Plagiarism. That's what is in discussion next.

Angela Maria De Nobrega Freitas, BSc Hons., Social Sciences, Open University, DipGeog., Open University - MLit., Literature, studied, Open University MPhil., and Playwriting, studied, Birmingham University *************************************************************************** I am going to write about plagiarism. I have been a victim of plagiarists for many years, for as long as I have been writing consistently, and certainly since I attended a playwright's course at Birmingham University, in fact, which is about ten years, to be truthful i have written for longer than that, but have been a victim of a plagiarist for that length of time, which is long enough. Plagiarism is an unquantifiable nuisance which only those who plagiarise can revert to; other than writing their own material they proceed to steal from others what they cannot say so well themselves; about any subject. Plagiarists are a certain type of grouping in writing society - they are not of the writing society - they are not members of the legitimate writing community - they can operate alone and may be on the edges of writing society, and not quite evolved to be part of any authentic writing community. Plagiarists who plagiarise from people's writing work are not legitimate members of any kind of writing community or society. What they do is steal, lift whole entire works from other people who are legitimate writers. I am here writing for my website - Wordcraft42, and unfortunately this website is being invaded by crooks from the writing community who are not legitimate writers, they have nothing to say, they are empty-headed buffoons who are lazy, extremely unpleasant characters and all they do is plagiarize from other people's work. Those types of nuisance, however, may be published writers who no longer write either in any way that is interesting to an audience or that any writing fraternity would be interested in. Those types of plagiarists are a sore on the bottom of the writing fraternity, a boil which must be lanced. This writing work that I am writing to you, here will be stolen by idiots who have gained access to my website - their lives are determined by what they read in my website - I don't know them personally, but I know who the nuisances are, or in this case the main nuisance - who has been a writer and now purports to put himself about as someone with a voice, the only voice he has is that of anarchy, and a normal voice he has not. However, he is good enough to steal from this website. The voice of a plagiarist is an amalgamation, a summary collection of different people's works as that which can be read and taken from this website, what I write in my website and elsewhere, commentaries that I write on BBC news online, all being pilfered by the same plagiarist community; basically the individuals in question operate by bastardizing a number of other people's works whether from writing websites such as this one is or other writing forums and they put those works about as though of their commune of plagiarists who purport to have written those works.  There are entire collectives of plagiarist thieves whose lives are nothing but checking out legitimate writers's websites, such as this website you're 'reading from that thieves are using for plagiarizing purposes. Plagiarists are not looking for legitimate ideas or inspiration to write their own work, they are on the rob and there to steal - then the work which has been stolen is collected by a plagiarist bigwig in the plagiarist community who then edits another person's writing to suit his/ her particular plagiarist purposes. If the work is about writing which my website is, when I am not having to deal with idiot crooks and plagiarists, my website is otherwise entirely about writing and the craft of writing which makes my website vulnerable to pilferers from the non-writing community and will be targetted by those who live on the edges of society and subsist from what they gain in the community of plagiarists who define themselves as rioters and that's what they are. They are are not, as I have said, in any way very pleasant characters, they are undesirables living off other writers' work - they cannot be bothered to educate themselves or determine for themselves to live life clean, they are often, rapists, paedophiles, murderers, layabouts of all descriptions who early in their careers made a certain kind of living from writing. However, if they are also crooks from the criminal community, the criminal under-world they often cannot be bothered to work and do their own writing, they are looking to write from another writer's work - all they do all day long is deal in contraband, they are often involved with kids who are groomed not to know any better - dummies, who do what plagiarists tell them to do, and they get on with it. They become another generation of plagiarists, taught by those who have been plagiarizing almost all their lives and want to pass on the plagiarist tradition for others to continue. So, the plagiarist community is not in any way, shape or form a pleasant or legitimate community - the characters involved are crooks; and not to be trusted in any way; and they are most certainly not legitimate or genuine about anything that is decent, in writing or any other part of real life. Crooks and plagiarists are one of the same world - they cannot live by correct standards or by any kind of propriety - they have no sobriety, they are ignorant, false, they can be academics, and plagiarizing from other people's work and is a way of life for them which is the mainstay of their lives, they have gone awry as a community and cannot go right. Academics who are writers, playwrights or have been writers where their time is at a close, and what they look for is a fresh voice to propagate from and copy from. Plagiarists are not inspirational characters, they do not inspire anyone, apart from their own community of ill-devoloped plagiarist trainees and those particular sets of individuals who have lived off academia for most of their careers and at a certain point in their lives defined themselves as unoriginal copyists, plaigiarists by any other name and are now a quantity apart - they are letchy, sketchy types of people who have latched onto kids and others, the learning swots who never learn, they steal work that belongs to other people, other writers and otherwise exist in a vacuum of their own creation by plagiarizing other writers' legitimate work. Angela Maria De Nobrega Freitas

Watching a Film ...

Angela Maria Decent Nobrega Freitas, BSc Hons., Social Sciences, Open University, DipGeog., Open University Masters, MA, MLit., Literature, studied, Open University, Masters MA, MSc., MPhil., and Playwriting, studied, Birmingham University I am writing the following because I am struck by how Meryl Streep's character behaves in this film ... The Bridges of Madison County ... I am watching the Bridges of Madison County with Meryl Streep, and Clint Eastwood, the other actor I am familiar with in the film. It's about sexual profligacy outside of marriage. It's a loose and immoral tale of profligacy, the protagonist who is female and played by Meryl Streep rather too convincingly I fear to add, walks into an affair with the other protagonist played by Clint Eastwood, obviously not her husband, far too quickly, far too easily. A man arrives with pick up truck and asks a woman standing on a porch for directions, in Iowa, woman offers to get in truck to show man she has never met, a stranger, the way, we know nothing more of the character than that. I mean, would you? Matters of decorum seem to have escaped Francesca, Meryl's character who invitingly walks into the man's life, the character played by Clint Eastwood, a complete stranger, as in, someone she doesn't know and has never met, and proceeds to converse at, I have to say, converse at and i repeat, he stands there slightly struck listening, and matters go on from there./> There is music, to try to convince us, the studiously careful audience, but, of course that's not possible to do. I saw her say goodbye to her husband who left for a spell and apparently took the children, to go somewhere, it's all rather convenient for those involved to start an ill-advised affair, it was so easy that a man came along to take the husband's place for a while, a complete stranger, as I have said. Meryl Streep seems to have those types of encounters in films and has spent a lot of time crying, and not just crying, but distraught, which undoubtedly is due to mental distress, heavy duty worry that situations are not right, beaux/men/women, youth who work with Meryl and who ought to know better, she can be charming, but she is married; as a result she becomes strident, she cries, a lot, and she can be ferocious, and she talks as she cries, she puts forward her feelings, which are psychologically angry, unresolved, and when in discussion with Clint's character can appear imbalanced, and which are more to do with psychiatric concerns which ought to be addressed in psychiatric therapy and with medication, that is my personal prognosis for Meryl, at that time, as seen in the film, and it doesnt actually help Meryl to act in films that portray complicated or mentally challenged characters, and characters who have to deal with difficult personal concerns, that as an actor she thinks she will be able to address, impossible because the life experience that is essential to cope with such an undertaking is not there, she doesn't have that kind of background, how can she know, the psychological ability to deal with the disconnect of you as an actor and the character which you are determined to play is not there, and as well as that they are characters who don't ask the appropriate questions. She has done that a lot. And so to the matter of the film. Those situations have consequences, which neither protagonist seem to consider or give much thought to. I can't think of anything more strange as it must be to invite a stranger in, kiss a stranger's lips and mouth and touch a stranger's body, or even to contemplate it, which is where a lot of people go wrong, they give in far too easily to bodily functions of the mind and body, consequences they treat as something separate, something to deal with afterwards, if at all, and that is careless and uneducated, but they two do; especially when you have been in a marriage or relationship for a long time, going outside of that remit requires serious contemplation.  What happens afterwards, does anyone think about that? There is nervous exhaustion in Meryl's character, Francesca, undoubtedly and of course we the audience experience that as we watch, i was watching the film with only half an occasional eye to the screen, paying half the attention, i could hear a lot of noise and tears soon after she met Clint's charactert and it was too much to take in, very difficult angry sumation of her position and the situation she finds herself in, Clint was looking around himself, hello, Clint, saying his part ready to bolt, hello, they only have themselves to blame, she should have stayed home, inside not hanging around outside on the porch, which makes her character seem unsettled, and ready for any action that appears on the scene, and some, troubled and not really at home, but seemingly looking for something other than home, her whole persona speaks 'up to no good on her husband and kids', it has to be said, loose, home seems trash the way she abandons it and walks out and into a stranger's truck, never even locked the door, crazy, or check with her husband to make sure he and the kids arrived safely, she was most defintely not at home. Clint's character is a little more laid back, at least that's how he started in, initially, pretty soon Clint's laid back persona and his character is put through his laid back paces and he clearly is also someone who struggles to make sense of the riot party he has entered into, challenging his slightly ambiguous moral position because he somewhat willingly and slightly unwillingly enters into the fracas with Meryl, a position, and i have to say, once he loses the ego, or forgets his ego, he soon realises, he is really quite an ordinary concerned person, he has his faults, due to his standing as an actor that people liked to watch in western movies and he possibly knew it, hence the ego that creeps in in-between his tete a tete with Meryl/Francesca, however, the Bridges of Madison County is no western movie, it is Meryl's world according to Meryl, histrionics are included, and having to deal with grown up contretemps, with Meryl, as one does, but, however while the whilrwind whirrs he is no less psychologically impaired or hindered, as in hardly able to cope with the situation unfolding before him, it is what people bring out in each other who are opposites in almost every regard, that is what i see, until they finally arrive at the point consequent, they rub up and rub down, to use a quoloquial term, and after a while the words spoken by Meryl/Francesca grate on the nerves, burdensome, too much, he seems incapable of holding that particular baby, and the rest of us can only watch agape in utter disbelief at her behaviour and her willingness to enter into what should be forbidden territory, because of her marriage, to all intents and purposes, and how does she know that he is not engaged, that question didn't seem to qualify its credentials with Meryl, and Clint has a very wriggly baby in the arms, problematical, but, again, the age of the female protagonist has a lot to do with it, it's that age where some people, people who are unsettled and who don't quite know what to do with themselves, hence the immaturity on display, and, Meryl i thought you had a super dooper education, a-class student, and all that, did you not study your character before inhabiting her space, really? - what is the deal, Meryl, and as I was saying, a lack of experience mentally to cope with heavy mental anxiety, which is not there, or is simply too much to bear, and he of course is just a child, he hasn't lived at that stage in his life, acting in films all your life is not school, college or university for grown-ups, it is youth camp, age ten, i would premise, not unkindly, but let us get with reality, here. If the experience of life and people is not there, an imbalance is certain to occur and creates a dysfunction, which is what is clearly demonstrated in the film. To be psychologically, and physically challenged, there are some things that some people are just not equipped for, i would place Meryl and her character in that bracket at that point, the problem is Meryl can be rather loose, as i said, (very obvious, sorry, Meryl) a nightmare situation for anyone involved with her to have to cope with, her better self knows she is wrong to do what she does at the expense of her better self and her family, her bad side goes on to stand in the middle of the road, so to speak, to become involved in a horrible accident, time and time over, others are unwaringly dragged in or are stupidly willing participants to the accident, it is unbelievable atrocious behaviour, it is irresponsible to say the least, and there ought to be laws about that, it's a problem, an enormous problem, certainly for Meryl, as an actor, her husband and her family, and for anyone else involved to have to cope with. Those kinds of people are generally to be avoided, like expensive diamonds you cannot afford. My friend, for instance, likes Meryl, you will note my friend and i are just friends, its unjustifiable to have leanings towards problematic people, and i do question that, a lot in the people i know and live by, we all have to be careful and know our boundaries, Amen. To continue, its very difficult to conduct a marriage or relationship when only part of the person is there, and if neither participant is there, it's divorce all the way. Back to the film, Meryl seems to have a way of altering her voice, change it's pace and tempo, which works very well in film, and can be seductive, very naughtie, seduction is for the bedroom, if i may so old-fashionedely say, which works well, as I said, and i'm sure in any other artistic boundary she chose to take her voice to, her voice is rather beautiful, in the correct context, she has, however, an inner frustration which i sense to be psychiatrically meditated, medical, and its difficult, i'm sure to work with Meryl for those reasons. To continue, she may have grated on the nerves of those she is working with on the film and, unfortunarely too, the audience, stridency is not a good thing to bring to a part one is acting in on film, you have to be able to disconnect from personal mental frigidity or angst and be more open and relaxed when acting a part, it seems to me, in film or indeed, theatre, or any other forum you can think of, you cannot bring personal angst to bear because that is a pitfall and you will fall into it and become enslaved to your character, which you as a person will not like, it's against the grain to be two people at once, you have to be careful not to let go of who you are and be in control, but not controlling, of your emotions, everything, so you can work without fear and engage convincingly and appropriately with the story you wish to tell and with your co-actors, without bringing tantrums to the scene which is how it comes across, and indeed is what will happen if you have not prepared for the situation you are entering into. Its an educaction for me to see people in films, I'm afraid what I relate is what I have seen, what is obvious to me as an audience, we either watch or engage, as a sensible audience member I can only watch and deduct what I see, I cannot engage because I am not impressed by them or the story they are conflictingly putting across. I repeat, Meryl has been morally loose, and it shows, Meryl, it's far too obvious. Begging your pardon, but reading a script and supposing that it's that easy, oh, I know where she or he is coming from, is a fallacy, you need to concentrate and be learned, superior so you can work to the best of your ability, without falling down at the countless hurdles that come your way. Meryl, through her characters seems to have been in those difficulties for most of her life because we see it so often on film. Her and Clint, or Clint's character have had an encounter, spent time with one and the other, trying to legitimise the situation, perhaps been sexually intimate, however, she has problems and he walks into them, which he, as an actor, and perhaps as a person, rather belatedly comes to realize, and she threw herself at him, Meryl/Francesca, you did, what kind of marriage is that between Francesca and ber husband that she turns and switches off the moment he turns his back, its terrible, considering too he was away with the children, what kind of husband is he to leave a wife he must know is flakey and is likely to wander, and getting back to what i was saying about Clint, he now has a pile of problems he has to straighten out and/or resolve.

And this is the moral of the story. There is no satisfactory and/or conclusion to a 'fornicating' tale, as inevitably it turns into, I beg your pardon, a meeting of bodies, not exactly a meeting of minds, only that both protagonists are willing inadvisedly to enter into a sexual pas de doux, problems and all, dragging their rather torn and shabby and ilicit blankies behind them, and that's what it is, the protagonists are as different from each other as the proverbial chalk and cheese, trying to force cogs of different shapes into one form which is no doubt illegal and most certainly ill-advised, however, we all know the adage, because we hear it so often that opposites attract, a rather stupid quotidian if i may suggest, and, again, I was not convinced, by any of it. It's all messy, it's like tears, sweat and dirt, or what is commonly known as casual sex, to go with casual affairs, something, amen i know nothing about or wish to, particularly, we look at a film, it says Meryl Streep and Clint Eastwood, and caramba i carracas (there is a cedilla under the second c to carracas, as in, carrasses), its not exactly a potent mix for our protagonists, and its most certainly not a poem in paradise. Hole in the wall situations. They are not healthy or welcome in any way, as demonstrated in the Bridges of Madison County, aka date ...... i will put in date later ....  Angela Maria De Nobrega Freitas

Living on my own ...

Angela Maria De Nobrega Freitas, BSc Hons., Social Sciences, Open University, DipGeog., Open University Masters, MA, MLit., Literature, studied, Open University, Masters, MA, MSc., MPhil., and playwriting, studied, Birmingham University I wish to point out the commentary written at the end of this page actually relates to the next piece of writing, entitled, Watching a Film ... When I first moved to my flat I had to get used to living on my own, I not only drew lots of drawings, through drawing, i learned placement and distance, re-affirmed my hand to eye co-ordination, drawing freestyle for me has been a good education in drawing, however, not only freestyle, the subjects, landscaping and architectural drawing are what I draw mostly and are disciplines I would have learned in art class; I cut patterns for skirts and tops, and I crocheted a lot. I crocheted bed covers, skirts, hats, scarves, shoulder bags, lots of different things, I even crocheted to frame and I have a mounted and framed crochet piece which should be on the wall but isn't because it's leaning against the wall instead. I purchased fabric material and made a pair of denim boots. I wrote plays and wrote poetry. I fell in love and forgot for a while I had been in a seventeen year relationship. There were things to do in the flat, and I personally removed the extractor hood from above the hob, cleaned it, bought a new filter and replaced it, i cleaned the tops of cupboards and inside cupboards, I filled in holes and gaps with mortar mix, removed two wall lamps, and disengaged the wires and asked an electrician to cauterize the ends of the wires then I plastered over the gaps, and did a good job, i painted two sides of the walls in the living room in a very soft blue, and i removed the paint from one side of the door frame that's between the kitchen and the living room, other jobs have been completed by crafts or service people, I have lived here since 2006, I've become used to it. I had my cats-re-homed because the flat is small, I miss them, and I hope they're okay. I sold my car, a Saab 900turbo, which I had bought brand new and almost gave it away, the return was very poor due to being cheated by a friend. I then walked everywhere, and my poor legs and feet hurt unbelievably. I discovered public transport nearby and that helped. My family visited and I noticed their respect and reverence for me in organizing and getting on with my life, like when you meet people you barely know in Church, but like, I guess it was a big deal to do, to move away and settle down somewhere where I found myself, in New Mills. My friend, when he talks of New Mills makes it sound as though it's a mafia hideout, like its really crook, when I first met him, he was grieving for his mum, and he talked of shootings, regular fights in the streets, police, his diabolical Iranian landlord, his neighbours round about, as though everyone were on the run from something. I didn't see any of that, but I too was coping with stresses. My life was so unbelievably unreal, magical things happened, because I was in touch with my spiritual side; I had a smoking habit, and cigarette packets and boxes of matches would vanish from my hands. I would walk to the car park in front of my flat, and my grief and sadness were such when it rained and I walked down for a cigarette I noticed rain drops so heavy they would burden the branches on the trees, they were so heavy with water, i grieved because I knew smoking was stopping me from living a healthy life, the thought of my family, that I was letting them down by smoking, and i would see heavy drops of water like tear drops fall, the branches on the trees were heavy with tearful moisture and I was having to cope with a girl neighbour upstairs above my flat who partied every night, sometimes all night, all weekend, I was also coping with two hideously behaved idiots, with terrible behaviour, like monsters from the flat across from mine. I began to see clouds separate suddenly, like curtains opening to show a sky laden with stars then close again. Sadness and grief are very difficult things to have to deal with and to come to terms with. I didn't have a tv set and I was having to live on a very small income, things were very tight. I barely managed, my mum helped, she arrived on my doorstep one day when I had been feeling particularly bereft and she was like an apparition, I said, what on earth are you doing here, and she said she had received from me in the post two little pieces of linen with crochet lace around the edges that were gifts to me as a baby, and a photograph of vj, my little nephew, and mum took this to mean a cry for help, I asked her in, Keith had given her a lift, and he left and mum stayed for three days. I drove mum home in a lexus i had bought with money left to me by my auntie, my mum's sister, in hindsight I should perhaps have saved it for rainy days, I tried to invest it, but that would have meant leaving the investment in an account I would not be able to spend from, so with half the amount I bought a car, from the same so-called friend and the other half I had spent on living expenses, which had now run its course. I sold my car, again, I had to, and relied on public transport, again. In my flat I listened to music, I was always singing, trying to keep happy, talking with my cats, who were my sages, i loved them, they loved me and i was always crying. I would sit on the toilet having a pee, Kitty would follow me, she would sit looking at me, very seriously, caring, that i didn't fall over, i cried, a lot, thoughts of the man who had caused this collosus in my life would come into my mind, he made appearances in my dreams, a lot, i don't know why, i no longer thought of him, in one dream he was sitting at the foot of my bed with an elephant sized trunk between his legs, like it was his penis, i thought that it wasn't right, i still hurt and if i thought of him, even for a moment i crumbled and cried, there were moments that he insistently invaded my thoughts, one strange thing was, one day i was lying in my bed, it was cold outside, but i was grieving, he was making me grieve, with his continual harrassment, he found out where I live, and i sensed and heard very clearly his voice like a baby in my belly make a very sad wah-wah, sound, it shocked me out of my sadness and i stopped crying, for a little while, I was still suffering stress, i thought of him a little more kindly, I don't know why he has always been very hurtful, he doesn't in any way deserve to be with me, as a person, the reality is, he is extremely evil, and i actually wish him death, he is that evil, and shortly afterwards i saw him, on a local bus, that was, 23rd of December, 2009, it had been snowing, heavily, i had gone to collect some washing from Johnsons, in another little town called Marple, not far from New Mills, that day, before i left the flat, someone walked past my window and laughed, not unkindly, a little girl looked at me meaningfully at the bus stop and smiled, but then again children like me and they always smile, i felt there were angels about, then i saw him, I sat quite near him across the isle, when I got on the bus and walked up the isle, i looked at him and he looked at me, he recognized me, and he looked like he was about to pass out, afterwards, I thought how can you see me, see me, a person, a human being and keep on with your horrible nasty, evil games, but I didn't say anything and I should have, I think there was someone with him, sitting next to him, I didn't speak and neither did he, I should have said, why have you kept my plays, all five of them, or six, that I had sent him, he is a Playwright, why have you been worrying me, stalking me, sending people to my door, why are you jealous of me and my abilities, but i said nothing, he did seem to me sitting there like an archangel, for a moment, I saw very clearly when I looked at him all his scratches, on his face and behind the scratches a twenty year old person, no more than that in years, i looked at him from my seat and he seemed then very much as an older person, somewhat abashed and embarrassed, however, that soon passed and then finally someone i saw as quite hard and mean and not really someone i knew, he seemed then to be laughing at me, for having fallen in love with him once, he needn't have worried, i did my best to forget him and to move on, which i have, he is too mean for me, does things out of meaness, he would rather cut off his own nose and spite his face, literally, than do the right thing by me, however, undoubtedly, he has died on many occasions, I have this theory about life and death, and whether it's our turn to go or not and just to keep going which is how life seems when sadness and anxiety enter your life, big time, but, any way i felt this way about him, because of what he had done, that he had to live during my time, my lifetime, to settle accounts with heaven and earth and those who look out for each and every one of us, we have business to attend to, we are on a mission, or so it seems when your life changes quite suddenly and those are the only answers i have for what happened, some time before; the bus moved on, and I remember thinking when I got on the bus the bus driver was rather nice, a really nice, very nice looking sweet person, and that made me happy, so i was contented when i turned and saw ... him, he was okay, but, really, behaviour profoundly out of order because this immortal situation happened to me because of him, between, 2003 and 2005, which is when i left my beau of many years, our beautiful home just around the corner from the centre of Market Bosworth, in Warwickshire, our lives that we had planned to be together, daft me, summed things up a little silly, my play, Surface Talk which fell into his, that man's hands at University, Birmingham ... as i was saying, a woman got on the bus a few stops further on, she sat down, a woman I have never seen in my life or since turned around almost full circle in her seat and looked at me, for about ten seconds, quite a long time, as though to say, how can you sit there and say nothing, to me, i looked at her and i wondered briefly whether she knew him and they were complicit, I turned and looked at him briefly, to see, but he adopted passive looking ahead of him, i then attended to my own life, my own thoughts, at that moment i remember, about books i had given away to Oxfam, he cleared his throat, and, the thought came to me, i couldnt help but think, here is the man who cut a path through my life, i told him i loved him, sometime before and all he could do was sit there, no doubt thinking of sexual matters he was probably involved in and that seems to be his life, very irresponsible of him to elude me in matters of the heart when all he was concerned with is matters of his private parts, and that really is that, i didn't want any dramatics or sceneries or anything that departed from my life, my home, everthing the way i lived and its no different now, only that i have moved on, yet a little bit more, and anyway, to continue .... i looked at the woman and after looking at me she turned to face the front again, i glanced at him to see his reaction, but there was none, he has that ability, to appear to be there and not there, at the same time, seemingly ... later on, I thought, he returned to life, that's it, that's why he was there, me too, its happened to me, i have felt myself breath my last, because of anxiety, and return to life again, i don't smoke, it's a crime to God and ourselves, i don't drink, i've never really drank much at all, occasionally, but nothing to write about, but however, on a one off, he came into a dream i had shortly after i bought a bottle of white wine, perhaps over a year ago, and he seemed to strike me and i blanked out, in my sleep, i remembered the dream the following day, he was speaking, saying something, next moment he struck me, obviously i didn't feel a thing, but i no longer bought the occasional, rare bottle of wine. I can't raise him too much, on account of the fact he is so bad, criminally, careless towards me, he couldn't care less about me, he is always displaying his sexual exploits, apparently he loves me, i find that very difficult to see, harrassment to me you would not believe, and there are hard knocks he goes around with faces that are self satisfying, hard, they do hard and piss-takey on the outside and in, it's that inner ugliness that passes for horrible, they pass me and they are absolutely horrible and mean faced, its how he lives his life, he's used to them, probably doesn't see it, doesn't see them and the way they really are, anymore, they no doubt put up a front, convincingly enough to buy him, i'm certain of that, he may have the odd one, ofs, but, he doesn't notice anymore, fortunately i don't have that vantage point, and i find it difficult to see what it is he wants from me, i'm nothing like them, i don't have that self interest or that self regard which is what all of them are all about, always taking expensive lollipops, they don't like him or care, they just agree with everything he says and its all around my home, they're stalkers, its what they do, in-between seeing to clients, that's what they're into and so long as they do as they're told, they go on and are used for, stalking and controlling him, making sure he always returns to them, everytime, he is a prostitute himself, he's accustomed to habits, that's what they work on, can you imagine, keeping and enforcing someone whose interests are not best served by those situations, and neither are their's, however, he is used to it, that's how he lives, apparently, and so are they, I can't be like that, I don't want that in my life, he is blind, by choice, and so are they, they cheer on, I would not be writing about this if it wasn't for the fact he persists in making an entrance that's not wanted, persistently pushes all kinds of situations at me I'm not interested in, he manages to mask himself enough to convince those he is involved with, i'm not interested either in him or what he pushes towards me, otherwise i do my best to ignore him, and to ignore them, they're evil, like him, and he keeps pushing for my attention, unwanted, what he is and what they are is obvious and as sure as the road is long i can't stand them for those and other reasons as I have said, they're stalkers, I cannot stand them, and obviously they have no regard for me, absolutely none, they look at me down their noses, really, most of the ones i've seen as though i was a piece of poo, with they're turned up noses, that they've wiped off their feet, they have no regard for me, i see it in their faces, its in their manners, the way they behave, in their actions, their looks of disinterested boredom, their sulleness, some manage to obfuscate, that, their interest is numero uno, themselves, and then him, second class inferior person, they have to have some regard for him because he feeds them and buys them and pays them, i'm someone they see as in the way, ridiculously, they keep him turned in their finger, and everyone else has to pay for that, and that's what i see mostly, his frustration turned harrassment, against me, i kind of care a little he's in that situation, being taken for a ride and a mug, or maybe he just ignores it and thinks he's in control, but the only ones in control are whoever he's taken out on the town, again, at his expense, i cannot imagine for one moment any of them regard him or pay him for anything unless its a covert operation in turning him around again, but because of the harrassment its advisable not to feel sympathy, and Police have warned me not to allow myself any feelings for him, because they say that's what stalkers do, manipulate you so that the victim becomes sorry for them, but he is far from that, he is old enough to make his own decisions, he makes them, problems overall i keep the Police informed. As I was saying ... he is always busy with people to qualify those kinds of feelings for me, which makes me uncomfortable, because i wish to get on with my life and he is clearly stopping me doing that because he is stalking me, with all kinds of horrors he is involved with, he says he has various marriages, the 'marriages' are mad, and say the same thing, he is married to one person, legitimately, she loves him, I think, I don't know, she doesn't know him, not really, however, i can't, i cannot begin to contemplate a serious or passing involvement with him, he does'nt appear to be able to understand, I have said, no, to an involvement with him, its not right, but he should speak with me to settle this situation, I will do my best to allow him that. To continue, slowly i got better and i no longer cried. I experienced an indian summer of love, with a person i met and became friends with, then we stopped because our relationship was going nowhere, that's what he said, i quietly agreed, after that we didn't see each other for a year, our different realities came between us and now we are just friends. As I was saying earlier, and in reference to the above, my life would be fine if it wasn't for the fact I am burdened with matters from my past that won't let me be, which is ridiculous, I am a nice, intelligent person having to cope with crazy idiots in one form or another who have taken up room in my life, they won't leave, they keep on invading my privacy because of a man who doesn't know how to behave and creates trouble, strangers, people who think because they're involved with him that they have some kind of connection to me, they don't, I have reported them to the Police, they are complete strangers who cause a nuisance. A lot of my sadness came about because of an ill-fated meeting with the man in question. He has moved to the area where I live, he has literally hundreds of sexual involvements going on, he has been spoken to by the Police, he doesn't think to stop the involvements he is engaged in then approach me from a respectful distance to try to talk with me so I can say to him to stop harassing me and to say what it is that he wants, I believe he may want a romantic involvement, the reality is i am not interested, he is married, and i cannot be coerced by someone who is dangerously loose, he is also an evil terrorist, no nice person becomes involved with evil, he is not nice, and neither are they, because of those realities, and they are equally evil to carry out twelve months of the year their lives in prostitution, he uses school kids and all sorts of others, as i have said, and he carries other sexual involvements around at the same time, he seems to think his behaviour and those he behaves with is attractive and they are procurable they are far from attractive, its prostitution bar none, to me they are hideously, monstrously, ugly, that's what I see, he thinks he knows me when he does not, he is a complete stranger, i have never personally spoken with him, I barely recognize him, he has tried to approach me which I see as soliciting, he doesn't know how to introduce himself, otherwise, that's all he knows its what he's used to, that's what i see, so he can't introduce himself properly, he doesn't know how or how to bring a respectful validity to a potential meeting with me, he has strangers hanging around where i live and wherever i go, people who make it obvious they are having sex with him, or just know him about, they duck and dive, the reality is, life is not that great for them, they have nothing going on in their heads, nothing else in their lives, he knows kids through so-called parents who are loose and kids grow up expecting to go into the same game, they see it as easy money the way their mums and dads make easy money from him and acquire goods unrealistic jobs in one thing or another they are in no way qualified for, they mimic and learn by rote they don't learn academically and kids are sold to him on the basis he introduces them to prostitution through him first, he is not good, they are in the life they have been primed and sold for, that's how he knows so many kids, through their loose relations who put them up to no good, they walk around the streets half naked, he puts them up to that, he says it's street theatre, it's that alright, he puts them up to that to try to say life is loose, but they look hideously out of place amidst the normal populace, the County of Cheshire is rife with prostitutes, and life is loose for him its what they all become used to, its how he does business, its ilegal him contemplating even talking to me, he's crazy, mad, evil, i only made his unwelcome acquaintance because of University, Playwriting Course, to my life's detriment, i met there in his department a collection of highly undesirable individuals, and those local to me are individuals who i see very much as nuisance stalkers, in the same vein. Myself and the Police who see him as grose and loose have asked him to leave. They collect evidence and I see him and those he is involved with as the underworld community, of the kind that my friend talked about, and they come crawling out of the woodwork wherever he is or he has told them to be, to me they are inhuman, proven by their behaviour, some kids he is involved with look like blow up dolls, because he uses them for sex, and that won't change, he is habitual in his habits, he lives under illusions, he doesn't appear to accept what he is doing is wrong, I don't see his or any of his involvements in any way other than as neurotic pastimes he is forever procuring then bringing to my door, like cats who take their catch to the back door., and he does the same thing to his wife, as though saying to her, that's what you got into, and she knows he is no good. His behaviour towards me is completely immoral and unacceptable, he is in prostitution and I find him disgusting for those reasons and all others, and I have let him know that it's immoral and unacceptable and do not want any part of it. He needs to pay me for over ten years of terrible aggravation, taking written work from me, but he keeps not sending the cheque in the post that he and all his affiliates owe me. I don't want any involvements with him, only that he should pay me what he owes me. I'm not interested in his obsessions for me, they are ridiculous when you consider he is always having sex non-stop with those i have alreday described, he spends all his time whoring, then fornicating with spaced out kids, and taking heavy drugs, like heroin, none of his so-called involvements keep him from stalking me, they don't stop him taking drugs, none of the society he keeps stop him being a criminal towards me, they encourage it, they don't stop him for long trailing to my door, and I cannot stand them, their grosse stupidity, they also push him with their stupidity into committing more and more crimes against me, he is an arsonist and has set off arson attacks in my country, Madeira, the Police are onto him, they are working on him, its my belief they will put him out, they won't go the route of procuring hard evidence against him, that's what gangsters want, they won't take that kind of time over something they see as criminal negligence bar none, that's the light route, heavy stuff takes time and they just won't spend that kind of time, they wi'll deal, as and when, where someone like he is in evidence, they will put him out, and to be honest, the way he lives, he probably doesn't care, and he keeps on burdening me, creating a nuisance which I don't want, he and the kind of people he is involved with seem to make a lot of comments about scheming, about people who scheme, obviously those kind of people are jealous, ignorant and small-minded kinds of people and i'm happy to leave them where they are, scheming away in how to keep a hold of big banana. What I think he should do is return to his wife, to leave prostitution, to stop deluding himself about the numerous and quantities of affairs he's in and be with his wife, she should return to her marriage, it's her responsibility to reign him in, she needs to do that rather than carrying an affair of her own elsewhere, and creating problems for other women with loose canon husband, and so it goes on. Reference is made to the same person, the same man that I write of above. I do my best to regard him as a human being, it's important not to lose sight of that, although he treats me inhumanely, has the most ridiculous expectations of me through his actions and i have appealed to his better nature in the past, i don't think he has one, by pointing out any behaviour that is unacceptable to me, he would feel the same way about and that he should stop. If he can't appreciate what he is doing is wrong, i will have to keep bringing the matter to his attention, which can be expensive, he left a telephone number on my mobile telephone, a number he procured by nefarious means and i have texted him, over and over to stop what he is doing against me and leave, if your are reading this, Edgar, take note, and obviously i will bring the situation as is to the attention of the Police. Angela Maria De Nobrega Freitas

Drawing From Life ... part (b) ...

Angela Maria De Nobrega Freitas, BSc Hons., Open University, DipGeog., Open University, Masters, MA, MLit., Literature, Masters, MA, MSc., MPhil., and Playwriting, studied, Birmingham University To continue ...

However, to the artistic process in discussion. Really, I am an artistic person by nature and doing things which do not relate to art is almost like trying to complete an essay in Japanese - something that is difficult to do if you only write in English or Portuguese as I do. It is as difficult to do things which are not in my nature to do as climbing a mountain, walking in India, swimming the channel, in short, my life has been rather difficult simply because i made a different decision to take what I considered to be a practical path rather than an artistic path in my life. Living in this way has been like trying to make an engine work in reverse, and you may imagine how difficult that must be. However, It is different with the writing process. I decided to take a playwriting course because I appreciate the writing form and can write plays. However, the course was also an MA course which meant theoretical work to complete, which was not what I wanted to do. I read plays in preparation and wrote a short play as per the course entry requirements. I wanted purely to write plays, I did not wish to engage with theory. I had already completed and acquired a degree course, a bachelor of science with honours which I studied with the Open University, and a lot of theory; also, after having completed my Bsc Hons., Degree, studied an MA Literature for another year. You may or may not appreciate that studying with the Open University is quite an undertaking. Studying with the Open University means you have to be your own course tutor, your own professor, your own course studies monitoring director, your own careers councillor and so on and so forth. Its not that those quantities of personnel are not employed by the Open University, they are, but for independent study I decided to do just that, study independently, in so far as it was possible to do and study under my own tuition and invidulation, with the course materials as the appropriate aids and course study books, that was my way. Otherwise I could have studied at a more conventional university and taken up a place at Leicester University as I lived in the East Midlands, my cousin attended Birmingham University, however for me it was different. So, when I undertook the playwriting course it was to write plays - not theory. However, none of this is lost, i hasten to add, it's like suddenly flying an aircraft without the training - that is the level of attaintent required to complete any course of study, that is the level of comprehension you gain when undertaking difficult degree course work, although it does'nt seem so difficult now, ten years later, which at the time seemed difficult because i was not naturally primed for that kind of intervention in my artist's life, you have to put yourself through your paces and learn from the process as much as you can. I think it's important for me to write about this issue, well, it's more than an issue, it's like being involved in a marriage - you are either with military rulers, or you are with the budding Dalai lamas, I'm the latter. Ideally, I would now be a trained artist, my older brother would be a practising architect or engineer, and my younger brother would be a homeopathic doctor - my mum would have been a dramatist, a costume designer or writer, and so on and so forth. Instead, as with many of us, and my readers and writers, may concur, we all do things which are not natural to our natures, however, as with many of us too, during our lives we have been very good, solid, workers, worked at our best, however, because of the decisions we are not qualified to take about ourselves because the experiences we are in at the time do not construe us or correspond to that which is in our natures to do, for a magnitude of reasons, which may have nothing to-do with what my readers are thinking, but you may possibly gauge the general idea. My father, had he been alive would have been successful in whatever area of life he chose, but he is no longer with us. My mum's long , life companion would perhaps have worked on radio as a radio dramatist because he likes to tell those kinds of stories, this is life. We are not all construed do whatever we turn our hand to. We don't all have those kinds of brain cell structures or nerves. Instead we learn to live in confined spaces, artistically if you're not trained, and practically which you have to learn to do, it's like unlearning to be who you are and learning an unfamiliar language, as I have said. Angela Maria De Nobrega Freitas

Drawing From Life ...

I am writing about drawing. Writing on a computer you depend on for WiFi as it comes and goes is one of the most irritating things you can do. I started writing via the key pad, and along the lines that I advised you earlier that you make friends with your writing tools, and along those lines of advice I went immediately onto key pad, and promptly lost my writing piece in which I had explained exactly in totality a very useful piece of writing advice, this is a 're-written piece. As I was saying, i started writing via the key pad and had written a fair way when the whole thing suddenly lost and I had to start again to say the following which I had already said very well. Now i have to try to deduce from my memory what i wrote a moment ago when I was in my writing groove, via this tablet computer - it's a writing friend, but it can also be a pain in the butt, excuse my terminology. To begin ... Drawing is something I do. I have lots of pencil drawings in coloured pencils, and I have drawn regularly since moving to where I live some seven years ago. Some of my drawings I have put on the wall of my living room in my flat, they are not professional drawings, but, however, they are my drawings, I did not depend on anyone for those, and for everything I have, knowledge, everything has been acquired only through me, by me. That won't change and I know I'm me, not by proxy, me, Angela De Freitas. I draw as a way of engaging with an artistic process, in which it can take hours just to complete one drawing. Drawing a tree could take up to three or four hours and at the end of the drawing time I would revise, look at the drawing to see if I had accomplished in drawing what the time I took to draw resulted in. A complete drawing of a tree, leaves, lines, shades, colours. However, I am not a trained artist, and doing anything you feel naturally inclined to do but are unsure of the processes involved is not an easy thing to come to terms with, however, you learn to co-exist with that other half of yourself that is searching with the half of you that is complete in terms of practical achievements. There are intricacies of drawing work I must define, and as I said, these intricacies can take hours to get through. You are working without a practiced artistic knowledge in an artistic discipline where parameters to do with structure, context, perspective are in contest to gain a place in your thinking, which over the years has been honed towards a practical engagement with life rather than an artistic engagement with life. It would no doubt be wonderful to live as a well honed practiced artist, however, that's not exactly an entirely easy thing to-do, either, even when you are practiced, I know this because I sing, I am a singer, although i have taken a rest from singing as i gave away a lot of the music i listened to and practiced along with, and, however, to sing well, again, is like moving a mountain, there are so many turns, high, low, meandering, soft, gentle but strong, and artistically defined to be able to make a sound with your voice which is pleasant and adheres to music. It is not easy being an artist, but at least when you are doing something well because you have a talent for that you can celebrate your accomplishments in the knowledge that when you practice singing, for instance, you sing well, you don't just hum along and sing in and out of tune, you maintain a structure which is essential in singing as it is with almost anything you do in life, artistically or otherwise, if that is who you are and you do so effortlessly, because you are practiced, you have achieved a goal, but this doesn't mean you can slacken in your art, you cannot ever do that, once you have gained a skill you have to maintain it and you become the person you are through your talents, in effect, the sum of your talents, as it were.  I don't draw all the time, continuously, recently I have not drawn for the last three years, but I started to think about drawing again, and felt I should look at disciplines so I purchased a book and with graphite pencils on this occasion i have been practicing structure, and other techniques, really, once you do that it becomes more difficult to go into freestyle and draw another landscape, for instance, if that is the subject you revert to, which heretofore has, for me, I am learning profiles and those techniques, see where it takes me artistically. However, as I said earlier, there are intricacies of drawing work I must define, and as I said, this can take hours to complete. In reality, what my young life equipped me to do many years ago. I was very good at art at school and my art teacher expected me to take art at college and from there to study a degree course at university in art. This of course I did not do. I decided in my young wisdom to take a secretarial course instead, I felt it was a more practical thing for me to do, and I did not wish to put undue pressure on my parent, who had become a single parent by being at home and studying art. We all as a family loved to talk about the things we could do and were good at, to me it was amazing to discover members of my family who i lived with would suddenly pull out a talent from somewhere, an expertise, something they would speak of with some authority, there was respect and politeness, but also there were things we didn't agree with and everyone would shout, I didn't like that, too much clearance of the air, I don't really like that very much, and if i think of those instances I then miss my pets, my cats, Henry and Kitty, who are no longer with me. As I was saying, we all loved to talk about the things we could do and were good at, but when it came to putting those plans into practice in the real world, we knew the only things we could do at the time would be to do something that would procure work, and for me something I could do almost immediately I left college and that was secretarial work. I could have taken a different route in my life to the route I took, if I had accepted the kind offer of my secretarial tutor at the time, Mrs Clayton, of a job in the principal's office, however, it was with the proviso that that particular job would lead to full-time work after the two weeks' work experience, we had all been alocated as part of the course, I thought about that and very quickly In my mind decided that really I must complete my secretarial course which was for two years, I was half way through the first year, and in case the job in the principal's office didn't last, for whatever reason, and I would be be stuck with an incomplete course and no job, I took the difficult route, I think, it would have been useful in its own way to take the job, and I felt perhaps Mrs Clayton worried about me trying to find secretarial work, which can be a competitive field in it's own way, and we both knew I am not and never have been a competitive person, I believe she was being a very good, very kind Samaritan in procuring that job for me, she knew better what i could not see at age seventeen. Lesson learned - there are some wonderful, genuinely kind people in this world and it is always worth remembering that. I could have bowed to her superior wisdom, but I took the view that I knew best about my own circumstances with regards to my place in my family, and making my own decisions, she was thinking in terms of the wider world view experience. It was 1978/79, Mrs Margaret Thatcher was leader of the Conservative Party, and there were no signs in her favouring women in particular in the world of work, and the importance of acquiring work as women with their own worth, she was not a champion of women, in particular, and perhaps my tutor thought that too, and genuinely worried for certain students. If a young person is nice and gentle, you want a situation where that person goes into the world of work at a different kind of pace, and strategies are important for a good tutor to have in place with regards to their students. She was a wonderful person. She was disappointed and even more so when another girl in my ciilass who noticed my hesitation asked me if she could have the job instead and I very magnanimously said yes. Mrs Clayton truly believed I should have taken the job, its true, all of the girls on my course had families who were more than capable and eqipped to find work for their daughters, such advantage i did not have, its true, and its true today, and i abhor anyone taking advantage of me and taking from me what they are in no way qualified to do, and at the time my tutor, aware of those kinds of humanities obviously felt, above all that gaining practical experience in work was as good as gaining the necessary qualifications, and as well as that that I could have studied the course part time, there were all those alternatives and those options, and sadly, I said, no, no thank you, and I completed my course. It is always worth sharing such experiences because I know my readers and writers may be in the same situation as I was in and perhaps by reading about my experience at college you can do well by listening to the wise advice of your betters and olders, I say this in the right sense, you must bow to superior wisdom, but however, the world has changed, do not, for instance be taken in my anyone who says they are a tutor when all they are are paedophiles trying it on with you, do be careful of those types of adults, they do make the rounds, it was never in my experience, but unfortunately in today's society, paedophiles are a reality of life, be careful, and listen to what I am saying to you, so that's fine. My tutor was a very nice person, a nice lady, you need to know who is a good person, and who is not, this is sound advice to my younger readers, and writers. Do be careful not to become involved with older men who may appear to you as a tutor, takes an unhealthy interest in you and then uses you for sex. Do not succumb to such idiots. Angela De Freitas

The French Lieutenant's Woman ... adapted from an earlier novel by Claire de Duras, written in 1823, called, Ourika ...

I wish to raise the issue here with my readers, and budding writers, or indeed, developed writers, of The French Lieutenant's Woman, the reason i wish to do this is because i re-visited the film recently and stated in one of my writing pieces that i 'loved' the film, and this is something which is worth raising that when we say we love something, or we loved something because of the reason that you give, and, really, I have to say, and it is important to raise this, that actually you have to be careful about what you say you love, when you say it indiscriminately. I 're-visited the film because of the Meryl Streep film catalogue, which I wrote to you about, which I only saw when it was shown on television about thirty odd years ago and then promptly forgot about it. It's easy to say we love something because we think we like the person portraying the character if it is a visual dramatic piece of work, it becomes easy to say, the film was this or that, and then we state our barely founded opinions, and we forget about it very quickly afterwards as I have said. The thing is, the film is very different from the book, and it seems all escriteurs and dramatists have taken liberty with what is actually an original piece of writing, about a serious illness or malady that affected certain numbers of the population which was not medically proven in 1823 when the novel was originally written by Duchesse, Claire de Dumas, a French writer, regarding a mental and physical disorder affecting the nerves. The book was adapted from the original novel in 1977, seemingly, by John Fowles, who was apparently an avid reader of Thomas Hardy novels and 're-imagined in writing, Sarah Woodruff, the character written about in his re-written model as a more avant garde Tess of the D'urbervilles. To continue, the film was adapted for screen by Harold Pinter, a Playwright, and of course the story was somewhat glamorised, and especially around the character, Sarah Woodruff, played by Meryl Streep, and very well played. The thing is the film is very much about people having affairs which only struck me in the recent viewing of the film, and, to be honest, it's horrific to consider the consequences of the characters' behaviour as characterized on film, with Jeremy Irons as one of the other protagonists. In the film, he is engaged to a young girl called Ernestina, the young daughter of an industrialist, Charles is her fiance, who works in anthropology, Sarah Woodruff is barely considered in terms of her family and background, she appears in the film as though she is simply transplanted to earth from whence nobody knows and her character is deemed to be of a nervous disposition affecting the mind, but the thing is, in the film, again, I barely recall the details of the book, in the film she is portrayed as a very artistic person, a graphic artist, the mind of an artist is extremely complex and when subjecting itself into a piece of artistic work of merit, it is my theory that there is no way such a person could possibly have any kind of disorder as their intelligence would simply not lead it in that direction. If a person's mind is engaged comprehensively in something that is correct, you cannot go wrong, as it were. And so I have some difficulty accepting the premise of the story that basically says Sarah Woodruff is mad. She is not in the least mad,. Charles, no doubt a very bored person, perhaps anthropology (I may have to define what Charles does as it may not strictly be referred to as anthropology), did not fulfill him in the way he felt it should, but then again he seemed to give in easily to the distractions available to someone of his position at the time, mens' clubs and brothels, which seemed to have been available to someone of his stature in Victorian society. In the film, Anna, who is the actor, played by Meryl Streep, says from a newspaper or quarterly paper that she is reading in the hotel room she is staying in with Mike, a married person, whose wife is called Sonia, who Anna meets later in the film at Sonia's and Mike's house one Sunday when some of the crew and cast are invited there for an afternoon of food and drinks, Anna, herself has a noivo, a boyfriend, who is French and is called Davide, and, Mike, who is Jeremy Irons, after some totting up says that. Your victrorian gentleman could look forward to approximately two point four fucks a week in London alone, for instance, taken from a demographic of millions of visits being made to prostitutes who numbered in their thousands at that time in that particular city alone, and although the fact could not have escaped him or Anna, they were both complicit in doing, in modern times, when there is no rhyme or reason for them to engage in profligacy, exactly what Victorian women of limited financial means were doing, and uneducated Victorian men were leading themselves into. So, Charles in the film, as in the modern adaptation of the novel decides it would be fascinating to be fascinated by a person in Sarah Woodruff who is independent, applies herself to work to help support herself and has her own interests and a fully formed character and personality entirely different to Ernestina, perhaps, although I would dispute that Ernestina is any less able than Sarah, personally I see Ernestina as well informed in mind as in body as Sarah, only differently disposed. I don't know why Charles decided upon Sarah's life, pure wickedness it seems and so he places Sarah in a compromising position and leads her as a man of sight leading the blind into an ill fated affair du'amour, and at the same time, in the film, running parallel with the Victorian story, the dramatized lives of the actors portraying their characters are themselves involved in an affair. I did not like the story. It is uncomfortable to watch because immediately you are thinking of the person or persons at home or elsewhere whose lives are being torn apart by the horrible behaviour of the protagonists involved. There are no excuses. It's just not right. And so, when I 're-read what I had written, because I said I appreciated Meryl Streep's films, I extracted The French lieutenant's woman as a case in point. I think it's important if we don't feel comfortable about situations or people and what they do that we raise the matter and say why, which is what I have done here. Angela De Freitas

Fashion publication piece ... (b)

To continue ...

I was not a late developer or an early engenoue, that was what my friends were, I was me, a young girl, my mum still bathed me, helped me to dress, she chose my clothes, I was a grown up child for many years in my mum's eyes, and I lived a life that did nothing to dispel my mum's integrity towards me as a child on the cusp of young adulthood. When a Laura Ashley store opened in our town, Southport, in the North West of England, with the nice well mannered assistants who looked Laura Ashley as much as they were there to work in the store, it was a momentous occasion, mum and I decided what we had to spend and we spent the entire amount, me on a pair of tweed trousers checked in brown and black, there were metal rings that would pull in the waist with attachments in the same fabric, which would pull in the waist as far as was possible, my tiny waist shown to it's most elegant, a black lambs-wool polo-neck jumper, a leather belt with heavy metal tips, I still have it, thirty years later, it pulls just short of my fuller waist, but I love it, and I'm keeping it, and it's there in my drawer alongside my more recent purchases from other stores. My mum chose a definitive Laura Ashley dress with lots of tiny pleats to gather in the waist, and long skirt to the dress, there were so many design features to the dress, the price really was just a token of the work represented, when actually, in reality it should have cost a little bit more, but that was Laura Ashley, affordable and accessible to appreciative loyal to become customers. There are not many things I have kept, mostly because I have given them away, being from Madeira, when going on holiday there I used to take clothes I could no longer fit and as they were of good quality I would ask my friends there if they would like and treasure them, and they would be happy and delighted to take them, at least that's how it all came across to me, who knows, maybe they gave them away again, however, a good recycling procedure was established. It seemed a shame to have such nice things in my wardrobe that I no longer wore, so I was happy to give them away. My mum also would take some of my things for herself or for her friends. My wardrobe, today, consists of what I purchase year on year, that I can afford, I have some things I have had occasion to wear which have been in my wardrobe for some years, cashmere pieces I love, gifts from my family and friends, and so long as they fit me that's fine, although I have pieces I have not worn for many years, they are still new, otherwise, like many of us I have occasionally given away some very nice things to charity, anything which is slightly worn I tend to put in the recycling box, I don't really know what happens to those things from there. I am grown up now of course, but I still take the same delight as when growing up, my teens represented some of my time reading fashion publications, such as Elle, Vogue, too, I have to admit, Cosmopolitan I would search for amidst other similar publications, when I read an article in those faultless tomes it made a little impression, i would think about what i had read, considered it, and moved on with my life. I am still excited by fashion, I always look for the way a collection comes together whether on the cat-walk or really just in my town, when someone looks nice it's an appreciative moment, and I've come to realise that putting what becomes a costume together takes an artistic eye, you don't just arrive at a concluding theme, it has to be worked for before you can be chic, it takes patience and effort, and fashion for me is still as important as when I first discovered it. It's exciting and relevant, and yes, very important, as important as grooming, and wearing a nice scent, your body shape too, clothes have to look right, being comfortable is key, sometimes, for me, fashion can be surprising, I recently saw some photographs of Meryl Streep, and her clothes and the way she has put them together is fascinating, at first some of her pieces look as though they could be a little uncomfortable because of the fit, but actually you come to realise that is her fashion, her style, she has seemed to wear clothes, especially ball gowns with a little twist to them, literally, she seems to wear wraparound clothes, and they suit her, her personality, she is a truly beautiful person, and her clothes represent who she is. We all look for a little bit of the unusual in ourselves, represented by the clothes we wear, it's important. My mum has a really beautiful style, she buys clothes that sometimes I sort of say, do you really like that and she says she loves it, and when she has put together her look, it all falls into place, and she is my mum again, and not the person I sometimes see in her every-day casual home wear. She dons her sunglasses, when its sunny, of course, and there she is, when her whole ensemble is put together like the mum I knew when she was thirty-five, and me, my younger self looking at a warm very well dressed person, but my mum has always dressed with style, clothes were important to my mum even when bringing up three children on her own after the loss of my father. We were okay, there were lots of things to do, for me, when growing up, at thirteen/ fourteen, I worked for my sophisticated publications, on a Saturday, all day, and that's life. Angela De Freitas

Fashion Publication piece ...

This article on fashion is the longer piece I wrote before editing - I thought, however, you may appreciate a slightly longer story -the same themes, obviously - it is the same article, only longer.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ I guess it all begins when we see our first glimpse of a fashion magazine, when Enid Blyton can no longer fulfill us in the art of life through the perspective of our twelve-year old self, when a very sensible blue skirt, white blouse and pinafore, actually I wore a long pinafore when attending school in Lisbon, that was before I came to England to live with my family, when this kind of dressing wear is no longer acceptable, no, it must be bright yellow jeans, purchased at our first sighting and acknowledgment of such a thing as a high street fashion store, white or black shirt, with a tearful little clown motif on the breast pocket, and white fringed cowboy boots brought back from America by older brother who had travelled. A fashion magazine was a thing apart, your friends were in the midst of 'Jackie', and you wondered at that, was this your first recognition that girls are not all the same, people are not all the same, displaying their forays into the world of boyfriends, and your very own distinctive departure from such fickle interests as those you perceived were demonstrations that other publication's inappropriately targeting at young impressionable girls on the cusp of infantile crushes of one kind or another that were of no interest whatsoever to me. We believe we are different for seeking a world that specializes in the artistic, for me, in fashion, art, honed by a parent who wanted the very best for me that my world would be a world that sought questions and looked for answers to everything, a world that sought to represent the uniqueness of my youth. And, so, I noticed that my hair curled, it was long, and the models through those pages seemed to be forever smoothed and sleeked, and short-cut, how did they remain so smooth, I only used a hair straightener at the age of forty. At a young age we learn from sophisticated publications to accept and appreciate difference, to begin to understand style, to be sophisticated in the way you dressed as to who you were as a person. My parent's interest in made to measure clothes took on a new significance, suddenly, cut and cloth were of the utmost importance, fit too, nothing too small to be squeezed into, nothing too large to drown in, overall, home-made chic was okay, and I thought about beautiful well made clothes, in beautiful weaved cloths, this and my family were the most important parts of my life. My friends did not share my enthusiasm for sophisticated stories about middle class or upper class people, any tone or change in conversation which included the discussion of people of difference in their society were not of particular interest to them, and then again when visiting some of my friends at home, what i observed was they seemed to have to adhere to parents' peculiar psychologies, odd rules of one kind or another, I think I was seen as exotic by some of the parents, I was very conservative, and quite a proper person, it was shocking to me to be perceived, well, as a foreign person, a person of difference, simply because i came from abroad, we're only three and a half hours away in Madeira, for goodness sakes, it takes longer to get to Scotland from New Mills, however i accepted their little curiosities and smiled, they were okay, they didn't seem overly discriminatory, the English at home of my youth were respectful, however, some of the parents raised their brows at the clothes I wore, nice jeans, neat blouse, very curly long hair, a sweet voice, which my friends loved, I was on my own, I think, different, but my friends liked me for that, it's a very political thing, parents and youth, all with their own dynamics, and somehow we fitted together and got along.

However, I was the opposite in my tastes in literature, I was interested in societies different to my own, or that I perceived to be different, enough for me to feel a commonality and be a part of them, I often found as I do now we share the same ideas about fashion, politics, culture, art, so much to share our individual views which somehow fit. I did not rebel in the sense of changing my hair drastically, or take to wearing monotone or black, but I rebelled in not following such trends, I rebelled in subtlety, in being neat, and always looking at fashion prom the perspective of high fashion publications as a barometer in understanding the society I lived in from my newly learned perspective. I would show my mum what I was reading and she would be as enthusiastic as me, we would discuss Howie to go about making a particular little jacket that had caught our eye, and this was my world. However, when later in adult life I made some important changes to my life i was able to understand my capacity for undertaking such change and maintaining my intelligence honed by what I had chosen to read as I grew up. When I was young I was interested in my friends and what they had to say, but, really, at eleven, twelve, thirteen years of age, I lost interest very quickly if the conversation veered towards such comments as, 'isn't he gorgeous', referring to another twelve year old person, the word gorgeous to me seemed inappropriate to describe another child. Ditto their odd and peculiar interest, in primary school, can you imagine, in music pop bands such as the Bay City Rollers - I used to think, the Lord get me away from here. Angela De Freitas

Page Five ... Writing ...

Angela Maria De Nobrega Freitas, BSc Hons., Social Sciences, Open University, DipGeog., Open University, Masters, MA, MLit., Literature, studied, Open University, Masters, MA, MSc, MPhil., and Playwriting, studied, Birmingham University. □□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□ It's a little while since I posted some writing advice to you, so here goes ... It's a little while since I posted my Introductory Page to Writing, Page One, so I am here 're-visiting the genre with you. It is essential, for instance, when annotating a piece of writing that you know who your audience is. In short, its important to know who you are writing for. Sometimes, if we focus on a person or group of people we may wish to speak to can help us consolidate our ideas and moderate our thinking processes accordingly. So, it may be that you have a few things in common with your friends and readers - think about that and talk about it in writing. It may be that your friends, and, indeed, your readers whom you may like and admire may be doing a specific job, or they may have stopped work, and, however, you believe it is the best thing that could have happened for them, friends who perhaps needed just such an occasion to be able to move on with their lives. Really, we can all celebrate such occurrences and be happy for our friends, and especially if they are people whom we like and know deserve to do well. These are all occasions when we may take up our pen or pencil and write. It's a good analogy to adopt, in that as we think we write. When any of us takes up an activity - do something different - meet new people, it becomes a mark of achievement, something that makes us happy, which can inform us about the things that are fundamental to us in our lives. Whether it's an important occasion such as taking part in a public discussion, or public reading, this kind of endeavour or activity can lead us onto the kind of things that become important steps in our learning. They can takes us forward into a public realm or a public reality, and this subtle change in our development can change the dynamic of our experiences, and our memories which we then incorporate into the evolving narrative of our lives. What we do is knit together from a pattern we know well and can speak of with a little expertise when required, this is what is essential in our writing. So, when writing, above all, observe your disciplines - write well, be well informed and write with confidence. Writing on paper with a pen or a well sharpened pencil first solidifies our relationship with the writing process, for some of us, for others, they are perfectly happy to sit down to a key pad and start to annotate that way, my advice is become friends with your writing tools. Whichever process we decide it's good practice, however way we arrive at our writing point. To declare ourselves in a writing reality is to recognize our publishing potential and we must all turn to that conclusion. We need to conclude what we set out to do - to evaluate and validate and finally to round up, to resolve our themes, in other words. If we are writing about it, it must be said. Taking the time to evaluate what is important in our lives means we can write about that and share it with others if we wish. It is essential to do this so that we may plan a little according to our distinctive flag, our unique platform whether in dispensing advice, offering wise words, and above all, enjoying the process, and to have a little fun along the way in appreciation of our individual potential. The fun is in achieving goals and realising achievements, we derive pleasure from our accomplishments, and it's important to take a little time out to think about that., which is what I set out to do here. For now, good luck and good writing and I will write again, soon, Angela Maria De Nobrega Freitas

The Evening Tide ...

The Evening Tide is a work in progress leading to a short novel - I will here serialise it and see where it goes ... Today, I thought, I will talk, its simple, no, it's difficult, we live some distance apart. I was little, I grew up, very quickly, there was hardly room to breath, she was there, furnishing me with her special love, then, she was gone. I don't have time, really, to know whether I love her or not. It's just therapy, I talk about her, she grows on me a little, then she's gone. Life is what I'm living she says, that's me, out there, part of the everyday scrum that you call having a nice time and that I'm dealing with, that's the difference. When she is with him, for example, and this is just me, talking, I'm the last person on her 'to do' list, must call what's her name, she would be upset if she thought that's how I thought, that's how she comes across, I'm afraid. We are so different. The thing is he is always there, like moss attached to a tree. What kind of love is that, is it actually love or is it a fey kind of obsession on either part. Do they make love or do they do something else, the kind of thing that makes them forget all about love, that little four letter word that cannot be mistaken for the three letter word, but which they delude themselves about. They went for a motorcycle ride the other day, she told me after the thrilling event. She put her helmet on, or he may have put it on for her, I don'know which. She said she put her arms around his waist, that she needed to breath, that quick kind of rush you feel only when going at speed, when your breath is almost sucked out of you by the elements, and, so, she says, all her cares, besides being employed in keeping her seat, and trying to negotiate between the two elements, you, can there be such a bargain, and anyway, what is breath and what is air, and so, after about half an hour or so of motorcycling she was seriously in pain. She would stop talking to me if she knew the thoughts that went on in my head, and especially where he, the demigod is concerned. I don't like him very much, for good reason, however, she would start to wonder whether I had acquired a nervous disposition to all things male and that she is merely the casualty in my sights. That's not true, but, we would have to trade thoughts, maybe even words, so I would rather not go there. Overall, she could have a point, he does get in the way quite a bit, he's not prepared to take a back seat, even if it means his relationship is under discussion, and I can barely see that point. It's just, we''re a family, and well, we need some quality time together, and three's a crowd. I don't like the thought of leaving anyone out, and she is the same, one of the nicest things about her, she's human, you know, nice, anything else just would not do. I feel a little responsible for this situation, without me these thoughts would not exist, my words would have less meaning, but, ce la vie ... the truth must out.

Page 4 ... Writing ...

Hello, Writer, Today is Sunday, 23rd August, 2013 -mid-morning -I am writing in long-hand what I plan to write to you later, and voila, here, typed - it's a fine day here in New Mills, Derbyshire, England and this is where I live. I wasn't born here, i was born in Madeira, and have lived in England for forty years with my family, however, I settled in New Mills some seven years ago, made some friends and stayed. New Mills is a small town, about a half hour train journey from Manchester, a major city in the North West of England. When I first moved to New Mills, I arrived by car and owned a rather smart Saab, 900, turbo, 2L, which I sold and there-from I explored the surrounding area by foot and became acquainted, after a along hiatus of not using public transport, with the locality's public transport system. It may be obvious and definitively a truism to say that becoming acquainted with the public realm - the reality of getting used to acquiring and using bus time tables, train time tables and so on and so forth, definitely places a person in a way that only conferring with people who work the local transport network in a special kind of reality. You quickly gain respect and learn to appreciate those who are working for our greater good and to learn to appreciate their place in our lives. I make friends very quickly, i don't mind speaking with people, and on a local bus, who knows who you will meet and perhaps, maybe even have an interesting conversation with, there are of course those instances where you are sitting quietly and the loud society around you suddenly emerge and start shouting out their excruciatingly uninteresting and uneventful lives, being rude, swearing, that is most definitely a reality you could do without, and your journey could even prove to be dangerous. I don't know about you, but i'm the kind of person who must say something and not sit passively by as expletives are flying around you, and i must here admit this i often found to be a good way to try out my head teacher's skills and obtain an apology from the lout in question of a previous moments earlier who realiased suddenly that red face followed by apology for rudeness means embarrassment followed by the silence all of us passengers craved. The bus driver, if you're on a bus is a one man island and he is not shifting from that position, passengers either have to take it or lump it, i must say, quite often i would bring attention of the driver to the rude infantile passengers by saying to them i would report rudness to the driver, which sometimes worked. Taking a bus or train journey can certainly lead you into a completely different world to the one you glimpse from the privacy of your car. It can be worth the sacrifice such as the one I took to sell my car, I had such convivial thoughts as contributing to the better being of my local environment, helping to reduce tax revenues, improving our island's currency by not buying expensive fuel and so on to a whole plethora of philanthropic ideas that came to mind. That was in 2007, and apart from a brief ownership, in 2008, of a three litre Lexus I saw on the forecourt of a friend who has a dealership in motor vehicles, and then sold to my older brother after five months ownership, and newly acquired muscles, steering a three litre vehicle is no mean fete, which now my brother too appreciates, however he has grown to love it in a way i never could, and became vehicle-less for the next four years. However, on the appointed day of 23rd of December, 2012, it came to me, as I waited over an hour, yet again, for a bus I was on time for - I appreciate the weather was merciless and the sheer volume of traffic which did not help, however, I began to think in terms of sitting in a warm vehicle and attending to my business at my own pace rather than being restricted to bus time arrivals and departures. Seeing a stream of contented enough drivers drive past me as I stood at my passion-less bus stop, in their nice warm vehicles was also a swaying point. In short, I am now the somewhat happy owner of a Peugeot 206, the same age the Saab would have been if I had kept it - it's ten years old, and after some maintenance, a little costly, however, but running, happily. Owning a vehicle again in a hiatus of four years or so has made a world of difference to my life. The pace of life is a little more contained, and I know I am not a huge friend of the earth by owning a running vehicle again, but I drive carefully, and am proud of the fact that i am a responsible 'parker' - I park responsibly, can accommodate my friends more freely by falling in with their time frames a little more - my dear writer, my little vehicle has made a world of difference to me; rather than following the 'oh - I'm keeping fit by walking more' brigade, as i did, that actually, driving a car instead of walking, and you may take comfort from my words too, if you too are a vehicle owner and driver, that driving instead saves your heart and your legs from undue pressure from the strain of walking everywhere. Do not be fooled by such interim ideas as those of the 'keep fit' industry. As drivers we keep mentally active, and plan our routes with meticulous care, and after a while can engage brain into assisted steering, routing automatically, rather than remaining passive - those of us who drive carefully, all of my co-writers here, I trust. So, car owner am I, taking a rest from driving today, and writing to you. If you have had a similar experience, do here share. Bye for now, and good driving and good writing. Angela De Freitas

Entry to a writing competition set by ELLE publication in 2013 ... called 'My Rebellion ...

It all began when I saw my first copy of a fashion magazine, for me, ELLE. Enid Blyton became less the centre of my universe, and ELLE, my reading bible of choice. While my friends read 'Jackie', I was exploring the world of fashion, my intelligence captured by interesting sophisticated commentaries and advice offered in the sweetly perfumed pages of this fine publication. As a young adult I searched through the pages of ELLE for a recognition in my young self that I was different by seeking a world that specialized in the artistic, through fashion, and commentry, and ELLE confirmed that for me. >
Seeking a world that sought to represent the uniqueness of my youth was important for me as a young adult. My friends did not share my enthusiasm for sophisticated stories about middle class or upper class people. I did not rebel in the sense of changing the style of my hair drastically. Nor did I take to wearing monotone or black. I rebelled in not following such trends, I rebelled in subtlety, in being neat, and looking at fashion through the pages of ELLE as a barometer in understanding the society I lived in from my newly learned perspective. When later in life as an adult I made some important changes to my life I was able to reach into my finely honed intelligence and reserve assisted by what I had chosen to read and appreciate as I grew up.

Fashion in it's many creative arcs as it lights upon is as important in grooming, wearing a nice scent, learning about such things, how to apply make up, if necessary, how to choose an Eu de parfum rather than it's alternative, an eau de toilet, how to enhance a nice bodyshape, too, these were important fundamental creative learning curves to be got through. Lifestyle and fashion are one of life's successful marriages. Fashion can surprise us, and reading ELLE I am still as excited by it's language, the keen observations, the writers with their wonderful perceptive commentaries and features that lead into other creative worlds. I often look for the way a collection is brought together, whether seen en'homage through the pages of ELLE or in a less elaborate ensemble on the street, in the town where I live, when a person looks nice it is an appreciative moment. I have learnt over time that bringing an outfit or a costume together is an artistic endeavour, a keen eye is vital, and through that creative impulse many things are possible. To arrive at a concluding theme style must be balanced in all fronts before we can be chic. It takes patience and knowing one's style and being comfortable, of course, is key. We all look for a little bit of the unusual in ourselves represented by what we read and the clothes we wear to procure that ineffable quality that is our personal style.

When I was growing up, a young teen and then a young adult there were lots of things to do that were momentous. At fourteen, I worked for the things that I loved and felt were important at the time, such as a fine fashion publication, and I'm happy that since then I am still finding room for ELLE alongside other important reading manuals.>
That is my rebellion. Angela De Freitas

Visit Elle.com/talent-competition-2013



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Film Review ... Writing ...

Please note that this page is a stand-alone review of the film, Julia and Julie, starring Meryl Streep., that I wrote about earlier. Please refer to previous page, Page two, Writing, if you wish to 're-visit what I said about the film, there. I am including this page as it is a piece of writing work I had already completed, and it seemed a shame to leave it out. And here I will take the opportunity to say to you, when you're drafting a piece of writing work it is important that you keep it, even if you are not planning to publish it immediately, it has it's worth, and you can always take excerpts from the page/s as necessary. There is always the added value that you have written something different in parts which makers sense to the overall piece, that you may have left out of your earlier piece of work. I will continue ... The third film I have seen and keep going back to, with Meryl Streep is Julia and Julie, directed by Nora Ephron. The film is based on a true story of two independent lives in two parts and two different stories in two different time frames. The film opens with Meryl Streep as Julia Child, a cookery writer who reigned supreme in the cookery world in the 1950s and 1960s - and who trained to cook at the Cordon Bleu establishment in Paris when her husband, Paul Child was posted there at the American Embassy during part of the 1950s. How it all started for Julia was the idea to cook professionally for American housewives who did not have cooks or servants. This gave her the added idea to start a cookery school and teach those interested in good food, French cooking. Then there is the other story in parallel with Julia's experiences from a contemporary perspective, in that, Julie Jones and her husband, Eric Powell, a young married couple who settle in Queen's, a suburb of New York, and she decides to start a blog, detailing her idea to cook through the Julia Child Cookery opus, in one year, by cooking different recipes from the book - Mastering The Art Of French Cooking, every night after she returns home from work. And so, the film runs between the two unfolding stories. Meryl's performance as Julia is at times a little wistful; there are sub-texts which are not fully addressed in the film, but with just enough pathos to provide the audience with a good idea of what her sadness at times is about, the couple are childless, for instance, but this only serves to show Julia Child is more than a one dimensional person interested only in cooking French food, and Meryl Streep represents those aspects of her character very well. For more, you really ought to watch the film and see what you think, let me know. Good watching and good writing, and once again, bond appetite. Angela De Freitas

Page 2 ... Writing ...

With the writing advice I gave you in mind recently - see Introductory Page - I am here going to discuss my recent journey into the Meryl Streep film catalogue. At about the beginning of July this year, I was in Southport, visiting my family and one Sunday evening I sat down to watch Mama Mia, a modern-day-musical, in which Meryl sings her way through the Abba collection of songs, really rather well; and upon this showing I decided to invest in a set of dvd's of Meryl's films. So, the second film I saw was Meryl's interpretation - which, by the way, interpretation is the apotheosis of Meryl's repertoire in film - and her interpretation of Margaret Thatcher, which was very good, and again reminded me of that lady's tenure as leader of the Conservative Party, and what she set out to achieve as Prime Minister of Britain during the 1970s and 1980s. Meryl's performance is excellent and the film is very good. Since then I have seen a few more of Meryl's films, and really apart from one film I did not really like - it was something called 'adaptation', and although I am sure that Meryl takes her work seriously, and cares about her work I am also sure she would not descry any of her choices, and I would not expect that, but for me personally, I feel that Meryl Streep is made of sturdier stuff than that which was on display in 'adaptation' - I'm sure too that Meryl may not always have discretionary editing privileges as she ought to have and to fight for, and I am sure some of the more salubriuos scenes would be edited upon revisiting a viewing before release. This, however, is my take on the situation, I feel perhaps that Meryl's agents should take more care to include Meryl in decisions with regards to  're-releases of her films, so that she has the opportunity to decide whether they are relevant and appropriate for the audience of today. Definitely, I feel that Meryl is being short-changed, she is a wonderful actress and delightful to watch and to listen to, my friends and i both have discussed how Meryl is really an academic, intellectual person and credence should be given to that in the work of Meryl's career. Perhaps upon a viewing of Meryl's films you may agree with my hypothesis, I hope so, and perhaps in a small way bring attention to a serious sitiuation which merits discussion in a wider discourse. I love Meryl's films, The French Lieutenant's Woman, which is an adaptation of the book, written by John Fowels, correct me if I'm wrong, and Interestingly, screenwritten by the late Harold Pinter, Playwrite. There is Julia and Julie, a film based In two parts and written by a writer who decided to cook her way through the Julia Child's Cookery book back in 2002, she wrote her own part, and with the aid of notes and letters left in Julia's and her husband Paul's 'estate she resolved to write a rather wonderful story, made into a film, and directed by the late Nora Ephron. Julia's story dates back to the 1940's when her husband Paul, played by a nice actor, Stanley Tuci, was stationed in France, at the American Embassy, they lived in Paris for four years, when Julia trained to be a Chef at the Cordon Bleu establishment, and this rather interesting character played by an equally interesting Meryl Streep, and ostentatiously so, I have to say and no less enjoyable for that., bloomed all the way through the film. In fact there were a rather wonderful repertoire of actors on display who played their parts with the right amount of verve and fun, there really was no room for anything less, all played distinguished and interesting parts and a credit to the real cast that lived the life of 'gay Paris' all those years ago. They truly made the story come to life, and this is all we ask for from a wonderful cast and a wonderful project, I repeat, Julia and Julie, film extraordinaire, it really was and bon appetite to all. There are so many other films with Meryl i would love to watch, I did not realize Meryl had worked on so many films, but as I am sure she would be the first person to say, she is a working actress and working on films has been the mainstay of her career. I have to say here, I do feel for Meryl on the many occasions when i see her acting opposite some woefully misogynistic characters, I see her going through the ages tolerating those less than piquant male opposites. Meryl, should be awarded compensation as her fine vocabulary and beautiful voice with it's melodic accents, she does accents very well, and manners are at times undermined by her boorish counterparts, they don't seem to appreciate that Meryl is an educated human being trying to do a good job, as much now as when she began her career, and to work with serious attitude which I have felt at times to be undermined, it's not fair, really, Meryl's work is for public consumption, she is public and she needs all on board to be totally and completely on her side. And, that is not always obvious to me. Her film, Hope Springs is a case in point, I loved the performance by her co-colleague who is the marriage therapist Meryl goes to see, to talk about her marriage, a marriage she feels is no longer there and for better or worse she wants to salvage, that actor is a fine person and respectful of Meryl in a way her other male characters are not, it's outrageous that a fine person such as Meryl Streep should have to put up with Neanderthal behaviour as was on show in that film. I have a few more of Meryl's films to watch, some I will 're-visit, and some I have not yet seen; when I see, in any of Meryl's films anything which is here worthy of comment, and of course, Meryl Streep's work is always more than worthy of comment, I will write and say, which rather begs the excuse to discuss each film minutely, and perhaps that is an opportunity for further comment and writing about it, however I am not going to do that at this stage, I will simply say which of Meryl's films I have seen and offer a very brief discussion - to do full justice to Meryl' Streep's work is for you to watch the films too, so you may see for yourselves what a worthy ambassador is Meryl Streep, for interpreting a story, through character, and interpreting it well. Should you do the same as me and take a little time to watch a good film with a supremely worthy leading lady, then you will do everything right by choosing Meryl Streep's films. I wish you good watching, and good writing, and let me know what you think. Bon chance, or Good luck, Angela De Freitas