tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37087464476103375912024-02-08T16:01:56.239+00:00The Infinite Wisdom of Harriet RoseA Collection of MeditationsHarriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-82640459748881291452008-02-25T07:57:00.000+00:002008-02-25T12:58:47.394+00:00Harriet Rose Uncut<br /><br />I had planned a final Meditation for my collection, but because my Meditations were published without my knowledge, that final Meditation was left out. So I thought I would let you read it anyway, those of you who admire my work and wish for more. Because in a way, my book is dedicated to you, those of you who wish me well. The rest - just watch as my books sell!<br /><br />'There's nothing more for me to say.<br />I've told my tale the Harriet way<br />With good and bad and old and young<br />And friendships that have just begun<br />But do not think that it's the end<br />Nor fear that you have lost a friend<br />For in the end is our beginning<br />And loss is nature's way of winning<br />Remember me, then, with a sigh<br />And say "Au <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">revoir</span>", but not "Goodbye" 'Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-83890860325346758412008-01-25T15:07:00.000+00:002008-01-25T15:08:52.711+00:00PAPERBACK PUBLICATION<br /><br />From yesterday, I am in paperback in all good bookshops - The Infinite Wisdom of Harriet Rose is now selling throughout the UK and in dozens of countries worldwide. Which in turn makes me ask myself the following question:<br /><br />"What is it about my Meditations and the story of their success that makes them so popular?"<br /><br />I do not pretend to be a philosopher of Kantian proportions, although it is true to say that the great man has had a huge influence on my thinking. Like my hero, Marcus Aurelius, I didn't set out to have my Meditations published - it never occurred to me when I wrote them that others would find them so interesting or that they would one day appear on London Underground posters. And as 'why' is extremely important to me, I need an answer to my question.<br /><br />It was once suggested (by the father of one of my more envious classmates) that I was doing no more than repeating the theories of far greater philosophers and that as a fourteen year old I lacked the experience to do so. Now that I've had time to reflect on that accusation in the solitude of my bedroom, my response to this is as follows:<br /><br />Many people study philosophy and some are then able to summarise and regurgitate it. But to be a true philosopher you need to be able to think for yourself rather than to depend upon someone else to do it for you. Like a good conversation, it's important to read and discuss what other philosophers have to say and to reflect on their views, but you need also to be adding your own views and, most important of all, to have the capacity to express the inquiring mind. I do not look to Kant or Descartes or Marcus Aurelius to tell me how to think or act or speak. I do not seek to apply their beliefs on a daily basis to my everyday life. The great philosophers are not counsellors or psychologists. They are people who are capable of intellectual inquiry. Experience of life is not necessary for that - an intelligent, reflective, creative, ordered mind is. So it matters not that I am only fourteen any more than it hindered Mozart that he began to compose at the age of four. It's all about natural inclination - not to repeat parrot-fashion, but to know how to use your brain, and to want to ask 'why' and 'how' rather than 'who' or 'when'. And that, I believe, is what makes my Meditations so popular.Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-88485821389100046302007-12-19T08:11:00.000+00:002007-12-19T11:12:30.298+00:00X Factor Final: Results<br /><br />As the winner of television's The Face of London competition, I feel I speak with experience, and an element of authority, when I say "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Rhydian</span> - you were robbed! You sang with the voice of an angel and conducted yourself throughout with dignity. And that, after all, is what winning is all about. So do not despair. Listen to Harriet Rose who sometimes knows what she's talking about. Read her Meditation 35 from 'The Infinite Wisdom of Harriet Rose and know that you are a true winner. Congratulations, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Rhydian</span>!"<br /><br />Meditation 35<br /><br />'I once lost a race when I'd won it.<br />It taught me that life's seldom fair.<br />I watched while they made losers winners,<br />Pretending that I didn't care.<br /><br />I've tasted the beauty of winning.<br />I've savoured the joy of success.<br />I've relished the failure of rivals.<br />I've longed for perfection, no less.<br /><br />But now when they make me a winner<br />I hesitate as they applaud.<br />For winning can sometimes be losing.<br />Perfection is often best flawed.<br /><br />So tell me I've won, but with caution<br />Remind me of others who failed.<br />And we'll all wait for that final curtain<br />To teach us what winning entailed.'Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-4764748901039246782007-12-05T08:19:00.000+00:002007-12-05T15:28:29.831+00:00I was once asked why I wrote my Meditations. I answered that I wanted to make people think - about subjects they may not have considered before or that they had considered but not from the Harriet Rose perspective. So when I Googled The Infinite Wisdom of Harriet Rose and discovered that people in faraway countries are quoting and recommending my Meditations and taking time to reflect on them (<a title="blocked::http://www.blogmoon.blogspot.com/" href="http://www.blogmoon.blogspot.com/">www.blogmoon.blogspot.com</a>) , it made me want to cry with joy, and laugh too. Strange that a response can entail two such opposing sentiments - different and yet the same.<br /><br />So, my message for today is to keep reading my Meditations, all you out there in Singapore, Malaysia, South Africa, Australia, Holland and the many other discerning countries of the world. And thank you all for your part in spreading the word of Harriet Rose.Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-26965651294583956062007-11-22T07:22:00.000+00:002007-11-22T12:05:22.326+00:00Now that I'm an established author whose meditations are even being quoted internationally, I decided yesterday to try my hand at short story writing. It was harder than I'd thought it would be. At school we're given essay titles which help to focus the mind. But when you can write about anything at all, it's much harder.<br /><br />My first attempt was about a self-taught <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">viloinist</span> who turns down a marriage proposal because she doesn't respect the manner in which she is asked - over a Chicken <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Biryani</span> in her flat with Question Time on in the background. When I'd finished it (and I knew I had because the proposal was finally acceptable) I read it over then put a line right the way through it. What else could I do? Of all the subjects in the world to write about, of all the views close to my heart I could have put across, of all the people I had met and admired, I had chosen to describe a self-taught violinist and a Chicken <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Biryani</span>. And I don't even like Chicken <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Biryani</span>. And I can't even play the violin. And I've never even had a marriage proposal.<br /><br />So I tried again. This time, I was happier with the content. A successful and beautiful young woman (and already I felt this heroine was someone I could relate to) suddenly decides to have a flatmate, to the horror of her admiring Russian boyfriend - a violinist (my persistent obsession with the violin took even me by surprise). I liked the storyline because it had a twist - the flatmate is assumed throughout to be a young woman - she's full of life and strong-willed and attractive to men who are drawn to her vibrant, outspoken personality. It's not until the end that the reader discovers the flatmate is eighty-five. At least this time I had written about characters I admired. But I feared that some readers might feel that the heroine had made the wrong choice in turning down the opportunity to live with the Russian violinist in <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">favour</span> of her eighty-five year old Great Aunt. Personally, I thought she made exactly the right choice, but I had my readers to consider.<br /><br />I didn't try again after that. Short stories, I decided, were not for Harriet Rose. I may be able to condense my thoughts into Meditations, but I cannot condense my characters - they have too much to say.Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-52215317844019697772007-11-19T19:04:00.000+00:002007-11-22T12:02:58.874+00:00When I'm asked if I have a boyfriend, I never know what to say. I find the whole concept of 'boyfriend' a curious one. A friend who is a boy? I have several of those. Yet when the two words are juxtaposed they seem to take on an entirely different meaning, like egg and cress sandwiches - each ingredient boring on its own but delicious once you put them together. Not that I consider a 'boyfriend' delicious. It's concepts I'm discussing rather than their implications. Philosophers will understand that, especially if they've ever mixed theirs with mayonnaise to bind the egg and cress together.<br /><br />So what ingredient is it that similarly binds together a boy and a friend into that elusively indefinable concept 'boyfriend', used randomly to extend on occasion even to ageing <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">lotharios</span> who haven't been 'boys' for very many years? Wherein lies the mayonnaise of a 'boyfriend'? Not enough people reflect on such questions before answering them. And you should. Unless, of course, you don't care to answer questions truthfully, in which case you're not really someone worth talking to anyway.<br /><br />Perhaps I'll find the answer when I have a boyfriend. Then again, perhaps I have one already and I don't know it. I'm referring, of course, to Jean Claude, a boy who's most certainly a friend, but, as Nana would say, a friend to who else? If asked, I think the safest solution might be to leave a small pause between the words 'boy' and 'friend' and then I shan't be saying anything untruthful. Like this:<br /><br /> "So, Harriet, is Jean Claude like your boyfriend then, or what?"<br /><br />"Yes, Jason, Jean Claude is my boy" then the small pause, "friend."<br /><br />That should do the trick.Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-24838377174743743982007-10-09T07:26:00.000+00:002007-10-09T09:26:58.669+00:00Why can't someone invent a mirror that shows you what you look like the correct way round? Am I alone in not wanting to be reversed? Is Rabbie Burns the only other person to understand the importance of seeing yourself as others see you?<br /><br />P.S. If such a mirror already exists, I apologise in advance and ask that the inventor be more ambitious in his or her sales campaign.<br /><br />P.P.S. I could always lend you my own very successful sales representative - Nana - if necessary.Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-92056265627178246852007-10-07T11:23:00.000+00:002007-10-09T09:26:28.362+00:00Those of you who have been with me from the start will recall that the title 'The Infinite Wisdom of Harriet Rose' was taken from my Meditation 33 which I wrote on the day of my father's funeral. And now, less than two years later, those very words have been translated into several languages across the world. What I wrote in despair has become a reason for joy and celebration. My father would have liked that.Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-63988090244677436842007-09-28T08:46:00.000+00:002007-09-28T08:52:08.453+00:00<div align="center"><br /><strong>Why is 'why' so important to me<br />And why not 'who', 'what', 'where' or 'when'?<br />Why can't I be like the others I see<br />Who don't seek the motives of men?<br /><br />I've searched for the truth<br />Through all of my youth,<br />But the answer I still cannot find.<br />Should I ask 'why' no more,<br />Close my eyes, shut the door?<br />Not while reason lives on in my mind.<br /><br /><br />Wore my t-shirt with 'Why?' across the chest today, very slightly raised at the 'W' and the 'y', understated, with a quiet hint of greater things to come. Nana said it looked daft, that people would think I didn't understand anything, that there was no point in 'Why?' when no-one knew what the question was, that I'd be better off with 'Because' than 'Why?', that at least then people would think I had the answer. I fear that Nana will never make a philosopher</strong>. </div>Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-18388980991601463312007-09-12T08:01:00.000+00:002007-09-12T08:52:53.964+00:00<strong>Ode to the reviewer who described me in a broadsheet newspaper as beautiful, confident, clever, successful, much-loved and loving</strong><br /><br />There are some who brush against your life<br />With the gentle touch of an angel's wing<br />Never knowing how much joy<br />That touch can bring<br />Your paths may never cross<br />You will not know them<br />But in their hearts<br />They'll hear a young girl singHarriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-56980583463119179632007-09-06T18:49:00.000+00:002007-09-12T08:51:57.573+00:00<div align="center">I looked up and saw the clouds parting in the sky<br />Torn by the dazzling light of the summer sun<br />I listened and heard the sound of a thousand angels<br />All gathered to applaud what this man had done<br />Loudly they heralded his arrival<br />With voices that were clear and pure and true<br />But of all the angels gathered there in heaven<br />None, Luciano, sang as well as you </div>Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-83724087848682576402007-08-10T12:10:00.001+00:002007-08-10T12:10:44.729+00:00<div align="center"><strong>'I once lost a race when I'd won it.<br />It taught me that life's seldom fair.<br />I watched while they made losers winners,<br />Pretending that I didn't care.<br /><br />'I've tasted the beauty of winning.<br />I've savoured the joy of success.<br />I've relished the failure of rivals.<br />I've longed for perfection, no less.<br /><br />'But now when they make me a winner<br />I hesitate as they applaud.<br />For winning can sometimes be losing.<br />Perfection is often best flawed.<br /><br />'So tell me I've won, but with caution.<br />Remind me of others who've failed.<br />And we'll all wait for that final curtain<br />To teach us what winning entailed.'</strong><br /><br /><br />So you have your copy of The Infinite Wisdom of Harriet Rose and you've started to read all about me. After a few pages you'll think you know me very well. A few more and you'll wonder if you don't. Then you'll reach the end and you'll all form different opinions of me. I'll be discussed and compared, admired by some, disliked perhaps by others. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">There'll</span> be those who think I have succeeded whilst a few no doubt will consider that I've failed. And some of your comments will make me so happy, and others will make me feel sad. Because The Infinite Wisdom of Harriet Rose isn't just a book, it's an experience. And that is what the race is all about.</div>Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-56952550847180756302007-08-08T15:50:00.000+00:002007-08-09T09:15:31.867+00:00BREAKING NEWSTomorrow. 9th August 2007. A date in a diary. A page in a book. But it is not just a day: it is the day. A day to remember, when you wake up in the morning and plan what you are going to do. A day to enjoy when you make your way with nimble tread to your local bookshop. A day to savour, when you return home, clutching a long-awaited copy of The Infinite Wisdom of Harriet Rose. For tomorrow is publication date for the first edition of the hardback. The Infinite Wisdom of Harriet Rose, the book in which Diana Janney tells the story of my life. Or part of it anyway - there's too much to tell in just one book. So there you are. The day before tomorrow. Relish the moment.Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-51386172265258185932007-08-06T09:16:00.000+00:002007-08-09T09:16:57.193+00:00I was about to say that Charlotte Goldman is a bitch, but why offend an innocent animal and a particularly loving and faithful one at that? So I'll stick to my original description of her, the one I gave her even before I knew how hard she was trying to ensnare Jean Claude - a mosquito, a tiny creature, insignificant to look at, noisy in intonation, a nuisance, always looking for someone to feed off, with a rather unpleasant bite which doesn't last long and most important of all, very easily squashed.Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-23096589357455979222007-07-31T17:47:00.000+00:002007-07-31T16:47:30.756+00:00I'm back, which means by necessity that I must have been away. And what a time we had, the three of us! We were invited to a magnificent country house hotel as VIP guests of the owners. My mother and Nana said that I was the only VIP, but I know I would never have got this far without them. And to me, they're the VIPs. Always were and always will be. I would love to tell you all about our stay, but I can't as it would spoil your enjoyment of the book about me which is published in hardback next week. So you'll just have to wait.Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-32950754754494478632007-07-13T07:36:00.000+00:002007-07-13T10:36:55.485+00:00It's time to sit down and re-assess. Fourteen years old and I've already achieved my greatest ambition - to turn down a date with someone I admire on a matter of principle. Strangely enough, I don't feel quite as fulfilled as I thought I would.Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-44560062107970039952007-07-10T20:35:00.000+00:002007-07-13T10:36:06.798+00:00The first print run of my book has already sold out. Nana broke the news to us this morning. A second run has already been ordered, which apparently makes the first even more valuable, according to my mother. It's what authors and publishers long for. It means you've attained success and recognition and no-one can call you precocious or over-confident any more without making themselves seem stupid. I like that about it. I think I'll go to bed now without washing my face and looking in the mirror afterwards.Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-78246131414822173582007-07-08T10:31:00.000+00:002007-07-13T10:34:55.280+00:00<div align="center">Some ask why I write meditations<br />And why not a diary instead<br />A diary shows what you've been doing<br />My book reveals what's in my head<br /><br />It's not that I seek recognition<br />It's not that I long for success<br />It's just that I want to write something<br />That says what I am and no less<br /><br />My book is for people who question<br />For questions show what we're about<br />I don't claim to have all the answers<br />- sometimes it's better to doubt<br /><br />So open my book, but with caution<br />Remember that no thought is real<br />It lasts for as long as we think it<br />What matters is how we then feel</div>Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-29416403767114725812007-07-06T07:48:00.000+00:002007-07-06T08:50:56.729+00:00My mother, Nana and I were having lunch in an Italian restaurant in South Kensington. We used to go there often when my father was alive, but it was our first visit without him. The proprietor greeted us with such warmth and enthusiasm and exaggerated hand gestures that I had to check over my shoulder to make sure a proper celebrity wasn't about to push past me as if I was invisible through their big designer sunglasses. But then, when he offered us the best table in the restaurant - the one by the window where passers-by would see you and rush for a table - I realised that all the fuss was just for me (or Arriet Rosa as he insisted on calling me).<br /><br />"I see you on the telly," he announced with the heightened tones of a proprietor eager to inform the rest of his customers that celebrities dine at his restaurant, "And Mama too," he added, smiling radiantly at Mama Rosa, "And Grandmama. Bella! Bella! Bella!"<br /><br />"Olivia, actually," Nana replied, with a smile I feared might be a little patronising when we hadn't yet eaten. "Bella was my cousin."<br /><br />But Mario just laughed as if Nana was being funny.Then Mario spoke words I shall never forget, "I buy your book, Arriet - you sign it for me?" And before I had time to ask about the Pasta of the Day, my Infinite Wisdom was on the table in front of me, lying hopefully between crostini and a bowl of black olives. So I took his pen and wrote, 'To Mario - ciao, Harriet', just to let him know I was international. He would like that.Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-29425750132740238092007-06-27T07:41:00.000+00:002007-06-27T10:42:14.582+00:00<div align="center">So long, Mr Blair,<br />I'd like to say I care<br />But care is not a word<br />From you I've ever heard.<br /><br />So let's just say 'farewell'<br />And hope that time will tell<br />Whether you were great or small -<br />It's a question for us all. <br /> </div>Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-52500093627496958122007-06-21T14:17:00.000+00:002007-06-21T14:19:05.584+00:00<div align="center"><strong>Only fools and horses...</strong></div><strong></strong><div align="left"><br />Better to be a racehorse than a lady on Ladies' Day at Royal Ascot. At least the horse's shiny perspiring coat is well-earned, and it doesn't need a daft overpowering hat to draw attention to itself.</div>Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-36613420620261603242007-06-21T07:20:00.000+00:002007-06-21T14:20:40.879+00:00<div align="center"><strong>"There's so much I could say to you but the words don't seem to come. Like drumsticks that can't find a drum, the words don't seem to come."</strong><br /><br /></div><br /><div align="left">I half expected Jean Claude to telephone me after my London Live appearance. But the other half of me that didn't expect it was right. My mother says you should never trust a man with two first names - there's usually one for each face.<br />I pointed out that John Stuart Mill must surely be an exception, but my mother replied that she would not be easily fooled by anyone so keen to search for the greatest happiness for the greatest number of people. </div>Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-65786438625952732382007-06-20T07:17:00.000+00:002007-06-20T07:55:03.690+00:00I just don't get it - pregnant women who think it important to reveal their extended womb to the rest of the world as if we all want to see what they've been up to in their private lives. What next? Showing us their swollen ankles and exposing their haemorrhoids? For goodness' sake, women, have you never heard of subtle understatement? Cover yourselves up in crisp white Egyptian cotton baggy collarless shirts and tell us your news if you must with a faint blush and a coy smile. If nothing else, it's a far more hygienic alternative.Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-74390321693761483562007-06-18T07:40:00.000+00:002007-06-18T12:15:31.639+00:00Nana's talking of entering me for Wimbledon next year - she heard Sue Barker saying they were looking out for fourteen-year-olds and my mother encouraged the idea by pointing out that long legs run in our family. The trouble is that it's all based on a misunderstanding.<br /><br />We were watching Queens Stella Artois tennis final on television, the three of us, and I happened to say "I'd quite like to do that". And before you could say 'Rafael Nadal' my mother had already planned her finals outfit for watching me in the box reserved for family members. I shouldn't really have corrected her and spoilt her dream. I should have let her go on thinking I wanted to become the first British Wimbledon finalist with a good dress sense. But it wouldn't have been true so I had to explain - I had no desire to be a Wimbledon champion; it was shouting "Out!" with a definitive arm gesture that I'd thought I'd quite like to do.Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3708746447610337591.post-14604235619711419552007-06-14T12:08:00.000+00:002007-06-18T12:13:44.511+00:00When I saw myself on television for the first time I noticed that I have developed a habit of laughing nervously at the end of some of my sentences, even when I haven't said anything remotely funny. I don't know how long this has been going on, but it will have to stop or I'll never be interviewed by Jeremy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Paxman</span>.Harriet Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09162204695682209713noreply@blogger.com0