Catherine

I've Moved!!

2010-08-02T14:04:04Z

Just to let any readers here know, my blog has been moved as The Independent are using a different platform now.

You can now find my blog here: http://blogs.independent.co.uk/author/catherineib/

xx

"No more worries for a week or two" - Can holidays be that magical?

2010-07-21T15:11:56Z

This week marks for many the beginning of a much-needed, much yearned for summer holiday. Not satisfied with our hottest year in history, thousands of Brits will be leaving the country over the next six weeks, swapping their desks for deck chairs and tea cups for Cosmopolitans and ice cool beers by the pool. Teachers are counting down the days until the end of term so they can kick back and relax. A summer holiday seems now to be more a necessity than a luxury and we all dream that it will be the perfect escape, a place of thorough relaxation where all our worries can be left behind in the shithole that is Britain.

But really, do holidays possess such magical powers as to eradicate all worries, nasty thoughts and stresses? Does changing the physical environment around us have any impact on our thought processes, our moods and the way we deal with lifes niggles? And with modern technology - iPads, iPhones, Blackberries, wireless internet and increasingly cheaper roaming charges, are we not just carrying all of the work we have left behind with us - a constant reminder of what we 'should' be doing, hence forcing us to feel guilty about kicking back in the sand for a couple of weeks?

You can take a Brit out of Britain, but you can't take the shit out of Brit. Wherever we go, we go with flashing neon lights, whether we are the 18-30s drinking lager at 7am before takeoff, the nagging older couple attacking the poor check-in crew when told there is an hour delay or the upper middle class guardian readers who sit with their noses well in the air whilst being pushed onto a coach full of inferior Brits on their way to inferior apartments at the far side of the 'posh' resort. We are all guilty of carrying one or other form of Britishness with us at all times, all too often as an embarassing badge of honour. I digress into cynicism before I even begin answering my initial question, my point being though, that the holiday itself does not have the capacity to change who we are, the way we act or the things we are open to experience.

A few examples, beginning with my own parents. Both in their fifties, my dad works for Emirates and my mum is the headteacher at a school for pregnant teenagers and teen mums. They are Guardian readers, early getter-uppers, creatures of routine, everything well planned, well in advance, not spontaneous, cultured but led by guide books and, most aptly for this piece, extremely stressed. They run busy lives and both careers are ones that lend themselves to a decent break, time to get away, enjoy each others' company and forget for a while. Before their trips or holidays, I wish wholeheartedly that they would make the most of the oppurtunity to chill the hell out - something neither are very good at - but I always know that they won't quite get to the level of chilled-outness that I am desperate for them to have. They would probably say the same for me. Their flight, hotel and transfers are meticulously planned. They leave behind a note with details and numbers of flights times, flight numbers, hotel numbers, addresses, everything. They fuss over who is carrying what, how early to book the taxi, they carry documents tidily in a plastic wallet which dad must be in charge of for reasons known only to himself. Once there, they continue to rise early - not with the sunlight but with the bloody alarm clock. They must know the time at all times, everything must be planned in advance. Lunchtime has to be lunchtime, dinner time remains dinner time and bedtime remains bedtime. The same routine, different place. More enjoyment may be gained from the prettier sights, the laid back locals and the rare laugh here and there, but the watches are still relied on, the guide book is out constantly and my mum will still answer calls about work. The worry, the stress, the routine they run with to deal with the chaos of England is too deepset to be gone. It's a shame.

I am a lucky lady. Just a few years back I realised, and had it pointed out to me, that I carried many of the traits of my parents when it came to worry, stress and the exceptional talent for making mountains out of molehills. What changed? The influence of my boyfriend and his whole family - probably one of the most laid back, earthly, relaxed family I have ever met in terms of how they live their lives. Not quite a bunch of hippies, but people who seem very content in themselves, never too pushy or needy or selfimportant - everything is done with a shrug of the shoulders, nothing is too stressful or worrying - life just sails by and they sail with it. I love them all dearly and my boyfriend's eternal laidbackness does seem to have gradually rubbed off onto me. They really know how to holiday, gurus in the art of carefreedom (new made up word for moi). I should perhaps add here that they spent a few summers at nudist camps in the South of France, an idea which I warm towards every year. My (hopefully one day) mother-in-law to be told me just last week as we shared a bottle of wine whilst watching boats sail past our infinity pool in Turkey, "If I ruled this country I would do one thing. I would make every person have a naked swim every morning. It would be a much better place". I believe her, and if you haven't tried it, you should. Despite the fairytale feel though, there was still talk of jobs and money and moving house and the future, spattered with heated debates and discussion over where to eat, what to eat, where to go... even with the 'perfect' no-stress family, it isn't all plain sailing.

And the rest of us? My parents and my boyfriend's parents are polar opposites on holiday - but what of those in between? I cannot help but think that we, as a nation completely lack the ability to let ourselves just be, to go with the flow of another country, to blend in amongst other cultures and to adapt, scrap routines and leave everything behind. We are too reliant on constant communication, the time, the date, thirst for information, maps, timetables, satnav, gossip... Have we forgotten how to live without gadgets and gizmos and grinding habits? Sadly, it is obvious that many of us have, and unless we can reverse that, no holiday will ever be stressfree.

So, with many thanks to a certain Mills family, here are my top tips for leaving as much stress as possible behind (unfortunately, Cliff was lying, perhaps a few worries were in the smallprint):

In the event of delays, do not shoot the messenger.

Rather than fannying about changing the time on your phone, turn it off and leave it off.

Leave the laptop behind.

Embrace the change, enjoy the small things.

Take off your watch and be led by senses, not time.

Swim naked.

Try local delicacies, games and activities.

Explore, experiment.

No news is good news.

Be spontaneous.

Be adventurous.

For God's sake go further than the pool.

Be thankful, you are lucky, make the most of it.

RELAX.

'Tanorexia' - It's only a matter of time

2010-07-05T15:55:58Z

Summertime and the Brits are once again out in force - the second the sun peeps out from behind the clouds, we're out on beaches and lying around in parks like flies around shit, arms and legs akimbo and quite honestly, more flesh hanging out than you would expect to see on a nudist beach in the South of France. Later that day, Facebook statuses all over will pronounce different levels of burntness and the swarms will head home covered in dodgy tanlines which, sadly, will make people feel proud and everybody else will yawn as they show them off at the office the next day. It's rather embarassing. One more to add to the list.

Once again, tanning and links to skin cancer have hit the headlines. This time, research has found that 26% of teenagers in the UK have admitted to getting sunburnt on purpose in order to get a tan, around a third (31%) said they have never used sun cream in this country and more than half (55%) believe the sun is not so powerful in the UK. As much as I hate it, I can feel a tanorexia headline coming on, they love it. This obsession, however, is not an illness - the consequences may be, but the act of sprawling in the sun or frazzling away on a sunbed without protection is a decision which really, we all should by now have the knowledge to decide against, do the right thing and smother ourselves in suncream. Factor 4 doesn't count.

It's not just teens. At Glastonbury 2010, 3000 people were treated for sunstroke and I saw literally thousands of revellers sporting scarlet backs, faces, legs... pretty much everything that could burn, was burnt. My friends and I regularly massaged the annoying but necessary goo into each others' backs etc, but the majority ignored the dangers, shrugged it off and turned their noses up to creaming themselves. Stupidity personified.

What is it about Brits? Obesity, smoking our lungs to death, drinking our livers to death and sunning ourselves to melanoma-land... it's almost as though we're all asking to suffer. We know what we have to do to be healthy, so why do we ignore all the warnings? Is it that inbuilt mechanism that tells us it will never happen to us, or do we just not care? Sad world.

If we could only witness the consequences of such dangerous behaviours, see someone close to us suffer as a result of pissing all over the warnings, maybe, just maybe we would learn to take precautions, look after ourselves and get rid of that disgusting British cockiness we seem to have adopted.

So, enjoy the sun, but for God's sake, wear sunscreen.

Anorexia Kills

2010-06-30T18:10:36Z

Forget the statistics, forget case studies and forget guestimations - Eating Disorders kill people, real people; friends, family, that girl you see stalking the aisles of Sainsbury's, that guy at the dirty club you go to on a Friday night, and the people you didn't even know had anything wrong with them at all. All of them can slip away at any time.

Why so morbid? It is too easy to let a dangerous situation float on, simmer away and keep it at the back of the mind, pushed aside by other far more important issues. Have you fed the fish? People who suffer with Eating Disorders usually go miles out of their way to hide their illness, and once detected, to deny that it could ever possibly hurt them - if not to themselves, to everybody around them. There is a massive difference between acknowledging that you might have a 'problem', but most will never, ever accept that anything 'bad' (cardiac arrest, osteoporosis, death) will ever happen to them. I knew it was a possibility, but deep down I always knew that I wasn't quite ill enough to be the one who dies. Bullshit. Scary, but true, Anorexia and Bulimia and the behaviours involved with each can, and do end lives - without warning, no second chances.

I know this all too well, because after years of treatment both inpatient and outpatient, and being part of an online support group for ED sufferers, I have seen this happen. Once is too much, one too many lives lost to what can only be described as an evil and tormenting mental illness. Yesterday was the funeral of a wonderful young woman who I spent months of my life with in hospital. We bonded over memories of Aberystwyth, where we both studied in the Theatre, Film and Television department and spent nights curled up on old green sofas discussing all the tutors there, the beach, our graduations - I loved talking with her because it was rare to have something in common other than our bloody eating disorders. What I remember most of her was her kind spirit, always willing to offer sincere advice (she spoke from years of experience, sadly). She saw the best in everyone around her but failed to ever recognise the good in herself. Whenever she cracked a smile, it warmed me, knowing for that moment she was at least a little less consumed than usual. I only hope now that she is in peace.

She died the night before I left for Glastonbury and, despite being deeply saddened by the shock, I decided there and then (almost in her honour, but not as cheesy) to leave my own food and weight crap behind me for a while. it would have been easy to fall into a depression and restrict throughout the festival, as I have done through many before (ending in a few too many black outs). I spent the whole weekend enjoying myself, with barely a thought about what was going in my mouth (even praising the yumminess of nachos and ice cream (not together)). The loss of someone close is not and never will be a miracle cure, but it makes it impossible to ignore that beating up your body repeatedly does carry that risk - and that all your loved ones worry daily that the same thing could happen to you, whether you accept that or not.

Fighting an Eating Disorder is a continuous struggle, it will never be easy and nobody should expect that it is something someone can just leave behind - but if you have an Eating Disorder, are reading this and think that 'it won't happen to me', then please, please open your eyes and know what it can do. It chooses it's victims, not you. there is no weight you can get to before it says, "OK, that's low enough, your mine now". It sneaks up, a dirty predator, and takes another loved one away.

Let this help you. If it scares you, let it scare you. If it makes something inside you want to reach out for help - do it.

To everyone else, just a little taste of the truth. It's not about media, fashion, celebrities or faddy diets, it is about real people, real lives, a real disease - not a lifestyle, not a choice, a monster.

Love to all, take care yeah (that goes for me too)
x

Glastonbury Through The Eyes of a Virgin

2010-06-29T16:26:50Z

If Glastonbury came in pill form, it wouldn't be weed or coke or herbal highs, it would be the best and most powerful antidepressent in the world. It breathes happiness, the atmoshphere so relaxed and unassuming and the music, despite being the main ingredient, only highlights the gorgeousness of what Worthy Farm becomes for five magical days.

I was less than a twinkle in my father's eye when Glastonbury began and grew into what it is now. It is not my place to write about the choice of bands or the ethos, I cannot comment on how the festival has changed over the years or whether that is a good or a bad thing. I live in the here and now and experienced Glastonbury with that view - the only comparisons I could make were not historical, but geological, having been to festivals in Leeds (bad), Holland (pretty damn good) and Belgium (all good too). After Leeds, I turned into a European festival convert, but thought I would give Glastonbury a go, just to see if the hype was true before I committed to a life of travelling overseas to get my annual festival fix. It turns out that old idea that Glastonbury is the best festival in the world is in fact, so true.

I found it hard to believe that some reviewers could pick out as many negatives as they did, as for me the only downfalls were inevitable but painful clashes, dust inhalation, unsuccessful 'shade-searching' which resulted in a pair of very burnt lips and only one awful performance - that of poor Kate Nash. I'll get the bashing out of the way:
I have had a thing about Kate Nash the second I heard the lyric "You said I must eat so many lemons, 'cause I am so bitter. I said "I'd rather be with your friends mate, cause they are much fitter". You understand. We arrived at the Other Stage regretably early and were forced to overhear most of her set - a yappy dog mashed up with a skwarking, dying parrot having an argument with an angry cockney. Not nice, not nice at all, but at least it proved that I was correct in casting her off a long time ago.

Everything else was mindboggling in every way that anything can boggle the mind. My eyes never stopped darting about - bright colours, flowers, creations, beauty and madness everywhere you look. Who needs LSD? There is no way that I can possibly capture just how perfect and wonderful it all looked and felt, from watching the sunset and rise at the Stone Circle to strolling around GreenFields, dancing by fires with strangers at Avalon and waking up after using an unneeded welly as a pillow to singing 'Waterloo Sunset' at the top of my voice all alone in the crowd, letting go of all inhibitions and almost crying at the sight of so many hundreds of children enjoying themselves in the idyllic Kidz Field. I can't squeeze it all in, I just cannot, but I'm trying - do forgive me.

Onto the music. Kate Nash aside, everything I saw was really, really good. I began with a little-known band from East Van in Canada, Blackberry Wood. Nice chaps (and lady), complete with a mop for a bass. They played in the bandstand and managed by the end of their playfully chaotic to get all their audience on their backs kicking legs everywhere - a fantastic start. Next up on my new found favourite list is one that have been around since 2003 but, despite my love of Scottish accents, have bypassed me. Frightened Rabbit played to a scorched audience and I fell in love with them as they ended their set by pelting out "It takes more than fucking someone You don't know to keep warm", the anthemic chorus to 'Keep Yourself Warm'. Stunning stuff. Other highlights bandwise included Florence and the Machine (despite sound problems, she shined and proved herself Pyramid Stage-worthy for next year), The Temper Trap (Dougy Mandagi has the most beautiful voice, often nodding to the soft, high sound produced by Jonsi of Sigur Ros), a glimpse of Laura Marling's secret set and I danced my face off to Editors, who pleasingly played plenty of songs from their debut album - brilliant crowdpleasers with the odd special gem thrown in for good measure. Other less 'obvious' music came from the 'Come and Play' tent, a sort of wierd, crazy jamming session that encouraged passers-by to join in - interesting results, progressively messy throughout the day.

The talking points, aside from the weather (yawn), centred around the 'special guests' (completely gutted that I missed out on Thom Yorke's set at The Park) and of course the headliners and other big names on the Pyramid Stage. Snoop Dogg ruled the crowd and got us all built up for a Friday night of high energy music, he certainly knows how to get Glastonbury going, mainly by yelling out "Who likes to smoke Weeeed?". Rapturous all around. Vampire Weekend followed and I heard them sounding right on form from my tent as I fuelled up on hot wine and gathered a few layers for the night ahead. Dizzee Rascal wowed everyone and undoubtedly earned huge amounts of respect and new fans as he incorporated the iconic 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' amongst a set full of his own hits and welcomed Florence Welch onto stage to perform 'You've got the Dizzee Love'. Many would have you believe that Gorillaz failed to live up to high expectations, and although I was forced to miss out on The Flaming Lips in order to see them, intrigue turned into enjoyment as I danced my way through their set. It possibly didn't quite live up to the hype, but unlike many, I found them decent enough to stick with it, and by the end they were on it. Still, after watching highlights of Flaming Lips I do think a wrong decision was made just that once.

Saturday night ended with Muse filling Glastonbury with some of the best live music I have ever heard. Matt Bellamy was quite obviously in his element as the masses sang along to a string of elongated versions of all the hits, a perfect mix of old and new - a bit of Origin of Symmetry always goes down well. The Edge made a fleeting visit and together they played 'Where the Streets Have No Name' - it should have been a highlight but for me it had to be 'Plug in Baby'. That Matt is a musical genius, don't believe anybody who tells you that Muse are past their best. On the closing night I caught Ray Davies, who again seemed so moved to be up their and that feeling was felt by every member of the audience, repaying him and provoking tears in his eyes as we went mad for his acoustic version of 'Lola'. Faithless absolutely rocked and as for Stevie Wonder - there are no words except legendary. Michael Eavis appeared onto the stage alongside Stevie for a rendition of 'Happy Birthday' - the perfect closing ceremony.

Magical, fantastical, amazing, amazing, amazing. Glastonbury is happiness personified. It has the ability to spread a smile to everybody there, allows you to be anyone you want to be and makes you never, ever want to leave - the prospect of going back to 'real life' was unthinkable. After long days of sun beating down, lying in fields whilst soaking in the atmosphere and the endless music, I felt like sleep was something that was wasted at Worthy Farm and so continued the experience into the night - and the morning. Nothing matters at Glastonbury, every stress is left behind and a peaceful air carries you through the weekend - it goes all too quickly.

Glastonbury, I'll be back if you will have me.
x

Stay Together For the Kids...

2010-06-15T17:41:53Z

How about stay together for the parents? The boyfriends? The friends? The employers? The former three are invaluable to me and I would certainly not be here without them - isn't it payback time for all the times they have worried about me, been lied to (and damn well known it), trod on eggshells around me, been patient with me when they wanted to scream? Forget about parents and boyfriends staying strong for me - I have had beyond my fair share of all that. I take and I take and yes, God, I appreciate it more than I could ever put into words, but, excuse my language, it has come to my attention now that I HAVE to start taking responsifuckingbility for myself. Support and love is fantastic, all well and good, but who am I to rely on that amount of compassion and forgiveness for the rest of my life? It should not be something that I either accept or expect. I often find myself wondering why on earth my loved ones have not yet given up on me, left me, even just displayed their anger and frustrations - the answer? They have hope. They have belief. That this is not all there is... that things can, and will change.

Simple movement then - I need to hop on their faith train. I know exactly what I need to do physically, but this is a battle of self belief versus stupidly and rather inexplicabley low self esteem. Change will come from a shift it how I feel over what I do. Motivation is what I need, and I am far too guilty now of sitting around and waiting for something to come to me, waiting for that kick up the arse that never comes until it's too late and I once again find myself stripped of dignity in an Eating Disorder Unit. Like it or not, there is always a choice. From the smallest bite of an apple to full recovery and ignoring all those shitting thoughts that Anorexia keeps telling you - it is all a choice. A bloody hard one, but probably the most important one I will ever make.

They say you can't choose your family, they're stuck with me, with all of this. Others can walk away. Just as I have the choice to make the effort to change my ways, many of my loved ones have the choice to put up with the moody, irritable, constantly tired, lying cow that my Eating Disorder often turns me into; or they can say they have had enough and leave. I can't believe that none of them have, but I do know that now, after years and years of my (what should, to me, be) intolerable behaviour, I can see cracks. Cracks grow. I need some form of recovery-flavoured polyfiller before it is too late.

Behaviour B&Q, here I come.

Anorexia Bites Back

2010-06-14T18:02:05Z

Ding Ding, round I-have-no-idea-lost-count-years-ago.

You probably guessed - I haven't posted about my own 'issues' for quite a while now... and why? Clue: It's not because I'm doing amazingly well, maintaining a healthy weight and entirely happy with my life. The last thing I want to do here is come across as 'woe is me', so permission granted to slap your screen with a wet fish if you sense an ounce of self-pity.

The downward slope is so deceptively gradual. Relapse is not a click of the fingers, the flick of a switch. It creeps up on you slowly, allowing you to kid yourself and reassure yourself into thinking it will all still be ok - tomorrow will be better. It never is. Despite all this though, you remain aware, in my case hyperaware, of the shadows, the grey area, the feeling in your gut that at some point, something has to change whether you like it or not.

This is life, not a soap opera or a massively edited documentary. Meaning - the changes are not drastic. As far as I am aware, any weight I have lost is not all that noticable or obvious (but what do I know? My perception is not exactly trustworthy). It doesn't go from eating 6 times a day to living off a non-fat yoghurt and an apple within a week. It's the little things, avoidance, fear, old habits such as using the same utensils, sitting in the same place to eat, not wanting to be seen eating in public... the list goes on and is different for all of us. But we know - try as we might to deny that recovery is slipping away through stringy fingers - we know.

The boy knows. He says he cannot watch me self-destruct like this, not again. He wants us to be happy, and that can only happen if I make serious changes - way beyond eating... I need to love myself to be able to make the next move in whatever my life holds for me. Big thought. Hard thought. I fear I am incapable of accepting myself, nevermind loving myself. Any advice on that would go down a treat.

No final thoughts - just a boring little update on the boring little bitch that is Anorexia.

Please Don't Jump

2010-06-13T20:12:05Z

Post Secret is an ongoing mail art project, created by Frank Warren, in which people mail their secrets anonymously on a homemade postcard. Being the nosey/interested individual that I am, I read through the new set of secrets every Sunday.

This postcard was posted last week and tugged at heartsrings the world over. A group was set up immediately on Facebook and now has over 55,000 members - all in support of a complete stranger.

Post Secret today announced,
"In seven days over 50,000 of you joined an online community offering encouragement and help.

Today (Sunday) at noon hundreds are meeting on the Golden Gate Bridge to take a stand against suicide at the very place where it happens most in the world. (You're invited, look for the yellow balloons and ribbons).

This hopeful story has received international press coverage including this first report on Time Magazine's NewFeed.

I haven't heard from the person who mailed this postcard, but I have heard from many who have felt lifted by this flashmob of kindness."

Now, call me cheesey, but this display of people reaching out, caring for someone, for a stranger, for a cause, makes me feel rather tingly. I choose that word because no other fits. I am such a cynic, so negative in my opinions of mankind in general that I feel foreign to this heartwarming reaction - restoring just a little hope that there is good in this world. It's sad really, I shouldn't feel like a weak person just because I am moved by something - but it only goes to show what an impact this had on me, something powerful enough to crack my stubborn shell. All a mush now.

Forget about me, what of the person who wrote in? Nobody knows. Perhaps we never will. I hope that somewhere, that person will have seen the response and be overwhelmed enough to reach out - but my pessimistic little gut tells me otherwise. I hope I am wrong.

Either way, this stranger has left a mark. That postcard is representational of all those who are/have been/are affected by suicide - more people than I care to imagine. The comments, gestures and pictures posted in response will no doubt resonate with and speak to thousands. If it didn't work for the author, I'm positive it will work for someone - bittersweet.

Eat Less

2010-06-03T18:54:08Z

Thanks, Urban Outfitters:

#irresponsible idiots

Signing off...

2010-05-27T22:01:31Z

for a while. Keep well.
x

Is It Ok To Laugh At Suicide Bombers?

2010-05-26T22:53:10Z

I avoided all media coverage of 'Four Lions' until I had seen it for myself. Usually I can't help myself from immersing myelf in new and reviews surrounding any new controversial films or other media, reading tabloids that I would never want to be seen dead with just to see what views they may be pumping out to readers who have not yet seen whichever film yet believing whatever they are told about how racist or anti-semetic it is or how it will most probably turn their children into psycho murderers. This film was different and something made me want to see it completely isolated from any context other than my own individual experience - my thoughts, my feelings, my opinions and no pre-conceived ideas to ruin it for me or have any effect on my expectations. Whether it was due to the fact that this rare blind viewing was an exciting prospect in itself, the tension I caused myself through wondering if the subject area could ever be tackled without causing widespread horror or because I just adore all of the director's previous works, this film I just knew was going to be omething very clever, and very, very special indeed.

So, I took myelf to see it just after the national release. I would have written up a wee review of my own but my mind was still buzzing with questions that I could not poibly attempt to answer myself - lucky then, that tonight I got the chance to see the film for the second time with an introduction from the man himelf and a generously long Q&A session. You should most definitely see it for yourself, but now I can hopefully write with a little more eloquence and knowledge of the brains behind the operation.

'Four Lions' is Chris Morris's latest offering, his first feature length film which explores the minds and follows the journey of a group of Muslim men from the north of England (filmed in Sheffield - Morris had his actors copy accents from 'Kes' in preparation) pursuing their jihad and join their brother martrys through an elaborate plan to become suicide bombers. That may sound plausible, but then throw in slapstick comedy, hundreds of 'laugh out loud' moments, and I mean proper belly laughs, continuously, until your stomach feels like it is going to implode and pop out via your kidneys - it all starts to feel a bit strange. This is where the questions arise...

Whatever offence was caused by 'Four Lions' was most likely caused by not the topic of suicide bombers themelves, but the way in which it was delievered, through comedy. How can something so real and so devastating be at all humorous? Is it overly audacious to come out with something that controversial? Is there a line that can be drawn between acceptable and not acceptable, and if so, where is it? Is it really ok to laugh out loud at terrorism? Endless questions, some simplistic and some much deeper - but all with a rather surprisingly simple theory at the heart of all the answers given (in an extraordinarily long-winded yet informative and amusing manner) by a curly-haired, suited and booted Mr Morris.

There is no subject too taboo for Chris Morris, when asked whether anything was personally off limits within the subject of his satire, he replies, "No, the question is not the subject, it is the joke. I would never say no to a subject". He refers to his own work as "exploitative", not of the suicide bombers, but of the real people behind that decription - the kind of person he met during extensive research and refers to through strings of hilarious anecdotes. A quick example of this is the time that he met and interviewed a devout BNP member who took it upon himself to read the Qu'ran in order to create a more sophisticated arguement againt other cultures. This man later converted to Islam. Morris was struck by the BNP man's story and so pondered whether such observations could possibly be turned into fiction.

In my opinion, the film works because it depicts reality and injects humour in equal measure, achingly funny in one scene and crushingly moving in the next. It flows, it meanders through peaks and troughs, twists and turns in the plot but held together by the strongest storytelling glue there is - strong characters. Aside from everything else, morals, religion, whatever... it is the characters and the flawless actors that make it acceptable to laugh at the situations in which they find themselves - it feels less 'wrong' to laugh at a grown man blowing himself up if it happens to be by accident whilst running through a field of sheep and followed by a heated debate amongst his friends about which one of them 'martyred him'. Still awkward, it is just not natural to feel at ease when you can't help yourself from laughing out loud at something which, if you heard it in a pub for example, would make your stomach churn. Morris proves his genious by providing such a well though-out, perfectly balanced story of loveable, tender, reaslitic and credible characters on a mission to do something that in real life causes widespread devastation and loss if innocent lives. On my first viewing, my boyfriend said that he warmed to the characters to such an extent that even he was almot willing them on by the culmination. Morris picks up on our nations ability to stereotype without a thought and turns all that is true about our culture, and that of muslims (both extreme an not), picks apart the stupidity and irrationality in each one of them and forces his audience to find the whole thing not only entertaining, but also enlightening - he invites you to become part of an elusive club who know that really, it is ok to laugh at ourselves.

The fact is that, strengthened by years of research, a knowledgable and experienced production team and an utterly stunningly believable cast, 'Four Lions' is as far away from a tastless film as you could get - it takes a grassroutes approach, is non-stereotyping and presents the most honest and accurate portrayal of the subject as I have ever seen. Nothing but admirable in its guts and impressive in its attack.

Advertising Abortion

2010-05-24T22:51:15Z

Are you late?

Tonight, after a smattering of media hype and much discussion on forums both pro-life and pro-choice, Marie Stopes became the first organisation to wind itself around loopholes in order to advertise their services on primetime television. During Davina McCall's new live game show - which, thankfully I wasn't obliged to sit through after finding I could already view the said advert on Youtube - the audience will have witnessed a turning point in history, and in a long arguement over whether or not it is morally correct and should be allowed to promote on the television.

Three women are depicted, each single, one with two children and all to the background music you might here in a depressing part of a low budget, depressing ITV drama. The first young girl is at a busstop, the second pushing her pram through a park and the third looking miserably into her coffee cup as though she's just failed her driving test for running over her own cat. What do they all have in common? Here's the clever bit - they're late... not for a meeting, or a date, or for school, no, no, no... for their period.

Now, this is where I get confused. These ladies all look lost, so, good for them, the nice voiceover lady directs them to contact Marie Stopes straight away - end advert. Hang on... as long as I have known anything about the birds and the bees et al, I thought that the next step after finally realising you are late is to check whether or not you might be pregnant? A trip to Boots would surely do the trick - a bit of Clear Blue (or drastically cheaper own brand urine test for the less snobby amongst us). What worried me greatly when I read over a bunch of news reports in the run up to this controversial event, was that Marie Stopes claimed that research had shown that a scarily massive percentage of women 'would not know where to turn if they were late for a period'. Did they never read 'Just 17' or 'Sugar' or 'More'? Did they never gossip in the playground, have a half decent sex education or embarassing 'talk' with the parentals? I find the statistics more than hard, impossible to believe, because as with any health problems, it is common sense that first stop - if you know of no specialist services at least - is your GP. Embarassment or worries about confidentiality should not be an issue, and even if they were, reluctance is much different than ignorance. When I was at high school, which by the way was Catholic and therefore did not advocate the use of contraception, everybody knew that we could speak to the school nurse about things in that 'area', and if not that, there was always 'Central Youth', which stood in Grand Central complex in Stockport and was usually filled with teens getting tested for allsorts and getting the pill and free condoms and the oh so reliable morning-after pill. Stockport has a comparitavely high teenage pregnancy rate, but at least we all knew those services were there and were aware of what we could do to protect ourselves.

I'm getting sidetracked - I just cannot believe where that statistic came from, or how the words were bent in order to persuade Channel 4 to change their rules and air this advert. So, statistics aside, what do I think of all this?

It won't take a genius to see that I am against the idea of advertising Marie Stopes or any similar organisation on television, but not for the reasons that even I thought I would give initially when I first heard that it was due to air. My gut reaction to the news was that it would simply be wrong to advertise abortion, and not just because I am personally against it. In truth, I know that Marie Stopes offer more than just abortion services - they also offer advice on contraception, other options available to those who are 'late' and also (thankfully) post-abortion counselling. However, even after learning about the extensiveness of the organisation, I still felt uneasy about the situation and have many questions swimming around my brain yet to be answered.

The airing in itself completely goes against the Broadcast Committee of Advertising Practice (BCAP) statement on the subject released on March 1^st this year which stated that ‘advertisements for commercial post-conception advice services offering individual advice on personal problems will not be acceptable’. How they got round this one I do not know. On a more individual level, my heart goes out to every woman on this earth who may see this advertisement and have it remind them of the time that they decided (or had it decided for them) to have an abortion. Many women suffer years, often lifelong, of depression after a termination, especially around the anniversary of the abortion, and the birthday of their unborn child. How would seeing this droll advert make them feel? A pang of guilt I imagine, one that needn't be there as they already live with constant reminders and 'what ifs?'. There is always and will always be arguements for and against abortion, be those on religious grounds, moral grounds or personal experience - I find it strange that the producers of the advert went out of the way to show equality in terms of race and skin colour, but ignored the fact that some races or religions or whatever could be deeply offended by what Marie Stopes offer to women... I won't comment, as my opinion means nothing to you, but this does seem somewhat hypocritical. What effect might this advert have? Raising awareness of contraception, raising self esteem and body confidence is all well and good, but it feels peculiar and somewhat troubling to be witnessing what appears to be an increasingly lax attitude towards abortion - a casual perspective was employed by spokespeople supporting the decision to air the advert, one that provokes questions on whether they see termination as a form of contraception - will we see a rise in the percentage of terminated pregnancy as a result of this advert, and more if it turns out to be 'successful'? All this, and the nasty thoughts that came into my head when I researched the life of Marie Stopes, a fond follower of Adolf Hitler.

We do not need this. Whether it is right or wrong - you watch, you decide - we should be focussing on preventative measures: improved Sex and Relationships Education, increased self esteem from a young age and encouraging women of all ages to be mature enough to act responsibly.

Rubber up lads, rubber up.

Thought of the Day...

2010-05-22T16:35:58Z

Why is the plural of butterfly butterflies but the plural of greenfly is greenfly?

Hmm?

The Beauty of the Icelandic Volcano

2010-05-19T20:24:04Z

It caused distress, disruption and disgruntledness all over, but watch this, and you will forgive Eyjafjallajökull:

London 2012 Mascots Revealed - More Marmite?!

2010-05-19T19:02:24Z

I made an exception today. After hearing somewhere that the London 2012 mascots would be revealed on tonight's One Show, instead of turning it over to prevent my boyfriend yelling at me, I gritted my teeth and watched the first ten minutes. As an athletics and olympics fanatic, I was rather excited to see the new representees as soon as I could, and if it took watching the One Show, then that is what had to be done.

Please don't take offense here, but I would say that 'Wenlock and Mandeville' could be likened to Marmite - people will love them or hate them and I doubt there will be much middle ground. The pair of one-eyed, metallic looking, modern-twist-on-cute monsters have obviously been well thought through - in true digital-age spirit, they will be real both in the flesh and online... I'm thinking they will both be on Twitter before long, there'll be applications, facebook pages, blogs and continuations of the film which has been designed to introduce us to the history and making of each character. They will be everywhere, everywhere.

So, do we want them everywhere? Personally, at first glance I thought them to look a little too modern and not quite loveable enough: think Wall-E gone too far. But this was at a time when they were sitting still on a table with a load of middleaged people oggling over them. Seconds later, a link appeared on Twitter which led me to the said short-film - a quick history of how they came to be (fashioned from old leftover pieces of the steel used to build the Olympic stadium) told like a fairytale, all magic and innocence and rainbows. There are children and it captures that slightly annoying but completely understandable excitement of 'the night before something big' - the exact same as that you see in those Walt Dinsey World advertisements. Animation makes this rather less cheesy and far more appealing - probably something to do with the children not being played by bratty perfect-looking drama school kids.

On to Wenlock and Mandeville themselves, named after the Shropshire town of Much Wenlock that helped inspire Pierre de Coubertin to launch the modern Olympics and Mandeville, inspired by the Buckinghamshire town where the Paralympics were founded, they represent a huge amount of history despite their incredibly contemporary appearance. The mascots have quite obviously been designed with the younger generations in mind - they are fun, cool, have a sense of humour and will be fully integrated into schools, the internet and television. No matter what the oldies think, children will love these characters - and if that is what it takes to get young people more interested in sport and the Olympic spirit than McDonalds and Playstations, then it can only be a good thing.

I have a feeling there will be a backlash against W&M - not for a specific reason, simply because people like to moan, especially when things like this are modernised and we Britains can't face change, in this case, the big furry animal will do thank you, none of this new-fangled technological toys. But the designer has merely kept the mascots up to date - they are shiny, futuristic, trendy (I love the bangles signifying the Olympic rings) - they will capture imagination and spark interest in children, or at least the majority I expect (hope). Interactivity is a fantastic way to extend upon the idea of wanting an audience to form some kind of feelings or associations with a mascot and what it/they represent - more involvement means more interest, more time spent thinking and ideally, more time acting.

If these two new Mascots have the ability to encourage an ever-increasingly obese Britain to wake up and realise that exercise can be fun and something worth getting excited about, then we shouldn't care what colour, shape, species or sex they are - it is surely what they symbolise and how much positive hype they create. Let us not be uptight about this... just enjoy.

Watch the film:
bit.ly/cmcYFi

Children say the Funniest Things

2010-05-17T19:06:48Z

A little light heartedness, my blog is a little heated of late - time to lay back and have a giggle at a few of the conversations I have found myself in in less than a week of my employment at a high school.

"Miss, do you smoke?"
"No, and I wouldn't give you one even if I did."
"Yeah, but if you give me a fag today and then I ask you again and you say no then I'll grass you up for giving me one in the first place."

Q: Name two foods that contain iron.
A: Potatoes and biscuits.

"Miss, if you can't prove that aliens don't exist then that means that they must exist."
"But I can't prove that they do exist."
"But you're clever, so if you can't find a way to prove they don't then they just have to".
"Umm, ok"

Ahh, I love children.
x

36,000 Take to the Streets of Manchester

2010-05-16T20:23:32Z

In amongst the elites, the bananas, camels and little green men, I hammered the streets of Manchester, despite wanting desperately to stay put in my lovely warm bed. Shoving down my peanut butter sandwich-stylee breakfast whilst encouraging my boyfriend to facepaint my arms and legs, I realised that the race was due to start - very good job I live just around the corner from the start line.

The Great Manchester Run began in 2003 with just 10,000 runners. Now, Manchester closes down as it waits for 36,000 to snake through - eerily quiet in the early hours with a buzz developing and multiplying during the warmups and exploding with the sound of the first gun.

There is nothing like the sound of thousands of feet pounding the pavements, the cheers of support from strangers and the relentless musical encouragement from bands dotted all the way along the 10km course. The first km seems to last a worryingly long time, but the bottleneck start must have had something to do with that as the rest flowed nicely, with a reassuringly pleasurable ease - not that it was easy though, I'd still rather have been in bed for the most part. Unfortunately for me, the route has been changed so I no longer achieve my much needed happy boost that comes with running through and around Old Trafford - a wave was the closest I could get.

What is amazing about this run is simply the spirit. The whole city comes alive in support of the event, a huge majority of the runners are there in the name of charity and as you run with the masses, it's impossible to ignore the personalised running vests in memory of loved ones. It fills you with pride and no matter how tired or thirsty you are, no matter how much your head is banging or your stitch is making you want to bend over double, that pride carries you. I was determined not to stop, not even to walk for just a second and for once, the food did it's job, the pasta paid off and I finished the run with a personal best of 00:53:07.

For me, this was an accomplishment in more ways than one. A few years ago I finished the 10k on mind power alone, to find my mum crying as she had been asking the ambulance crews if I had collapsed and died on the way around the course - I hadn't eaten for most of the week before but went against everybody, including doctors, telling me I wasn't fit to run. This time last year I was celebrating my birthday in hospital, unable to walk further than a lap of a car park. That, my friends, is progress.

I have raised over £400 for Mind and have done myself proud in other ways too, including many sweets, carbs and an obscene amount of birthday cake!

So, this doesn't happen much - but GO ME!

An Apology

2010-05-15T17:31:20Z

I seem to have caused quite a kerfuffle. Time to say sorry...

Sorry to those who were upset by my blog, it may very well happen again so perhaps read something else.

Sorry to those who think that I am a bad journalist - I am actually a blogger and there is a difference, I choose the subject, I write my mind.

Sorry to those who can't take a bit of abuse with a pinch of salt. Man up.

Sorry to those with little or no sense of humour, you're missing out.

The Phillip Schofield Controversy Continued...

2010-05-14T15:21:56Z

I sleep for one night and work for one morning and my inbox is choca-bloca full with responses to yesterday's shenannigans regarding the 'Anorexia' topic on This Morning.

It kicked off just a few moments after posting my initial response on Twitter. First came a barrage of not-so-well thought out excuses and accusations from the man himself, Phillip Schofield. I gave as good as I got on and found that the majority of other commenters were 'on my side' so to speak - or at least respected the fact that there was good reason for me to be worried about the content that had gone out over national television.

I thought it best to summarise and put forward my defence in this new entry rather than replying individually to each thread, as many of the misunderstandings and judgements that have been thrown my way are all much of a muchness.

1. Nikki Graeme as a spokesperson for Anorexia 'awareness'.

I recieved many complaints about the way in which I wrote about Nikki, especially with reference to me describing her as 'Marmite'.
Describing anything or anyone as marmite is not offensive, it is merely a term that suggests the person has a very strong personality which provokes a strong reaction - either positive or negative. When she appeared on Big Brother, she was known for her tantrums and childlike behaviour, for which some fans warmed to her and others thought that she appeared as a spoilt brat. This is not my opinion of her, it is a fact that opinion was divided about her, hence the appropriate use of the term 'Marmite'. This was a description of her personality, NOT her illness.

One person argued that "Nikki Grahame cannot help the fact she is in the public eye". Two words: Big Brother.

Whether or not she is a valuable spokesperson for Eating Disorder Awareness is of course down to personal preference - I guess she is certainly an obvious choice: as a celebrity, she has a massive following already, is well-known and respected by many Brits and she is very open, honest and (I give her credit for this) brave when it comes to speaking in public about her experience with Anorexia. I, as do many others who contacted me as a result of my last post, believe that although she does definitely bring attention to the subject topic, it isn't always dealt with in the most sensitive manner. It is possible to discuss an illness, the symptoms and the impact it has on a sufferers life without having to give away explicit details about what exactly a person can do to further hide and lie about the seriousness of this mental illness. THAT is beyond the call of duty and it could potentially be very dangerous. If I was Nikki, and knew where such tips and tricks lead (nowhere good or useful), then I would know not to divulge such information when it is simply not needed.

Another point somebody made was that Nikki is not in a place recovery-wise to be seen as a role model to those who either look up to her from an outsiders standpoint or to those who have been or are going through the same or similar experiences. I know that she is honest and admits that perhaps she is not fully recovered (when prompted), but if that is the case then she shouldn't allow pictures of herself looking skeletal in a skimpy bikini to be placed on webpages, in magazines or anywhere that might provide (I hate this term) 'thinspiration' for vulnerable people. Contrary to popular belief, celebrities Do have an element of control over whether or not such pictures are allowed to be printed - someone in her position should know well enough that they could have a negative impact on others' thoughts about themselves and possibly consequential actions. I know that I posted a picture on here a long time ago, but the second I found that others might be unsettled by it, I cropped it - plus, I point on continuously that I am not preaching about recovery, I am merely writing about the struggle of the journey, the highs and the lows - with honesty, but sensored enough to know that it is safe to read.

2. The Content - Where to Draw the Line.

The content: interview with Nikki about her experiences growing up with Anorexia. Whether it was to raise awareness of Eating Disorders or just to plug her book (which I hear reads as a manual on how to sustain an Eating Disorder), there has to be a line drawn between giving out information and giving out too much information. As some people acknowledged in their replies, giving away tips about how to hide this illness from professionals can be likened to giving away tips on other dangerous activities such as self harm - or even bomb-making!

I will never, ever condone any programme that does all it can to promote awareness about Eating Disorders, but it is something that deserves to be talked about with respect, sensitivity and wisdom. Journalists, no matter how good or professional they are (and I do respect Phillip Schofield for what he does, believe it or not, I am a massive fan of his), need to be fully aware of the possible consequences of even one person picking up on something they have said which could have devastating consequences. Yes, you can find tips on how to trick your doctor into thinking you have gained weight when you haven't, but you can find a lot of things on the internet that are not allowed to be discussed on television, and therefore the whole 'they could have got these tips anywhere' excuse simply does not stand.

It is good to illustrate the sheer depth of desperation caused by Anorexia and other Eating Disorders, but with this illness in particular, it is incredibly secretive anyway, so highlighting ways in which sufferers could further distract attention away from their plummeting weight is potententially dangerous no matter which way you look at it. This is what caused my anger - that it could damage just ONE person.

3. Me, The Writer.

A minority of readers of my This Morning blog seem to think that I "put myself on a pedestal" when writing about Eating Disorders. This suggests that I am rather full of myself, overconfident, mouthy and don't listen or absorb what anybody else has to say. I, and all my friends and family and regular readers would disagree, as I am the complete opposite of all of those. I am sensitive, but blunt, open, but honest. I write about Eating Disorders not because I see myself as an expert, but because they have consumed over half of my life and those of many loved ones around me. I do not claim to know everything and I never correct others - everyone has their own experience and each Eating Disorder follows its own path. All I do here and all I have ever done is communicate to my readers the brutal reality of these serious mental illnesses. I tell my story, I share my thoughts and due to this, of course it is going to be from my perspective - how else would I allow people to see what it is like to live through illness and recovery if I looked at my life through an outsiders viewpoint? There is a huge difference between self-awareness and self-obsession. I am the former, not the latter.

A Selfless Good Deed?

2010-05-13T17:19:18Z

1998. I am 12 years old and watching Friends with my sisters. This one episode posed a question that I have found myself pondering ever since:

Rachel: Maybe Joey's right. Maybe all good deeds are selfish.
Phoebe: I will find a selfless good deed. 'Cause I just gave birth to three children and I will not let them be raised in a world where Joey is right.

Rather like Phoebe, I have always wanted to find something that I could do for the good of others without ultimately having the result make me feel smug or better about myself. Both of us have been disappointed though, as Phoebe demonstrates here when she thinks she has finally found the answer:

Phoebe: I have found a selfless good deed. I went to the park and let a bee sting me.
Joey Tribbiani: How is that a selfless good deed?
Phoebe: It makes the bee look tough in front of his bee friends. The bee's happy and I am definitely not.
Joey Tribbiani: Uh, Pheebs, you know the bee probably died after it stung you?
Phoebe: [stares blankly] ...Dammit.

Irritating is it not... all that episode, all my adult life, searching for some kind gesture that you could do to make someone or something else better without some annoying person being able to come along and say, “Well, yes, but it made you feel better too didn’t it?” You think you’ve done a good deed but from then, the seed is planted, did you do the said good deed with an ulterior motive, to make yourself feel better, to fulfil an obligation or to prove a point? What you thought had been a simple act of kindness is now attacking your conscience and making you question your own motives.

I have grown up doing voluntary work for everyone from St John Ambulance to Henshaws Society for the Blind and playing with disadvantaged children to feeding the homeless at a shelter. I cannot walk past a homeless person without giving them all my change and I sometimes buy a chocolate bar and leave it next to the sleeping bag they’re curled up in. I write for charities, I raise money for charities and do all I can to raise awareness of the ones I feel most passionately about. All very nice and lovely, but since that episode of Friends, I have been plagued with the notion that there was selfishness at work behind my decisions to help others. What I hate the most is when people confront you with that very question, “It made you feel better about yourself though didn’t it?” Of course it makes you feel better to be safe in the knowledge that you have done something that made someone smile, helped them through the day or simply showed that people do care... there is no denying that, and therefore, whether selfishness is the reason or not, it can sadly destroy the warm feeling that comes with giving generously.

For a while, I attempted to find a way around this argument by doing something that I truly hated in the name of charity. A 10km run. For some, running is a hobby, but for me it stirs up all kinds of hatred (see my 'Running on Empty' blog).

Despite all of this, and all of the mouthing off I did about hating running but doing it anyway simply to raise money for a charity WITHOUT enjoying what I was doing, I was still caught out. I felt good about challenging myself and doing something I wouldn’t choose to do because I was over the moon about the money I had made for the homeless people that I knew and loved.

It is impossible – there is no selfless good deed. But it is worth it!

This year I am running the Great Manchester Run for Mind

Please sponsor me at: www.justgiving.com/ilonacatherineburton

Phillip Schofield v. Me

2010-05-13T12:47:29Z

In response to my last blog, a can on Tweet-flavoured worms has exploded.

The Schofe is NOT happy with me:

@ilonacatherine what an ignorant blog. Do you think that we do these things for sensationalism? We had an expert on the condition there who
was very happy in our line of questioning and who had worked with Nikki. She left saying many sufferers would be helped..

the fact that you believe a sufferer of this condition would be helped ... by us is insulting in itself... That information is
available at the click of google, but without the back-up and support we went on to provide. Get into the real world!!

oh and what's more, how sensitive of you to dismiss someone who has struggled so much, as Marmite.

Your thoughts? Am I in the wrong? Am I ignorant?

Oh, feel free to add me on Twitter too!

This Morning on Anorexia - Irresponsible and Plain Stupid

2010-05-13T11:09:20Z

Never before has television coverage sparked such an immediately, uncontrollable anger from me. I do apologise if this piece of writing seems a little mixed up and messy - it is merely my response to something which sets off all my red lights, and that is indeed a rarity.

Nikki Grahame - ex-Big Brother contestant, Marmite personified although most people I know with any spark of intellegence would be on the 'hate' side. A strong word, but she didn't help herself from the start. This is not supposed to be a rant about her though, the poor girl has obviously had a very hard life and been through some exceedingly traumatic experiences - but is she the right person for the job of speaking out about Anorexia. No offence love, but if you canot get through an interview without being led to answer questions that should not even be asked on television, you should not allow yourself to be put in that position, especially if you totally lack the awareness of what could happen as a consequence of your actions and words.

The particular question that prodded me in all the wrong places was posed by Phillip Schofield on todays' This Morning on ITV. I could sense it coming, as I have experience of journalists gently forcing out the gory details and enjoying their reactions as I cleverly bend their words to answer in a way that I see as helpful, not giving in to their tangled web of explicit curiosity. They want an entertaining story, shocking facts, tales that make you gasp or squirm regardless of the expense at which they are told. I tell the truth.

"You found ways to trick the system to make them think you were getting better?"
"Yes"
"So, how did you do that, what tricks did you use?"
...

Her first response was to say that she had tried every trick in the book. Fine. She went on to give an endless list of the extremes she went to in order to trick her doctors into thinking she was getting better. Far from fine.

They MUST realise that among the millions of viewers, some of them will be suffering from Anorexia and/or Bulimia, may be in treatment and may wish to continue being ill - because that is what Eating Disorders do. To list a wide range of tips on how to get around the system is the most irresponsible and, in my opinion, truly sickening that anybody could do, and on television? I almost felt sorry for Nikki, as the little sod was simply answering whichever questions were asked of her, simple as. But Phillip Schofield, who I actually have a lifelong obsession with - has a chunk less of my respect than I had for him just one hour ago. It's saddening to see someone who is obviously rational enough to know that such a thing could be harmful to his audience, I just had to speak out.

All of this just to promote Nikki's book now available in paperback.

I used to laugh at people who complained about television programmes. Now I'm about to join them.

Running On Empty - Or Not

2010-05-11T10:57:57Z

I haven't talked food for a while have I? I enjoy writing about other things too, but let's get back on it today...

May 16th 2010 is not only the 24th anniversary of my birth, but also the day of the BUPA Great Manchester Run (10k) and I will be taking part for the fifth or sixth time, dressed as a birthday - like you do.

Running and I have a strange relationship. Now love/hate, but occassionally-enjoy/hate. I wish I could love it and enjoy it and use is as a tool to combat stress, pounding along the streets, wind in hair, music pumping, but unfortunately it reminds me far too much of ugly situations in the past. The first haunting memory is that of forcing down porridge and then spending my childhood Saturday mornings freezing my arse off running through muddy trails, hills and streams wearing nothing more than nasty knickers, t-shirt and a pained expression. I hated it. My sisters were taller, long-limbed and always came 1st or 2nd. I was shorter, stumpier, and because I used to spend my time sitting with my legs in very strange positions, I ran in the style of bambi - not conducive to any amount of satisfaction or pride in what I was doing, even when I did manage to skim 9th position.

The second memory were the runs that became a necessity as anorexia grew and I shrunk. Cold, windy, raining mornings along the seafront in Aberystwyth, not much to remember as it was all a blur. All I know is that I was running on empty and I gave my boyfriend the shock of his life once when I arrived back and immediately blacked out. Cold.

Fastforward to now. The last few weeks have not been ideal - I have been desperately searching for work since leaving inpatient but, as with thousands of others, have been repeatedly turned down due to lack of experience, overexperienced, fear that I'll leave as I won't feel challenged by the role - when really, I got so desperate that I would happily have stood at a checkout in Aldi. My Eating Disorder has always been very much linked into achievement, and tends to slip backwards when I feel as though I am making no progress in other areas of my life - so of course, this seemingly endless unemployment malarkey had a noticably negative impact on my eating and the way I have been thinking about food and weight. Always aware though, always fully aware. Breakfast was the first to go, and lunch replaced by smaller snacks, and a small meal at night if I felt I had to. No way to live, especially in the run up to a 10k race.

Thankfully, the recovery Gods must have been watching over me and I am now a Learning Support Assistant for pupils with Special Educational Needs at a high school in Stockport. Immediately I felt relief - a plan, do this, save, hopefully get accepted to start my Masters in September. Plans help.

Foodwise, every day is still a challenge, especially when it comes to the most vital fuel for running, carbohydrates. Rice, pasta, potatoes and bread were all foods that I would avoid at all costs when as was really ill and were also the most difficult to cope with whilst re-introducing 'fear foods' at hospital. The huge difference now is that no matter what my brain is telling me, I seem to have built up, through nothing other than constant practice, the ability or strength to act on what I know is right. It is hard and I can get very, very anxious, but I know it is what I have to do to avoid going anywhere close to those awful memories.

A little plea now: I have asked many people to sponsor me as I am running to raise money for Mind, but I think perhaps we have an understanding, you know how difficult this part of the run is for me - so I ask you to sponsor me for eating, for fighting, for packing myself full of pasta in preparation, because THAT is the harder part.

Thank you.

Ilona Burton is fundraising for Mind - The Mental Health Charity - JustGiving

Posted using ShareThis

Four Lions - The Funniest Film In The Whole Wide World

2010-05-10T23:11:21Z

Chris Morris is a genius.

That is all.

The Demise of the Pub Quiz

2010-05-05T17:28:24Z

I love a good pub quiz. I started going to them when I was little to help my parents due to their disgusting lack of knowledge about anything vaguely current in the entertainment world. Back then, a pub quiz was competitive, honest, a true test of common and specialist knowledge... the winners were rightful winners.

As I grew older and everybody became mobile phone users, I would get texts from my mum asking how many number 1 hits Oasis have had or what so and so said to so and so in some soap or other. My mum, an honest, trustworthy woman - cheating. We all did it, and it is only getting worse.

A few more years on and I sit at a table getting excited and shifting into competitive mode, ready to test my brain and impress everyone with my amazing knowledge of completely useless information and facts that nobody really cares about but still provoke a good "ooooh" sound of approval. I enjoy the smugness of getting a question right and then looking around at the puzzled faces and hushed discussions.

Now, it's all a load of crap. Rather than exercising our brains, we exercise our fingers - i-phones, Blackberries and other little internetty gadgets have pissed all over the institution that was the British Pub Quiz. No longer can you trust the other teams and rarely are the winners believable. Cheating is acceptable amongst friends... a sneaky text has been replaced with a google search or a song recognition application or immediate Twitter responses. I often wonder if we are just too lazy to even think? Too proud to just guess and maybe get a question wrong?

The only answer... exam conditions.

A non-election themed blog, but important nontheless, as I am off to a pub quiz tonight and I needed a pre-cheat-filled-bar rant beforehand. Thanks!