a homeless person (all of this sounds superficial) and that I was able to help.

The truth is I always want to help out a homeless person, but I fade into the crowd when approached and I am faced with skepticism that theyre going to ruin their lives with money I palm off onto them on Alcohol and Drugs. It's not enough for me to just give them some money to relieve my conscious because it does the opposite. I become responsible for them in my mind. Maybe it's this fear of attachment and self-deprivation (spending at the expense of my own current situation) that I withdraw from helping before now. I know for a fact that if I had the money I would do something like Colin Farrell (http://tr.im/gBYa) and really try and change them. I would like to take one and work on their CV, polish their communication skills and share their experiences and help them apply it to a new job. Then introduce them to like-minded people, people who they can share their experiences with. Have the medically checked over, both mental and physically. Get them a new wardrobe to start them off and show them how to plan their finances.

It sounds daft I know. Pretentious maybe. But that one act of kindness has shown be that ignorance isn't bliss. I will make my difference as I can. Maybe find the time to volunteer somehow. I want to make a difference in the world and even if it's by doing something small that helps one individual enjoy life a little better then so be it. It's not fame I'm pursuing, it's life. I enjoy mine so why shouldn't I give a little of my energy to someone else?

Something has occurred that never in my life would I have thought possible. A substance I've stayed away from because I know how bad it is. So far I've resisted. Being in London, is it openly available and easily obtained from every corner and in almost all bars and clubs. I've tried to get friends off it by displaying the effects of what happens to your body upon consumption and the long term implications it has on your health.


Now, I'm sad to say, the tables have turned. The mirror, reflective of my own temptation, is now a reality. I'm suffering come-downs, cravings and an increase in expenditure. If it wasn't for the fact that I have managed to secure two resources where I get it totally on tap I would have probably seen an even higher percentage of my, already, difficult income gone to waste.


For my sin, I've started drinking Coca-Cola. I've got to admit, I've never really liked it. I dislike the bloated feeling and I despise the rotting sensation I'm left with on the enamel of my teeth. So why, all of a sudden, have I started on 'the coke'?


It's a fairly simple answer - work work work! As you may already know from previous Blogs of mine I lost my job in December and since then I've been going through the mills of re-establishing my identity, unfortunately re-establishing one's identity isn't paid work, so in the meantime I've taken on two jobs I would never normally have comprehended. The jobs lead me to have irregular sleeping patterns and days that roll into one. My eating habits are out of the window and my energy levels are up and down more often than the Dollar. So, in true Jeanes form, I've resorted to Government style solutions... STF (Short Term Fixes)... at the expense of a huge crash. In this case the fix is a high quantity of sugar consumed through Coca-Cola, Red Bull and Chocolate (admittedly I've always been an addict of chocolate) and the crash is my energy. 


As a result I've developed, or more like re-established, my self-diagnosed MCS (Macaulay Culkin Syndrome). It's a terrible affliction caused by irregular sleeping patterns and huge bursts of energy where I start to drift off whilst listening to somebody talk and then agree/disagree/respond with whatever the trail of thought is that has emerged from the subconscious, sleepy mind. In the first recorded case I blurted out Macaulay Culkin in response to a question my friend was asking late at night. Henceforth the name MCS was patented. It's embarrassing and something I make people aware of if I'm tired. It also usually means I'm not listening properly because I'm too tired. It mostly happens in bed or in a car journey. Recently, it's started to occur in the front-room and it's all because I'm having sugar-crashes at a huge drop rate.


So, my body is crashing, it's craving more and the two jobs I've taken to for cash-flow purposes both entail free-flowing soft drinks... sugar sugar sugar. It's clear that I should cut it out, and I will, but I have to go through cold-turkey on a day when I can sleep and revive. I'm taking supplements to aid my immune system because, after all, this is London. Whilst I'm clearly adapting to this new and eye-opening stint in my life, it is still this that reminds that I'm lucky to be alive, lucky to be healthy and loving living in London. The pace is fast, the race is far from won and the case of my Coke Addiction is yet to be conquered... but I wouldn't change it for anything in the world.