Halloween post

Introduction

I thought you said Ador, at first. A brand name. An Ador curtain; graceful, flowing. The way Tomkins pronounces Adair, and I correct him every time.

I thought you said adore. To love with great passion. Adore curtains. Adore their gracefulness. You bought some today.

What you said was a door curtain. For this Saturday. A black and orange door curtain to set the scene for Halloween.

Halloweenscape

Our house has been transformed.

In the hallway there is a green bulb to light the staircase and welcome our guests. There is a door to left and right.

On the left, the kitchen, labelled 'Blood Bank'. Our vampiric sustenance is stored there.

On the right, the living room, a dungeon covered in cobwebs. The door curtain leads the way in. Everyone enters at their own peril. Bats hang from the ceiling, spiders scuttle across the finger buffet. Macabre music chills the bones of every guest.

Up the stairs, the bathroom has been labelled 'Room of Doom'. Skeletal arrows on the staircase lead the way. Inside the walls are green and gungey, but the light is red. There is a rat on the windowsill to guard the exit, and a china doll stares from the corner.

None of our delightful guests will escape tonight.

29th October is Our Halloween Night

What a laugh we had! It was a full house. But, from the start.

I got dressed up at five thirty. On came the dress with the floaty black sleeves. And the black veil to match. On went the dark eye make up and the black lipstick. Done.

The house, as I say, was transformed.

And my family had turned into the Devil, the Bride of Dracula, a witch and a victim of the mad axeman.

Just after seven o'clock the Devil's twin, the witch's sister and an oddly painted man arrived (AKA Tomkins, Amy and Danny). We started on the lager and the wine respectively, and ate fingers and eyeballs from the nicely arrayed buffet table. Soon other people arrived. Peter and Lindon brought their kids Emily, a nun, and Matthew, as himself, and the kids they're babysitting for the weekend, Elinor, Rowena and the twins Aredhel and Rosalynd. The twins are six years old. My Grandma came as a witch. She stood sipping Croft in the kitchen, chatting to Matthew. She let him have a taste of her Croft:

"Mmm... it tastes like communal wine."

"If that tastes like communal wine, I'll start going to church."

Sarah's (AKA the Bride of Dracula's) boyfriend Sam arrived. Don't let him know that she's being unfaithful, or there'll be hell to pay. Her best friend the fairy arrived shortly afterwards.

My Mam's workmates and my friends Mark and Laura arrived. Dressed up as the guy from Prodigy and a funny looking army nurse. What that's got to do with Halloween I haven't a clue.

Paul arrived wearing an orange T-shirt with 'Pennsylvania Psycho Ward 54363' on it and called it a costume. He didn't stay for long, because less than an hour later he left with Mark and Laura and went clubbing in Newcastle. (Today he came apologising for his scummy behaviour and impoliteness last night, and he brought lager and chocolate as a peace offering. Needless to say I forgave him.)

Tomkins had gone mad with face paint - it ought to be renamed 'face, ears, neck, arm and hand paint'. Yes, he was that stupid. And now there is a pink trace all over the house to indicate his movements last night. Luckily, it comes off with bleach.

The twins got their hands on a wand that flashes green and pointed it at people shouting "DIE!"

Danny got extremely drunk, which has never happened before in the history of Dannydom. He went for random walks up the street and climbed over the fence even though the gate was open. Later on, after I'd passed out, he threw up in the bathroom right next to the toilet.

Myself, Tomkins, Amy and Danny decided to call on an old friend. We haven't seen him since... last year. And he lives across the road from me. Unfortunately he wasn't in, but his parents were and we love his parents because they are cool. So we got invited in for a beer as Margaret sat knitting and Akhtar watched Halloween H2O. Then we went back to mine without anyone realising we had gone.

I fell asleep at about 12 on the settee. When I woke up Amy was on the opposite settee, Sarah and Sam were on the floor, Lorna and Emma were asleep in the bunkbeds and Tomkins was turning my white duvet covers pink.

It was the best night I've had in ages.

Roll on Thursday, when Tomkins turns 18.

The Journey

From Villiers Park.

As I came ashore, dripping salt water on the virgin sands, I could have sworn I heard a dove cooing somewhere in the leafy paradise.

I felt ashamed, leaving my footprints in the flat white sand. This island was meant to be forever untouched. I knew it instinctively.

It was calm, peaceful, warm. The sun was blazing hot on my back. I was eager to leave the beach. It felt too open, too treacherous.

It's only a beach, I said. No need to be afraid.

It's not the beach I'm afraid of.

I wasn't going to hang around, in any case. It would be much safer in the forest.

It enveloped me. I could stay a mystery to the island in here.

Why was I thinking of the island as a person? Surely it was ridiculous. But somehow it wasn't ridiculous.

"It's not all in my head," I said aloud.

Silence. Then cooing again.

And suddenly there it was. The dove. My guardian angel. A lone dove living on an island.

"Show me the way."

The way to where?

I don't know.

It did not fly away. Stubborn.

We stared and stared.

Then it lifted its angelic wings and alighted on my shoulder.

I named him Pedero. He became my spirit in what was to follow.

Thus began my journey.

My Attempt at Writing a Villanelle

I have no idea what to write,
But Julie says I must.
I might just do it, I might.

The villanelle structure is too tight
And everyone looks smarter than me
...I have no idea what to write.

I'm feeling the flow, it's like a kite;
The wind is taking me higher
...I might just do it, I might.

I'm trying my best, it's making me fight.
The villanelle doesn't want to work.
...I have no idea what to write.

Now it's working, a beautiful sight;
The structure unfolds down the page
...I might just do it, I might.

And now like a blind one I see the light.
It's written; it's finished.
...I didn't know what to write
But I might write one again, I might.

The very first piece of work I wrote at Villiers Park.

By the way, the last line was an outright lie.

Writing in Panic

I never mentioned my first relationship to anyone in very much detail. That's misleading, because it was a big part of my life. I'm still unsure about telling people about it even now. There were just so many taboos involved. And even now, I'm scared that someone I know will read what I've written about it. Feelings between us, and between me and my old friends, run deep.

I'm in the college computer room. The girl sitting beside me has left, and it's a relief because she was listening to Evanescence - music that I associate with my ex. Whenever I hear it my old feelings come back... depression, anger, sadness, hopelessness. Pure despair. I was so young. But while I regret the whole thing, I can't deny that it shaped me into the person I am. I learned a lot from it. I grew up quickly. I suppose (one admits reluctantly) it helped me in the long run.

I had to write about this because my feelings were building up when the music came on. Moving on from that...

I'm going back out tonight. To Ku club. Most people agree that it's a shit tip, but it's not so bad if you're with your friends and you enjoy the music. I love my nights out there.

Helen isn't going this week. Last time we went her knee dislocated itself and the silly woman pushed it back in place. It's still not healed so it's possible she's trapped a nerve or something in it. I don't know what the doctors have said - only that she has to stay at home and put no strain on it for a couple of weeks. Since Helen's not going out, I can stay at Ku till 2 or 3 in the morning if I like. That's a good thing - anything to delay saying goodbye to Paul, because I always find it really hard. I have to try not to forget myself like I usually do, as I've got Maths at 9 the next morning. I know it must seem like a stupid idea to go out when I have a lesson the next morning, but nothing will stop me going out. I need it for my sanity.

I was thinking of a new idea for a short story. I guess you could call it a fanfiction, but everyone will laugh at me if I tell them which literary work it's based on. So I'm not going to tell anyone. When I get the time, I'm going to start writing it. And when I finish, I'm going to post it here, along with my Villiers Park work. And I would appreciate some constructive feedback from the VP guys. (VP always reminds me of the word 'viper'.)

I think I've calmed down after the music. So I'm going to stop writing. It's over now.

A Reflection at the Beginning

Forgive me, but I am going to talk about lovey dovey things.

Paul told me last night that I was easy going. We talked about when he asked me out, about how nervous he was. He said that he knew that if I had said no, I was the sort of person who would tell him why. That made me think... I haven't always been this way.

All of my other relationships were a flop. I always had doubts from the beginning. The first was a disaster, and I barely got out with my life. It was like trainspotting without the drugs... intense. We had our own kind of drugs, which I won't go into for the sake of respectability.Yes, it was very intense. Love/hate. Feelings so strong that they continue even today, more than three years later. The next relationship lasted three days. He wasn't for me. The third was awkward. In the fourth I was used as a tool for him to get his ex girlfriend back. Of course, I didn't find out until he'd dumped me for her. Bastard.

I always thought that it was because of me that they never worked out. Maybe I was just no good at being a girlfriend? Maybe I was too boring, or too passive?

The fourth finished back in April. After that I was too angry to think about going out with anyone else. I told myself I was better off alone for a very long time. I had to concentrate on my friends and my college work. I had to look after myself from now on, and no man was going to get the better of me. You know how it goes... all men are the same, right?

And I started going out clubbing on Thursday nights. Little did I know that I was doomed from the start.

The idea was that I could tag along with some party goers and become like them. Spontaneous, fun. I had no idea what I was doing. But you know, it all worked out for me in the end.

I went every week after that. I loved it. I loved the liberation of it all, after being held back by relationships for so long. I didn't have to think about making good impressons or looking nice for other people... I was on my own now and all I had to do was have the best time I could, disregarding all others. I've changed since then, for the better I think.

My friends and I have become closer, because I had more time for them rather than worrying about love. I guess you could say I felt like a free spirit. And that made me feel more secure. They'd do anything for me. I never had that kind of relationship with my friends at school, for one reason and another.

I'm more spontaneous - a result of my single life adventures to the club and many summer schools away with people I've never met. And my confidence allows me to express myself to others in a way that I never imagined I could before. It may sound pathetic to anyone else, but I am who I am because I worked hard to get my confidence up. Imagine to yourself a plain looking girl in a school tie and black V-neck jumper, bookish, getting laughed at by people in the corridor, getting pencils (or snowballs, in winter) thrown off her. Putting on a brave face when everyone, including her own friends, turned their back on her. Believe me, it was as lonely as it sounds. So I guess when I got into a relationship, I clung on for dear life and smothered my lover. They never put up with me long enough.

Now, after building up my self-esteem to a higher level than the people who bullied me in the first place (I had determination on my side) I found I no longer needed anyone else to comfort me. I wasn't the girl everyone thought I was... I wasn't arrogant, or self-controlling, or pathetic, or cruel, or a bad person. I didn't have to believe what they had said about me any more. Because now I had real friends, who really loved me, and their opinion far outweighed that of the school bullies.

So here I am, a new person. Loveable, if I may say so myself. Sarcastic, because it runs in the family. Happy, because I achieved what I wanted, though it took months and years of hard work.

And can you imagine me one night, at the club that I am thankful to for giving me my life back? Paul walks over. Let me tell you about Paul.

I met him on the first night that I went out. A friend from college, Laura, had asked her boyfriend to take me to the club as I didn't know where it was. And Paul was her boyfriend's mate. I never looked twice at him.

It was his first night out too. We went to the club and sat down and Paul bought me my first drink. He tried talking to me and I wasn't impressed. I thought he liked me, but I can't remember if he admitted it or whether I guessed. I told him I was gay so he might get the picture that I wasn't interested. I've changed since then, see? I wouldn't have told him why I refused him. Back then, I wanted my singledom.

Several weeks later my Mam came in from work. She knocked on my bedroom door; I was doing homework.

"Kayleigh?"

"Yeah?"

"You know this guy you met at Ku once? Paul?"

I frowned. I had never told her about Paul. He was just insignificant. I had never mentioned him to anyone.

"Mmhmm."

"Well he works at ASDA."

Yes my Mam works there too. She had listened to him telling everyone about some girl with my name who he met one Thursday night. My Mam got curious and asked him what she looked like. She fitted my description. She told him it was her daughter. So all the time that Paul had been going on about me, and my Mam had been bragging about me (as she does), they had no idea they were talking about the same person. Weird, isn't it?

I sort of nodded nonchalantly and said, "Oh, does he?"

But apparently he still fancied me. And this workmate Mark saw me in ASDA and agreed I was nice looking.

Six months later and I miss several weeks of clubbing in a row. Mark and Paul had started going out every week, and kept asking my Mam if I was going to go out next week, or perhaps the week after that? No, I was in Cambridge one week and Oxford the next, and at Durham the week after that. I didn't have time to go out. My Mam seemed to think they were holding a competition over who could pull me first.

Anyway, I did eventually go back out, when the college term started again and I had no more trips away planned. It was a night like any other. The same things usually happened - I had drinks, I danced, I had a good time and got a taxi home with Helen. My sister had started going out as well. It was her first night at Ku and I got told to look after her.

It was near the end of the night. I was drunker than usual because people happened to buy me more drinks. Helen and Sarah and I started the night with a vodka shot, Gibbo bought everyone a drink, and then there was Paul, buying us all a drink, and I can't remember, but did he buy us two or three? And I was leaving soon - Helen had phoned for the taxi.

That was the moment that it happened. Paul went to kiss me goodbye - on the cheek. I still don't know why I did it, but I turned my head and it turned into a passionate kiss instead. Ten minutes later, I was stumbling down the stairs and heading for the taxi with Helen and Sarah, Paul's number safely stored in my mobile, and mine stored in his. I was questioning myself - did I really like Paul?

I got home and remembered that Paul would have the opportunity to tell my Mam all about my escapades when he went to work, so I texted him: "Don't tell my Mam!" Then I threw up.

So the next day, more hungover than I had ever felt before, I thought about Paul. My Mam continued to prattle on about him and Mark, so I assumed he had stuck to his word and kept it a secret. And when people asked me if I'd had a good night, I thought about Paul and told them yes.

He texted me a week later and asked if I wanted to go clubbing in Newcastle on Saturday. I tried to reply with a 'no' but I found out I had no credit left. He would just have to assume that no was my answer if I didn't reply. At college, Laura asked me if I wanted to go out on Saturday with them. Again I said no. I told my Mam about it and she assumed that I had made up my mind to go. She went to work and told Mark and Paul that they'd have to look after me, and buy me drinks, and bring me home. And as she had assumed that I was going, I decided to go.

Paul was already drunk when Laura and Mark and myself met him and Layla at the metro station. He bought me a Skittles, and we moved on, and he bought me another drink, and another, and another. And in between clubs he lent me his hoody, and when we were queueing he put his arm round me so I might not get ID-ed. It was around the middle of the night when we started kissing again. I think he was sruprised, having thought that Thursday night was a one-off and that it was just the beer goggles working. But here I was, not exactly drunk, speaking coherently and telling him I did like him after all. The last hour of that night was spent cuddled up on the sofa in Legends. ...Six months down the line, he had finally pulled me. Or had I pulled him? Hard to say, really.

The next day we were at an ASDA charity party. That's how my Mam found out we were a item, and she was over the moon about it. The next Thursday we were out at our usual hangout and he asked me out officially. On Saturday we went to the pictures. The next week I was at Villiers Park. Since I got back, things have been going just as well. Time is spent with him at home: we chat about music, and our friends, and college, and about us. Just getting to know each other. I have never felt this comfortable in a relationship before. He says I'm fun and easy going, and I can laugh at his boy talk jokes, the ones a girl never usually hears because they're the crude stories that are told between boys. Yesterday we went for a meal together, and it was so relaxed and easy.

I'm glad now that I have built up my confidence to be who I am. Even in a relationship, I still feel like an individual. And just think, when I first met him those six months ago, before I had matured to where I am now, my fate had already been set up. I love Paul. I've never been happier.

Note: I am extremely sorry for the sappiness of this entry, and also for its length.

Stream of Consciousness

Here I am again, writing my blog. I'm only doing it to avoid doing homework, because like Tom said, it feels too drab; too in touch with reality.

I still haven't finished reading Mrs Dalloway. I never have time now. What I need is a long train journey and some peace and quiet. I still haven't typed up my Villiers Park work, but hopefully I should dedicate some time towards that really soon, for anyone who might be interested.

I never told anyone about my novel. Melanie Black and the Ancient Hope Dragon. A children's book in the making. I wish. I started writing it when I was thirteen. This is the third draft. It's drastically changed since the first. Admittedly, it's nowhere near finished. Perhaps I could post it in weekly instalments. That would encourage me to edit it, which is much needed. What does everyone think? Hmm, but it would take up even more time.

It's getting late and I know I should stop blogging (I can't think of anything else to say, anyway. I'm far too tired). Yes, I think I will. Things to do, y'know?

Love you and miss you all,

Kayleigh.

Homecoming speech

There's no time like the present, as they say. I disagree, but I might as well make a start on my blog. The other creative writers have a head start on me and I feel bad about it.

The reason for my new blog is down to the Villiers Park crew. I can't even remember applying for it. I can't even remember how I found out about it. But it sounded perfect - just the thing for me. The thing is, I've always wanted to be a writer. I got tired of telling people about my ambition and receiving their doubtful looks that said, "Wait till you grow up and get a proper job." It's cliche, but it's true. So at least applying to a creative writing course was a step in the right direction. I was to find out that it was more of a leap, actually.

I felt depressed on the Sunday before I left. I hate missing out on college work because it means I have to catch up and feel out of sync. So I saved myself half the stress by collecting work from my lecturers in the week before I went. By Sunday, I still had so much work left to do. I had to tidy my room and pack my suitcase in addition to that. The thought of the work load depressed me, so I went to sleep. And I slept all day. My Dad woke me up at about 8:30 to ask if I had packed and got everything ready. My obvious reply was "No." I added that I had no idea how to get from Cambridge to Foxton. This raised his eyebrows. So I wasn't going to Cambridge? No. So where are you going? Villiers Park, in Foxton. Well why didn't you sort all this out before??

Because I was fed up of doing so much work. I had already written eight sides on gender development for Psychology and an essay about personality development. So only visual perception, mathematical functions, Measure for Measure and The Crucible to go. No wonder I was feeling so tired.

I was groggy when I finally got out of bed, and close to tears when I couldn't find any of the Villiers Park documents. You know when you're just so close to giving up? I almost said "stuff it, I'm not going." ...What a disaster that would have been.

So, suitcase packed and homework still unfinished, I left the house in a taxi at 5:00am on Monday morning with my Dad. We headed to Newcastle Central Station. And then it was goodbye. On my travels again.

I didn't feel nervous. But I wondered what everyone would be like. What Villiers Park would be like. What the course itself would be like. And concentrated on getting on and off the train at the right times. I read Mrs Dalloway with more enthusiasm than I had at home. I never had time to read this much in one go at home. When I got off at Foxton, I still felt dreamy from reading. That feeling of still being in the book, a feeling that I love.

I got to Villiers Park. I found the sign for reception and went in. The woman gave me the key and asked me to sign a form. I was the first person to arrive, and that suited me just fine. I could go to my room now, the woman said. I could have first choice of beds. So we were sharing rooms. That was fine, too. I'd quite like the company.

The rooms were cosy and fresh. I chose my bed in the far corner, with windows all around. I never get this much light in my own room at home. There was a Kandinsky painting above my bed. I noted the colours - I like colourful paintings. I unpacked, and I read. I could have looked around the site but I didn't feel like it. I would get to know the place in time.

After little more than an hour, there was a knock on my door. I answered it. And Lucy and Leila were there: Lucy chatting and chatting about music and her lifestyle; Leila passive but smiling. We went downstairs at the appointed time to be introduced to the tutors Julie and John. Julie the enthusiastic, and John the geezer. We had lunch. I call it dinner.

Let's move away from details now, and I'll talk about the week in general.

The work. It was challenging. Writing a villanelle and a sonnet in one afternoon. OK, in one hour. Tough. Tougher still, we had to read out our poems and receive and give feedback on the poem and the poems of others. I met Soliman during this session. We read out a poem from a handout and read it with emphasis. It sounds stupid, but I'd never read a poem out aloud before. On the second day we moved onto stories. We wrote three stories in one hour. On the third day, we wrote fantasy and adventure stories. I felt in my element. It was home from home. On the fourth day, it was drama and sitcom script writing. We worked in groups this time, and then had to pitch for our creation to Julie and John. Nervewracking. On the fifth and final day, we showcased our work in the same groups - work both pre- and post- Villiers Park. By this time, we had all got to know each other and the reception was not as bad as I had imagined it to be. In fact, I rather enjoyed myself.

The people. Tom, the Scouser. Funny how we should have been brought up to hate each other - I am a Geordie, and generally Geordies hate Scousers, and generally Scousers hate Geordies. But I made a friend in Tom, who I could share an interest in accents with. We played hide and seek with the others, and Tom and I were last to be found. We sat on the coach going to London and talked about accents. We watched Blue Eyes and Heels and he was sympathetic about my aching knee. On the way back, the subject turned to our lives. I want him to paint me something, brilliant artist that he is. Then there was Will, who shared a room with Tom and we talked sometimes. There was Soliman the legend, and Frances who wanted to marry my accent, and Lucy and Jessica who shared my room and sometimes my thoughts, and Graham and Patrick who got the train back to Peterborough with me. There were many more, who I hope will forgive me for not mentioning their names.

Now I'm home. I'm glad I'm home, to recover from the intensity of that week. I missed my friends. They said it was quiet without me. Now I'm back and ready to make amends. Back to normal. Except that I have changed. I feel confident, motivated, loved... all those things and more. Some of my new feelings are unidentifiable (Jesus Christ, a seven-syllable word, have I learnt nothing?). But I will never forget this experience, nor the people I have met. It was just a pleasure. I don't regret it after all.