She saved the world. A lot.

Apparently it is still all about sexy vampires...
Sometimes, end of term smacks me around a bit.
Sometimes, it lays me flat. It lays me on my couch, with droopy eyes, and pale skin, and aches and pains in all the wrong places.

Tonsilitis is a real pain in my neck, and my special variety of Holiday Tonsilitis is a special variety of pain.

Solution? A well viewed DVD, or several; end on end. Really get that flatscreen cranking.

Over the course of this term, culminating in a panadol-infused binge, I have rewatched the entire 7 series of Buffy: The Vampire Slayer.

Yep, this show is old. Fifteen years old. And I am STILL in love with it.

For seven years, for 152 episodes, for 6,384 minutes, Joss Whedon created a show about a young woman and her friends finding a place for themselves in the world, through high school, college and beyond. And along the way they fight demons and avert multiple apocalypses. Sure it has dated a bit (did I mention it is FIFTEEN years old??) but it is still rivetting, relevant television.

I was initally skeptical. I mean, who wouldn't be? Could they have chosen a more vacuous sounding name than "Buffy"? Could they have created a more naff sounding title? But that is entirely the point. The expectation is that Buffy is going to be some incapable blonde bint more concerned with nail integrity than saving the world. And the irony is created when that expectation is utterly confounded. She does care about nail integrity AND saving the world. (Side note: I managed to actually teach my year 9 boys what Irony is. And at least 5 of them got it. I'm calling it an Educational Victory!) I remember scoffing about it to my flatmate at the time, and he persuaded me to give it a shot. I fell way more in love with it than he did.

The central metaphor is not difficult to grasp; the demons and monsters she fights represent the challenges and battles faced by  us all in our lives - making friends, keeping a boyfriend, dealing with parents... just magnified into big rubber suits, prosthetic make up and mucusy slime. A friend of mine from uni wrote her thesis on it (and I would STILL love to read it...)

In season 2 (not seen it yet? a. you're an idiot, b. there will be spoilers in this paragraph) Buffy and her vampire-with-a-soul brooding boyfriend Angel (what kind of a tough guy name is that??!?) consumate their relationship for the first time, in a very tender, fleshy montage with lots of close ups of hands and closed eyes. The act of lurve, the moment of perfect happiness breaks the curse on Angel, and frees him of his soul, returning him to the nasty, manipulative, violent vampire he was before. A little bit like that older guy who convinces that teenage girl to give up her V-Plates and then immediately after the act turns into King Jerk of Jerk town. Except with more blood lust and desire to torture. See? The analogy is not really that much of a stretch.

As the series progressed, each season dealt with increasingly more complex issues. Politics. Science. Theology. Grief. Community. Communication. Power. Leadership. Humanity. Not all just broken nails and boy troubles.

Back in the dark ages of the late 90s, there wasn't much in the way of kick-arse chicks on television. Sure, we had Xena. But she was so overly stylised and camp, that she couldn't really be applied to real life. Buffy was (and evidently still is) a pretty kick arse hero of the show. She isn't a heroine. She is not the tacked on, token female character. She isn't the love interest. But she also isn't masculine either. She fights bad guys using mad kung-fu moves in rediculous high heels. She chases down other bad guys in floaty fabric blouses. Her hair is pretty hot, almost all the time (not as hot as Connie Britton from FNL, she still wins the hottest hair award.) The show only ever really makes a big deal about Buffy being a girl when it is ridiculing people who make a big deal out of her being a girl. Those enemies or bystanders who refer to Buffy as "just a girl" or "a little girl"usually come to a sticky end. Or at least quickly change their mind. But that is it. They don't harp on about it. To harp on about how empowered would completly undermine the empowerment in the first place.

The legacy of her kickarse status as a female hero is not difficult to see. Sydney Bristow Alias followed not long after her. Sarah in Chuck isn't the hero, but she is a damn site more kickarse than the central character. Recently we've seen Emily/Amanda in Revenge. None of these would have been the same without the pioneering work of Joss and Sarah Michelle Double-Barrel Gellar and pals.

In his own creations, Joss continues to create girls with guts: Zoe in Firefly and Echo in Dollhouse, and while she is kind of on the perifery, Scarlett Johannsson's Black Widow does some pretty awesome arse kicking in The Avengers. He's even done a modern reworking of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, the Bard's most arsekicking feminist play of all.

I've spoken before about my love for Joss and all he does, but my inspiration for the Buffy rewatch was a meme I saw on facebook. And I love it.

(I decided to end the rant of love there. I don't think there is room for me to discuss the nuances of the other characters, the hero's journey and redemption, the understated representation of a gay couple, the delightful intertextual geekiness, the postmodern thinking that runs through every scene, and every line of dialogue... My love for this show runs way too deep)

Just one final thought:

Pushing Fantasy

I'm not usually a fan of fantasy novels. It has to be a special kind of fantasy to get me hooked. Harry Potter for example had me thoroughly hooked right from Privet Drive. But (and I confess this with a healthy dose of the Sheepish) Lord of The Rings I found confusing, all those Saurons and Sarumons and beared humanoids of differing heights. It wasn't until I saw the brilliant film version and could get Viggo and Sir Ian and the Seans differentiated in my head that I could then tackle the weighty tomes of Tolkein. But once I had the casting straight, I found it a breeze.

It is a similar story for A Song of Ice and Fire. Or as fellow HBO fanatics call it Game of Thrones.

I have had Sean Bean brooding on this spiky seat on my bookshelves for over a year. A very clever fellow from the Boy Factory pointed me in its direction AGES ago, more specifically to the HBO series, and I like to do the book first.

And I tried.

But I just couldn't separate the Roberts and the Robbs. The Eddards, the Edwins and the Edwards. My imagination just didn't have the casting sorted out. So I dove right into the HBO series.

And when has HBO ever let us down?? Entourage, Sex & the City, True Blood, Band of Brothers. Can they do ANYTHING wrong? I think not.

As ever, HBO structure each episode in a V shape. Most narratives are an A frame: introduction, building action, climax, resolution. A Shakespearean tragedy does it in the most text book way. But an HBO episode of almost everything does it in the kind of opposite way. It usually starts off with a BANG, and then the action kind of dwindles a bit. Then the characters go through the motions, and stuff begins to get exciting again, and just as it is about to really kick off????

Credits. Wait 'til next week. Or even worse, next YEAR if it is the end of the season!

I got stuck in to the HBO Game of Thrones on Good Friday. And what a good Friday it was. I was meant to be cleaning my house and packing for a holiday. But instead I just watched 10 eps of TV gold, back to back.

And then promptly went out and bought the second book, A Clash of Kings the next day. Just because I NEEDED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED NEXT!!! And once again, with the casting all sorted in my head, the book was a breeze.

So what is it? A multi-perspective story of a fantasy/medieval nation in the grips of the vices of humans - lust, greed, ambition, corruption. The title refers to  the machinations of a number of characters as they tussle for the top job in Westeros.

King Robert asks his mate Eddard to leave the cold North to be his right hand man.

Eddard keeps telling everyone, in a most foreboding fashion, that "Winter is coming"

 Robert's toxic wife Cercei doesn't seem to have much loyalty to anyone, especially her husband.

Her similarly toxic son Joffery is heir to the throne. Have you ever seen a more slappable face? Ever?

Her short-statured brother is sensible, but much maligned for his height, or lack thereof. Peter Dinklage is pretty darn awesome in this role, but sometimes his English accent is a little Over Done, which grates on me a little. I've been told to let it go...

Meanwhile in exhile is the stunning silver-haired Daenerys Targaryen is being sold into marriage as her brother tries to manouver himself back to his rightful spot on the Westeros throne - Robert usurped his family before we even got there. She is my favourite. Maybe because we don't get to see enough of her, with the directors always leaving us wanting more. But mostly because her name is Dany...

There are battles, sex sword fights, sex, a litter of direwolves (like super-wolves), more sex, a possible winter-induced zombie invasion from Beyond The Wall (read: Scotland) and complex polital system of banners and manner and symbols and slogans that needs vast tracts of explanation in the back of every novel. In fact there is SO much sex combined with complex backstory, that the term "sexposition" has been coined - exposition + sex! The way to make boring explanation just a touch more palatable. And with the complicated backstories like these, there needs to be a spoonful of sugar.

"They" are calling Game of Thrones a "cross-over hit" or a "gate-way drug" to fantasy. I think of it more like Clayton's fantasy. The fantasy you like when you don't like fantasy. I have been a little bit evangelical with this, trying to push it onto fantasy tee-totallers. Once they give over to the idea, they are pretty much as hooked as me!!

Post-Script: I'm now up to Book 5 of  A Song of Ice and Fire and there is still another one to go!! And at 1000+ pages, the reading of these is a significant achievement!!

Two Weeks with the Sleep

I guess I must be still recovering from the trauma of Term 1.
Term 2 wasn't exactly traumatic, but it is always hectic. Four straight weeks of hunting reports is manic and draining. And yes, I could just create a formula, a report by numbers. But I do actually really care about what I write for my students. It is important to me that they (and their parents) have some idea of their progress... I am not wired to write "Billy is progressing well in this class" and leave it at that.

But this is why we get the two weeks. Two weeks to catch up on housework (it took me two and half hours to tidy my desk/dining room table). Two weeks to eat way too much fabulous food (my clothes are a little bit tighter now. I do so love the fact that Sparky can cook!!) Two weeks to make a quick trip to the Big Smoke and remind my Farest and Dearest that I still love them (and in the process drink few too many coffees and glasses of vino). Two weeks to catch up on DVDs and TV (Friday Night Lights, Game of Thrones, Mad Men and starting The Wire? Sounds FAB!!) Two weeks to catch up on registers and programming and planning and marking (but of course there is no bottom of the pile when it comes to being an English teacher!)

So now I am staring down the barrel of Term 3. The business end of My First Advanced HSC Class (I can just imagine them as My Little Ponies... Seriously, I can picture some of them as mauve with lemony yellow hair!!) and a term of football finals and chilly mornings.

Bring it on!!! 

Radio Silence

So things have been pretty quiet around here, haven't they?

This last term has been my most difficult one ever, and I have wanted to write about it, but it really hasn't been my stuff to write about.

So I haven't written.

In the mean time, as well as smothering myself in work, and trying to figure out how to compartmentalise my thoughts (why can't I be more like Sydney Bristow??!?!) there has been much good stuff in my life that really needs acknowledgement.

The Hunger Games film was released. And I have been evangelical about these books for a few years, and now it seems the rest of the world is on board.

Game of Thrones has sucked me into its gritty castle walls. All ten eps of season one devoured on the first day of the holidays, and now I'm sucked in to the books. Full post on that one to come.

I said goodbye to Henry. And I said hello to Jezabel. New wheels is a pretty big decision in a lady's life.

And here comes Term 2. A new football season. A new lot of reports. A new set of promises to myself about how to keep myself much more sane. Like: Write more on this blog.

OscarsFest 2012: The Rusty Bitch

No doubt, Margaret Thatcher was a formidable woman. No doubt she shattered glass ceilings and broke barriers that have made way for women to do many other things in the fields of politics, business and any other thing she fancied.
But that doesn't change the fact that I think she should be remembered as a toxic character in history, whose blatant disregard for the lives and quality of lives infected the political landscape of the world. Her vision was blinded by the bug picture. Economic rationalism at its sort potent.

I was reluctant to see The Iron Lady because I didn't really want my sludge coloured lenses infected by any rose colouring at all. I didn't want to feel any sympathy for her. I didn't even want to see the background biography of How and Why she became such an economic hardarse. But, bound by a commitment to the OscarsFest code of consumption, and an overwhelming admiration for all things Streep, see it I did.

As a tangent (me? Never!) a few days earlier, my mother took my grandmother to see this film. Thinking she was taking her to see a fairly unemotional and innocuous biopic, Mum persuaded Grandma to see the first film she has seen since she moved back to West Bubblefuck. Certainly since my grandfather passed away 14 months ago. But it isn't just an unemotional empty shell of a film about an unemotional shell of a woman. The framing of this narrative is all about Mrs Thatcher coming to terms with her dearly departed (and much more good humoured) husband, played near perfectly by The Busiest Man In British Cinema, Jim Broadbent. She knows that her hallucinations and conversations with him are not real. His belongings to be packed and sorted and sent to good will shops bring forth a tirade of conveniently chronological flashbacks. But this wasn't something that Grandma was emotionally braced for. This wee anecdote broke my heart, even more than seeing Michael Gambon resemble Fardy during last year's OscarsFest, and that was when his memory was still very raw.

But back to my much more clinical and unbiased (ahem) review. Meryl Streep does make Maggie more sympathetic than I would have liked. But I think the is much more to do with her phenomenal ability to find the pathos in the character than the idea that Thatcher was a likable human at all. There is some explanation as to How and Why she became the hardarse. There is some insight into what her life was like, the battles she faced against classism, sexism, bigotry and war. But none of this endears the character to me at all. It was the grief she experienced having lost the love of her life that did touch me. But perhaps I was just seeing Grandma and Fardy, and feeling that loss all over again.

Director Phyllidia Lord uses stock footage beautifully to illustrate the world that Thatcher is governing. There is a huge chasm between the upper middle class life that Margaret lives, and the world of the miner and the inhabitants of the Falklands. Images of protestors being bludgeoned by police, or trampled by mounted police, in an attempt to control their behaviour was sickening. I was still left utterly perplexed how she could see this privatization and hard line economics as "strengthening the country." But I suppose I AM. A bleeding heart liberal, and I DO actually think that the individuals are important and the human stories are essential, and that the "economy" of a country is not nearly as important as the quality of life of the people that live in that said country. Granted, when it comes to the idea of international markets and strength of currencies etc, I am a complete idiot. I guess I just care whether or not kids are being fed...

Physically the resemblance is pretty perfect. In the kind of way that Meryl looks more Margaret than Margaret does, just like when I saw Keating The Musical.

Pic via wearemoviegeeks

As far as Golden Statues go, Meryl has seen more nominations that pretty much anybody. She is under recognized and could quite conceivably be handed the weird naked gold man for any role that she takes on. Some commentators think that she won't get the gong because nobody saw the film. Or because nobody likes Mrs Thatcher. But she HAS fulfilled some of the requirements usually required for the Best Actress, namely Uglied Up and Suffered Greatly. If she wins, I will hardly be surprised.

OscarsFest 2012: Ascending

This is all about the connections we have, to family, to land, to history. What we can hold onto and what we can't.

The Descendants is a slow burning film about a man coming to grips with the fact that he doesn't really know the people around him. In the opening moments of the film, Elizabeth, the wife of George Clooney's character Matt King, has a jet ski accident. Or perhaps a boating accident (I can't quite remember). She doesnt die, but she is in a coma. And her chances for life back to normal are very slim. He is faced with two daughters who are consistently testing which boundaries they can break through and which will hold them. He is faced with revelations of his wife's infidelity. And on the side, he is faced with the fact that as descendent of the indigenous royalty of Hawaii;his extended family wants to sell off their birthright - untouched paradise wilderness.

A crisis. On all fronts.

He questions what it is to be a father. A husband. A patriarch of a tribe. And a responsible custodian of the land of his ancestors.

The HSC English Area of Study is currently about Belonging. And that word kept clanging in my head throughout this film. Having said that, I don't necessarily think the dudes at The Boy Factory are going to choose this as their related text for themselves. As I mentioned, it is a little bit slow burn. Sparky wouldn't enjoy it, as it doesn't have much of the prerequisites of a Bloke Film. Swearing, Shooting, Fucking and Fighting. Instead, there is Awkward Running, Long Silences, Quiet Tears and Determined Facial Expressions. Far less Blokey.

The Descendants could be seen as a part of a series for director Alex Payne. Movies about dudes experiencing a serious schism in their lives. At a fault line of emotions and reality. Sideways, About Schmidt, Election and this one see our protagonist Paul Giamatti/Jack Nicholson/Matthew Broderick/George Clooney faced with a change in their lives that turns their world upside down. He tortures these characters with humilation and awkward running - seriously, in all four films, the running is at a level of awkward you could only cringe to - that inspires pity and that might be why we connect with them. This humiliation of running in a weird way is possibly what knocks the innate hubris out of the guy, so that we get on their side.

The Awkward Run

George Clooney is pretty phenomenal in this film. He may well be bestowed with more golden statues this awards season, but I think that is because the academies/voters will also be rewarding him for a thoroughly rich career of performances thus far. Just like they gave awards to Cate Blanchett and Russell Crowe a year too late, Clooney just might get the nod for being an all rounder, rather than just nailing this performance. Even better than him was his teenage daughter Alex, played by Shailene Woodley. Not to harp on about my own personal life experience but I know teenagers. I know their need for stability, and their self perceived right to simultaneously demand two opposing things, and their ability to spout violent spite in one breath and then respect and affection in the next. And man, does this chica nail it. Perfectly.

If I didn't already have a small plan to get to a piece of Hawaiin paradise some time in the next 12 months, this film would have propelled me to the nearest Flight Centre for sure. The premise that life in the tropical paradise is anything other than idyllic is shattered for sure by Clooney and Payne. But the blood deep bond with the land and it's history is tangible through the screen, reaching into my own veins and stirring up all those longings for wilderness and a little place of unspoiled paradise.

OscarsFest 2012: Life is a Cabret

Martin Scorsese loves films. He has made a lot of them, and has dedicated his life to being one of the greatest film makers the industry has ever seen.

Not all his films are to everybody's taste, and so he has finally made the kind of film that his kids can see. But Hugo is different.
Hugo is the kind of movie that kids can see.

But I don't know if they will love it.

This film is sumptuous in design. It is full of pathos and beautifully drawn (if two dimensional) characters. It draws from a rich history of film archetypes and devices. The threat of an orphanage. A mean, crippled ex-soldier. A child with a secret. An old man with a secret.

There is two stories in the narrative. Hugo Cabret and his attempt to reconnect with his dead father through repairing a clockwork man. And then there is the mystery of the angry old man. I am reluctant to really spoil it too hard, though of course all of the reviews I have seen tend to lay it all out on the table. Suffice to say, Scorcese gets to get down and dirty and play around with the history of early cinema. Each of these stories is emotional and deep, but bizarrely lacking connection to each other. There is a slow build to the arc of the combined narratives, but by the end, I was thoroughly invested and entwined with each of the characters.

My prejudice against the futility of the 3D fad meant that I missed out on seeing the magic that Martin created with the new form of cinema. My HT reckons I should have gone back to see it again, it made that much of a significant difference to the experience. But I didn't.

For me, the most magical parts of the film are the flashbacks and example of first generation stories on celluloid. I also loved the sumptuous colour, and the way Paris and the whole Art Deco design make this film so joyful to emerge yourself into.

Mr S said that he wanted to make a film that his kids could watch. And as a film nerd who is pretty immature, I really loved it. But I know kids, and I don't reckon they could sit through it.

OscarsFest 2012: It's time to get things started

I am fully aware of the tenuous connection between The Oscars and The Muppets. Nominations for Original Song still count as a nomination, dammit. And I won't hear another word about it.

One of the coolest things about summer is the really decent kids movies that get released. Since Pixar really kicked off their worldwide popularity with Toy Story there has been a very reasonable expectation that 'family' movies shouldn't just be about the kids. Shouldn't just be about the cutesy and the quotable and the merchandisable.

And I for one and very grateful about that.

My long standing fascination with The Muppets goes back to a point that I cannot remember. Even as a proper grown up, puppets fascinate me. Story telling through the animation of inanimate objects is an artform with a long history. And Jim Henson really nailed it.

How much do I love them? Let me count the ways.

The Muppet Theme is my ringtone.
One of my most beloved toys when I was a kid was a Rowlf puppet.
The first song I remember learning on the piano is "The Rainbow Connection".
I may well have chased my theatre loves based entirely on a desire to Kermit.
My darling Sparky's nickname in some circles of friends is Kermit.

This latest installment in adventures of furry stuffed creatures is a very self aware, very mature and amusing love letter to puppets. Once again, Jason Segel is involved in celebrating the floppy armed beings - last seen in the very amusing Forgetting Sarah Marshall. One of my favourite lines in that film is "How can you hate him? He's like ghandi. Except better - he's got puppets!"

This whole film feels like old fashioned, Holloywood family film. The kind of stuff I remember form my childhood. Except now I understand all the adult references that sailed over my short little head. Lucky I'm taller now. Because the adults jokes are rich and frequent, post modern, self aware and just plain funny.

There is a very clear Left lean to the whole movie as well. Big bad corporations trying to destroy all semblance of culture, history and joy in an attempt to make the big coin and to birth more crude oil into this world. And I speak here from my position that is firmly on the left - it was possibly a little too much. A belting over the head with the issue in the style of Gonzo slapstick.

The key messages of the film, about the power of unit, the restorative power of friendship, and the importance of performance and cultural expression for the health of a culture are all too true.

And the grand finale performance of "Rainbow Connection" sums all of these up perfectly. The new songs, particularly the Oscar nominated "Man or Muppet" are brilliant and joyful. Which stands to reason given they were penned by the musical and comic genius, Bret McKenzie. His resume includes Flight of the Conchords. Touching characters, dealing with the challenges of the human condition with hilarious lyrics. This is why he has recreated with his Muppets songs. They're fabulous.

There are some people who never got into The Muppets(like Sparky). There are some people that do ot care for the suspension of disbelief required when the characters break into song for no good reason (like my bro). These people will not enjoy the latest installment of Muppets adventures. But if you love major celeb cameos, if you love a little bit of meta-entertainment, if you have the nostalgia for the URST (unresolved sexual tension - staple of all TV shows and series of films) between a pig and a frog (I've still never quite understood it, but I love it anyway) then you will love this film.

I did!

Also - check out the publicity campaign on YouTube. Pisstakes of every genre imaginable. Gotta love a production company with a sense of humour!

Getting Hungry

Sometimes a story comes along, a character comes along, that is so well crafted, that it speaks to the reader with clarity. The voice of that tale and that character resonate in your head for days and weeks after reading.

The Hunger Games trilogy is one of those stories.

Book 1.

It might not be particularly high brow of me, but I bloody LOVE the fairly specific genre of Young Adult Distopian Fiction. The Chaos Walking trilogy is one that springs to mind. Acoming of age story, set amongst impossible obstacles and unlikely odds. I may well just be carrying on the Australian obsession with the Coming of Age of characters, what with the fact that we still don't feel like a grown up country. But that is a whole 'nother post.

I am by no means the first one to pounce upon Suzanne Collins modern YA masterpiece. I read it two years ago, and at that stage the first two books had been out for some time. So there have been many others waxing lyrical about the wonders of the world Collins has created. But I just reread the series, in a holiday frenzy of reading. And it is even better on a second read. Because on the first read, I was so tense and nervous and excited, that my eye would often skip over to the bit where the action was resolved in an attempt to know what was happening next.

In the not too distant future, the society of America (and for all we know, the rest of the world as well) has collapsed. Risen from its post-civil war ashes is Panem. The central metropolis, The Capitol wields a tyrannical power over the agricultural and manufacturing districts, with police control and heavy rationing. The people of most districts live a miserable life, especially in Katniss Everdeen's native District 12. Starvation is common, as are mine collapses. Generally not an awesome fun time being had by her and her family.

Another weapon The Capitol wields against Panem's citizens is The Hunger Games. Each year 2 children from each district are sent to The Capitol to compete in a reality television, to the death competition.

Yes, it is not necessarily an original story line. There have been movies and TV shows that have had this To The Death Reality TV thing before. But I like this one better. I think Collins has much more to say about politics. And power. And surveillance. And the media. And the inherent issues of gender. Herein lies the power of spec-fic!

Now, I don't really want to give anything else away. I don't want to give any more plot points, because the richness of my reading experience of this book was a great deal to do with the fact that I didn't know what to expect. Rest assured that you will want to turn every page. You may, like me, swing past pages in an attempt to stop hyperventilating. The dudes at The Boy Factory love it. You will too.

Book 2.

But speaking of expectation management, you need to get your eyeballs onto this book BEFORE the film comes out (March 22nd, at West Bubblefuck cinemas, in case you were wondering.) I am currently grappling with expectation management. I'm thinking I'm going to need to defriend The Hunger Games peeps on Facebook and Twitter because their PR spin is NOT helping me keep my expectations effectively bottled.

And once the film is out, I am probably going to get into a little more detail of the plot and the questions that the trilogy raises. There will be spoilers. There will be high brow philosophical post-feminist, Marxist readings, and I promise they will be Reading Too Much Into It as ONLY an English Teacher can.

Book 3.

So do yourself a favour. IGNORE the testimonial on the front cover from Stephanie Meyers. It almost put me off too. But the fact that she of Twilight steaming pile of crap has read it and likes it makes it even more unforgivable that she created such a steaming pile of sexist crap.

Read these books. Double Dare.

The Art of Being Grateful

So this year there is a new project. A Blog Project. A Blogject.

Some year ago, I was working in a fairly thankless job manning phones in an advertising agency. The delightful Gemma was working in a similarly thankless retail job. After a particularly average Friday, we were sprawled in her living room, feeling particularly strung out, frayed and spent. Fridayed.

And rather than stay there moping, and whining, and whinging about how utterly unlucky we were to be living our day to day dreary lives, we switched it up.

We began to make a list of all the things we were grateful for at that moment. One of the first ones was the glass of red wine that was in our hands.

And one of the more memorable from that evening was "I'm grateful nobody is yelling at me right now."

A decade plus on, and we are now living a life that is much closer to what we actually desire for ourselves. We do grown up things, like own large pieces of furniture, and fall asleep before midnight on a weekend, and try sipping brandy at the end of the night.

But still we hope to remain grateful, for the good things that we find in our lives. The small things that make us smile, and the big significant things that we strive for. So we're keeping a record. A Blogject.

You can find it here, at Gratis. It is already teeming with the tasty, and silly, the smiley and the serene. And I can't wait to find what else is on there!