Nature vs Man (An actually rather serious post)

I've been thinking about Titanic quite a lot recently. (The film and the actual real life sad situation) It makes me feel sad because of how many people died but also because I think one of these days all the Hollywood films about robots taking over the world, will come true. We are always building bigger, digging deeper, spending more and more, flying higher (I'm talking about you, Felix Baumgartner, jumping out of Outer Space, I ask you!) and just trying to be the biggest Mothers on the planet. But really, mountains will always dwarf ships, seas will always drown reservoirs, outer space will always swallow up rocket ships, and the sun will always melt robots down to molten iron.

 I wrote a poem about the Titanic and nature's response to the tragedy. It's a bit serious actually, for once. Check me out Ma, I'm growing up!

This is it:

Since Eden, man has tried his best

To put nature to the test

Our arrogance and vanity

Has blinkered us, so we can't see

That nature was, is and will be

The victor of eternity

 

And still we try and try again

To prove ourselves as Big Strong Men

"We've got the tools! We've got the braun!"

Industrialism has been born

 

Britain became Great overnight

and taught the world from its great heights

how to use Nature's resources

to replace hard work and horses

 

The Big Men said "Let's build a ship!

We'll build it huge and build it quick!"

But as we know, that fateful night

Nature won an epic fight

 

"Unsinkable" the mammoth boat

It's only given order; "Float",

Sank into the icy sea

And nature claimed it's steel trophy

 

"Let that be a lesson" Nature said

"Don't let your arrogance cloud your head

Never again try and take me on"

Maybe one day we'll learn our lesson.

 

 

The End.

Love Hannan :)

 

 

Remember Remember the 5th of November...

Remember Remember the 5th November,

Fireworks, apples and gloves. 

So this is why, the lights in the sky

Have become one of my favourite loves...

Last week was Bonfire Night, one of my favourite nights of the year. Unfortunately I had a puking condition that meant I couldn't leave the house so I missed it. But no worry everyone, I sure made up for it the following Friday at the Bonfire that happens at work each year. More about that later...

BANG! WHEEE! WHIZZ! SHCREEEEEE!

When I was a teeny weeny Hannan, I hated loud things, and things that gave me a fright, and so Bonfire Night was a nightmare for me. I remember going to Lancaster Firework show for a few years in a row and sitting on Optimus Dad's shoulders with my fingers crammed in my ears, trying to enjoy the pretty colours. I'd look around at people so I could see what their faces looked like and then I could copy their delight, thus fooling my family who would look at me and say "Nyawwww, look at Hannan having a wonderful time!" Not so much....

As I grew a bit more grown up I began to enjoy Fireworks a bit more, even going as far as genuinely smiling when they whizzed up into the sky, but still with fingers crammed firmly into ears. I'd partake in a toffee apple, a bit of that black toffee and maybe a hot dog but constantly on guard for the tell tale 'phut' sound of a banger being let off or the 'wheeeeeeee' just before the explosion.

Once at a small Bonfire party in my friend's garden, one of the fireworks fell over just after it had been lit and shot towards us all! My Dad, the incredible Optimus Dad, stepped on the firework and trapped it onto the ground so that it exploded UNDER HIS FOOT! What a hero! And even better, it turned out, was that it was a perfectly timed accident! He just happened to put his foot down on a firework as it exploded, thus saving us all. Hurray!

Fireworks do freak me out though. I don't like the idea that they're sitting there, waiting in that box, their tummies filled up with explosives. I know not if they realise their fate whilst they sit smiling in the shops, looking so pretty, and (now don't laugh) I almost feel bad for them as they shoot up with their long bums on fire and explode in the sky whilst people below admire their executions with 'ooooh's and 'ahhhhhhh's. A bit sick if you ask me.

I got over this on Friday though, and had a wonderful time. I had a tasty hot dog and held hands with The Boy as we watched the beautiful display of explosions. He kept warning me that he saw an episode of '999' once where a child got a firework in the eye, and so whenever anything touched his face, like a leaf, or my hair, or the wind, we had to deal with "Oh, OH, a FIREWORK has gone into my EYE!" The romantic exerience was also slightly marred by The Boy's less than animated commentary of the entire show.

[Imagine the following said in a low, droning, monotone voice because he was cold and tired]

"Yeah I like them ones...they're blue so I like them...And that one was quite good but it wasn't blue. Those one's make a noise. Those one's are big aren't they, that one was blue...I liked it. I like the ones that crackle...although they're not blue. I can see blue best of all..."

And so on. However, despite the cold, and the commentary, and the lack of toffee apples (grrrr) and the constant reassurance that "No fireworks have gone in your eye, The Boy...." I had a great night and there was no one else I'd rather have spent the evening with than him.

(And I didn't put my fingers in my ear once...!)

Hope you all had a safe and happy Bonfire Night and remember, NEVER play with gunpowder. Or you'll end up like Guy Fawkes.

Love Hannan xoxo

How bathtime evolved in my world

Any committed Hannan readers will know that I spent a few blogs talking about my fears before I was rudely interrupted by an engagement that has sent me spinning and whirling beautifully into a sea of organza, lace, bridal magazines and wedding fayres (not fairs, as I was disappointed to find out. Not one single ride or candy floss station...) Now, when The Boy read my last blog (entitled ""This has gone on long enough...!") he said how nice it was that I was writing about happy upbeat things like smiles and weddings instead of morbid deadly things like fears and sadness. So that got my brain going round... I am going to do a new series all about things I like! (This is the first one by the way, and it's about to start so shhh...)

I have recently developed a dependance upon something other than carbs and Taylor Swift... It's comforting and relaxing like ol' Swifty, yet it also makes me feel calm and peaceful, just like carbs do. I'm obsessed with having a big ol' bubble bath.

I think one of the reasons this has become a love of mine is that the shower at Big Oaks is rubbish. It doesn't stand up on it's own for one, you have to hold the shower head above your head to wash your hair, and then even when you're doing that the water coming out is so weak and feeble. It'd be easier (and less tiring) to invite the local youths into my bathroom to spit on my hair to wash out the bubbles. That's how sad it is. So to distract myself from this sad situation I have been having lovely baths. When I'm surrounded by warm strawberry bubbles I don't mind so much holding the shower head in the air to wash my mopatop.

I have also rediscovered a young love of mine...Matey bubble bath! He always looks so jolly and imagine my delight when I discovered that in the past 20 years he has found a girlfriend! A delightfully pink mermaid sort of character who sits on my windowsill smiling at me as I relax.

When I was a younger Hannan, I enjoyed bath time enourmously. My sister Jaja would sit in the bath with me, (which was OK back in the day, I don't let her in my baths any more) and we would play a game which involved putting as much shampoo on each others hair as possible and moulding our hair into different shapes. My personal faves were the 'punk' and 'court jester'. It always ended in tears though, when one or both of us would get some shampoo inside our eyes. Even though a certain shampoo boasted 'no more tears', there always were.

When I was a bit more grown-up I was allowed a bath on my own...without Jaja! How exciting. What a grown up girl I am now. Alas, I got my hot:cold ratio muddled and when I stepped in it was freeeeeeeeeeeeeezing cold and I would have to let most of the water out and start again. But of course by then the tank had emptied and no more hot water was to be had. I learnt a hard lesson that day.

When I got to uni and lived in Acorn Cottage with a Not-So-Crazy-But-Still-Bizzarre-Meg it became a tricky game to play did bathtime because there were at least 3 other people in the house as well as me. What would happen frequently is I'd wait and wait to have a bath until everyone was either out, or busy and then I'd spend ages running it to the perfect temperature (remember how I learnt that lesson?) with bubbles, bath bombs, candles, Enya's Orinoco Flow on full blast, all lovely and relaxing. At last it's bath time and as I'd sink into the bubbles and begin unwinding there would come knocking on the door and someone (usually my friend Ol' King) would say "Let me in, I need a wee". And I'd say "No way! I've only just got in!" and he'd say "Oh ok, that's fine, I'll just go wee in your bedroom sink." And so I'd scream and say "FINE! COME IN BUT YOU DON'T LOOK AT ME AND YOU BE QUICK" There were so many bubbles that privacy wasn't an issue and then he'd sneak in and do a wee... right there during bath time. Ridiculous.

Anyway, it's all become OK now because I've learnt how to run the perfect temperature bath, I don't need to wash my hair with the dripping shower head, and Crazy Meg is out. So I'm going to go and have a bath. and I can finally relax because Ol' King lives with The Boy now so there's no way he can come in and ruin bathtime with a wee.

Love Hannan
xxxxxxx

This has gone on long enough...!

It's been quite an exciting life since my last blog. I had a trip to Brighton which is always nice, got a new ring, which is super always nice, and got permission to plan the biggest party of my life, which is mega super always nice! So I thought I'd take time out of the "Fear is the heart of Hannan" series and write about something less abstract (kind of...) and more actual. I think you'll like it and here we go...

When people get engaged, their friends who are men say "Well done mate" and tap the man on the back and kiss the lady on the cheek, and smile. and buy a pint to say "Hurray!" However, the girls always want to hear "The Story". The Story is important to girls. It says a lot about the type of man their friend is marrying and it makes their eyes turn into heart shapes and their smiles go all floppy. A couple of our close friends have a story that is so well-planned and immaculately delivered I think they should sell it to Disney. It involves a cave, flashlights, fireworks, a brother and 4 envelopes sealed with personalised wax. Another couple we love had one of the most romantic cities in the world as the backdrop in their Story, and another couple of our besties made their Story part of their Christmas holiday, the most romantic time of the year in my opinion, and the best Christmas story ever! (After the story about Baby Jesus that is...)

 Every engaged couple has a story...and this is ours...

One shiny Saturday morn, a few weeks ago, The Boy and I were talking. Suddenly, he stopped for a minute, looked into my eyes and said, "I think we should get married......this has gone on long enough". He said the last bit as if he were talking about the noisy neighbours next door who won't turn their music off at 2am, or a pesky cough that you've finally decided to go see the doctor about. But I took it to mean that us being unmarried was a bad thing that has gone on long enough, it's becoming a problem and we need to sort it by becoming married.

I tried to hide the desire to be sick on the ground and scream and laugh and phone my Mum all at once and said, "oh...really...?" forcing a nonchalant mask onto my face. The Boy looked worried, then happy then unsure then confident and then said, "yeah...!" And so that was that. We decided to go to Brighton.

Brighton is so beautiful because it is full of interesting people and lovely things. I like the skeleton pier and the real alive pier, and the million pebbles on the beach, and the sound of the sea, and I like that most people there have pink and purple hair. I like that there are so many antique and modern jewellers all muddled together in The Lanes and it is just like Diagon Alley so that's a good thing too. We chose a ring together because The Boy said "it will be nice to make the first decision about our marriage together, together!" And I liked this idea and it made me love him even more for being a wise old owl. We chose an emerald and diamond ring, all sparkly and handsome, and even now I like to sit and look at it because it is me and it is him and it is us and our smiling faces.

Then The Boy took me down onto the beach. He told me to try and forget that we just bought a ring and then he did "The Speech".  The Speech is the compulsary talk men have to do to their girlfriends before they pop the actual question. It's when they say all about how amazing she is, how happy she makes him etc etc...  Actually, I think The Speech is secretly the only bit us girls care about even though we pretend to like restaurants and horse riding and candlelit strolls in the woods, we actually just want him to say those magical words that tie a double knot around our two hearts making extra extra sure they are securely joined together before we solder them into one giant heart on our wedding day.

So he did The Speech, and then put the handsome ring on my finger and asked me to marry him. I said "yes The Boy! I certainly will marry you!" and then we had a great time walking around the arcade and smiling and holding hands.

It's been really exciting since then because every now and then we remember that all this party planning will lead to us actually being married and getting to live in an actual house together and have babies one day and get a dog and a garden and then we go "hehehehehe ooooh!" and smile into each others eyes and faces.

And so that is our story. It's not fanfairs and origami, or swans and ghost trains. It isn't a posh restaurant or a trek up a mountain. It is The Boy saying he loves me, on a beach, underneath the smiling sun, with a sparkly emerald, a skeleton pier and a million pebbles.

And it is perfect.

Love Hannan
xxxxxx

P.S. Please don't worry Hannan Fannans, this will not become a wedding blog. I just thought you should know about this happy story and how I have other feelings to talk about apart from fear!

 

 

Night night, sleep tight, don't let the dark dark fright...

It's time to address a new issue in my "Fear is the heart of Hannan" series. Last time we looked at my fear of the ocean, and before that my fear of spideys. I wonder what will be next!? Here we go...

I like the world and all it does. I like the spinny way it makes the sunrises and sunsets and the way it dances around the sunshine to make seasons. I love seasons. But it does present me with a problem at least once a day. It makes the night time happen. And the night time is often dark...

Achluophobia (Fear of the dark)

The dark... even the word 'dark' sounds aggressive to me. I have never felt safe in the dark. It feels heavy on my body. I can literally feel it is dark before I even peep out of my bed to check. Also, in the dark I can't see the spiders crawling along my bed, and if you're wondering why this would be a problem you need to read my blog "Spideyphobia" a couple of entries back.

I enjoy an exciting imagination, which is great when I have to tell stories to children, or explain to Megatron and Optimus Dad why I couldn't phone them, ("I swear, I had to help Crazy Meg find Dumbledore and get her remembrall back from him because she borrowed it from Voldemort and he needs it back because he forgot why he needed to kill Harry Potter, and in all the excitement, I let 4 days go by without phoning the Mother Ship...and I'm sorry"). However, this imagination becomes my foe when it's dark. A dripping tap in the day time is a dripping tap that needs to be switched off. A dripping tap in the dark time is the tears of a zombie crying with excitement about destroying me, or a witch tapping her green fingernails on my sink, or a baddie spitting repetetively at the end of my bed...

In Big Oaks where I live with Crazy Meg, I go into my room and switch the landing light off, and I have to stand in my room and reach backwards to switch it off without looking, then quicklyquicklyquickly run into my room and shut the door before the light falls out into the hall, or worse, the darkness falls IN to my room...

I cannot leave my room then. Not until Crazy Meg is home to turn the light back on. If I have to go out, I have to close my eyes and reach to turn the landing light on...this sounds strange to me though, because closing my eyes makes it even darker...

I think what I am afraid of is actually baddies hiding in the dark. I have watched the films where the killer is hiding in the dark behind the sofa, or hiding in the dark in the wardrobe. They are never sitting in the house with all the lights on and wearing a hi-vis vest. I genuinely get The Boy to quickly search the flat before he leaves me of an eve, and even then once he's gone, I fear the moment I have to turn the lights off and let the darkness do it's creepy thing.

Having said all this, it's very rarely DARK dark where I live. There are a few times in my life when it's been DARK dark and it's bizarre. My eyes open really really wide desperately searching for the slightest scrap of light, and I can't stop them doing it! I try to close them a bit to normal size (my eyes are bigger than average in resting mode, so in the dark they must look terrifying!) but I can't stop them almost opening back over my head and peeling my face off.

Freud reckons a fear of the dark is a sign of seperation anxiety. Maybe. I do miss Megatron and Optimus Dad an awful lot, and I miss The Boy when he goes home. But I think even if they were all in the room and it was dark and my eyes were open wider than ever, I'd still feel as though the darkness was seeping into my life and darkening my happiness.

So this is what I have to say to the Dark....Dark, there is no room in my life for you. You are the tool of muggers and bandits, the friend of Burglar Bill and the family out of Funnybones and I don't like you. I'm keeping my nightlight on.

Night Night.

Love Hannan xxx

A Hannan went to sea sea sea...

In my last blog I introduced the first in a series I have since entitled "Fear is the heart of Hannan". Last time it was all about spiders. Here is the next fear I am unpicking right before your eyes in the hope that I will conquer one more afraid-maker and draw one step closer to being indestructible, undeniable and irrevocable.

Picture the scene. A handsome girl in a wetsuit hobbles across a pebbled beach, her face contorted in pain as she makes her way down the stony gauntlet towards the sea. She tenderly tiptoes into the waves and slowly slowly wades deeper and deeper into the ocean. Before too long she is up to her chin in the salty seaswift, bobbing up and down amongst the seaweed and seashells.

Not that amazing a story. Except the girl was ME. And I have a fear of the ocean.

Aquaphobia (Fear of water)

Well, I'm afraid of water in general. Don't get me wrong, I have showers and baths and drink water from the tap, use it to wash things in, I agree it's vital, but I have a fear of masses of water. I can't put my face or head under water because I'm too worried that my breathing reflex will continue and I'll breathe the water in, deep into my lungs. Even when washing my face in the sink or shower I have to take a gigantic breath and go in veryveryquickly, cleancleanclean and quickly out *EXHALE*.

And to make things worse, in the exact same seaside scenario at the same beach a year ago, The Boy thought it a reasonable gesture to hold me down as a big wave crashed over me. I didn't have time to breathe, I had salt in my eyes, salt in my mouth, in my lungs, in my veins. It was a living nightmare.

You see, when I was a smaller Hannan and had to go to school without being paid, I had to go to swimming lessons at the local leisure centre. We started out in the baby pool, which is much warmer than the grown up pool and obviously much shallower. We had a great tine, blowing bubbles out our gobs, using floats and kick kick kicking, playing mermaids, being warm and lovely. We were a family. But then...graduation day came and we were told that if we passed the swimming test we could upgrade to the grown up pool, where we would be WITHOUT floats and in the COLD water...

No deal.

My cleverbrain went into overdrive to concoct a plan and on 'judgement day', I climbed into the baby pool and demonstrated an epic fail in swimming. I slithered around in the water, kicking all over the place like a baby lamb being born. The plan worked. They thought I couldn't swim and thus, I got to stay in the baby pool an extra year. BOOM.

(As a result however, I never actually learnt good swimming skills and thus cannot swim confidently or effectively, ergo I have a fear of water and assumne it is trying to drown me)

The ocean terrifies me not just because I'm a weak swimmer, it holds many dangers of which I am well aware. I've watched Jaws, I've watched Free Willy, Titanic, Open Water, I've watched Finding, Nemo, HELLO? There is nothing good in the ocean, only bad, scary things. (And if you've ever been to Blackpool, there's more than big fish out to get you in them waters, let me tell you).

One day I'm going to swim around the world, as it's the only way to conquer my fears. But until then, I'll put my jelly shoes on and tiptoe into the waves to paddle, swim in the baby pool at the leisure centre and NEVER go walking by a canal at night.

Love Hannan xx

P.S. I really did get neck deep into the ocean last week, and The Boy was as good as gold, he didn't drown me once! Of course, there was no swimming, just standing on the ocean floor but neck deep is the necks step to swimming the channel.

Spideyphobia: A Tale of Eight Legs

I’m not sure why I’m afraid of things. There is a whole rainbow of things that cause me angst although I didn’t realize they were fears until now. I thought everyone felt nervous in certain scenarios until I found out from The Boy that I’m actually just a paranoid jelly! I’m going to have a ponder and a rummage through my fears over the next few blogs and try to work out why I have these irrational (or not so irrational) fears.

Let the discovery into my irrational unconscious commence…

Arachnophobia (Fear of spiders)

Oh man, there was a big black spider in my living room yesterday and now…gone. Where do they go? Into my knicker drawer perhaps? Disguising itself onto my hairbrush? The other week there was a sneaky spidey hiding amongst my necklaces hanging in my walk-in-wardrobe… he was hoping I’d put a necklace on and then he could crawl up my neck and into my mouth, BOOM. Not easily fooled though, I backed way slowly and got Crazy Meg to come in and suck him up (with the hoover, not her mouth). Hannan – 1, Sly spider – 0.

This other time, there was a giant spider (at first I thought it was a black crab actually) on the wall in the landing. I was whipping an egg in a jug and The Boy reached up and tried to get it (to throw it at me, probably) which made me freak out. As I ran away I spilt egg all over the carpet and had to move the sofa over the top so Crazy Meg wouldn’t find out and beat me.

Even while I’m sleeping I have ‘dreams’ where I open my eyes and there’s a spider next to my face. Every single time I jump out of bed and put the light on only to realize that of course, it’s too dark to see a spider and I was of course dreaming! I jump out of bed every time. I never learn.

So why am I scared of spiders? Why is anyone? As far back as I can remember I’ve hated them. I hate the way their knees are taller than their faces, I hate that they have four times as many running legs as me, I hate the fact that they are EVERYWHERE and that they wait until I’m out, or asleep to creep into position. I hacked into the internet to research this and apparently, a fear of spiders is so common because when we were dinosaurs, spiders could kill us with their evil little mouths and teeth and so in some people the fear is unconsciously there, reminding them to stay away.

From this I have concluded that my brain is super-efficient. It is protecting me! If I wasn’t so scared then maybe one day I would pick up a spider to give it a little kiss and then it could bite me on the lip, inject its poison and ‘oh snap, I’m dead’.

 I’ve heard that the average human eats 8 spiders in their sleep over their lifetime. Well firstly, I aint no average maverage. I’m Hannan and I’m eating NO spiders in my sleep, you can be sure of that. They know better than to try and slither into my gob. I have a loud scream and a crazy flatmate with a hoover.

So bring it on leggy…

Love Hannan xx

In Hannan's world, even the sunshine has a smiley face

Someone who teaches English as a JOB said to me yesterday that she hates rhyming poems. This inspired me so I wrote this for her...

I like upside down rainbows and slices of lemon and the curviest branch of an old warped tree

I like segments of oranges, crusts off a pizza, I like things that that look like they’re smiling at me

 

I like babies and old people, monkeys and children, and ladies up north in the shops and chippies

Of all of the alphabet, U is my favourite, I simply adore things that smile at me

I like upside down bridges, and slices of melon, and George in my photo frame here next to me
I like it when bubbles appear in my coffee in the shape of a face which is smiling at me!
 
I like bright paper chains looping down from the ceiling, moustaches that flick up make me feel happy,
My favourite smile is the man in the moon though, with his white crater face looking oh so jolly!

I like biting a jaffa cake, biting a baby bell, biting an eccles cake until I can see

A wonderful crescent appear right before me a, a tasty delicious treat smiling at me.


Love Hannan xx

Viva la fiesta!

Chapter One:
It was a warm Spanish evening, and the air was dusky and sweet with Sangria and castanets. Two men and two women were sitting in an alleyway outside a bustling Tapas bar talking about how full their tummies were. One of the women who was blonde and fair with gigantic eyes was sat opposite a man with a brown afro and a twinkling smile. The other woman, a brunette with deeply tanned skin like a persian goddess was holding the hand of a mysterious dark skinned man with bright yellow sunglasses and sparkly white teeth. Suddenly, out of the shadows a figure loomed up to them and made them an offer they couldn't refuse....

Chapter Two:
"Cocktails for €4? Would you like a cocktail that should be €6 for €4? I take you there, I take you there, I take you there..." A young Polish woman with erratic eyes laced with desperation had approached them with vouchers in her hand. The characters looked at each other and gave each other the nod and sneaky eye which meant "this sounds like a good thing, let's go for it". They followed the young woman further down the alleyway into the shadows...

Chapter Three:
"In here, in here"... The woman ushered them into the smallest bar they had ever seen. Standing at the bar, their backs touched the wall and there was only room for two plastic chairs in the corner by the door. "Choose from menu" ordered the woman and so the characters did. "Three Piña Colada's and one Mojito por favour!" asked the blonde big-eyed girl. But no sooner had the words left the blonde girl's lips, the Polish girl and her friend behind the bar froze with terror...

Chapter Four:
"You wait outside, outside, go.." said the barmaid and hurried them out into the alleyway sitting them down on bar stools at a make-shift bar attached to the wall by shakey looking brackets. "How strange..." said the dark haired girl, as the barmaid ran out of the bar and round the corner down another alley, "Haha, imagine if she went to another bar to buy the drinks and brought them to us!" And as they chortled with mirth, they had nothing else to do but wait......so they waited...

Chapter Five:
Minutes passed and the four handsome and beautiful characters were just thinking of leaving when from around the corner down the alleyway came the waitress carrying four cocktails. The four humans were too polite and British to enquire as to the origin of these drinks and so said thankyou and drank and drank and drank...

Chapter Six:
The man with the yellow sunglasses and ebony skin had almost finished his Mojito but the two girls were struggling to get through their gallon of Piña Colada. "I feel sick" said the persian goddess. "Me too" agreed t'other one. The boy with the brown afro and the twinkling smile picked up his drink and sloothed it, but as he put it down there was an almighty SMASH...

Chapter Seven:
The makeshift bar had fallen of its rickety old brackets and smashed down onto the knees of its occupants. Twinkle smile's glass had exploded and covered everyone at the bar in Piña Colada and they found themselves engaged in a deadly battle with a heavy slab of wood, shards of flesh-tearing glass and sticky cocktail which had covered their faces, hair and bodies. They feared the substance would block their nostrils and mouth which of course...would be fatal...

Chapter Eight:
The barmaid came rushing out and helped get the bar off the four customers who looked like they had fallen into a lake of coconut and pineapple lava. She hastily apologised and started sweeping up. "I get you all another drink. Three Piña Coladas and a Mojito yes?" Dread filled the heart of the four characters. "No more....NO MORE!!!" whispered one of the women. Giving each other the nod and sneaky eye for the last time that evening, the four characters backed away slowly, slowly, slowly, away, away, away until the strange experience was nothing more than a distant echo of a memory in the back section of their brains.

The End.

P.S. This is a true story. I know it's true because I lived it on holiday last week.

Love Hannan xx

We can be heroes forever and ever...

I was going to go see the Olympic torch come running by later but I have to get packed to Spain tomorrow so don't think I will go. You know, I feel happy for that Olympic flame. It's been on loads of adventures recently. If the Olympic torch was my friend here are some of the things I would do...

1. Go swimming. I think as long as he keeps his flame above water this shouldn't be a problem. I'd get him armbands if he needed them.

2. Go to a firework show. He could come in very handy.

3. Go on a 3-day spa retreat. I think all that running around and partying will have tired him out so a spa retreat would be lovely.

4. Go aqua zorbing. Because I found out today that it is a real true thing you can do.

5. Catch a movie. Maybe Chariots of fire?

6. Introduce him to my flatmate "Crazy Meg". She likes things that I have and say so I'm confident she would be impressed with my new buddy.

7. NOT take him scuba diving...that would ruin him.

All these things and more. If you know the torch, pass on this message to him. We could rule the world, me and him because I have a hand to hold the torch and legs to walk to our destinations and he has the burning flame of determination and passion as well as a desire to warm up cold hearts.

Hannan xx

RIP Disney

These thoughts have been muddling my brain for some time now. I have finally got round to sorting them out and writing them down. Now I will definitely stop crying when I watch "Don't tell the Bride" and "Aladdin". Honest...

I am from the fairytale generation,

A million girls who think that they will,

Meet their Prince Charming and he’ll climb off his horse,
Get down on one knee and their life will begin,

I’m seven years old and planning my wedding,

With a man in a suit with no face beside me
He looks like a cross between Eric and John Smith,
With hints of Aladdin without the monkey
 
I’m sixteen with my very first Mr Charming,
He’s ever so lovely and perfect to me,
But doesn’t meet all of the qualities promised
To me by Ariel, Aurora and Beauty

He doesn’t bring flowers to me every morning,

Or summon the birds and the deer to my feet,
He doesn’t quite understand me as a woman,
Or realise that I’m not his property.

I’m 20 and I’ve met a second Prince Charming,

I’m a little less Cinders, a little more Belle,
I’m not quite as helpless, I’m trying to be fiercer,
I must have my guard up I’m sure he can tell.
 
He didn’t quite fall for me, not like I’d wanted,
The butterflies abandoned us one by one,
I wasn’t his first thought, not even his second,
I didn’t even get to try the slipper on
 
This has made living my life quite tricky,
I’ve high expectations that no-one can meet,
I’m constantly wanting the movie-scene endings
A tale for the pub that no friend could beat

I’m 26 now and just realizing

That Mr P Charming appears everywhere
The man on the tube who smiles in the morning
Or the friend who asks how I’m feeling and cares,

The kiss from my man when I’m cross in the morning
Him buying me chocolate because well why not
The talks that we have bout sharing our future
I never before realized what I’ve got
 
I waited and waited for my Mr Perfect
But I struggled to make out the wood for the trees
He’s sitting right by me, watching Lost with a pizza
So RIP Disney, I’m finally free.

Love Hannan xx

Time to share I think...

I have discovered that I have too many thoughts in my brain and I need an 'overflow' area for the ones I don't need to keep, you know, the thoughts that aren't important for my survival on this Earth, the thoughts that, if anything, hinder my progression throughout this life rather than enhance it. So I thought, "Well! One Han's trash is supposedly another Han's treasure...Just because these thoughts aren't useful to me, doesn't mean other people won't find them helpful!" So if you are one of these people, feel free to take these thoughts as your own, free of charge. See this blog as a sort of 'swap-shop' for thoughts and dreams and I hope you enjoy perusing through them at your leisure.

Hannan x