Tuesday, 3 April 2012

entirely known pleasures

"God, this is where I should have brought my mum...instead of a walk through Dingle..!" I said as we walked through the stunning sandy dunes. It was sure to make the two of us laugh. The Freshfield coastline never fails to move me. Yet as for my mother... perhaps you could argue that I was somewhat determined to emphasise my existence to be so distinctly different from anything going on in a Rosamund Pilcher movie (the epitome of the European illusion of the sickly-sweet lives of the women of England's landed gentry), that it makes me withhold such beauty from her, and instead prone to expose her to some of the bleak truth of the rundown streets, where I would engage her in a heated debate about class war. Ok...it was never that heated, in fact, it didn't actually get off the ground at all. Yet still, I was proud to be left with: "Isn't the Queen embarrassed for her streets to be so dirty?" "Yeah Mum, EXACTLY!" In any case, the reason why this post has turned onto to my mother, I cannot recall, but it may lie within my own inner conflict between 'always seeking the beautiful' (which is something my mum has taught me) and 'not looking away' (which is something my own cultural heritage continuously provokes in me). Not naive, nor hypocrite, I do believe in both, and this is why a beautiful day at the beach is equally as radical as all those demos. x

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