E&B’s List of Life’s Lovely Treats! – #4: A Simple, Sweet Smile

Well, this one’s pretty simple. Everyone knows the lovely myth of every smile leads to an extra bit of life, or that smiling is good customer service. But on a serious note, a smile is bloody awesome. And a simple, sweet smile from someone you care about can mean the world.

Do all you can to make someone you care about smile. I mean, one of my main pieces of advice for those in need is – whatever the situation – to “keep smiling”. Okay, sounds like a cop-out. But if you genuinely put on a smile it does make you feel better. I guarantee you. It is a wonderful, simple, beautiful sensation. It’s also rather admirable to look at someone smile. A theorist once said we remember someone we care about in the way they smile their truest smiles; usually accompanied, so he says, by tears of joy. A smile is priceless.

An essay on ‘smiling’ wrote, “Smiling is something that is understood by everyone despite culture, race, or religion; it is internationally known.” Not only then is it beautiful, but shared and held in mutual understanding by an entire species. A smile is also, according to Wikipedia, “sexually appealing”. I can’t say I disagree, do you?

Here is a poem I wrote, that Emily admires, in 2010. It is taken from my published anthology, The Moment When She Smiles: Complete Collection (2011).

 

Impossibility, by Ben Franks (C) 2011

 

This is for you. The you I love

Beyond all the rest. The one

Who makes my flimsy, indecisive

Heart ground itself in more

Foundation than any other.

The one for which all this poetry

Matches to nothing, for you

Are an impossibility;

A miraculous notion words

Will never be able to describe.

 

For you are my first and only

True love; a love beyond all

Doubt; the moment where

Love is no longer just a word

But the realisation I am not

Alone in the world;

The strong bubbling thoughts

Which poison my mind

Every single day.

You are the impossibility everybody

Searches for; the girl who

Gingerly watches her step

And smiles to the ground;

Your every movement defines

You as the truth amongst

The claims of beauty.

 

Your prised personality is a stain

Upon the magic worlds which

Dance upon the purple moonlight’s

Grace. It is you, above all else,

Who I have been ever waiting for,

But I am young, too young to win

You, to keep you and to treat

You right.

 

But you will live forever in my

Memory as the first and only;

You’ll dance and sing in my

Mind when I am lonely;

And you’ll breathe your warmth

Naturally upon me in times

Of need.

 

I have never brought the words

To my lips, nor announced what

I truly mean; told you of the

Place where you lie in residence,

Deep down upon the shadowy

Plagues of my simpleton’s

Cynical heart.

You’re the wisdom to the times

The one who time can’t beat,

The smile I will think of on my

Final resting place, those

Sensual, penetrating eyes which

Always misunderstood me;

The path you led, where no end

Could be seen; for it was

Never meant to be.

 

You are the moment, the impossible

Pause in time, I’ll never forget.

For I shall always and forever

Remember the sorrows, the inner

Sadness, masked by the sweet

Twang of your lips;

 

I will never forget impossibility…

And I shall never stop thinking of

The moment when she smiles…

 

 

Love you Emily Chick. Have a good holiday.

When you fall down

I don’t know many wise people. I don’t know what I would call “wise”; I guess it’s when you see someone look at something in a way you never could’ve dreamed to see it. The wisdom is often found in the simplest of everyone, when they no longer complicate themselves with the social restrictions embedded in humanity and simply open their eyes.

Safety when falling.

Some chap once said, “When you fall down, never be afraid to get back up again – the world is waiting.” I fell in love with this saying for a number of reasons, as cliché as it may be:

• It, for a start, embodies the idea of rising to success after failure – or at the very least the will to keep on bloody well trying.
• “The world is waiting” is beautiful. Does it really matter in the short term the failures of you striving towards your goals? We only live once and we should always do our absolute best to make some kind of impression on the waiting world – not to forget that a simple smile can have the most wondrous effect on a stranger, or the touch of a hand on your friend’s shoulder in that time of need.
• Not to be afraid; as soon as you start admiring the world and trying things you’ve never seen yourself doing before, you begin to realise what’s out there. This quote desires you to explore, to learn, to smile, to try.

I do like sayings. In fact, they’re easily some of the ways I cheer myself up. Sometimes just sticking a smile on my face, or whatnot. Another of these sayings is my favourite one, which I always abide by as best I can (and may even go some way to explain why I’m so light hearted and chirpy most of the time), and it goes like this, “Never take life too seriously. No-one gets out alive anyway.” Nothing has ever kept a smile on my face longer; just to simply believe we’re on this planet to have as much fun as we can and do as many things as we desire, to feel that pain, to irresistibly smile at a bad joke, to scream on a rollercoaster, to dream every single night of where life could take you next. Sure, things in life are important; it’s good to care, to love, to worry, to wish, to mourn, and so on. But we should never let that take away from the fact that we shouldn’t be letting life’s tricks consume us. Why not do everything we can to make the most of the good times? To look forward to the next time you get to paddle your feet in the stream, to reminisce over the good ol’days, to play a prank on your Dad or get away with a cheeky comment towards your beautiful girl (or fellow).

Many of you are probably aware on this perspective of life, probably referring it to the word “optimist”. Yeah, sure, I can see why you did that. But I’m not just saying to look at things from this angle – what I’m trying to convince you to do is to believe in it, to actually do it, and to take life by its balls and have a bloody good ride (sorry, that sounds quite sexual. Apologies kids).

Anyway, I’m off. Feel free to comment.

Skyfall? Err, yes please.

Those who know me or have read this blog will know that I am most certainly a James Bond fan. In fact, I get rather childish when it comes to the excitement over one. Therefore you can imagine what I was like today, when they released the first Official teaser trailer for the new 007 outing in October, Skyfall.

Watch the trailer here.

The trailer quickly went viral on the web, which isn’t very surprising considering hundreds of fan-made teaser trailers have been made and uploaded ever since Bond 23 announced it was going to be named “Skyfall” at a press conference back in November 2011. I, personally, loved the mean, gritty feeling of the trailer; it pretty much told everyone, ‘This is no Quantum of Solace, this is Casino Royale with all the Bond-packed wonders of its 50 year legacy’. That’s another thing we’ll be celebrating this year, as well as having overcome MGM’s panic-debt crisis that saw the Bond franchise be delayed two years much to all’s disappointment, the 50th anniversary of the greatest silver screen secret agent in history.

So what’s so exciting about Skyfall? Well, ladies and gentlemen, it’s simply because it’s a Bond film. Have you ever seen the British media get so hyped about a release a year away? What other franchise has a massively popular and sought-after conference to announce its name? Who else has musicians competing to do the title theme tune? It’s all Bond and it’s very simply because he is a British icon; he is the remaining powerful figure of cinema that Britain continues to influence the world with – the class, the sophistication, the moans, the groans, the punch ups, the suits, the martinis (the beers in Skyfall’s case), etc. It’s exciting to celebrate the British icon, if nothing else. And you’re also forgetting that Bond films are wonderfully humourus. Oh yes, watch any of the pre-Royale films (even Royale itself) and you’ll see some cracking cheeky one-liners.

www.007.com

Interestingly, Skyfall has been more hyped than any other Bond film before. It might be to do with the wait after the financial tits-up, or perhaps the notion that this is Judi Dench’s last outing as M – or the return of Money Penny and Q. Perhaps its the new all-star cast with Javier Bardem, Berenice Marlohe, Naome Harris, Ralph Fiennes, and so on. Or maybe the directing prowess of Sam Mendes? All of it is rather exciting, and the 007.com official website has reported huge site hits as people regularly tune in to get the latest movie filming vlogs from cast and crew, or go wet at the gums to snap a look at the latest still EON has released.

Anyway, I do realise Bond isn’t to everyone’s tastes… so I will shush up. And to make it a little more ooer, Burton’s Dark Shadows was rather amusing and definitely a film-to-see, whereas Cruise’s latest Mission Impossible in the form of Ghost Protocol is all well and good in story, but far fetched and action nostalgic in playing itself out… so not as good as the reviews. Sorry.

Politics isn’t just for boring people

Politics, when someone hears others debating it, is seen as rather pompus – or perhaps as something incredibly boring or dull. However, this is exactly what it’s not. Politics, my dear friends, is much more interesting, beautiful and lovely even. And I shall tell you why.

Hundreds of people, for a start and especially in Britain, love and crave a bloomin’ good moan. Politics and Prime Ministers, the notion of Oxford toffs trying to control your healthcare, a party leader who talks through his nostrils as though he has a cold, the national leader who has a forehead bigger than the moon’s surface, or merely a rant over some large folk’s new policy over taxing pastries. The point is, politics does and always will give the people something to moan about. It’s pretty much just as inevitable as cloudy weather in Britain; for those of you from elsewhere, that’s pretty damn inevitable – it has a certainty, even.

Then you have the debates and discussions of politics. Now, there’s a difference between being intelligent and being “clued-up”: just because you’ve been to grammar school and come from wealth or what-not, does not mean your political opinion is in any way valid; however those who watch the news, know what’s going on, and are aware of the political ideologies in the world today: i.e. the left, the right, the socialists, the communists, the fascists, the capitalists, the royalists, the republicans, the environmentalists, the neo Nazis, the nationalists, the pompus, the conservative and the liberal; then all in all you have every right to join a political debate. Don’t forget, the ideologies may be posh labelled terms for those with hearty views of politics, but they were born out of the ordinary mind – crafted from someone’s opinion.

The reason why these debates and politics itself is so thrilling when you’re involved and not on the sidelines is simple – there is so much theory and possibility. There’s also the fact that politics revolves around the ability to make decisions, see from perspectives, empaphise, think of purpose, guess the future short term and long term, deal with money, ethics, culture, love, war, craft and pride. Politics can see people debate from the heart in saying what they’d do if it were done “their way”, and so on.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am certainly not saying that the watching of Houses of Parlaiment or any of the party conferences are in anyway thrilling or enjoyable, nor am I saying we should all be politicians and jump on the bandwagon. All I’m trying to pitch to you is the “intelligent debate”; the ability and love of jumping in at the deep end and arguing your point of view with all the enthusiasm residing in all that experience that is locked away and bound by social restrictions. Let it out, have a debate, speak and develop your views. It’s bloody good fun.

On a lighter note, it’s a sunday. Hooray!

Why I’m a film buff

I think I should clarify before starting today’s blog that I do not in anyway mean I am “buff” in the sense of “well-built”. In fact one might say I look like a Cookoo Bird who spat twigs over some sand rather than being built like a brick house, but this isn’t the point. By “film-buff” I’m referring to the notion of a lover of films whose love is so intense it is sublime (rather frickin’ impressive).

I will always watch films.

My love for films was sparked by EON Productions’ official 007 series, which I began watching from a fairly young age. I’d seen films before but Dumbo used to wind me up the wall because flying elephants were blooming annoying, and the Never-Ending Story gave me nightmares which would never, ever end. However when I was enlightened to the world’s finest secret agent I loved it all: I craved the suits, the sun, the guns, the baddies, the cheeky puns, (later) the beautiful women, the wacky gadgets, the fast cars and the sophistication and stupidity of it all. There was nothing like a Bond film.

From the almost religious watching and rewatching of the Bond films, I began to branch out before my teens into other movies. I became attached to Indiana Jones, in my own world with Lord of the Rings, out of this world with Star Wars, and laughing my socks off at the likes of Rat Race and Mrs Doubtfire. I began to love so many things, even the awful, awful teen flicks and industrially-spilled off the line Rom-Coms. Love Actually and Bridget Jones became two films I will never forget; Keeping Mum became the British Black Humour film that would always make me laugh; Simon Pegg became a hero through Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz; Colin Firth a genius in The King’s Speech; my heart racing with the Bourne trilogy; my mind “what-the-fucking” with Superbad; and my crime-loving brain intertwined with the darkness of Se7en or the hilarity of the Lethal Weapon quadrilogy.

One thing I’m most certainly not a fan of, however, is movie reviews. I’ll write them myself, because I enjoy writing about films – but I write them with the awareness of what I think when I read film reviews. That thought process is simple, I think: Why should this person’s opinion really matter? Why can’t people take a film for being fun instead of groundbreaking? Why was The Hurt Locker so well received and celebrated despite its boringness and unsensational representation – simple, because it was TOPICAL. Why was the excellent film The Matador ignored and underrated? Simple – because people don’t have much celebration for a comedy about an assassin and a failing businessman. I mean I do understand some film reviews, such as recognising the blank and cardboard talents of Keanu Reeves or Kristen Stewart, or the ability to see Bruce Almighty’s sequel Evan Almighty as a bloody disaster. But what about the recent The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, which was an excellent movie stuffed with the best ever old-aged British actors and actresses being hilarious, which critics laid off as “predictable” and “only for the old”. Shut up fools! As Mr T might have put it. It’s simple, it’s a funny, fun, good film. Stop trying to impregnate it into a topical masterpiece. Another annoying thing is the number of 5-star ratings for the Artist. I won’t moan about that ’cause I’ve not seen the film myself but I can’t imagine it’s going to live up to its hype, it is, after all, just a silent movie – and even Charlie Chaplin’s weren’t all that savvy; his spoken film The Great Dictator is, in my opinion, his finest achievement.

What I do like, however, is movie news and movie hype and I recently subscribed to Total Film, which I really enjoy a good read of every month. I like to know what films are coming, the news and getting excited about the tinniest snippets of films I shouldn’t care about that in fact reveal nothing. I must say I also have a soft spot for their interest curves, they do make me laugh.

Finally, I’d like to mention this idea that “Hollywood is running out of ideas”. I really don’t think it is. I mean sure there are thousands of articles claiming that because of the wave of remakes, sequels, prequels, millidequeals and fahija-equals-coconuts that Hollywood’s gone cuckoo in the brain cells, but this isn’t the case. I believe it’s much more likely down to “popular demand”. I mean, we all keep going back to watch all these films – and yes, I must say the re-release of Titanic in 3D was a bit of a Hollywood flash of the tits, but what can you do? – and we keep loving them, craving more. Who doesn’t want to see Spider-man be revived hundreds of times in new ways and Batman to keep coming back to punch a make-up wearing man with green hair in the water-squirty flower? Who doesn’t want to see Ridley Scott scrape the barrell of his greatest Sci-Fi with a new release apparently not explicity linked to Alien – but evidently bloody well is? Who doesn’t want to feel nostalgia as they sit infront of an animation illustrating the same moral teachings to the children watching them, except this time the characters are flying tortoises and not lost fish, aye?

Anyway, the point is, films are awesome. Never stop watching them. Much love.

E&B’s List of Life’s Lovely Treats! – #3: A Nice Cuppa Tea

This isn’t the first time I’ve dedicated a blog post to a cup of tea and, I’m sorry to say, it will not be the last. The reason for this is very quite simple: the “cuppa” is the best hot drink in the world.

 

Keep Drinking!

Okay, so many of you probably already disagree, but for the beautiful Emily and I it is one of those beverages suited to all parts of the day and all weathers. Tea has a special place, we wake up with it, we go to sleep with it and we dunk biscuits in it – well, I do anyway. I’m sure we’re not alone in this either, at least I’d be surprised if we were.

 

To spruce up the occassion I have prepared some rather interesting tea facts. Please enjoy.

1. There is a United Kingdom Tea Council. No lies. It’s here: http://www.tea.co.uk/
2. It is estimated we will consume nearly 170 million cups of tea per day in the UK alone.
3. 80% of office workers now claim they find out more about what’s going on at work over a cup of tea than in any other way.
4. Tea originates from China, more than 5,000 years ago.
5. 96% of tea sold in the UK is in tea bags.
6. Apart from tourism, tea is the biggest industrial activity in India.
7. There are about a quintillion atoms in a teaspoon of sugar (that’s 1 followed by 30 zeros).
8. About 40% of fluid intake in the UK will be tea.
9. The Turkish are the world’s biggest tea drinkers, consuming 2.1kg per capita.
10. In Tibet, tea is served mixed with salt and butter. (Eww)

 

Anyway, there you go tea fans. Another of our life’s lovely treats…

Laughter is the best medicine

Here is a cat with the giggles.

I watched the news this morning. I haven’t watched it in a while because I’ve been rather busy with sleeping, but today – despite being up rather late – I flicked to News 24. I realised that everything’s rather doom and gloom at the minute, not that I was silly enough to expect a jolly story off the news (the dramatic chimes at the beginning of each headline is enough to deter most from thinking the news channels have any purpose of being light hearted and savy) but I realised we really are very down in the dumps. Therefore I tried to think a little more curve-your-lips-up-and-smile for this blogpost; and with all the Mock the Week and My Family I’ve been watching whilst ill, one of the best human emotions on the planet hit me.

 

Laughing.

 

Okay, so the title of this blog is a little cliche – I won’t lie. However, like all cliches, it is born out of truth. Everyone enjoys a good laugh; I say this without any bias, despite being a very big fan of all kinds of comedy. Even the grumpiest, saddest people on the planet – if made to laugh – will enjoy it. It’s a simple act of humanity that is, sometimes, rather contagious – but in the sense that we all admire, not in the sense we all start wearing limey-green face masks for.

 

Now I’ll tell you why it’s a medicine.

 

This is very quite simple. Happiness and positivity is medically proven to aid your recovery from illness, and laughter is no doubt a way to stimulate this. Laughter is also, if you want to be pedantic, good for your cheek and jaw muscles. We will also find ourselves laughing in very awkward situations, as though it psychologically aids us to “leave” the situation we’re in. We might also laugh when we’re trying to mourn or handle pain, as though it were some kind of physical optimism. We often mix our laughs with our cries, sometimes not always in the arms of joy, but this could illustrate our body trying to combat sadness. I mean sure, we can look into this and easily diminish its arguments, but for the good old sake of having a bloomin’ good laugh, why bother? At the end of the day each and everyone one of us remembers laughing, and I assure you that at some point in you reminiscing over the last time you did, you’ll find a definite feeling of happiness.

This is the last thing I wrote before I became a Man.

This is some cake.

-

Tomorrow, I will turn 18 years old. In the United Kingdom, which is a remarkably well-known but rather midget-like set of islands off Western Europe, that means I am deemed an “adult”. Now, accompanied by an ID, I have the right to purchase a very broad selection of things (we all know this is the PC way of saying legal booze-buying, but you didn’t see that here). Unfortunately accompanied with this, I can now be prosecuted for all the adult things; so if I am, in a rather odd situation, framed for something drastic then Oooer I could be sitting in a prison cell somewhere passing the months by. I guess the best thing in that situation would be to stock up on some good books and come out a master of literature, but considering every cell seems to have an Xbox 360, En Suite bathroom and a winter duvet I may not have the time to self-teach myself guru-standard book knowledge. Shame.

Anyway, 18 is a rather lovely age I suppose. It marks the end of your childhood, which you can look back on and enjoy the memories – albeit we’ve probably forgotten the vast majority of events and would need to prop our head into a photo album or two, stalkerly searching for pictures of ourselves in vaguely significant situations. It also marks the start of individuality, but not necessarily the point of responsibility; I mean we’ve all seen the uni students getting lamp-posted on 29p pints of alcoholic fizzy straw & barley and pulling their best “I’m actually quite stupid” faces for their friend’s 2 pixel Nokia camera phone.

Individuality, on the other hand, represents the freedom we have to explore. This is kick started by the Summer holidays, vaguely known in Britain in the period between Sixth Form and University as the “Holy crap I have loads and loads of time and no commitments”. It’s usually a time, though very much enjoyed, is said to pass by rather quickly – vaguely due to all the chaps and ladies having a rather smashing time; after all, as that wise Toff once said, “Time flies when you’re having fun.” Of course, time doesn’t actually fly, the Toff meant “goes quicker” – which it also doesn’t do. Oh well, it seems a well-meaning excuse for many of us when we’re asked what we got up to and can only remember the naughty parts, reluctantly informing your out-dated wannabe hipster distant relative of any slightly sensible memory which has lodged itself in the part of your mind drearily labelled “BORING SECTION”.

Interestingly, parting from 17-hood is rather sad. 17 seemed like a dandy little inbetween age; an era where things were generally remembered and you have a lodge of a good ten or so unforgettable (until you hit around 53 and you start believing it played out differently and somehow the youth of today is all “odd” or what-not) memories. Mind you, 18 might be the same but better – I wouldn’t know yet, considering I’m not ‘officially’ 18 until 10:10am tomorrow. I’ll probably have to update you on the matter, if I remember. If not, then hey ho chaps and ladies, I’m sure you were 18 once or will be one day – either way this blog will pass through your eyes, remotely sit in your brain for a cuppa and then probably trott off out an ear once you’ve read something more exciting in your Village newsletter about a local set of Polish Nannies singing Horny as a Dandy down the street with a 100-piece percussion marching band and a bearded man on a synthesiser.

We’ll see, night ladies and gents.

Letters from my boy John, “Love Kills” – Serial Fiction #6

 

Home,

 

I saw someone die for real today. A young private, as they all are these days, was waiting in the corner of the trench. He had a heart of steel – impregnable, strong, courageous, or at least these are the words you’d describe him with at home. Here, he is cold. Insane.

 

My sympathies for the private were mixed. We were, after all, still brothers bonded by the bloodied fields to which we had both ended up. However, there was something so foreign about his character, the way the he poked his head up when every other man ducked; the wild flicker of youth which spurted in his eyes like an excited prisoner. He was not human. Not until the day he died. Not until today.

 

The letters came. We opened them with mixed emotions. News from home wasn’t as warming as it once was, but more the reaffirmation of the existence of a reality – but more likely than that, the reminder of just how far reality was away from them. Home was always out of reach, linked to us hand in hand only by the frail chains of human hope; a hope flawed in the resilience of rationality.

 

The private opened the letter addressed to him, his fingers as stern as they had always performed, his figure as idyllic to the war-hero as one could possibly get, his lips alien to the notion of a smile. His eyes trailed the words and the blaze of his youth was flapped out of wind. Humanity clasped his pupils without mercy and tears came pouring from his eyes. His fingers whimpered out of the clay mould they’d been preserved in, shaking fiercely as if he were losing his grasp of the paper. The paper’s own inks were licked with the wetness of his tears and his ice-cold face turned warm. The letter was dropped and the boy ran. He was just a boy. No insanity had taken hold of him, just bravery, and as that very bravery left him his soul quickly passed on as distant to him as home was to us.

 

It was only later on that day, a day which witnessed not a single shell drop as though the whole world went on pause, when I found out the content of the letter which had murdered the private’s solid soul – crumpled him with the powers of its words. The words slipped off my friend’s lips as he informed me, as though they were whispered news from the Devil himself.

 

The boy had been informed the love of his life had passed on after contracting a dreadful form of TB. I called her Grace. I didn’t know her real name, but Grace had seemed to be a fitting name for a woman who had so clearly made a man of a boy; a woman who had given this young private the confidence and heart to face all this disgusting dread of human darkness. Only Grace could touch a man’s heart like that. Only Grace could stroke away and defend a boy from Fear when all his elder brothers had been engrossed by it.

 

Grace had died and the boy had died too. There was no doubting that now. The others who I’d seen brutally burned, broken and blown away had left this ghastly place by the will of themselves; they had been and gone. The private remained here with nothing more to live for, with his very heart cut out from him by Doom’s inevitable fate. This is what I believe it must be like to truly die. It makes my love for you – for home – burn all the more and jump leaps and bounds to once more be in the reality you reside in.

 

One day… One day.

 

All my love,

Your boy John.

E&B’s List of Life’s Lovely Treats! – #2: Sunday Morning Lie-ins

For those of us who’ve worked a Sunday job and have, since, began working on a different day will understand how amazing a Sunday morning lie-in can be.

 

Always better with company

 

It’s not simply just for the ex-Sunday workers either – there’s something rather special about snuggling in bed, warm and cosy, and knowing you don’t really have to be up for anything that day. It’s the last day of the weekend and the first day of the week all in one. It’s a time to wrap up and a time to start again.

 

Good Morning!

 

Sunday mornings are beautiful. So savour them. Always.