My Bullet Journal.

Last month- start of June I decided to start a bullet journal. If you don’t no what a bullet journal is, I wont going to it but you follow the link to the bullet Journal web sit you can check out the product and watch a video, or go over to Youtube and check out the 100s of videos over there.

BulletJournal.com

Despite my OCD angel screaming down my ear, as I really don’t like the idea of starting planners mid year. So after watching videos and looking through pintrest at peoples layouts and how they were using theres, I worked out how I was going to use mine. The main part of it is Habit trackers, personal and Blog tracking I also intend to keep notes on what I have done on my days off - this being because I can be a tad lazy sometimes and get distracted, so this way I can see what I have been doing through the day.

 Above: left hand page is my blog tracking  and on the right is June's Instagram challenge list.

Blank pages make good doodle pages

 I am trying to be good with what I eat and drink this month, but not snaking so much and eating chips and other junk food, so in the above image, the right page is my junk food tracker each day that I don't eat crap it gets a purple square, I am hoping that this page will be mostly Purple by the end of the month.

I have already decided how the below page will change in August. 

Blogging with a full time day job can be hard work, I say ‘can’ because when I started this blog I had no problem in posting something each week, I’d work on something during my Lunch breaks and tea breaks, then type it up when I got home. Now I get home I get distracted by Facebook Tumblr, Youtube. ( Last year I could understand as we had a very unpleasant little manager who destroyed every ones will to do anything and confidence and then left). Its not like I don’t have any content to post, in fact I have nearly two notebooks full of drafted posts and notes. Which brings me to the next lot of pages, Draft articles. Here I plane to each month list all the post that are drafted, weather that be still in my notebook, or typed up and ready to put on to on to my blog. The idea be hind it is to give me a kick to  get them posted.

Yes I draft 90% of my posts in long hand, I find it more inspiring then searching through files for notes and posts.

The almost last pages of the month is my shear tracker so I know where and what I have sheared where.

The way that I am using this book is not quit a bullet journal as I set out for it to be. but it is working for me.

Ghost Stores & Urban Legends: Jump Jack

The dull sound of buzzing from electricity from the over head neon lights echoed in the long corridor with its grey limo floor and white tiled walls, clinical and cold. The far end light flickering on and off with a click, an invisible switch in its darkness making the corridor seen longer and endless.

The right hand wall of doors all closed on, making the narrow walkway feel claustrophobic. A sudden sharp bang making her jump in her skin, breathless and heart racing, looking behind her, it was the door slamming behind her friends the three of them stood there loping in to the uncertain night.

The rain on the small window behind them sounding like scratching finger nails down pebble destroyed glass.

“Its a load of bull”

“Whys that?”

“Just because it is the 13th stall dose not mean that it is haunted.”

“By the Jumping Jack!”

She looked at her friends standing the right of her.

“I can’t believe that you dragged us back down here after all these years, just to take part in a Junior school Urban Legend trial”

“There going to be tearing the place down next week, so whats the harm, Its just a bit of fun. And like you said It just an urban legend.” pulling her camera out of her bag ready to film.

“And it’ll make a good  footage for my sight.”

The three of them began to walk down to the end of the room. The squeaking of their shoes on the lino floor, parts ripped up exposing the dusty concert floor beneath. 

The three of them stood looking at the closed door of the 13th stool The faint writing of ‘Do Not Enter” in a childish hand could just be seen on grimy once white door. 

The cold damp air of five years of neglect could be felt in the air. with every breath they could taste the stale, damp, dust, filled air, the metallic smell of mild sat on every surface.

“So how does this legend go again?”

“You go in the stall and you turn around 3 times and say ‘Jump Jake Jump’ there times.”

Looking back down the row of cubicles she tried to remember her time in the school, all she could remember were the childhood charts, games and pranks. and torment of younger students of the Jumping jack.

“Well here we go.” smiling and waving at the camera as she entered and stall. closing the door behind her, the lock broken off years before.

With a deep breath she began the ritual, on each turn she repeated “Jump Jack Jump”. On the third completed turn she stood silent, waiting. 

the light over head flickered faster the sound grew load, high pitched and painful. Then suddenly… silence. The light goes off for its final time. The Lights from further down the corridor struggling to reach the end.

she felt her heart racing with every quick breath she took.

“Dan? You OK?” the camera fixed on the door.

“Yeah, I’m good” 

Suddenly the air got cold like as thought some one had opened a freeze door beside them. cold enough to tune their breath to vapour, and send a uneasy shiver though the girls bodes.

Dannielle stood in in silence in the dark. As she reached to open the door a thin icy layer grew rapidly over the door, the fame and the wall. Her friends watched as the Ice crystals grow, charting its icy map over the door and wall.

Unable to mover Dannielle stood frozen to the spot, not wanting to look at anything but the back of the door. The warm breath of something beside her brushed her cheek, making her shudder. 

Before she could look Its long arms wrapped around her, its hand covering her mouth preventing her from screaming as it lifted her from the ground.

Kick out her feet fit the door,  pushing it open, Her friends screamed as they watched her been dragged through the wall, Unbroken.

© sarah jane patel

Film Review: Crimson Peak.

Written by: Guillermo del Toro, Matthew Robbins and Lucinda Coxon

Directed by: Guillermo del Toro
Staring: Mia Wasikowska, Jessica Chastain, Tom Hiddleston, Charlie Hunnam.
Release date: 16th October 2015 (uk)
DVD release date: 15th February 2016 (uk)

Set in 1891, Crimson peak is a gothic romance, horror, staring Mina Wasikowska as Edith Cushing, Tom Hiddleston s Thomas Sharpe and Jessica Chastain as Lucile Sharpe. 
After the death of her father Edith moves from Buffalo, N.Y. to Cumbria England with her new husband Thomas Sharpe, where she is meet with ghosts, murder and incest. 

I'm a bit of horror film addict weather it's a Hollywood movie with a budget or a b movie with pocket money, the darker the better, and the stranger the better.
I got the book "Crimson Peak, The Art Of Darkness" for Christmas and I put off properly reading it until I watched the film, I didn't want to many spoilers.
There was a part of me that was expecting something a little more darker. Had this film been from the the 1980s/90s it would be there.
At different points in the film it had me think, 'are Lucile and Thomas not brother and sister' and then 'Maybe its a bit of a Dorain Grey twist' Not a bad thing that if it keeps you thinking.
But it turned out to be neither.  Instead its a brother and sister how at a young age, well early teens  become sexually involved. You soon see that it is Lucile that has a psychopathic lusting control over Thomas, Having him marry a rich girl once mverd in to their home they slowly pisin them and then when her money or dalry is in their hands she then kills them.
There is a conversation between Lucie and Edith regarding butterflies

EDITH: Is it a butterfly?

LUCILE: No. But it will be soon.

EDITH: Oh, I hadn't seen them. They're dying.

LUCILE: They take their heat from the sun and when it deserts them, they die.

EDITH: That's sad.

LUCILE: No, it's not sad, Edith. It's nature. It's a savage world of things dying or eating each other, right beneath our feet.

EDITH: Surely there's more to it than that.

LUCILE: Beautiful things are fragile. At home, we have only black moths. Formidable creatures, to be sure, but they lack beauty. They thrive on the dark and the cold.

EDITH: What do they feed on?

LUCILE: Butterflies, I'm afraid.

She's almost talking about herself. For she is the black moth that kills the inercent beauty of Thomas's wives. She is the one that thieves in the cold and dark of there world feasting on these who thrive in the warmth.
In one of the final scenes you see that she keeps black moths on her dresser in jars, even though the whole floor where her room is, is surrounded buy them. (she is one) She also has butterflies on a what looks like a bead tree bunch. She keeps a souvenirs form his wives that she has killed and their mother, A lock of hair in a dresses draw. 
When arriving Allerdale Hall in Cumbria Thomas and Edith are greater by a small dog which Thomas says is not theres and it could be from the town as it is a days walk, Yet he is happy to let her keep it, to please his new wife. It then turns out that he used to belong to his late wife. You soon find out that he had left the dog out in the cold to die rather then killing it with his own hands. Nearing the end of the film you hear Lucile kill the dog, before ordering her brother to kill Dr Alan McMichael, ((Charlie Hunnam) Who has traveled to England to warn and save Edith.) Thomas asks the doctor where he should stab him to give him a chance to live, Showing that Thomas has compassion and is not as messed up as his older sister.

The cinematography is good but what struck me was that the film starts in Ameracia, the new world, filled with new opportunities and new money, yet it is film slightly darker then in England which is the old world, old money, (and its Cumbria). Yes its the start of Edith new life with her husband, leaving behind the death of the father, but to me it just seams the wrong way round, considering that it is england that all the ghosts walk. even though it is almost winter and there is snow on the ground, it just seams why to bright.

The first time that you see Sir Thomas Sharpe Baronet, it is the office of Edith's father, Carter Cushing. Where Edith is typing up a story that she has wrote, with in seconds he has notice and read it. I hate this scene it feels as if it is just being read from a page and after thought to add to the film.

THOMAS: Good morning, miss. Forgive the interruption. I have an appointment with Mr. Carter Everett Cushing.

SECRETARY: Goodness. With the great man himself.

THOMAS: I'm afraid so.

EDITH: ---Reading form his card--- "Sir Thomas Sharpe, Baronet."

SECRETARY: He'll be here shortly.

THOMAS: Thank you.

---Edith getting up from the desk and walks around to he other side of the desk---

EDITH: You're not late, are you? He hates that.

THOMAS: Uh, not at all. In fact, I'm a little early.

EDITH: Oh, I'm afraid he hates that, too.

THOMAS: I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry, but this is a piece of fiction, is it not?

EDITH: Yes.

THOMAS: Who are you transcribing this for?

EDITH: It's to be sent to New York tomorrow, to The Atlantic Monthly.

THOMAS: Well, whoever wrote it, it's rather good, don't you think?

EDITH: Really?

THOMAS: It's certainly captured my attention.

EDITH: I wrote it. It's mine.

THOMAS: Ghosts?

EDITH: Well, the ghosts are just a metaphor...

THOMAS: They've always fascinated me. You see, where I come from ghosts are not to be taken lightly.

The ghosts of the wives and the mother are these rich red apparitions half broken bodes and deformed. The red colour comes from the red ore front the mines below the house that these women have died trying to fullfilll the dream of the two Sharpe's to restore their home where the two of them can live. Away from the world.
Other times you see mist shape ghosts walking in the background in the house.

I just kept expecting something more to happen for there to be a darker twist. Pans Labyrinth was a beautify film by  Guillermo del Toro, more of fairy tail for adults, where at the end of Crimson Peak one of my thoughts was it was a bit of teenage horror chick flick. Don't get me wrong its a good film its just lacking something. more fear, darkness, may be a little deeper acting as some times it really did seam as if it was reign read form a book from all of them.

"Ghosts are real. This much, I know. 
There are things that tie them to a place, very much like they do us.
Some remain tethered to a patch of land. A time and date.
The spilling of blood. A terrible crime. But there are others. Others that hold onto an emotion. A drive. Loss. Revenge. Or love. Those, they never go away." 
--- Lady Edith Sharpe.

NoteBook Of A Girl. Entry #8

Suits and plain clothed office workers, like worker ants follow the rote that they know best, from bus to tube, tube to bus, bus to main line train, tube to main lines.

heading home on a friday night,  some heading out to central London to become apart of the crowed on the throw-up-fridays last train out of town. crooked ties and listed ties, panda eyes and messed up hair staggering out into the surrounding suburbs of quite.

Amongst The crowds, tourists rome, confused and dazed  unsure what way to go is best. pointing and staring up at the surrounding buildings. 

A controlled chaos at Victoria station through the bus station and train station this friday late afternoon. with a fast setting winter sun and cloud silver grey sky’s above.

People all dressed up for a night of entertainment at the theatre a trip to Yorkshire or a trip to Oz, I wonder which shale it be,

As I stand at the bus station waiting to leave with work back and change of cloths. Moving traffic, dead still, as people unaware walk out in to the street without a care.

work men on here break stand outside the the work sight entrance with a cup of coffee form Costa coffee and a roll up cigarette admiring and laughing at the walking dead. The girls with high healed stilettos shoes, short skirts and low cut tops. looking at down at their phones taking selfies, unsteady in their high healed stilettos shoes.

Standing at a bus stop waiting. With my bag with work tools and blacks and over night bag. 

I stand and observe the  friday night move in. With a bugger I wait for a big red London bus, to tack me north, home ward bound. Creating story’s in my head for those I see in this controlled chaos at Victoria station through the bus station and train station this friday late afternoon.

The young woman that is dressed to impress, short skirt and designer  shoes,  at first sight you might think, that she is out for fun to find a man, she  has a rep for being easy, a bit city bike you might say. 

But what if I was to say that Sunday morning with out fail you will find her in church. placing bibles on each seat, treating each of the conjuration with a smile and good manners. Helping in the Sunday school, cooking meals for the homeless, there for each choir practice. and church meeting.. But week nights are hers, to drink and dance with who she choses and how she wishes She is saving her self for that one special man. In modern world that her parents do approve of, nor those how belong to the same flock, If they did do out think that they would pray for to give up the lifestyle she lives?

The guy with his Tailored  suit and brief case, shiny shoes and designer coat. The guy with the good looks charm the high flying career, he has it all. the looks the charm the job the trophy wife.

On returning home he is faced with darkness and hate, A wife with a short temper and untrusting thoughts, how hits him and calls him names, cheats and lies and is caring another mans child in her belly. He sees know why out, to ashamed to admit he needs help.

Some of the made up lives I have thought up standing at Victoria station of the people I see walking  to and from the bus station and train station this friday late afternoon.

On  an empty bus I do sit. top deck front seat, feet reading on my work bag, pen and note book in hand. A fast setting sun over London town, a shift change at the servants entrance at Buckingham place  High stone walls lined with razor wire a fortress are these walls protecting  but one family. 

At Hyde Park corner the bus becomes more full, loud lively chatter filling this big red London bus. Tourists heading out to see the local night life. City workers heading out to live it up in there city they work for. residence heading home and residence heading to work. 

The hard rock cafe with its awnings brown  and yellow and its que out side, passing restaurant and coffee shops, hotels and The Ritz All the places I can but dream of staying the night with in.

The lights at Piccadilly Circus lights seam brighter in the low light of dusk that is shrouding this city the clouds of grey and slier have faded in to gold and pink hang above the buildings like something in a film at the end of the would. How but me has noticed the beauty above our heads? Are all they looking down and  viewing life through film on their phones.

Past Ripley’s Believe It on Not! past Japan Centre, Past the Lyric theatre where plays Thriller. The Apollo, The Gielud,The French revolution at The Queens eight times a week. China Town all dressed up for the year of the Monkey to begin.

The 30 something women that sits down decide me head down eyes fixated on the screen of her phone. Long skirt and high buttoned up shirt and long coat, immaculate, hair in a bun and perfect skin with no make up,  A Liberian prim and proper at first glance you may believe. Yet at home she's the mistress stocking and suspenders blindfolds and handcuffs.

Another made up life that I created on the bus ride home this late friday afternoon.

©sarah jane patel