"Music is art, and art is for all"

Today's post is a sort of continuation from a small piece I wrote a couple of months ago called "Age isn't a number in the world of radio", discussing the ongoing battle between ageism and the BBC. Older fans of Radio 1 have recently been banished and booted out in the hope of lowering the age of the average listener, and in all honesty it's a bit bloody unfair.

The notion of music in terms of what it represents and how it moves and influences us has always been a topic of interest to me, and I find it so fascinating that in its unknown abundance of power, it can quite easily change the way in which we think and communicate with one another.

But before I go off on a tangent and begin waffling about how music is more than just noise and sound etc. etc., I'm going to avert your attention to a matter of contention which has infuriated me a little this afternoon. Said matter relates to an article written by former Labour MP Tom Watson in this month's edition of NME, which is released tomorrow, who has stated he is "still cringing at the thought of Gordon Brown listening to Arctic Monkeys."

Watson, who discusses the relationship between musicians and politicians in his piece, further conveys that "we all squirmed when David Cameron tried to pose as a Radiohead fan. It just doesn't wash. Don't even go there with The Jam and The Smiths."

But if anything it proves he's a goddamn human - with excellent music taste. No individual should be subjected to judgement or bullying in relation to the bands and artists they listen to, and to base these judgements upon a person's occupation is even more ridiculous. David Lister stated in an article in The Independent earlier this year that "music is art, and art is for all". In essence, both David Cameron and Gordon Brown have just as much right to enjoy the music they love as any other person.

While it may not seem like it sometimes, politicians are people as well.

I would like to know who in the heck Tom Watson thinks he is to judge and discuss who and what other people listen to. He may be convinced he's one of the cool kids but his little whinge has merely proven that he is an immature and narrow-minded moron.

Fifteen minutes till the fame game ends.

2013 has seen the official birth of the media hate figure, and like selfies and the norovirus (the former abundant in egotism, the latter infested with germs), they are absolutely everywhere.

They are on your television, on your radio, in your newspaper and your magazines. They are the ones who jumped the queue to fame, the ones who took Andy Warhol’s “fifteen minutes” and chose to haggle for an extra thirty seconds. They are the ones who are willing to face hostility and belligerence from British public at whatever cost, all for the sake of that brief, unique flash under the spotlight.

Like the norovirus – their vulgarity is copious. Like the selfie – well, nobody’s seen quite that much vanity seen Narcissus discovered himself.

Current Queen of the media hate figures exists in the form of Katie Hopkins, who this month riled viewers of ITV’s This Morning by declaring that she would not allow her children to play with others who had “the wrong name”. Her comments sent the British public into an indignant frenzy, with the interview reaching a staggering 11 million views on YouTube.

“I am only saying what everyone else thinks”, she said.

Samantha Brick stimulated outcry on a similar scale in 2012 after writing a piece in the Daily Mail about being hated by other women “for no other reason than my lovely looks”. The article, which stocked up 1.5 million hits on the Mail Online website, saw Ms Brick whining about the detriments of her beauty as though they were on a par with physical deformities. Almost 5000 readers took to the website to share their thoughts on Brick’s egotism with the majority labelling her “deluded” with a “forgettable face”. 

But despite her narcissism it is crucial to acknowledge the true, underlying purpose of Ms Brick's article. It is, after all, her responsibility to produce pieces which not only promote the paper she is writing for but herself as a journalist. The writing world is a dog-eat-dog industry and working for a publication like The Daily Mail means you must fight tooth and nail for your place among some of the most controversial journalists in the country. It is, therefore, the big sell which lies at the forefront of her priorities, whether she believes herself to be good looking or not.

Let us of course not forget Liz Jones, the despondently cynical shrew who confessed in a 2011 Mail article to stealing sperm from two of her partners to get herself pregnant. The purpose of the article was to warn other men about the "dirty tricks" women can play on their boyfriends or husbands (as if men need another reason to think all women are psychotic, cheers Liz).

This piece is not the first of hers to have ruffled a few feathers, but it is for this reason that she has achieved such a successful career as both a columnist and editor. Like Samantha Brick, we don’t read her work because we like or agree with her, but because we are so engrossed by what she has to say.

And yet one tumultuous bout of public animosity still isn't adequately satisfying. These three love-to-hate figures have each scored book deals to have their tactless, brutal viewpoints bound, published and sold across the country. Katie Hopkins launched "The Class Book of Baby Names" shortly after her appearance on This Morning, which reached 10 million hits in just four days. Samantha Brick's first memoir, "Head Over Heels in France" hit book stores in April, while Liz Jones has released three autobiographies, among other books, disclosing her personal life onto paper.

These are women who know what they are doing and will stop at nothing to get what they want, regardless of who gets hurt in the process. In spite of the backlash, they are nearly always successful. But fads never last, and as with every fad the public will get bored of you.

It's called fifteen minutes of fame for that reason alone, and in retrospect, to waste it on cynicism is a bit damn foolish.

But who am I to judge?

"Books are the stepping stones of imagination".

I've loved books for as long as I can remember. As a child, my parents and I would read Shirley Hughes, Janet and Allan Ahlberg, Lyn Wendon, Michael Rosen and Val Biro, the latter of which visited my primary school when I was six and kindly signed my 'Gumdrop Goes To School' book for me.

Books have always been a huge part of my life and I simply adored the way in which they would teach me new things and open up my imagination. Reading gave me the encouragement to write my own little collection of short stories, which I would jot down in a purple notepad and hide underneath my pillow. My stories would be about daft little adventures which I could only wish to be a part of - a girl called Jenny who was forever on holiday, travelling from place to place, hotel to hotel, never having to go to school. Georgina who lived with her family in a village on top of the trees in a forest (the technical impossibilities in this one were astonishing). My favourite and the most ridiculous of the lot was about a girl called Amber, who for her birthday had S Club 7 visit her house and announce that they were going to be moving in. (Judge all you want, S Club 7 were undeniably brilliant). 

Until I was about eleven years old I always thought I was going to be an author, and I had a plan that my brother would illustrate the stories I'd written because he was, and still is, so brilliant at drawing. We would become a dynamic and unstoppable book-producing team, creating beautiful and enchanting universes, magical creatures, and fantastically bold and enthralling characters. Reading was just what I did, and unveiling the depths of an author's creative mind is what fed me the passion to formulate and explore my own.

When I moved up to senior school I decided I didn't want to write fiction anymore, and I turned my interests to writing non-fiction. My magical stories and poems were discontinued and instead I fell in love with writing in a style suitable for newspapers, magazines and blogs like this one. In spite of this, my passion for reading was still strong, and I had become sucked into the Jacqueline Wilson teenage stereotype. Oddly I was never drawn to Harry Potter, but I had since become a fan of Lemony Snicket's works as well as Louise Rennison and Meg Cabot. In the words of my English teacher, "trash fiction".

A few years later, I chose to study English Literature at A Level, and then again for my degree at University. Literature was the only subject I was really any good at, and in truth selecting it had become a natural instinct. The irony was, I had started to hate books.

Reading had quickly become a chore. A piece of homework. A murky scribble on my To Do list continually put off time and time again just because I simply did not want to do it. It was heartbreaking, because something which I used to love so much had so rapidly become something I had grown to loathe. I wasn't enjoying being told what I had to read and how long I had to do it. Literature should offer the freedom to enjoy a book at a pace you find comfortable, without the overwhelming pressure of a deadline hanging over you. But sadly that's not how an English degree works - you have a target to meet and if you fail to meet that target, you get left behind.

So at the start of this summer holiday, I finally decided enough was enough, and I set myself a mission to fall in love with books again. And while it's a shame that re-reading my collection of Shirley Hughes and Michael Rosen would not be in my best interests, the beauty of imagination is that it is not an age-restricted privilege. The novels I read as an adult can be just as magical and enchanting, if I open my mind a little and give them the chance they deserve. With an alteration in my attitude, reading can and will become a hobby I learn to love again. 

All it will take is the right book to get me there.

July

It's July and can you believe the sun is shining?! ☼ ☼ ☼

This past month has been a bit up-and-down. A few weeks ago I decided to get a nose piercing, which has now gone after I accidentally knocked it out a week later. One Friday I had arranged to go for lunch with my best friend, and to cut a long story short, it concluded with me sat on a bench in the local piercing shop with a needle going through my nose. I had been contemplating having it done for a long while but I was finally plucking up the courage to go ahead with it - as spontaneous as ever - although from past experience, that's usually the best way to go about it. It was my tenth piercing so I thought by now I'd have adjusted to the pain a little more, but that was definitely not the case. It was still as painful as the first.

As you would expect, neither my parents nor my grandparents were particularly happy but I did receive the "I suppose you're twenty now and it's your nose blah blah blah" speech. And amidst all the chaos it ended up falling out six days later when I was washing my face and had forgotten it was there. I spent about half an hour trying desperately to fix it before acknowledging I looked better without it anyway.

It was also my best friend Alice's birthday last Thursday and like me she chose to go to the zoo to celebrate, because let's face it, there is no better place to spend your 20th birthday than surrounded by crowds of screaming children and animals that can kill you. We saw everything from giraffes, lions, hippos, penguins, otters, parrots, and all in all had such a fantastic day. My friend Rachel and I decided it would be a great idea to go into one of the little tunnels inside the meerkat enclosure, before realising it was full of kids and impossible to move around without flattening one of them in the process (the kids that is, not the meerkats). We both got into a bit of a fluster trying to escape, to the extent that at one point I forgot I was inside a tunnel, tried to stand up and cracked my head on the ceiling. Ouch.

The tennis came to a climactic end yesterday and what a way to finish with Andy Murray becoming the first British Men's Singles Champion in 77 years! 

Watching Wimbledon over the last couple of weeks has been the only thing keeping me from going mad with boredom, and to have it draw to such a fantastic close really was pretty special. It was also incredible to see Marion Bartoli become the Women's Singles Champion on Saturday afternoon; both her and Sabine Lisicki put in an amazing effort but in the end it seems the best woman won. 

More good news to report because somehow, I don't know how, I managed to get a 2:1 in my second year of Uni which is an absolute miracle. My organisation with assignments this year has been nothing short of shambolic because I'm hopelessly slow and picky when it comes to essay writing. I can spend so long composing half a sentence that I end up running out of time and all my other assignments start piling up around me. But regardless of that, I passed, and I'm very very happy. :). 

(Look this paragraph even gets a little smiley face, that's how happy I am). 

And finally, it's my fantastic Mum's birthday today so HAPPY BIRTHDAY Ali Keeler you nutter, have a super day in the sunshine xxx

Nats. X

How Tom Odell brought back Happy Nats

Today I was a bit down in the dumps.

This wasn't for any particular reason – nothing tragic has happened – but I just really needed cheering up. Those who know me tend to recognise me as the ‘mad happy, smiley person’, but today I was not really feeling my usual smiley self. I needed someone or something to make this mad smile come back.

So in an attempt to brighten my mood, I decided to sit in my garden this evening, listen to my iPod, and write. At Uni, evenings can be mad but while I’m at home, they are the most peaceful time of the day.

I was having one of those days when I just needed to zone out and forget about all the stupid stresses and worries that are going round my head at the moment – they are things which seem so silly but that doesn't stop you thinking about them. Acknowledging the pettiness of your problems doesn't make them go away or make you feel any better.

It’s the end of the day and everyone is tired. The air is cool in the garden and the sun is starting to set. The birds are chirping away like they always are – I’m often convinced they’re having some form of domestic dispute because they can make such a racket, far more than is considered normal. Or maybe some kind of singing practice is occurring. Who knows? They’re birds for crying out loud. I’m going off the subject.

NME posted a review the other day about an artist who is fast becoming one of my new favourites. His name is Tom Odell. He's a friend of my friend’s girlfriend, he has blonde floppy hair and a voice so beautifully powerful that he could sing you Ba Ba Black Sheep and convince you that it’s the most sublime piece of music ever heard by human ears.

Sadly that’s only my opinion, and suffice to say I don’t think NME’s Mark Beaumont would agree with me.

I say this because Beaumont gave Tom a grand total of 0/10 in his review of the long-awaited debut album Long Way Down, which was released yesterday. He said it was too dull. Too mainstream. Too boring.

And when I read this review, it made me feel a little bit sad. I've been a fan of Tom’s since Christmas, when it was announced that he had been shortlisted as a nominee for the Brits Critics Choice Awards for 2013. Like many others, I've been eagerly anticipating his album for months.

So to read such a painfully negative review from the so-called music oracle definitely put me on a bit of a downer. Was it really that bad?

Well, in a word – no. Not really. Not even a little bit. Did Beaumont receive the correct copy of this album? Has Tom checked? I think he should.

To put it into a simple sentence – Long Way Down is absolutely beautiful. I adore absolutely every song and for me that’s a very rare occurrence. 

Tom has added a blend of ballads including 'Sense', 'Heal', 'Stay Tonight' and 'Grow Old With Me', as well as the more upbeat 'I Know', 'Hold Me' and 'Sirens'. Regardless of tempo or style, each and every song has a unique element of mellowness and serenity which is breathtaking, and just what I needed this evening to feel good again.

And now as I sit here on the bench in my garden jotting down these thoughts on a pad of paper, listening to Tom's album, I think I can finally say I’m Happy Nats again.

Much better.

Nats. X

When in Rome, literally.

With my holiday history on record, it's obvious I am certainly not a well-travelled individual, primarily down to my constant lack of money and terrible organisation skills. I've been to France and Germany a few times and I've even visited Greece on a couple of occasions before it got economically flushed down the toilet. However, until last Thursday, I hadn't actually been on a foreign holiday with my family for 11 years, so when my parents suggested a trip to Rome to celebrate their 25th Wedding Anniversary, naturally my brothers and I jumped at the chance.

I know what you're thinking and I know it sounds terrible - my brothers and I essentially gatecrashed our Mum and Dad's anniversary holiday, but we were all actually invited. I still don't really know why. But we certainly weren't complaining, and we certainly weren't stupid enough to turn down a free holiday.

We touched down in the sunny capital on Thursday and were immediately struck by the heat as we came off the plane. The weather in Rome was proper Summer weather - none of that ridiculous English rubbish with overcast skies and the odd burst of sunshine which lasts about five seconds before disappearing behind an enormous grey cloud. It stayed at 32°C for most of our trip and with the sun shining down on us, we were as happy as clams.

The second thing which struck me was the immense beauty of the architecture and landscape as we travelled closer to the heart of the city via train on the way to our hotel. It was simply breathtaking. Just from looking at the buildings you could see the history and the way in which it had been so well preserved.

When we finally got off the train and started walking around the city in search of our hotel, my Dad decided to make a fantastic first impression on the locals by shouting out very loudly in the middle of the street "Watch out on the roads, the Roman's are all flipping lunatics when they're behind the wheel of a car". At that point, all I could was look at the ground and pray that the fifty or so other people around us were not Roman and/or did not understand English. You can always rely on my Dad to be embarrassing at any given opportunity, and he certainly outdid himself on this occasion.

The rest of the afternoon was spent at the Fontana di Trevi (Trevi Fountain), which was so beautiful. Traditionally you are encouraged to throw coins into the fountain in the hope that in doing so, it will bring you back to Rome in the future, so we all threw in a couple of cents with this in mind.

The following day we went to The Altare della Patria, which is a stunning monument made entirely from marble and built in honour of Italy's first King, Victor Emmanuel. I spent most of the time watching my footing as we walked up endless flights of stairs, terrified I would end up falling over and cracking my head open on the marble floor. With that aside, looking out at the view from the top was most definitely one of my highlights of our trip.

My Mum and Dad decided some time before we went away to buy us 'Roma Passes' which gave us free use of the city's public transport network and admission to two landmarks of our choice without having to queue, the first of which was The Vatican Museum.

I'm not Catholic or particularly religious, but just to look at the stunning patterned ceilings, statues and sculptures made it a brilliant and very interesting afternoon.

On the same day we visited the Sistine Chapel, which was equally as beautiful with its patterned walls and painted ceilings. It was, as you might expect, a very strict environment - you needed to have your shoulders and knees covered, and were asked to be completely silent so those who wanted to pray inside the chapel could. Then again, it can't have been easy to do so given the amount of racket the security guards were making yelling "Silenzio!" ("silence") every ten seconds. I was actually tempted to shout out something about double standards but it probably would have ended with me getting thrown out.

Afterwards, we went to a gorgeous little backstreet restaurant called La Scalinata. The restaurant owner was so lovely and fitted the Italian stereotype perfectly - he was a bit like the waiter from Disney's 'The Lady and the Tramp', but less fat and without a moustache.

On Saturday we travelled back to The Vatican so we could go inside St. Peter's Basilica, which was enormous and absolutely breathtaking inside and out.

That same day we also went to The Colosseum. Inside there were artefacts, stone carvings and stories on wall plaques about the persecution of Christians and the ways in which they were punished for their beliefs - we learnt so much in such a short space of time. Although naturally, it was the outside of the Colosseum which was truly astounding - as we went exploring it was so easy to picture how it would have looked back then and imagine the immense level of sound which would have roared throughout the arena.

For lunch we picked the ideal spot opposite the Colosseum in Ristorante Al Gladiatore, which had a beautiful painting on the wall of a Roman soldier bowing down for mercy towards a female gladiator. The waiter told us a story of this female gladiator and how she was avenging her people who had been killed at the hands of these Roman soldiers.

That evening we decided to go to the Spanish Steps, where we sat for about two hours simply chatting, people-watching and soaking in the atmosphere. In spite of the crowds, busyness and noise, it was so peaceful and I felt like I could just stay there forever.

On our final day, we wandered through the markets and shops, exploring the smaller places we had missed the first time we looked around. I might have accidentally bought more jewellery - a pair of earrings and two bracelets - but I was on holiday so I was allowed. That's my naff excuse.

We sat in a cute little place called Caffè Accademia and ate the most delicious ice cream I've ever tasted - it was proper Italian ice cream. It cost an arm and a leg though, maybe even a few toes.

At this point in the trip we also worked out that my little brother Luke had eaten Margarita pizza every day for the past four days (!!).

We had reached the end of our holiday, jumped back on the plane to a not-so-sunny England and said our goodbyes to our new favourite city. All in all, it was a fantastic trip with so many memories made.

Ciao :) Nats. X

National Blood Week - Do your bit and donate

I've written about NHS Blood Donation on here a couple of times before, so you can probably tell it is an organisation which, if you'll pardon the pun, has always been very close to my heart. And since today is the first day of National Blood Week in the UK, running from 10th-16th June 2013, I thought I'd write a bit about why registering to be a blood donor could be one of the best things you could ever possibly do.

This year's campaign 'Know Blood, Give Blood' is asking donors to share the facts with as many people as they possibly can, in order to help NHS Blood Donation continue to recruit the 200,000 new donors they need every year to replace those who can no longer donate.

This is why I'm here today - to spread the word!

Did you know...?

• 96% of us rely on the other 4% of the population to donate blood

• The number of regular blood donors has fallen by 23% over the past decade

• Hospitals around the UK need around 7000 units of blood every day to treat a vast range of health issues

• Each unit of blood donated is split into its constituent parts, which means it can save up to three lives

• Over a lifetime, some blood donors can help more than 500 people through their donations!

• You can donate up to three times a year, and it takes no longer than an hour per session.

• Your blood will be used to help a variety of patients, including children suffering with leukemia or other terminal illnesses, burns victims, women giving birth and people with conditions that require regular blood transfusions

• In one session you will donate 470ml, just under one pint, of your blood. After donating you will need to rest and will be offered refreshments to avoid faintness or dizziness (a.k.a. free drinks and biscuits, woohoo)

• When you fully process what a monumental difference you have just made to another person's life, the feeling is indescribable - all I can say it is like no other!

Learn more about National Blood Week and how you can help by clicking HERE. Visit the NHS Blood Donation website for more information about eligibility and registering.