hunting change

You can't wait for inspiration.
You have to go after it with a club.

- Jack London


SB xx

I tell myself it takes time

Great song, great clip.  And it begs the question, what would you do if you thought you were completely alone in the world? 

I think, after the initial tears - I'd get head-to-toe dressed up in my best outfit, set up a drum kit in the middle of the main street and play the shit out of it.



This song is my inner dialogue.

SB xx

going with the flo-rence

I'm pretty excited to be hearing some new stuff from Florence + The Machine right now.  I purchased her new album called 'Ceremonials' and so far, the song "no light, no light" has my heart beating a little faster.

You want to hold my hand

You are the space in my bed

You are the silence in between what I thought

And what I said

You are the night time fear

You are the morning when it's clear

When it's over you'll start

You're my head

You're my heart

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes

I never knew daylight could be so violent

A revelation in the light of day

You can choose what stays and what fades away

And I'd do anything to make you stay

No light, no light

No light

Tell me what you want me to say

Through the crowds, crying out at me

In your place there were a thousand other faces

I was disappearing in plain sight

Heaven help me, I need to make it right

You want a revelation,

You wanna get it right

But, it's a conversation,

I just can't have tonight

You want a revelation

Some kind of resolution

You want a revelation

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes

I never knew daylight could be so violent

A revelation in the light of day,

You can choose what stays and what fades away

And I'd do anything to make you stay

No light, no light

No light

Tell me what you want me to say...

I love her really.

SB xx

the man, dan

An ode to the lovely Dan Sultan.  Few things in life, are as delicious as a dark haired man with sparkling blue eyes.  And best of all - this man has the voice of a roughened angel, who has been cast down from the clouds to spend his time swigging Jack Daniels in smoky bars, cradling a guitar like it is an extension of himself.  Ooo-ahhh.

So fine.

SB xx

the way it is

I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me too. Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it's true I'm here, and I'm just as strange as you.

- Frida Kahlo

This quote breaks my heart - because it reminds me that I am calling out to someone who probably isn't there. I suppose this blog is my way of echoing Frida's words. Strangely, I know little about this woman - yet we are akin.  I too feel strange and flawed - an error yet to be discovered. These posts are my ink in the tattoo of time - except sometimes I wonder, if I'm not brave enough to own up to these feelings, beyond the keyboard, beyond the screen - what will become of me?

I am so, so lonely tonight.  There is no tune in my vast collection to set this feeling to. I search - Feist, Megan Washington, Laura Marling, Alanis Morissette - Christ no, Fleetwood, Gotye, Beyonce.  No, no, no, no.

I wanted to test myself tonight, thought I could handle a dose of reality - some distant facebook research.  Turns out, not so harmless. Turns out, I'm not so ready. Fucking facebook.

Best be off to read some self-help book; or rather somebody-else-help-me-because-I-can't-help-myself, book.

SB xx

neglecting the cure

I feel terribly shit for not realising until recently, that The Cure sang this song.  It's pretty lovely (if you excuse the bad, bad hair).

SB xx

Holy Megan

SB xx

there will be no swaddling

This is the 'love to swaddle up original'.  And there is absolutely no way I'd be putting my baby, metaphorical or otherwise in this thing. Jesus. The shit you find when online shopping.

SB xx

a sentimental education

This is a photograph I took this afternoon, lightly baked in Photoshop for some added drama.  It was a little test for my new DSLR - which is a lovely piece of machine, and I think we are going to have a promising relationship.  I like to think of this photo, as 'flowers from my love' because it is taken from a tree that John mentioned to me a while ago - I finally had the time to go out and look, and I found it, hidden in a place I didn't expect to find it.  It made me feel connected to him, my friend, only my friend.  I miss him at the strangest times.

I love Jacaranda trees - they begin to bloom around this time of year - sometimes whole streets are lined with the pleasant purple. From a lookout point today, casting my eyes over the town, I could see pockets of purple springing from amongst the red dirt and scrub.  Even after all the hurt, I still think of John as a brilliant beacon of colour in this rugged palette of plain. He gallivants his part of the world as if it is his own backyard - sometimes he sends me photos of what he sees. I hold onto that tightly. I know I shouldn't, but I do.

This weekend I have been steadily working on my overseas trip photo albums - they are coming together nicely, but remembering moments and stories to write within the pages is going to take longer.

The soundtrack to my weekend has been a new release from dear Washington, called "Insomnia". She soothes me.

SB xx

that's what you get

Things are crazy at work right now - we are in the process of moving into a different location - so I've been doing a lot of packing and lifting all week. We have been trying to achieve things, but are being held up by incompetent or absent tradies - it's so frustrating. I do believe the art of organisation has been lost by most.

I am also mega angry with management and process.  I applied and sat for an interview for a position in my current department - I did this back in March.  I STILL don't have an answer.  Forget that while the position sits unfilled, I have to try and do the work of two people; forget that, as an adult, I need to plan things - so factors like whether or not I have a 75 hour or a 50 hour fortnight, kinda matter. Forget that if I were a doctor, surgeon or token project officer of fuck knows what, I would not be left waiting 29 weeks for a resolution.  It is bullshit.  And what's worse, whenever the subject is raised, my absolutely useless mangers manager, tells me these ridiculous vague lies which are just insulting to all involved.  I'm supposed to believe that the regional director just has so much fucking paperwork on her over sized desk that she can't get to the bottom of the pile in what, 20 weeks? Someone is telling me porkies, and I dislike this immensely.  Every time I see that stupid woman in a newspaper photograph, or quoted in a newspaper article, or her name at the bottom of a global email - I want to tell her to get her overpaid, over sized ass to her desk and sign my god-damned paperwork.  Is that so much to ask?!

Why I even went for this job, I don't know.  The pay is no better and there's just as many menial jobs as before - but I cared about people, so I wanted to do it full time.  These management people make me hate it, they make me want to leave - they make me want to hurt them the way they hurt the little people like me.  I imagine seeing my paperwork enclosed in a dull beige file, squashed at the bottom of a paperwork pile - where the regional director looks upon it, sees my nobody name, and nobody title and decides she'll leave it until next week.

What all of this says to me is that 'they' don't care, that 'they' can't be trusted and that 'they' do not appreciate me, or people like me.

Oh boy, I feel a naughty letter brewing inside of me - so they best hope I don't find a wealthy man to sweep me off my feet and marry me - because if I do, I will be telling them where they can stick that paperwork, along with that job!

SB xx

The little girl in me

I am a self professed potty mouth - I can drop a 'shit' 'crap' and even 'fuck' just about anywhere. I 'balls' with the best of them and call 'bullshit' when I see it.

Which is why it's hilarious that when, say, I try to open a door the wrong way, or drop a pen, the automatic thing that comes out of my mouth is "whoopsie daisy". These words escape my mouth before I even have time to register them. I caught myself doing it today, and I just thought it was the most ridiculous thing. Here I am, this awkward, 28 year old, broad shouldered with a weathered heart - behaving like an eight year old blonde girl in a summer dress, frilled socks and shiny white shoes.

Well Fiddle-dee-dee! Ain't that just swell?

SB xx

Angry bird

This weekend I have experienced absolute moments of fury - they seed from apparent non-issues. The sound of someone as they walk the hallway; a menial request of my time. Am I hormonal? Do I have some horrible brain tumour which is eating away at my central nervous system?

I can't describe it. Tonight, I sat down to practise my drawing, I felt I wasn't really in the mood but I persisted because I plucked a flower this evening from its bush and to not make use of it tonight would be wasteful, as no doubt it would wither by tomorrow. It was a waste anyway; I couldn't concentrate, the lines weren't making sense - I know what I see but I am incapable of replicating it.

I tried a study of the colours. This beautiful flower, not one colour, but many. Many mismatched hues that when blended by the magic of mother nature produced this amazing thing. Magenta, red, orange, yellow, white, pink... I tried to blend my pastels. It was a very poor imitation.

Why does everything always have to feel like such an effort? Why do things feel so hard all of the time? I feel like some tragic female version of George Costanza - not real tragedy, just a rather comedic result of lameness after lameness. Endless lame; pathetic, yet also seemingly a physical disability on my part to just reach anything good. Fucky mcfuck, if it weren't so hurtful, it would be funny to me.

Anger meets with disappointment and then tears, but I will not cry.

I've been feeling like this whole 'focus on me' thing has been positive for me - improving myself, but these moments pass so quickly, and all I'm usually left with is remorse for the same diversions in the road, replaying. Groundhog day. I always turn down the same track, I always realise only when I'm part way through, that I made the wrong choice. This leads to the big ones - why am I me, why am I here, why can't I just be somebody else?

I wish I was the moon, I wish I were a written word on a page - part of something, purposeful. I wish I was a bird, that I could fly away - soar on the breeze.

God, it's all so melodramatic isn't it? I hate coming here and crying about how awful everything is. Perhaps the real problem is that I am labouring under a misapprehension. All this time thinking that at some point, in this musical drama that is my life, that I will be due my tap dance solo at some point. Maybe that doesn't really happen at all? Or maybe it happens in select cases - like with movies stars and child geniuses.

I feel like a loose feather trapped in a room. No breeze to uplift and set me free. Confined to live out my days in an environment not made for me. The swishing feet of a passerby gives rise to a short lived flight, but too soon I am once again wedged. Waiting for something to move, for the earth to shake me free.

Oh, I don't know?

SB xx

Tribute

I kind of love this.

SB xx

heaven is a place on earth where you, tell me all the things you wanna do

Today has been the kind of day that makes me want to wash myself down the drain, along with the bath water. Either that, or disappear my consciousness into the movie "My Girl", or something as equally disturbing and corny.

It was a slow progressing day; quiet and lonely at work - feeling on the outer, I voluntarily left my lunch break 15 minutes early to go sit at my desk - that's how desperate I was.

I felt bad about the way I had responded to John's email yesterday.  He had finally emailed me back after a little over a week, and I'm so damn impatient that I got angry. I told him that as a pen pal - he sucked.  We always joke to one another - but it was my tone.  I felt bad as soon as I had sent it. Today I wrote him a brief message to tell him something I'd neglected to mention yesterday.  He wrote back, ending with a dig about how offensive my "you suck" was.

I have this warped, secret hope in my head that one day he'll wake up and realise he's liked me all along...or that after a while the idea of me will 'grow' on him. Or, that when he wrote back to knock me down those weeks ago, he wasn't being entirely honest for some noble reason.  Which is why, when I spoke to my Mum earlier in the day, and she said there was a hand addressed letter that had arrived for me - my mind immediately went to John. No, I told myself - it can't be.. or could it? It wasn't. God, did I want it to be though.

I know it's a useless race I run - like wishing Santa was a real person, even after your parents tell you he's not.  That silly, magic hope - you never want it to die, but sometimes you wish it would crawl into a dark corner on it's own and leave you to reality.

I can't shake the feeling he's hiding something from me, but then my feelings aren't all that reliable are they?

SB xx

a history in letters

Letter writing has been a subject at the fore of my mind recently.  Last night I started Marieke Hardy's new book "You'll be sorry when I'm dead" (she had me at the title... and with that darling cover illustration of her with a flower in her hair - she is a woman after my own heart!).  She writes about her love of letter writing, and even has samples of some of her work.  It made me realise my affinity with it too.

When I was around eight, my favourite cousins in all the world (actually, probably my favourite little people of all time) moved away - their parents had separated and it was all very dramatic and sudden.  I recall writing many letters, drawing pictures and using more stickers than appropriate.  I missed my cousins terribly, and even though they would have been too young to appreciate the letters, I felt this was a way to stay connected.  Back then, it disappointed me that it would take so long to get to them - even before the age of SMS and email, I had been an impatient young Aries.  I wanted them to know I missed them, I wanted them to feel the love on the page, I wanted them to remember me. Consequently, now we have facebook - I barely hear from the young women.  That's modern technology for you.  No doubting that someone who writes you a letter thinks very highly of you. Where have these days gone?

When I was twelve, I was staying at my good friend Tilly's place, for the weekend.  She had a mega crush on the class hottie (I had worked through my crush for that fella long beforehand, so it was ok) and we decided it would be a great idea to write him a secret love letter.  From recollection, we composed our letter, typing it up on pretty paper, sealing it inside a pretty envelope and planted lipstick kisses on the outside.  We walked the many blocks to the young mans house and daringly dropped it in his letter box!  Oh, the scandal it caused at school on Monday!  People had their suspicions, but I held true to my friend - we denied all involvement - I may have even provided her with an alibi!  Eventually Tilly cracked and owned up, I don't think she ever got the guy - but she did earn some cred for being ballsy enough for the letter act.

I would've been about fifteen when "The Body" - that is, Elle Macpherson came to my home town as part of a huge tourism campaign.  There was a lot of hype about the whole thing, she was paid an ungodly amount of money - everyone went to see, just to catch a glimpse.  At the time, I was semi-disgusted with the fuss, so I wrote a letter/witty account of the day and sent it into the then cult-ish magazine 'Recovery'. It must've been published, because I received an Alanis Morissette album in the post shortly after. WOW!

As a teenager, writing letters in class was a given. Even in the presumed silence of a classroom, you could share a joke, plans, sadness and pain. Think about how thrilling it was - will I get caught... will the recipient giggle uncontrollably? If someone was having a rough day, a simple "are you ok?" on a scrap of paper could change it all.  I wish people would do that in the adult world - leave a subtle sticky note here and there from time to time - imagine finding an handwritten joke under your keyboard, an "I'm sorry", "hang in there", a simple smiley face, or God willing, an "are you ok?" If I get married, and have kids someday - I'll be sure to be the kind of wife and mum to sneak in a secret note from time to time. I don't think there is anything more exciting than receiving a handwritten note that you aren't expecting.

During my final years of high school, I stupidly took geography as a TEE subject.  The teacher we had was appalling on so many levels.  Creepy, sleazy, dim-witted and completely useless when it came to equipping us with any knowledge.  One day, something happened in class that drove me to absolute fury.  During the free period that followed I penned a multi page letter to this horrid teacher - laying out the realities I felt he needed to hear.  I didn't write it with the intention of giving it to him - it was an exercise to preserve sanity on my part - but when I showed it to my good friend to read, somehow this letter got passed around and around; people were applauding me, telling me I should be a lawyer (eeek!) one even took a photocopy to keep for herself because she was so impressed with its contents.  My friends convinced me to give the letter to the teacher - I did.  Nothing ever came of it. No reprimand for me, or the teacher.  It died a quiet death - I suspect because I was a top student and they could hardly punish me for pointing out facts they already knew, but declined to act upon. Phew - that pen sure was mighty - but it didn't shed the blood that I expected it would.

Shortly after finishing high school was around the time I proper dropped my bundle.  There wasn't a name for it - I kind of denied the problems, but it was pretty clear I was going through something.  Home life was really tense and emotional.  I would bite my parents heads off before dissolving into heavy tears; sometimes I could sink into myself for an entire weekend and barely utter a word that wasn't dragged out of me. My Mum isn't the most perceptive lady, she's not really geared to understand emotions or the complexities about how thoughts affect feelings.  It's not a dig on my Mother, she was just never told to think about herself or her internal environment, when I talk about issues like these with her, she goes blank because she simply doesn't get the connection.  Anyway - one day she'd gotten to her wits end with me, and said something like "I don't know what's wrong with you... I don't understand why you are this way".  It cut me deeply that I was affecting confusion on others, let alone myself.  In the clarity of bed time, I wrote my parents a letter - apologising, and tried to explain as best I could, that I just didn't know why I was this way.  I hid the letter in a place I knew my Mum would find it.  When she did, she came to me, she told me I wrote a very good letter. It saved me in that moment.

I would've been about 20 when a bombshell hit.  One of my best friends from high school, someone like me in so many ways - tried to commit suicide.  We had lost our closeness, she moved to the city for university, I stayed behind to sort my shit out - but it hit me like a tonne of bricks.  This news came about from a series of strange emails - a distressing one from her and one from a friend of hers I had never met, who had written to explain what had happened.  Evidently, it wasn't the first time she'd tried it - her life had fallen apart and I hadn't seen it and I couldn't stop it from happening.  I felt so helpless.  I remembered a time I was staying over her house when we were younger, we had made gingerbread men and had a crazy afternoon baking and decorating.  The only way I could think of reaching my friend who had seemingly departed to a place where I couldn't reach her, was to bake her a box of gingerbread men and post it off to her, with a very long letter. I didn't know what to say - but I tried to say 'stick around'. The letter and accompanying cookies were my metaphorical hands reaching out to hold hers. So many hopes went with that letter.

Obviously the most recent earth-shattering letter was 'The John Bomb'.  My express posted little envelope of heart and truth; the ramifications of which have been well documented here.

In my time, I have written letters to loved ones, friends, enemies, myself and even God. Each time they have been a release - a wish to affect change - change in attitude, change in heart, change in understanding - in both myself and others.

God how I wish more people would write what they feel. And I really wish they would write to me...

SB xx

I can be the poet, you can be the story

I just don't have any words in me right now. I'm disappearing into music.

SB xx

All hail Ryan #2

Just needed a little Ryan today.

And finally, the money shot...

Phew.

SB xx

Wilde World

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.

Oscar Wilde 

SB xx

I'll be the one with my heart in my lap

This song is so me right now. Wow.

Chimney falls and lovers blaze
Thought that I was young
Now I've freezing hands and bloodless veins
As numb as I've become
I'm so tired
I wish I was the moon tonight

Last night I dreamt I had forgotten my name
'Cause I had sold my soul but awoke just the same
I'm so lonely
I wish I was the moon tonight

God bless me, I'm a free man
With no place free to go
I'm paralyzed and collared-tight
No pills for what I fear
This is crazy
I wish I was the moon tonight

Chimney falls and lovers blaze
Thought that I was young
Now I've freezing hands & bloodless veins
As numb as I've become
I'm so tired,
I wish I was the moon tonight

How will you know if you've found me at last?
'Cause I'll be the one, be the one, be the one
With my heart in my lap
I'm so tired, I'm so tired
I wish I was the moon tonight



SB xx

affirmative delivery

A while ago now, I was watching a show on TV where one of the guests was wearing a funky "yes" necklace.  I thought it was cool, and decided that I really wanted to find something similar.  And then, after my whole 'yes' day as documented here my desire to find the ultimate "yes" was reignited.

It was by chance I stumbled upon this lovely piece:



Strangely enough, I had only been reading about the delightful designs of Zoe & Morgan days before - so it seemed fated that I should find this!  I thought perhaps it could be on my Christmas list, but alas, being the impatient Aries that I am - I could not help but order it now, now, now!  So, I did. It was on sale too!

It arrived yesterday, and I'm in love with it.



Ooo la la... too pretty.

SB xx

you could be happy

Whenever I hear this song, it never fails to stop me in my moment.  Maybe it's the sweet lullaby sound that draws me in at the start - it is so sad.. and just the most beautiful goodbye I think I've ever heard.



SB xx

my someday

I've always wished to have green or blue eyes - instead of my standard old brown.  Aside from contact lenses, I suppose there's no hope...

For the longest time I have wanted a Jeep Wrangler - red, if possible.  I don't know why the fascination started.  It could have something to do with having a high school crush on an older guy who drove a jeep; possibly because of my love for the show 'Gilmore Girls' or it might just be because I figure that road tripping in a Jeep would be the ultimate freedom. I vote the last.

One day, I want to live in a converted warehouse...

buy myself a kick-ass red lipstick and have the guts to wear it...

dance to silence in the arms of a good man...

learn how to play piano...

wear a dress like Scarlett O'Hara - just once...

attend a masquerade ball...

walk in the rain, and get soaking wet...

get married, and have a big beautiful fascinator in my hair...

while wearing red-ruby shoes underneath my ice white dress..

have kids, and be the kind of mother to read to her children, all the time.

Just a start.

SB xx

my head is a jungle

In a dark room we fight, make up for our love.
I've been thinking, thinking about you, about us.
And we're moving slow, our hearts beat so fast.
I've been dreaming, dreaming about you, about us.

Hey, hey, hey.
My head is a jungle, jungle,
My head is a jungle, jungle,
My head is a jungle, jungle,
My head, oh!

I was speaking soft, see the pain in your eyes,
I've been feeling, feeling for you, my love.
And our bodies are tired, our shadows will dance,
I've been aching, aching for you, my love.

My head is a jungle, jungle,
My head is a jungle, jungle,
My head is a jungle, jungle,
My head, oh.

My love is wasted, sorry for this I never meant to be, hurting ourselves, hurting ourselves
And I'm complicated, you won't get me, I have trouble, understanding myself, understanding myself
And my love is wasted, sorry for this I never meant to be, hurting ourselves, hurting ourselves
And I'm complicated, you won't get me I have trouble, understanding myself, understanding myself

My head is a jungle, jungle...

SB xx

right breast, 10 o'clock

So I have this lump in my breast - and I've known about it for years. I've had the whole fine needle biopsy, core biopsy, countless ultrasounds and even a mammogram - OUCH (on the last one). My latest check up tells me it has possibly grown in size, so I must venture to the city for another round of investigations.

The GP tells me, she's almost positive that it will turn out to be the 'nothing' it has always been. I suppose getting it checked for sure is a good idea. Knowing me, I'd just worry about it otherwise.

Hmmm - not sure how I feel about it all.  I am feeling this song now though... perhaps because I heard from John yesterday. Boob and boy - what a combo.



SB xx

tryin' to throw my arms around the world: the thirst

18th August, 2011

The locals say that it doesn't usually get this humid in Rome. It has been just awful - luckily the streets are a wealth of lovely cool water from the aqueducts, or "the nose" as they are sometimes referred to. I still surprise myself that I am drinking water from the street!

Walking about all day, I get so thirsty. There are fleeting moments where I am overcome with the urge to jump on the next person I see clutching an icy cold bottle of water - it's insanity!

Today we have some guided tours, with a lovely old Italian man named Pedro. He is feisty, telling off anyone not in our group who tries to listen in on his guide talks - he looks around 70 years old but has more go than us 20-somethings, and he's as sharp as a whip! Pedro takes us to the amazing Colosseum, The Roman Forum, The Sistine Chapel, which is incredible - but not how I imagined.

Lunch is eaten at a little restaurant across from the Colosseum. After we are berated by a waiter for our poor pronunciation of 'grazie' we experience a rather comical exchange between my stick thin cousin and the local waiter, when she tries to explain she wants to order two servings of the gnocchi. The waiter counted the number of us at the table, then he counted out the number of dishes. My cousin explain slowly, using hand gestures - "me-two-gnocchi". The waiter calls over another staff member to try to comprehend us crazy tourists - I am sure they are snickering, saying amongst themselves "she will never eat TWO servings of gnocchi - silly girl". They underestimated my cousins love of all things pasta, and the size of her stomach.

We part company with Pedro somewhere on the grounds of St Peters Basilica - our ability to soak up any more historical information - gone. If I concentrate hard enough, I think I can still see his blue flag in the distance, and hear him exclaim "CON-TI-KI.. Follow the right guide please!"

What followed was some souvenir shopping in the surely holy shopping grounds of The Vatican - served by a Nun, no less. Then, onto some uh-mazing gelato, which was almost as dreamy as the boys in the shop serving it! Mama mia!?

SB xx

in the hollow of the night it's you I sing for

I neatly fold our love in four,
I hug my mother, I bolt my door
I go to find our love a little black cave
and dig it down deep and hope it will behave

I would do anything for your love
I would do anything for your love
Yes I would do most any old thing
I'd humble my heart, I'd let you win
I would do most any old thing
in the hollow of the night it's
You you you I sing for

I found our love that little black cave
but I couldn't get back 'cause it didn't have a name
So don't you say you died a thousand deaths
to bring me words I haven't even heard yet

I would do anything for your love
I would do anything for your love
Yes I would do most any old thing
I'd humble my heart I'd let you win
I would do most any old thing
I give my word, I'd make you king, yes
I would do most any old thing
I'd lower my hand, I'd let you swing
I would do most any old thing
In the hollow of the night it's
You you you I sing for

I found our love a little black cave
but I couldn't get back
'cause it didn't have a name no
Dig and dug. Toil and toil
I left my love for you inside that cave hole

Clare Bowditch - "Little black cave"

SB xx

so sturdy up, sturdy up your heart

I adore this song from The Beautiful Girls.  I couldn't find a decent video of the band singing it - but this guy does a pretty good job. In a roundabout way John introduced me to this song, and I am grateful for that.



SB xx

All hail Ryan

There's something about Ryan Gosling - he's not the kind to induce immediate swoon, but that's why I like him so. He's that intriguing guy in the corner, who once you notice him - his appeal hits you like a speeding train and you realise he is actually smokin' hot! I watched 'The Notebook' today - just to remind myself what a real man looks like.

Oh my.

SB xx