McFly, Galaxy Defenders and Royal Albert Hall

So, last Thursday I saw - yes, you guessed it - McFly. I saw my four favourite guys perform their hearts out at the Royal Albert Hall at one of their four special concerts.

 

 

I didn't believe I was going beforehand; it seemed so unbelievable that I was seeing my favourite band's 10th anniversary concert. I was on the train, grinning my way through the journey, bobbing up and down to McFly in my ears before I was finally at the Royal Albert Hall; the beautiful building where the people who I have adored for more of my life than I haven't were about to rock my face off - or maybe my socks, I'm not too sure.

Sat in my seat, merchandise bought, I was ready.

It was time.

We all stood.

And then the tears.

From the very start it was emotional; I was in floods as celebrities and fans said their "well done"s and "thank you"s on the screen and then they played early songs and my emotion heightened. They went through the perfect set, toying easily with my emotions and I loved it.

Everything about it was perfect. I was in a place full of nothing but Galaxy Defenders, people exactly like me, holding on to every last note that was sung and every last beat that was beat and every last moment of the most perfect night. Of course, Busted performing with McFly was, well, fantabulous. It was such a crazy atmosphere when they came on, memories and excitement buzzing off each particle in the room. McFly really took me down a fabulous tour down memory lane and a slight peak into the wonderful future of McFly.

It's time to talk about Love is on the Radio.

Love is on the Radio is McFly's upcoming single and I saw it performed for the first time on stage and I love the song so dang much. I haven't stopped listening to it. I love the Texas-inspired-twang, the lyrics, the melody and most of all that McFly are so content with their music and I'll tell you something for sure: so are every McFly fan and I.

Being in a room with all of these people just like me was electrifying. A few times I looked back at the crowd and the pride and happiness I felt was unreal. These people were singing like never before, just like me, hands in the air, feeling the best feeling in their stomachs, just like me.

The anticipation for these concerts has been like nothing before. McFly's excitement and passion for the show was reflected before and during the concert and it made it that kind of special that's hard to write in words. It was a show where everything from the last ten years was as obvious as McFly's happiness. Reflecting on the last decade was incredible and Tom's creation: McFly The Musical allowed us all to laugh and cry and appreciate that we love the best band in the galaxy. Tom sung and showed how much McFly means to him, reflecting just how much it means to us.

Thank you so much McFly for the most incredible show. I can't wait for the next for ever.

Violins & Opera Singing,

The Girl in the Moonlight.

P.s. I'm trying so hard with adding pictures to my blog - I know this one is, well... wonky, but the Leaning Tower of Pisa is beautiful so I've just adjusted the prestigious Royal Albert Hall for this post!

The last time I saw McFly!

Comfort

Blogtember, September 20th: React to this term: comfort

I think comfort's definition changes from person to person, the fundamental meaning underlined somewhere in whoever's definition: ease, freedom from pain, solace.


Comfort is finding a flower on a not-so-perfect day.

To me, comfort is waking up, knowing that I have another day to work towards whatever my goal is and if I don't achieve it: I've got plenty more days to do so. It's having a bad day or a good day or a normal "well, it's over day" and putting in my earphones and listening to McFly. Comfort is having the best day with my favourite people. Comfort is rain outside when I'm snuggled up in a big jumper drinking hot chocolate, watching a film. Comfort is a feeling of happiness and content. It's going to bed and smiling. It's dreaming and the feeling of fuzziness and sharing a laugh with my brother. Comfort is having a horribly stressful day and getting home to an atmosphere where I can get my thoughts straight; letting my family make me feel happier. Comfort is knowing that I'm doing the best I can. It's looking back at old photographs and smiling, memories flooding in. Comfort, to me, is feeling happiness with my situation.

Sometimes, comfort is threatened but it's also fixable and, when I lose, I'll soon be back to feeling warm and happy on the coldest day. For many people, comfort is something to be searched for; it's an abstract clarification that you're safe and things aren't going to change. That's what I always thought comfort meant. Although I definitely think it does, I think comfort can be many things. What's comfort for you? Let me know!

White Roses & Solace,

The Girl in the Moonlight.

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Eyes Opened

Blogtember, September 19th write a (very short) fictional story that starts with this sentence: "To say I was dreading the dinner party would be the understatement of the century."

To say I was dreading the dinner party would be the understatement of the century.

A year had passed. A year and eleven days. A year and eleven days, about three hundred sympathetic eyes (multiplied by each time I was in their company), way too many lonely moons and even more liquid sin on my mother's behalf.

The rain was quiet beneath the sound of my mother's whimpers two doors away. I tuned them out the way I had learnt about six months ago, when no amount of talking, tea and my attempts at comfort was ever enough. I folded the newly-washed tea towels, I washed the side and cut mum's sandwich - that wouldn't be eaten - into two.

Moving quickly because I would definitely be late, I took a breath and knocked on the living room door. I didn't wait for an answer, walking in to be greeted by a smell that had become their house's scent. I cringed but showed no sign of discomfort. My mother, sprawled across the carpet craned her neck and looked at me; well, through me. She looked back at her hands. I didn't even bother addressing why I was there. She knew. I placed the plate down where I always did, opened the curtains slightly and closed the door again.

Back against the door, I let my eyes be free from the light that seemed too yellow, for just a second.

 *  *  *





He watches her, seeing everything the world saw: beauty, happiness and a laugh so pure and beautiful. He was just as in love with her now as he was twenty years before. She had barely changed. Sure, she has a few lines more than she did at seventeen and there are slight - only slight - shadows beneath her young eyes. Yet, he was ignorant.

She laughed her own melody and he turned to Flame. "How's it going Flay?"

"Just got them!" Flame says.

After she brings back the crisps and cake, he kisses his daughter's forehead and Flame grins as if she were still a toddler. "I live for days like this, you know."

Flame nods. "I know."

*  *  *

I felt myself drift through the high-street, past the car park and through the field.

Every year my auntie Deb holds a dinner party. She makes grand cakes and scones, even lemonade and jam. She makes strawberry jam, raspberry, blueberry and cherry. She puts up decorations and her knitted table cloth is placed proudly over the dining room table and fills glasses on the coffee table with breadsticks. She makes her own CD full of old classics and songs she thinks are 'cool as cucumber' and photographs every moment. My uncles dance and my cousins scream. Every year there are more people: Auntie Deb's workmates, neighbours, paperboys. It's the talk of the family for weeks after.

Last year was less lively than normal. Every time someone braved a topic change, someone related it to him and told a story, a memory of him.

I stopped just before I reached the front of my auntie's house and took a breath. This will be worse than horrible; my relatives will fuss over me and show how terribly sorry they are and attempt to make sure I'm smiling at every moment. I know they truly do feel bad for me and that's fine but it was so tiring. It will be over soon.

I approached the door with as much confidence as I could muster and rung the doorbell.

There it was.

A pair of Eyes of Sympathy.

"Hey Uncle Jon," I made sure my eyes met with his only briefly.

"Hi there sweetheart. How are you doing?"

The first 'how are you?' of the afternoon.

I chatted with Jon until I reached the living room and all conversations came to a sudden silence.

I made myself smile to the crowds of people in auntie Deb's living room. Everything looked too small.

There was a boy about my age, maybe a year older, maybe nineteen sitting next to my auntie Deb. He had green eyes that were obvious a few feet away and floppy brown hair that stuck up in all the right places. He had long, dark eyelashes, the kind that made girls jealous. I looked down when his eyes rose to mine. He was about to give me the sympathy look.

My eyes felt heavy.

*  *  *

He breathes an uneasy breath, forming a cloud in the early August air.

Flame bites her lip. She couldn't cry. Not now.

"Flay..." he tries.

"Everything's fine. I'm here," is all she could manage.

"I know," he almost whispers. "With... With you by my," he coughs and winces at the gash on his hand. "With you by my side, I know everything's fine. Life is the best it could be."

Flame felt her heart quicken, she felt it stop, feel comfort in his words and break all at the same time.

From the corner of her eye Flame can see bright yellow. She wonders whether the sun's coming up and she hadn't noticed. Then she heard a voice whisper that she was trying to be protected from, only she could hear, "the time has come." There would be no sunshine.
 
She turns back and can see he's struggling. "I love you so much," she says and then all at once, she can't stop, "I love you. I love you. I couldn't have a better-"

"Sweetie," he stammers and manages to say through a cracked breath "I love you."

Silence.

"Dad," Flame whispers. "Dad, dad. You can't go. Mum hasn't said goodbye. Dad, I love you. Dad."

She sees the bright yellow again. She feels the paramedic's hand on my back but this was no comfort. She feels nothing. I watch as the man calls the time and closes my father's eyes.

*  *  *

I brought my eyes back to his, finding strength somewhere in my gut. I was ready for a new pity stare by a new, so-upset-by-my-story person.

"Hey there," the boy smiled, approaching me as noise filled the room, relatives finally chatted away animatedly.

I searched. My eyes darted around his face for a few seconds, looking for some kind of sadness, some form of grief for me. Instead I found freckles, a slight smile and, what stood out the most: eyes that smiled.

"I can help you escape."

"Pardon?" I managed beneath his stare.

"They have cards. All of them. Debbie has one that reads 'A year has passed, but memories stay, our love for him, still here today.'"

I felt myself laugh and he grinned back at me. Last year was a like a second funeral but under the influence of his grin, I felt like this one might be almost bearable.

"I'm Tommy."

For a brief second I closed my eyes and felt a brief wave of tranquillity. I felt a smile at my lips and opened my eyes.

Find out about Blogtember here:

 

The Dinosaur That Pooped A Planet

Being a kid at heart, when The Dinosaur Pooped Christmas came out, I was mighty excited, having it in my hands as soon as I could. Now, The Dinosaur That Pooped A Planet is out, by the awesome creators, Tom Fletcher and Dougie Poynter, I am over the moon made out of... poop.


Good camera work there. No, really, great job! (Sarcasm, ha!)

What could possibly match the awesomeness of poop and Christmas? Well, my friends, that would be poop and space, with an overlying allegory of the necessity to bring your lunchbox with you when you're out for lunch!

Think of the question you've always wanted to know. I know exactly what you're thinking: "What happens when a hungry dinosaur is unleashed in space?" Well, you're in for a treat. With robots and cats and the exciting adventure of being hungry in space, The Dinosaur That Pooped A Planet really is a hoot and a half! All 5 feet and a few inches of me laughed their way through this story as well as all of my family and friends. I've already got copies ready for all of my young relatives to enjoy - as well as my best friends!

 

When I was younger, rhyming books were the best things and so this is the best gift for any child - and McFly fan! It will make children grin and you'll have a little giggle at, well... poo! I honestly - fangirlness aside - think that it's a fabulous children's book with exciting illustrations! Buy it HERE.

 

Planets & Rockets,

 

The Girl in the Moonlight. 

To My Best Friend

Blogtember, September 16: Write a public love letter to someone in your life. (It doesn’t necessarily need to be romantic.)

To my best friend,

When we were younger, you and I only ever saw our future as being us and the world. It never occurred to us that we wouldn't be joint at the hip every step of the way. We were going to buy a house together, work in the same workplace, go on holiday together; we were going to do everything, just you and I. We'd always laugh about being old ladies rocking on our chairs on the porch one day, drinking tea and still eating too much chocolate!

Even though, now, some of this won't be true anymore (you and I soon realised after we went to different schools years ago *sad face*) - although we still bank on holidays together and being old ladies together - as we have our own ambitions and futures, you and I know that, when we think of our best friend, I'll say your name and you'll say mine. I think that's important: We could be anywhere, in any situation and we'll always be best friends.

Our friendship, to me, is a very personal thing. We can have the silliest, funniest time together (do you remember when we ate two boxes of ice cream and burst into laughter for minutes on end?) and the day can end with us confessing our deepest thoughts, both of us crying at each other, yet smiling at ourselves, our friendship. I've never had someone that I've connected (wow, deep) with as much as I am with you and I think our friendship is lovely and rare in my life.

We may not be around each other 24/7, not even always in each other's company once a week, but we'll always be best friends. We'll always have afternoons where all we do is eat and days discussing our biggest dreams for the future, each other egging the other on. We've always been the friends that are genuinely proud when the other achieves something. We've always thrived in each other's company. I love that about us.

I addressed this letter to you because we've been best friends for so long and I love you so much. We have the best time together and I'm so proud to call such a thoughtful, funny, intelligent, strong (in more ways the one!) and beautiful person my bestest friend.

I can't wait to see our adventures unfold.

Whipped Cream & Marshmallows,

The Girl in the Moonlight.

Check out Blogtember here:

 

Writing Woes and Wonders

When I was younger I'd always write stories; I loved it. I would be in my element. I enjoyed manipulating people's feelings, creating another world and weaving troubles in between happiness and also the build up to the end of the storm. I enjoyed messing around with words, making something with the same meaning, appear better by just switching a few words around and adding another. I did so, secretly. Oh, how I didn't want a soul to know. So, I'd sit in my room on my big computer and write away. I'd write nonsense but it was okay because it was my rainbow.

However, the happiness I got from writing these stories secretly was always shadowed by my embarrassment.

"Pretending in words was too tentative, too vulnerable, too embarrassing to let anyone know."

 

 

Now, I face other woes with writing my blog.

I feel vulnerable writing. My heart feels clouded by fear that I'm putting too many of my feelings out there, on the sometimes scary, dark internet. Writing is sometimes, for me, about being honest, making things raw. However, when I want to type something but not open up too much, with the fear of overdoing it, my spirits are dampened.

My fear of not being good sometimes rains on my parade. It can cause me to be a little scared of letting my fingers tap away at the keyboard. It can be restricting. What if I'm writing gibberish? What if no one understands the point I'm trying to make? What if, anyone who reads this is just thinking: "What is this garbage?"

I've outlined the downside, for me, about writing but now let me tell you about the side that makes me see sunshine on an English September day, a rainbow when there's continuous rain and blue skies when clouds are distorting my happiness. (Jeesh, give it up already!)

Writing makes me excited. I could be out shopping and suddenly, a thought will shine above everything else and I'll be planning what I'm to write. I could be anywhere in my bubble of life and, suddenly, something will catch my eye and I'll have something to write about. This excites me a lot. It's the endless possibilities of having something I didn't know about in the morning to write about when I'm back at my laptop, ready to finally let my thoughts be written.

Writing is my place to go when I want to rant, express happiness or put my thoughts into chunks of text. It's the thing that makes me sigh with happiness: I get my point of view across somehow.

Writing allows me to put my umbrella down when rain is falling and dance in it; it makes me brave. I write things that I couldn't possibly say aloud, things I wouldn't have the courage to come to a conclusion about normally. For example, I can take an abstract idea, like, love and pour my thoughts into something more solid than a fleeting pondering. I don't always like that writing makes me vulnerable, but sometimes, I do. However, I also write things that I am passionate about, things that I want the world to know that I see the sad eclipse something may bring (yes, I'm talking about my plethora of posts on gay rights). I enjoy being able to write things that allow me to think outside of the box. It's exciting and challenging.

Writing makes me happy when things aren't always bright. I can go to my room and type away, letting any sadness lessen because I'm doing something I love. Although I fear how bad I may be, it also doesn't matter to me because writing brings me joy when my head feels like thunder.

I'm not a blogger with an amount of followers that is incomprehensible; I don't get tens of comments (in fact, I never have!) on my posts; I don't get hundreds and hundreds of views on each post I publish. Yet, that's ok. I (as I'm sure those on the opposite side of the blogger spectrum do too) appreciate every follower, every comment and every view. Why? That'll be because I didn't start blogging to have all of the crazy stuff: I did it because I love writing. That's why writing's wonderful. It's personal. It's eye opening. You can explore a subject and come to a conclusion all in one moment. It's exciting.

If you're like me and a little apprehensive, nervous and embarrassed about writing: You shouldn't be. Writing is your thing. Writing may be your haven. I choose not to show people, but I love it more than I am embarrassed by it because it's all of the above and so much more.

Clouded Skies & Green Grass,

The Girl in the Moonlight.

First Impressions

After reading Zoe's back to school post, I had to write a post about first impressions.

Zoe said something about herself that, finally, after years, described my feelings about being faced with first impressions. I worry that people, when they first meet me, think I'm shy. Being shy is not a bad thing and there are situations where I will be shy. My problem is, I don't want someone to pin me down, label me as soon as they meet me. It could, in turn, stop certain relationships and restrict me being the very best version of myself. There are three reasons I wouldn't want people to label me as "shy-just-shy" straight away (as I wouldn't label others it): Firstly I am not a shy person and secondly, after people thinking I'm shy, I won't always show them who I really am because I'm so bogged down with their opinion and if I was a very shy person, that wouldn't be all that there is to me and more importantly, it wouldn't be the most important aspect of my personality.

I have learnt, however that first impressions don't matter. It's a simple as that. It doesn't stop us worrying about it, but I know my fear of first impressions has definitely lessened. First impressions reflect more on the person casting them than they do the subject.

Therefore, I try oh so hard to not make those first impressions of others. I don't always succeed which sounds hypocritical - and well, it is. Sometimes I'm faced with people who have done something that may strike me as horrible, rude or scary. I will, in turn, become sheltered from them - become shy, maybe. This is unfair. I may have caught them at a bad moment or completely misread the situation. Alternatively, I may have got it just right but that doesn't make me right for labelling them. So, I make a conscious effort not to do this when meeting new people.

I met this girl years and years ago and from the start we didn't like each other. We were very young but for no reason I didn't like her and she didn't like me. We didn't talk and we didn't try to until one day, we did. Guess what? She's my best friend. Both my best friend and I actually aren't the type of people to not like people (we were very young) but from what we can remember, we did and now she is one of my favourite people ever.

If you've just started somewhere new and you're worried or anxious about first impressions or anything else, I can tell you that everyone feels the same and there's (although this may not stop you feeling it) no need for you to be. Everything will be ok!

Have you started somewhere new? Or do you remember feeling anxious after starting somewhere new? Have you been wrong about someone and now think they are great?

Jumpers & Socks,

The Girl in the Moonlight.