Decisions, Decisions

Having just rushed to finish an article for Bloc, I’ve come to realise how much I enjoy writing features, and may consider changing my option for next term. I arranged an interview with a writer friend of my parents, Brigid McConville on Tuesday. I’ve known Brigid all my life, but I had no idea that she’d achieved so much as a writer and filmmaker.

Equip with my new Dictaphone and digital camera, I spent an hour with Brigid discussing her unconventional career from a travel writer in London to a journalist in treacherous, war torn Somalia and Afghanistan, all in pursuit of the most intriguing stories. Her bloody-mindedness is an inspiration; her over-arching goal is to give a voice to marginalised women through her writing and films.

What I admire about Brigid is her willingness to cross any terrain – literally and metaphorically to source her stories. I was astounded to find out that she had narrowly missed being shot several times in Africa and Afghanistan. A few years ago she went to Afghanistan to interview a Taliban governor. She was the first woman he’d ever spoken to and apparently he was extremely hostile and uncooperative.

She wasn’t even allowed to write anything down, but she took the risk. Not only has she risked her life for the sake of outstanding journalism that has won her prizes, she has written over a dozen books, brought up three children and been a freelance features writer for many of the nationals and women’s magazines.

For a writer with no formal training, she has risen to a comfortable level of recognition and she’s gained a sufficient list of regular slots with the Radio Times, Woman magazine and most recently, Mslexia magazine. I really appreciated her honest view of the media machine and hope I have relayed as much as I could of her advice in my article. Although it was hard to include everything within a 1,500 word limit, the third draft is looking well balanced and I hope that anyone who reads it will find it insightful.

It was my birthday yesterday, and so I am twenty-four and I care less and less for birthdays, as I get older. The day was fairly uneventful, Luke made me breakfast in bed, I had a late lunch with dad and Lilli, and then donned my heels for a night out in Bridgwater. On the way out of Wetherspoons, I hit upon an idea for a good story opener.

As we walked down the street, a section of the pavement was littered with glass and splinters of wood. A few lads were talking to two policemen, looking up at the broken window. The object of the angry incident had landed in the boot of a swish new car – shattering the back windshield. Who ever threw that fire extinguisher must have thrown it minutes before we walked past. It had been a large bay window and a huge extinguisher, it could have been a very dangerous situation – had we arrived there a minute or two earlier.

The reason I thought this situation would be a good story opener is because there is so much intrigue behind it. Who threw the extinguisher and why? What if someone was on the street as the window shattered? What caused the instigator to react so violently?

So on to the Labour Club – a comedy venue, full of excitable teenagers and old school rockers. The Labour Club has become our new hot spot. It’s not the most fashionable retreat, but what it lacks in style it makes up for in character and music. When we went there last week, they’d laid on a free buffet of sausage rolls, cheesy baps and crisps. How convenient, considering I hadn’t had any dinner.

A friend’s brother was DJing – one of his first ever appearances. He would have been half decent, if he wasn’t so drunk. Nerves. It was very amusing to watch him struggling with all the knobs on the mixing desks and haplessly trying to line up the tracks. I think he’s got potential, but desperately needs to acquire some organization skills. I caught up with a whole host of old friends and had a dance – on the table, which was probably not such a good idea. But hey, when else could I get away with it, other than on my birthday?

So it’s three days till Christmas and I’ve still got shopping to do, but I can’t handle it. I went into Sainsbury’s today and I swear people were fighting over the carrots. I’ve never seen it so busy in there before and I started to hyperventilate at the thought of struggling through the isles. Not only was I disgustingly hung-over but I’d forgotten my shopping list.

I’ve decided to make truffles as presents, but I couldn’t find any mini bottles of spirits and wasn’t sure how much chocolate to buy. I think I’ll go back just before closing time – you can usually guarantee it'll be like a ghost town then.