Dear Fred, From Percy

Dear Fred,

I am so, so sorry. For everything. And I know nothing can fix what I did to you and the rest of the family. Especially you. And knowing I can't ever make it up to you is the worst thing. Even though you forgave me I don't feel like it's fixed. You forgave me, but then you… you…

I can't even write it. Bloody hell. Every single day I have to live with the sound of your last words echoing around my head, the look on your face as it happened, and the knowledge that things could've been different. I can't even look at George anymore. I know if I do I'll just see this flaming accusation burning from his eyes. And it'll have every right to be there. 

I'm not staying at the burrow. I can't. But I guess I'm writing to you because I don't know what else to do.

I found my old Head Boy's badge in a drawer the other day. I sat for an hour trying to change it so it said "Pinhead", but I couldn't do it. I don't know how you two were so good at that kind of thing. "Big Head Boy". That was a good one, too. To be honest, considering the size my head was, I'm surprised it fit up Fudge's arse. There, I told another joke! And you're not here to celebrate with me. I also insulted the Minister! Ex-Minister, I suppose, but the point still stands; a lot has changed. Not all for the better. Voldemort is gone, and I am happy for that, but so are you. I just have to pray that is worth it. Though I do not see how it ever could be. We have all lost a brother, or son, or a friend, a brilliant young inventor. George has lost half of who he is.

Are you happy up there, Freddy? That's all I need to know. You need to be happy, otherwise I don't know if I can ever work through this… this pain in my chest every time I hear a joke, or pass your shop, or Mum cooks your favourite meal without realising. Although she probably does realise. Too late, maybe.

I miss you, little brother. More than my past actions could ever have suggested I would.

Your ever-loving brother,

Percy

Read the first letter from George here.

Read the second letter from George here.

Read the letter from Ron here.

Read the letter from Ginny here.

Please contact me in some way if you wish to use this letter for other uses, and please attribute it to me, otherwise it could be considered plagiarism of my work and that will not be tolerated. Thanks, guys.

Hey Fred, It's George Again

Hey again, Fred,


Things have been pretty crazy around here lately. Everyone's going back to work and stuff. Well, apart from Hermione and Ginny. They're heading back to Hogwarts. I don't know how they can do it, after everything that happened there. I know I couldn't.


So, I'm supposed to be reopening the shop. But I don't know if I can. Because... I know if I go in there, I'll see something you thought up, or an item that brings back memories of conversations with you, and it doesn't matter whether the conversation was one that made us laugh 'til we cried, or one about stock and margins, because it'll feel like my heart is being pulled through my stomach either way.


Dad says I have to go back though. He said by running the store I can keep you alive through your work there. Like a legacy. Pretty crappy way of keeping you alive, eh, Freddo? So I guess I'll have to go back. But I'm doing this for you, yeah? Anything I do now I'm doing for you, like forcing a smile at Mum when I come down to breakfast each morning, to let her know I'm okay. Even if I'm the furthest from okay.


I asked Ron to help me with the store. I am not replacing you. I can't replace you. But neither can I run that place by myself. So I asked him. It's not full time, it's just in-between his auror training. Ickle Ronnikins is becoming an auror. It's pretty cool.


He should be able to come up with some good products for the shop. Nothing as good as you could, though. I've still got that list of potential products we wrote out before the war started. Maybe I'll get Ron to help make them. He'd make a good test dummy for them. I've always wanted to see what he looks like without eyebrows.


I miss you. You know I do. Those three words really don't cover it, do they? "I miss you". What a load of bollocks. I'm not me anymore. You're gone and now I'm half of a whole, but it feels like less than that. I'll be sitting at dinner and someone will make a remark we would make a joke out of, and I glance across the table to where you'd be sat, almost smirking at the quip forming in my head, only to be smacked in the face by the reminder that you're not there. I'll have an idea in the middle of the night, so I'll voice it to you, but I'm only answered by silence, instead of a quiet chuckle or a reassuring word.


There, that's closer to the truth. Words will never be able to say how it really feels though.


Also, by taking you, I think Death's bitten off a bit more than he can chew. Show him what you got, Forge. For me?


George


Read the first letter from George here.
Read the letter from Ron here.
Read the letter from Ginny here.
Read the letter from Percy here.


Please contact me in some way if you wish to use this letter for other uses, and please attribute it to me, otherwise it could be considered plagiarism of my work and that will not be tolerated. Thanks, guys.

Dear Fred, From Ron

Heya, Fred.
Gosh, this is hard. I don't know where to begin. This was Hermione's idea, see. She suggested I write to you, say what I'm feeling. That's so her, isn't it? So, err, speaking of, we're sort of kind of together now. Finally, right? You've been nagging me for years. I say sort of because it's kind of not the right time now, you know? Everyone's struggling to mend. It wouldn't be right. And I don't think I could cope. It's just too much.


No one really does anything anymore at home. So many times over the past months I've found us all just sitting in silence in the kitchen, making endless mugs of tea that we don't even drink. I'm fairly sure Dad's shedload of muggle crap is just gathering dust. Don't even get me started on George. He hasn't been in your room since the battle. If he needs something from in there he gets Mum to fetch it for him. He's moved into Percy's old room. Seems reasonable. It's the barest in the house. It's like one of those crazy muggle monk cell things. Means there's nothing to remind him of the fact you're not there.


I feel like I've lost an arm, Fred. I can't even begin to imagine how George feels. He just looks so broken. Harry described him as seeming like Barty Crouch Jr. did after that dementor got him. It's a scary thought. I'm beginning to think he's going to end up doing something really reckless just to feel something again.


He splinched himself when we came home from Hogwarts in May, you know. Managed to leave behind a massive chunk of his thigh. It wasn't pretty. You two were always brilliant at apparating, though.


But yeah, enough about George. I'm sure you know how much he needs you back. But I need you, too. Who's going to turn my teddies into spiders now, and who's going to tease me about Hermione?


I have something to ask you. George wants me to help him with the joke shop. I haven't said yes yet, though. I wanted to check with you, first. I mean, I'm not you, Fred. I'm no prankster. I can't think of the kinds of ideas you and George did. I can help with the spellwork and till, I guess. But it won't be the same. It's your business. I never had anything to do with it. So can you help me decide what to do? Just no spiders, please.


Missing you,
Ronniekins
P.S I was joking when I asked who's going to turn my teddies into spiders. I don't need anyone to turn anything into spiders. I don't have teddies either. Promise.


Read the first letter from George here.
Read the second letter from George here.
Read the letter from Ginny here.
Read the letter from Percy here.


Please contact me in some way if you wish to use this letter for other uses, and please attribute it to me, otherwise it could be considered plagiarism of my work and that will not be tolerated. Thanks, guys.

Dear Fred, From Ginny

Freddy,


I'm still in denial. I still think you're going to leap out at me from behind the sofa to scare me, like you did when we were little, or come hurtling out of your room with George, thick, rotten-egg smelling smoke pouring from the door in your wake, you two cackling away as mum berated you and prayed for the day the school term started again.


But George doesn't laugh any more. The corners of his mouth twitch when Mum scolds Ron, but there's no light in his eyes.


He doesn't sleep in your room anymore. He's supposed to sleep in Percy's old room, but whenever I come downstairs in the middle of the night he's there, on the couch, staring at the wall, shadows bruising his eyes, and his cheeks glistening.


I'd never seen him cry before the day you... You died. He's not my Georgy anymore.


The house is a mess. The garden gnomes seem to be setting up a gnome city in the garden. Mum keeps on burning the food. We played quidditch the day before your funeral to distract ourselves. I cut myself on the horrible nail in the broom shed again. Remember when I tried to use your broom when I was ten, and I caught myself on that? It hurt so much and I was convinced I was going to die, there was so much blood, but I couldn't tell Mum because I wasn't supposed to go in the broom shed. You and George found me and you tore off the edge of your robes, even though they were your best pair, and you wrapped it around the cut and told your best jokes to make me laugh. And then you let me wipe my nose on your sleeve and you took my back to the house.


See, this is why I need you! To let my wipe my snotty nose on your robes and make me laugh. I need you two to shut Ron up about Harry and I, to stop Mum's sobs leaking through the wall every night, and to get Dad talking about all that crazy muggle stuff again. I need you to get Percy to stop tearing all his hair out in anguish, to get Charlie to stop pacing the yard looking distant, and to get Fleur back to her normal infuriating self, instead of the mopey shade of her former self she's become. Congratulations, big brother, you made the lustrous veela flower wilt.


But most of all I just want you to tell me you're okay, somehow. Send me a flaming toilet seat or something, I don't care. Or just come back, Freddy. Make us all whole again. I need my big brother.


More love than you could ever imagine,
Ginny


Read the first letter from George here.
Read the second letter from George here.
Read the letter from Ron here.
Read the letter from Percy here.


Please contact me in some way if you wish to use this letter for other uses, and please attribute it to me, otherwise it could be considered plagiarism of my work and that will not be tolerated. Thanks, guys.

Dear Fred, From George

Dear Fred,


Today has been the hardest day since you passed away. It was your funeral. And I know you've been sat up there for the past few days yelling at me for being such an idiot, to man up and be braver. During all the planning sessions mum had for the service, I couldn't stay in the room, the table littered with fliers for flowers, headstones and coffins. I didn't have the strength to stay there and tell everyone that you didn't want rows of mourners, the overwhelming death-scent of lilies filling some stifling marquee or some stuffy old man talking about you as if he knew you. How dare some guy ever pretend that. I knew you. And through you I understood myself. But I couldn't speak up and say this. The only thing I was able to do was punch Harry for blaming himself for your death. Specky git. I told him you wouldn't want him stealing your thunder.


But the service went ahead, with lilies, and rows of mourners. Ron was able to say no to the guy who spoke at Bill and Fleur's wedding doing the funeral, though. Why couldn't I do that? Kingsley spoke instead. And bloody Ron stopped Kingsley in the service and he and Lee brought out loads of fireworks, and did the service how you would've wanted. He even inscribed "Mischief managed" on your headstone. I couldn't do this. I couldn't do anything. I just stood there and watched him take charge, like I should've done.


See? I need you here. I need you with me, Freddy. It's like you've died and taken every drop of Gryffindor bravery from me. I might as well be a Hufflepuff now. No, even that's too good. If I were a Hufflepuff at least my bloody loyalty would make me say something.


I don't know what I am, or who I am without you. And I know you're yelling at me to stop moping and start living both our lives in your place. But I can't, Fred! How am I supposed to function when there's only half of me left?


Help me,
George


Read the second letter from George here.
Read the letter from Ron here.
Read the letter from Ginny here.
Read the letter from Percy here.


Please contact me in some way if you wish to use this letter for other uses, and please attribute it to me, otherwise it could be considered plagiarism of my work and that will not be tolerated. Thanks, guys.

Heroes Are Bad For My Mental Stability (If It's Possible For It To Get More Off-Kilter)

This isn't exactly about The Matrix. It's more of an insight into the female mind and a lot of raving about how much I love Neo. Those two things are linked.


I've just watched the entirety of The Matrix for the first time (don't give me that look, I've seen disjointed sections of it before, just never the whole thing. I was four when it originally came out, so it's hardly my fault). Much to the chagrin of my Twitter followers, I documented my reactions and thoughts to the entire thing. Of course, being me, I didn't bother to tweet about my observations about the underlying hints to other things, like the very obvious meaning behind naming the protagonist Neo, as it is both an anagram of 'one' (and he is The One) and means rebirth, a hint at later events in the film, and the less obvious link to the Cold War and it's way of explaining déja vu (leading us to think that we are living in the matrix as it does so). No, I did not tweet those things. Excerpts from my tweeting include "Mouse <3 #thematrix" and "Kiss her! Dammit. #TheMatrix" along with numerous quotes from the film, like "'Only human.' 'Dodge /this/.'". 


But I digress. Onto the actual topic of this post, which can be summed up in my tweet of "Neo became super manly and now I'm ridiculously attracted to him.#TheMatrix #beingfemale". Firstly I would like to state how I do not actually find Keanu Reeves (Neo, for those of you who've spent your lives in a nuclear bunker 72.37 miles below ground) that attractive. He's just not my type (I don't think I really have a type, but if I do, he's not it). That said, about two thirds of the way through the film, his character suddenly gets cool. And when it happens, it feels a little like you've stepped into a different movie, because Neo stops being this somewhat geeky 20-something that's slightly unnerved by all that's going on, dons a mahoosive black macintosh and seriously kicks some ass. Out of flipping nowhere. At this point I tweeted "I like how Neo SUDDENLY gets epic. #TheMatrix", but you have to believe me that when I say 'like', I mean 'like'. And here we get to the point of this all. I'm still slightly baffled by the feelings I'm going through right now, and I wish I could find an explanation for only liking someone because they have the ability to beat some serious computer-program ass. Okay, maybe that's a reason in itself. 


This feels like it's verging in the direction of me rambling about the reasons women go for the wrong type of men. So I shall try my hardest to prevent that from happening.


Talking about this has made me realise that I'm going to have to spend my life avoiding all men who could possibly get themselves into situations where they end up saving the day in a bad-ass way, due to my apparent intense attraction to men capable of saving-the-day-bad-assery. Yes, that is a word. Failure to do so will certainly end in me throwing myself at said men, and a lot of subsequent embarrassment which will then lead to me spending the remainder of my life in a nuclear bunker 72.37 miles below ground, and therefore missing out on things like the fact that Keanu Reeves plays Neo in The Matrix. 


At least it'll be warm there.

Oops.

So it's been a little bit too long since I last posted on here. But that was bound to happen. I'm a fan of spontaneity. Especially when I'm in hyperactive mode.

The thing about my hyperactive mode these days is that it isn't all that visible on the outside. Unless I let it be, of course. If that happens then I tend to do a lot of bouncing on the spot. That's probably the most obvious outward symptom. That and extreme randomosity. Anyway, as I was saying, before the sudden TANGENT ATTACK, I'm currently in internal hyperactivity mode. I'm not sure if that should be hyphenated or not. My mind is going too fast. Currently it's flicking between perfume, blogging, needing a shower, needing to go and revise, checking my phone (no new texts), checking Facebook (nothing new there, either), feeling guilty about the fact that I had two cupcakes and two large pains au chocolats for breakfast, and some song lyrics. All in about twenty seconds.

This makes me sound like I have ADHD. But I don't. At least I think I don't. I know I don't have all of it, at least. My brother has ADD, though. Which means he didn't get the results for his end of school exams that he wanted, because he couldn't bring himself to revise properly. I got the HD. Which, from my dad's side of the family, which has a history of it, means that I'm fairly likely to become a manic depressive. My parents managed to create some pretty messed up kids.

My nail varnish is peeling. ):

*scratches eyebrow*

P.S (Despite the fact that I never really ended the post properly) OH! City of Fallen Angels by Cassandra Clare comes out in America today, meaning that my special edition copy from Barnes & Noble ships today, which means I will receive it in the next 4 to 14 days! YAY!

13/02/11

If I'm being perfectly honest, this week hasn't been the greatest. It's been pretty hard. Now, I'm not a crier, which, if you know me personally, you will probably know. It takes a fair bit of rubbish-ness to get me to cry, and I've never properly cried at books or films (until this week, but still). That said, this week must have set some kind of personal best for amount of breakdowns, and, to make it worse, all of the four times were in public places. Yay me. (Note that at this moment, the part of me that is all "No! You are Magda Salvesen, and you do NOT cry, remember! You are stronger than that, stop it!" is currently sitting on my shoulder sarcastically applauding and cheering, basically calling me a wussy idiot.)

The first mini-breakdown was at this big termly Christian youth event called Vertigo that my area has... well, every term, the second at church the next evening, and the third in the middle of Christian Union at school. The third time was the worst, probably, because it came out of no where, and seemed to shock my friends quite a bit. Embarrassing. The last time doesn't really count because it wasn't for the same reason as the other three, but it did break my record of not having cried at a book or movie in at least 6 years. Long story short (the story being Kazuo Ishiguro's "Never Let Me Go", I went to see the new film of it, knowing pretty much nothing about the story, and not having seen the trailer, only knowing it had Andrew Garfield (my sole reason for going), Carey Mulligan, Keira Knightly and Andrea Riseborough in it (and the guy who played Bill Weasley in the latest Harry Potter, as I later discovered), and, brilliant as the movie was, it is absolutely devastating. Last thing on the Friday of a week where I hadn't slept well and had been fairly miserable was a bit to much, and at the end of the movie I just ended up sobbing for five minutes, while my parents failed to comfort me because they were trying not to laugh at this teenage girl who seemed completely disconsolate. Sometimes, my parents really aren't very good at their jobs.

So yeah, rough week. I'm hoping the next few days will be better, but I have grade predictions, and if I don't get my personally minimum standard of 8 A*s, I'm screwed.

I also just made the decision to spend my day watching Lord of the Rings to comfort myself, and then realised I don't have seven hours to spare. 

Disappoint.

The Art of Fiction

I spend a lot of my time thinking in hypothetical situations, like small movie clips in my head. I think very visually, and therefore the way I think through situations is by playing it like a scene in a film in my head, trying out different outcomes for said situation. If I'm honest, large amounts of reading means that the hypothetical outcomes tend to rely on me being a bolder and more dramatic person than I actually am. The scenes are like works of fiction. They would work perfectly in books, but would never happen in real life. Or at least not in my life.

In this post I'm going to create a situation, and show it in two different fictional ways, and the way it would actually happen.

Fictional Scene Version 1 - The Fairy Tale Fiction

She was about to turn the page before realising that she hadn't taken in anything the past page and a bit had said. Sighing, she cast her eyes back to the start of the chapter, and started reading it again.

She looked up as someone entered the alcove she was sat in. It was Alex, a boy on her philosophy course who she had spoken to a few times. One of her best friends spent quite a lot of time with him, but whenever she was he didn't so much as glance at her, didn't even blink when she raised a hand in greeting, and for some reason it kind of ticked her off. She wasn't sure why she cared; she didn't know the guy. He was just a friend of a friend.

Maybe that was the problem. If he didn't know her, what reason would he have for failing to acknowledge her existence? He could return the greeting out of politeness, surely?

Alex scanned the bookshelves, not seeming to have noticed her. Then again, it would be hard to tell if he had. She lowered her eyes to her book.

"Hey. Georgie, right?"

She looked up again, hastening to cover up the surprise she could feel etched onto her face.

"Uh, yeah. Hi."

"I'm sorry, this might seem a little weird, considering we haven't spoken before. I'm Alex, I'm a friend of Catherine's." He held out a hand, and Georgie took it somewhat hesitantly.

"I know," she said, and realised as Alex winced slightly it must have come out rather harshly.

"Yeah, I expect you do. Look, I'm sorry for never having said hi before. Must have seemed kinda rude..."

"It's okay."

"No, it isn't. I haven't got an excuse for not doing so. Hell, I haven't even got a genuine reason for it." He ran a hand through his hair nervously.

"Okay."

Alex glanced down at the book in his hands.

"Right, well, I have to go, but I'll see you around."

"Bye." She half lifted a hand to give him a brief wave. Just as he brushed past her, he paused.

"Want to get coffee some time?"

"Sure," she smiles.

"Good. Well, I'll see you in class."

Fictional Version 2 - The Teen Angst Fiction

She was about to turn the page before realising that she hadn't taken in anything the past page and a bit had said. Sighing, she cast her eyes back to the start of the chapter, and started reading it again.

She looked up as someone entered the alcove she was sat in. It was Alex, a boy on her philosophy course who she had spoken to a few times. One of her best friends spent quite a lot of time with him, but whenever she was he didn't so much as glance at her, didn't even blink when she raised a hand in greeting, and for some reason it really ticked her off. She wasn't sure why she cared; she didn't know the guy. He was just a friend of a friend.

Maybe that was the problem. If he didn't know her, what reason would he have for failing to acknowledge her existence? He could return the greeting out of politeness, surely?

Alex scanned the bookshelves, not seeming to have noticed her. Then again, it would be hard to tell if he had, she thought bitterly. She glowered at an inappropriate etching on the desk.

"What're you reading?"

She looked up, meeting his eyes. Her stare was cool, blank.

"Why?" she asked flatly, not looking away from him, a small part of her wondering at the strangeness of how a face shows nothing, nothing, of what a person is actually thinking. There was no way 'the windows of the soul' could ever show how many thoughts were flying around her head at that moment, mere centimetres behind them.

Alex seems to shrink slightly at her glare. Good, she thought, at least now he knows how I feel every time he looks past me as if no one's there.

"I was just asking..."

"Do you always interrupt people you've never spoken to before when they're working, or is that a privilege you save just for me?" she spat, half wondering where this ferocity was coming from. It raged inside her like a possessed animal, hissing and spitting, hackles raised.

Alex seemed to be about to say something, but Georgie wasn't finished.

"Did you ever even notice me? Did you realise I was there? Or could you not be bothered to turn and say hello? Are you so much better than me that I wasn't worth speaking to?" She ended, suddenly very weary, the fire that had boiled inside simmering down to embers. "Actually, whatever. Save your excuses. I don't want them." She stood, throwing her book into her bag and shouldering it. As she strode away one thought made her smile. He could hardly fail to notice her now.

Real Life Version - How (Unfortunately) It Would Actually Happen

She was about to turn the page before realising that she hadn't taken in anything the past page and a bit had said. Sighing, she cast her eyes back to the start of the chapter, and started reading it again.

She looked up as someone entered the alcove she was sat in. It was Alex, a boy on her philosophy course who she had spoken to a few times. One of her best friends spent quite a lot of time with him, but whenever she was he didn't so much as glance at her, didn't even blink when she raised a hand in greeting, and for some reason it kind of annoyed her a little. She wasn't sure why she cared; she didn't know the guy. He was just a friend of a friend.

Maybe that was the problem. If he didn't know her, what reason would he have for failing to acknowledge her existence? He could return the greeting out of politeness, surely?

Alex scanned the bookshelves, not seeming to have noticed her. Then again, it would be hard to tell if he had.

Alex found the book he was looking for and left, not even glancing at her as she passed. Georgie closed her book and picked up her bag. There was no way she would be able to concentrate now.

And that's the art of fiction. If all books/TV shows/films were written like the events would happen in real life, no one would read/watch them. Apart from really boring people. And people who are severely depressed over how boring their lives are. And people who like satire. Boring satire. Why? Because nothing would happen. Instead of the two characters becoming friends or going out, nothing happens. They live their lives, the girl remembering with some sadness the guy that never noticed her, and the guy just lives his life, perhaps never even realising she exists.

So, from now on, I will never complain when a book is unrealistic. Okay, that's a lie, because I know I will.

I'll just remember to keep in mind that essentially, real life can be a total let down in the interesting zone. But it certainly has its moments.

Penguin Stickers of Distraction

So this is a complimentary blog to Diary of a Mythical Warrior (In Training); just a place for me to explain some of the things that happen in that, and to talk about what's happening to the real me (dragons and unicorns or not, I'm not sure I'd want to exchange my life for Malina's. Her penchant for disaster makes me thankful for the days where the worst trouble I come across is having to think up a new excuse for not handing in homework.)

Anyway, hi! My name's Magda, if you're reading this without knowing me personally. I'll start off by explaining how Diary of a Mythical Warrior (In Training) (we'll call it DOAMWIT) came about. Though, if I'm honest, you still may not understand/find it as humourous as it was at the time. Basically, over New Years, I was staying with my cousin in Kent (near London, UK), and we has been sitting in her room for several hours watching endless episodes of Ugly Betty. Anyway, to make a long story short, I got hungry, and, remembering there was left over pizza from the night before, and had the following conversation with my cousin:

"Bea?"

"Mmmyeah?"

"I'm hungry."

"Okay."

...

"Can I get the pizza from last night from the fridge?"

"Sure."

"Will you come with me?"

"Mmmmno."

"Please?"

"Why?"

"Because I might get eaten by the fridge-tigers."

Now, me saying peculiar things to and with Bea is a pretty average occurrence, but on this particular occasion, she gave me a look that would suggest I had never said anything out of the ordinary before. Either that or the kind of look someone would give you if you wandered into town with a large penguin sticker stuck to your forehead as a method of distracting people from a large spot on your chin.

Trust me, I've thought about trying it.

Anyway, from there, things just kind of escalated, to the point where Malina Silverlight was invented, and she even started her own blog.

Right, enough about DOAMWIT. This is my blog.

Song of the week: Pixie Lott's cover of Apologise. Great song. Pixie's voice sounds brilliant in it, and the acoustic guitar part is wonderful. If there are two faults I can find with it though. It's only two minutes long, and it ends very suddenly. She's really belting it out, and then it all just stops. She's softly repeats the first line of the song and then it's all over, leaving it feeling almost unfinished, and me feeling cheated.

TV program of the week: Fast and Loose. This is a brilliant new stand up comedy program in the UK. I've only seen one episode so far (this week's episode is sitting on my TV, waiting to be watched), but I was blown away by how brilliant it was. There was one game at the end called Sideways Scene, which caused me to have one of those "Why has nobody done this before?!" moments. Here's an example of it, but not the particular scene I saw: Fast and Loose: Sideways Scene

Culture item of the week: Chekhov's The Seagull. I saw this on Friday with my family and absolutely loved it. It was a student production and I really don't think they could have done a better job of it. Unfortunately, the very last line lets the rest of the play down a bit, but I won't say what it is, because it ruins the whole thing. Maybe that's why I don't like it. There was one line that stuck in my mind, though. I'm not sure why. It was "Let me start with the man who was woken by the sound of the rain. The rest can go."

(Almost) disaster of the week: My church went on a retreat this weekend, including all but three of the fourteen interns, and with them they took quite a lot of the sound equipment, including the decent AV boxes (guessing at the name here), the bass amp, and the keyboard. As I had to go out to dinner at the time worship practice was supposed to end, and the multitude of problems meant it took a while to get started, I only got the chance to practice two of the songs, having to bluff my way through the rest. Amazingly though, the actual worship session went really well (hence the (almost) disaster of the week). Moral of the story? Next time the whole church decides to pack up and leave, chain down your equipment. Or anyone who has anything to do with worship who's leaving for the weekend. Either will do.

Photo of the week:

I actually took this on the 18th of January. It's slightly out of focus, as I was being hurried along by my friend Hannah at the time, and the moon is far too central, but I quite like it.

My mission for the week: Be more forgiving. Enjoy the little things. Take more photographs.