Thanks, education

I’m coming back to my flat from another jam session with some amazing musicians. We busked Stevie Wonder’s Superstition and after one hour of playing, we are excited. Playing in such positive surroundings put you on such a high you never really want it to end, especially considering it’s early days for me re-entering education - I completely forgot that nights like tonight are the reason we do what we love.

In short, it’s been a pretty incredible two months. When you’re experiencing such consistent positivity it’s so easy to dress things up. Tweet incessant, narcissistic stuff or post it on your stories, just to remind everyone that your life is currently great. No one wants that - we’re British and it’s the start of winter. Nothing is allowed to be positive. On the other side to that though it’s something that you feel so compelled to scream it becomes an itch you can’t scratch until you’ve done it.

Opportunities are something that, as humans, we owe to ourselves to take. Sometimes it’s okay to be selfish, and as someone that has definitely experienced the positives and negatives in recent history (check out my first post), I feel like I deserve a break. Playing my Saxophone on a Tuesday night at the Bierkeller, or hanging out with my amazing flatmates, or jamming with new people when they ask is my way of expression; I can’t put into words how beautiful it is when you get recognised for being passionate about creating. Even one person that says in passing “That was sick playing by the way, mate” is such a lift it can drive you to go further - it certainly has me. That’s why I’m doing this. That’s why I started my blog for journalism and brought my Saxophone to Manchester to seek out what I want and love. My course leader at BIMM said on the first day of university, “Journalism is just as much an art as music itself. It can cause emotional responses that a listener to a song would experience, sometimes more so because of how exposed and naked it is as an art form.” I’m blessed to be able to experience both sides of entertainment, through both words and music. Those words in particular, undoubtedly, will stick with me.

I feel as now the freshers’ dust has settled, it is a perfect opportunity to share a piece that I wrote in class a few days ago. It was written in half an hour, so it’s far from perfect, but it was my first attempt at a piece of narrative writing, so I’m pretty proud of it.

The Sun was set over St. James’ street; nothing stood between a class of innocent, first year journalism students and the potential threats the unkept, uninviting stretch of road posed. Especially not John (our ‘Writing for Music Journalism’ tutor), who was more interested in making sure we were sticking to the strict ten minute time frame we had to look at human shit. “Okay, ten minutes, have a look around” he said as we first cast eyes on the setting for the exercise - this was one that my delicate Cheshire upbringing hadn’t prepared me for. I immediately went to open one of the many bins, but the overwhelming hum of weeks-old Chinese food was too much. The bin hastily slammed shut. I can’t comprehend how comfortable the restaurant’s chef was, taking a cigarette break within such upsetting conditions. There was beauty beyond the street, with the hopeful flicker of the Novotel’s signage reminding me that it does get better than this: soggy cardboard underfoot and rotting food embellished by the faint cigarette smell being smoked in the distance. Surely, it had to get better than that? The chef continued to watch us. Was this one of the stranger danger moments I’d been warned about entering a big city? The myriad of colours beyond the street being decorated by the stunning sunset helped me to understand, the road wasn’t there to look pretty - it didn’t need to. I ventured deeper, and opened what looked like a power box (purpose inconclusive upon investigating further). The painted-over rust left a sap-like signature on my moisturised finger tips, and immediately looked up to see John smiling at me, as if he’d already made that mistake. I responded with a disgusted look on my face, possibly the face one might imagine making having just fondled a rusty, slimy door, all for the purposes of learning. Thanks, education. You have out-done yourself.